Chapter Thirteen
It was after nightfall when Teàrlach departed within the shadows of Glengarnock’s walls. It was as if he were a lad again, scaling over walls and sneaking through shadows, in search of a pretty skirt for the night. But if he left on horseback through the gates, all would know that he was leaving and it would be questioned. He had to check on Madeline. At least one last time. Leaving her so heartbroken had eaten at him all day as Moreville and John had inspected the castle, as well as the mistress quarters the laird was having added to placate his son’s anger over the marriage.
That had burned him in new waves of anger as Teàrlach waited in the corridors, while Henry and his father moved in and out of chambers to examine them. John wasn’t even going to try at a semblance of fidelity. He wasn’t even opting for discretion.
It took longer to get to Dungarnock on foot. He knew he was going to be exhausted at training in the morn. But he had to come. He rounded the hills and came upon the path leading to Madeline, picking up his pace. Almost there.
When he arrived, it looked as he had left it. Dark, the gate still ajar. Lifeless. There wasn’t a single window whose shutters had been opened. Not a single flicker of light shone anywhere. A critter, what he couldn’t distinguish in the cloud-covered night, undisturbed before, scurried across the yard and behind the byre at his approach.
He paused. Looked around. His eyes traveled up the tower until they came to the crenellated roof. And in the darkness, he could see the outline of her form. She seemed to be looking at him. He supposed he had made no effort to be quiet as his boots thudded the ground. His lungs were heaving from the hour of running, and he knew the leather of his boots and belts creaked.
He strode through the gates, jogged across the yard to the door, tried the latch, and realized it was unbarred. He pushed it shut behind him. The room was dark. No embers remained in the hearth and the hall was black. He fumbled around beside the door until his hands found the bar, and he secured it into place behind him.
Still, the smell of tarts lingered, and he moved across the floor to the chair he had seen her seated in. Running his hands over the chair, then down onto the table, the trencher with the tart still sat undisturbed. Had she eaten nothing? Had she done nothing since he left her?
He knew the route to the stairs, even if he hadn’t been above stairs since that very first visit sennights ago, and he took the steps two at a time, coming to the first floor, then feeling along the walls in the blackness for the archway and the stairs continuing up. He came to the second floor, swallowed in the darkness of the stones, and felt along the walls to Madeline’s bedchamber door. He continued past it, coming to the stairs that led to the roof, and looked up. The hatch in the ceiling was open. He hopped up those steps two at a time as well, sweat soaking not just through his tunic, but his dark surcoat also, lungs burning with the final surge of energy to get to Madeline.
There she was, her eyes now upturned at the starless heavens. Sensing his approach, she looked to the hatchway as he emerged. In all his haste to get to her, he stopped now, coming a few paces short of her. Close up, he could tell her eyes were puffy, her brow furrowed in lines of distress. Her hair was stringy and no doubt she hadn’t done much to maintain her hairstyle for the remainder of the day. At one point, it looked as if she had been lying down, for baby wisps of hair hung loose as if rubbed that way alongside her head. Her tartan was draped off her shoulders, slouching into the bend of her elbows.
She gazed at him, her eyes lifeless. He gazed back, wishing he could vanquish her distress. He took a step, then another, then a final one, closing the gap between them, and reached two broad palms to rest upon her shoulders. They slid down her arms to her hands clutching her shawl. She looked withdrawn and, despite her forlorn gaze, the distance in her eyes was all too familiar to him. It was the way she had lived under her father’s rule.
He hated seeing it return, after the sennights of blossoming since they’d begun their…love affair? He realized he didn’t know what to call it. It couldn’t be a love affair, for she rested still a virgin. That much he had been careful about, if not much else, for he knew what her breasts felt like pressed to his chest, knew the taste of her mouth, the gentle caresses of her tongue on his, knew what her supple body felt like undulating against him, what her hands felt like running over his chest and shoulders, knew what her sunshine tresses smelled like with his nose buried in them, knew what her smile felt like cast upon him. That bonny smile and those sparkling gray-green eyes hit him like a lightning bolt every time they were sent in his direction.
It also couldn’t be a courtship, for they weren’t suited together. They were being deceptive, sneaking around her betrothal contract. But she wasn’t cuckolding John either, for the Moreville heir and Maddie hadn’t yet tied the marital knot. What did one call their conundrum?
Holding her hands in his, he pulled her to him as if reeling in a portcullis chain, letting go of one hand to encircle his arm about her body, then letting go of the other hand to complete the embrace.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the top of her head, burying his nose into her hair as he had done countless times before.
She said nothing in response, but curled against him, breathing deep, comforted breaths.
“Have you eaten, lass?”
She shook her head against him.
“Have you slept?”
Again, she shook her head. He rubbed a hand up and down her back, kissing the top of her head again. She dragged in a long, shaking breath, then exhaled it. But there were no more tears.
“Why did you come, on foot no less?” she finally asked, her words muffled and her mouth smashed against his chest in his increasingly tight grip.
“I could nay bring King. I would have roused suspicion.”
“Then why did you burden yourself?”
“I missed you.”
His response, he realized, had been sentimental, especially for a warrior. It implied weakness, as if he were too desperate to remain even tempered. But it was a truth that was out of his mouth before he could decide how best to reply.
“I worried for you,” he added.
She snaked her arms out from between them and wrapped them around his waist. Her palms pressed to his lower back. For the first time, he felt a strength in her grip he had never noticed before. She was holding him as tightly as her thin arms could, as if he were the only solid thing to grab onto in an angry, churning ocean.
“And I love you.”
His final statement hung between them. Her gripped tightened, then clenched him so hard her fingers pressed into his chain mail and gouged his back. And for some reason, the pain felt good. It felt welcome. If his heart was bleeding, he may as well bear some bruises from it.
“I love you, too,” she finally replied, her words choked. “I always will.”
He crushed her in his embrace, a hand coming up to clench her head to his chest, and he dipped his head to rest upon hers. Such bittersweet words he had never heard. What a blessing to have her love, and yet, this love…what a horrible curse to withstand.
“What are we to do?” he stated, a flat question, because they both knew the reality of her situation.
She shook her head against him. “There’s nothing to do. And my heart aches to think upon it. But I will endure… I always do.” She had said such words once before, he recalled. Fools, he thought, all those who had thought her daft. She was one of the strongest people he knew. “And you will, too.”
Nay, he wasn’t sure that he would. He would live, aye. But he wouldn’t be able to endure much except the burning of whisky poured copiously down his throat. He dipped his head further, his lips brushing over her hair, down her cheek, seeking her mouth. She let go of his waist and grasped his face on either side, her fingers sliding over his ears, her thumbs braced upon his cheekbones, and sank into his kiss. It was the most direct and forceful she had ever been. I do nay want to endure. He savored her sweetness. He didn’t want to go through life, knowing he could never have her. What was her trick to shutting off? Keeping the world and its unfairness from turning her heart black with poison? He needed to know. He had always been able to keep his feelings at bay. Until he had finally taken a chance and kissed her.
…
Teàrlach smelled foul with sweat from his hasty excursion, his collar and hair damp, Madeline thought, and he tasted like the dregs of a whisky barrel as his tongue shoved with less than stellar finesse into her mouth. He tasted like he had tried to drown himself all day in spirits. And right now, he wasn’t seducing, she realized. He was desperate, and the desperation only made her worry further. It felt a lot like a man who was partaking of his last savory meal before his execution. Something told her he intended for this to be his final visit. This strong, stone pillar of a man was confessing his heart, sharing his heartache, and was going to depart for good.
She didn’t need to be an experienced woman to know what good-bye felt like.
Her rational mind told her it was for the best, but her heart told her mind to be silent. She gripped his face, clinging to the final taste of him. Her tears from the day had stopped hours before. She had finally gotten her composure, only for Teàrlach to show up in the dead of night and rip the raw hole in her chest wide open again. Normally, she would never carry on so about anything. She would dig deep within to find her agreeable, quiet facade. But then again, she had never allowed her emotions to run wild before. It had taken all afternoon to find the resolve she had always lived by at Castle Ayr. Teàrlach MacGregor had done a successful job of chipping through her resolve. Nay, she would never find her resolve again. It had crumbled with each joyous visit of the man she loved.
God above, she didn’t want to marry John. She was simply a pawn to be moved about in a man’s game of contractual chess. It made her angrier than she had ever allowed herself to be. Still, there was nothing to be done. But now, knowing what love felt like, she knew she would never love another. Ever. Teàrlach had pulled her heart from her chest, and he could keep it. It wasn’t John’s heart and would never be.
And then the inevitable words came, the ones she could feel as he made ferocious sweeps of her mouth with his tongue, words she had hoped to never hear. He pulled away abruptly, suddenly dropping to his knee, collapsing beneath the weight of the world. He brought her hand to his forehead.
“I…” He swallowed and forced the words over his tongue. “I can nay come see ye again, Maddie.”
She stood in shock at the severance of his kiss.
“I know Laird Moreville’s visit was unexpected. I did nay know of the plan until this morn,” he continued. “I wish I could have warned you.”
“It wouldn’t have lessened the surprise any,” she countered, her words monotone. She caressed his cheek with her other hand, feeling his unshaven stubble prickle her skin. She would miss the feel of him and took several minutes to trace over his features, memorizing each contour. “I’ll nay look for you Friday next,” she remarked. “I knew this, us, couldn’t continue.”
He looked up at her, pain in his eyes worrying her that he might cry. He didn’t, but his eyes glistened. Thank goodness, for she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle a man of his stature shedding tears over her. She had never been important, least not to her father, clearly not to Laird Moreville, and though the king had given her a modest purse to live by, apparently she had only been given pennies, and therefore King William hadn’t found her to be overly important, either. Only her sister, Mariel, had worried for her, as older sisters did. And now Teàrlach.
“Maddie, I want to, believe me when I say I want to usurp all involved and carry you away from here, elope with you, ruin my repute and more. But I know in reality, ’tis impossible. And…dammit, my heart…” His words were so thick. He paused in his speech and his throat bobbed. He pounded a fist upon his chest. “It hurts like hell…I do nay think I can handle seeing you again, knowing what’s to come.”
She nodded, bringing her hand to her mouth, the tears she had staunched earlier threatening to cascade over her eyelids.
…
“Do nay cry, lass. I beg you nay. You’ll…” God be damned, the blasted thickness in his throat was making him difficult to understand. “You’ll live a-a good life. Have faith.”
What a terrible lie, he told himself. It sounded like the lie it was, too, and the incredulous stare in her eyes told him she knew the lie to be what it was: a sorry attempt to assuage her heartache.
He rose back to standing and scooped her into his arms, cradling her. He carried her down the stairs, through the darkness, to her bedchamber door. Pushing through, he walked to her bed, nearly stumbling against it in the darkness. He remembered carrying her here that first night, catching a glimpse of her bare arms. It had been such a treat, the most of her he had ever seen. He would remember every bloody minute with her for the rest of his days. And he wasn’t so sure he could ever allow a tavern whore, or any woman, for that matter, to take care of his needs again. They wouldn’t be able to. He needed her, and if they weren’t her, they wouldn’t satisfy a damn thing. He wanted the dream, the life in the Highland country, sheep in his fields, his estate nestled into a cliffside, his bairns running around his wife’s feet, his wife in his arms every night. A tavern whore was a far cry from his Maddie.
He laid her upon the bed, draping her tartan over her like a blanket, and moved around her bed to the window to throw her shutters wide so the sky could be seen. Eventually, the clouds would clear, and the stars would be bright. Then without invitation, he curled up beside her. His arm draped around her, his hand grazing up to cup her breast—his chest, lap, and thighs pressed to her back, rear, and legs through the layer of the blanket and her layers of gown and underskirts, and his sweat-soaked surcoat.
He didn’t kiss her again, didn’t caress, didn’t give gentle thrusts of his hips to satisfy his desire for her as they kissed and made love with their mouths. He clenched her. Hard. His breath ruffling her hair against her ear. His heart screamed at him to elope with her. Nay. His heart bled. Because as she turned to look at him, her desperation mirrored his.
He felt her clench his arm clenching her. How could this possibly be their last moment together? The injustice was unreal. But slowly, surely, as he had intended, she began to relax, to drift, to fade into that liminal state of not quite sleep, not quite lucid, and then she drifted off completely.
…
When Madeline woke the next morning, early sunlight was filling her chamber. Her bed was empty. Teàrlach was gone, and she vaguely remembered the words, “good-bye, my love,” caressing her ear in a dream-like whisper. She rolled over. Sat up. Placed a hand upon the emptiness beside her, and noted upon her bed stand a lock of dark brown hair, a curl. She reached out, picked it up, inspected it, and brought it to her nose to smell. It smelled of Teàrlach. Tears threatened anew, and she scolded herself to get control. But her hands were shaking as she pulled her long braid from around her back and lifted the tip in her hand, inspecting it in the candlelight. An obvious cut had been made to the ends of a clump of hair. They rested in a severed, even edge.
He had given her a lock and taken a lock from her, too. A final good-bye. And she failed her next attempt to stifle her tears. He was gone. She would never feel the beat of her heart again. He had taken it with him. Nothing had ever felt so desolate.
…
Henry de Moreville made an entry into his ledger book as the messenger from Edinburgh departed. Dipping his quill into his inkwell, he made note of the twenty-pound intake, and set aside the ledger to dry on its own accord. A fortnight had passed. This was the king’s final disbursement for Madeline Crawford, and today was the day the lady departed for Edinburgh. Soon, he and John would own her dowry coin as well as dowry lands, a parcel near the coast previously owned by her father, Harold Crawford, and then, when all was said and done, he would have an alliance with Crawford. King William would be surprised indeed to learn of what was brewing right beneath his very nose, he thought, as he took out the other, more secretive missive accompanying the purse.
As he rose to burn it like he had the others, however, Gertrude knocked on the door.
“Ah, just in time.” Moreville smiled, refolding the parchment and tucking it into the ledger book, shutting it. “Come sit. You’re about to see your Highlander squirm. Indeed, I think forcing him to endure Lady Madeline’s betrothal has been a better punishment than sending him packing.”
Gertrude smiled, taking the seat beside him to assist her father like she did from time to time, stacking parchments from various businesses together and sliding them into the proper portfolios.
A knock caught them off guard. Moreville looked up. Teàrlach MacGregor stood in the doorway to his solar, decked in practice gear. And as Gertrude looked up, Teàrlach’s eyes snaked to her. His stare hid none of his animosity.
“Ah, do come in,” the laird gushed, grinning. “I knew you were busy training for the day and expected you not to come so soon.”
…
Teàrlach had been gray-faced for the whole of a fortnight. Surviving Friday past without visiting Madeline had been torture. Instead, he had spent his day off riding in the countryside, giving King the workout he didn’t get milling about the pasture, and simultaneously trying to beat out the pain in his heart with the horse’s rhythmic pounding. And he had thrown himself into his work. There was no doubt that he was the first one up and the last one to sleep. Working consumed him. Because when he was alone, idle, and trying to sleep, was when his pain became the worst, his mind a whirlpool of memories. Best to lie down for bed when he was so worn out, he did nothing but pass out.
“You look awful, man. Are you well?” the laird asked.
Teàrlach’s eyes sliced back to him from Gertrude who sat smugly beside her father, eyeing Teàrlach with contempt that spoke of gloating. It caused his hair to prickle. Something was amiss. She had been sure to avoid him ever since he had made an example out of her, and he had naively assumed that she’d used common sense. But the slight lift of her mouth, as if she wished to smile, told him she knew something she shouldn’t.
And Moreville’s question had no doubt been asked for a reason. Moreville knew he cared about Madeline, ’twas no secret. Moreville clearly suspected something betwixt him and the lass. With her marriage on the near horizon, of course Teàrlach was feeling sick.
“Never better,” he replied, folding his arms, taking a wide-legged stance.
“Have a seat, man. I have a request to make of you.”
“I’ll stand,” Teàrlach replied curtly. “If you don’t mind,” he amended. “I’ve got much to do and can ill-afford to relax.”
“Suit yourself,” Moreville replied.
The man pushed his ledger beneath a stack of portfolios. Teàrlach watched it. He needed to get his hands on it. If Moreville was appropriating Madeline’s funds while he, Teàrlach, paid out his weekly earnings to bring her badly needed supplies, there was no telling who else he was swindling.
“My son goes to Edinburgh this sennight to wed Lady Madeline and fulfill his part of the contract. And I’m too busy here to be bothered with the lady. Therefore…” He placed his fingers together as he rested his elbows on his desk, his eyes dancing. Teàrlach glanced between him and his daughter again, knowing his brows were furrowed. “…I’m tasking you with delivering Madeline to the king’s court in Edinburgh. To, let’s say, see her to the altar.”
Teàrlach simply watched him, even if his heart did admittedly do a skip at the thought of seeing her again.
“What say you?” Moreville asked.
“I’m sorry to decline the task, but nay. I’ve much work to do here. Your men are skilled at hand-to-hand fighting, but their cavalry skills are sorely lacking. Have you no other guardsmen lined up to tend to the task?”
“Originally, I had planned on asking Duncan. He seemed to take a liking to her a fortnight ago. I suppose I’ll order him to transport her, since you won’t. But I do worry about his ability to keep himself from trifling with her,” Moreville replied with resignation, leaning back and smoothing his beard, his eyes flitting to Teàrlach. “I thought to ask you, because a man like you…well, you’re no doubt honorable.”
Teàrlach felt like laughing. And in the same moment, he felt like punching Moreville right in his smirking jaw. And bollocks to Gertrude. He hoped to never see her again after he quit his employ. It was as if father and daughter were conspiring. What a cruel thing to ask: deliver the woman he cared for to her marriage to someone else.
“Shall I have Duncan do the honors?” Moreville persisted, tapping his fingers on the desk as he eyed him.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Teàrlach ground out. And Moreville’s satisfied smile told him he had known Teàrlach would cave. He had been right. Duncan had loved his short stint touching Maddie, and a sennight of travel wouldn’t bode well for her. And it made him hate Moreville that much more, that the man would put Madeline’s chastity at stake simply to crawl under his skin. He tried hard not to narrow his eyes and show his full hatred. “When do I leave?”
“Now,” Moreville smiled agreeably. “A cart is prepared to collect the lady and her trunks. You need simply hitch your horse to it.”
Again, Teàrlach wanted to laugh. Madeline hardly had a thing to her name. Everything he’d bought her was utilitarian: supplies, food stuffs, and such. None of it would be traveling with her. She would be lucky to fill one single trunk. But damn it all if Moreville wasn’t a conniving bastard. Leave today? He couldn’t bother to arrange this before? Say, at least a month in advance? It just reminded him further how much of an afterthought Maddie was to the laird.
But if he was going to be sent on such a task, he needed to smuggle out his own belongings. He sure as hell wasn’t returning to Moreville’s service after such a journey. He would be leaving for good and needed all his necessities on his person. He would drop Lady Madeline Crawford in Edinburgh into the care of Queen Ermengarde’s ladies, gain a royal audience, deliver Moreville’s ledger, and then he would go home to the Highlands, stock up, leave for Ireland, and evaluate whether or not his heart could be put back together.
After a moment of eyeing each other, Teàrlach ignored the vicious smile consuming Gertrude’s lips and gave his stiff nod. He walked a step backward, then another, turning to leave in a fluid movement, not removing his eyes from Moreville’s until it was necessary. Striding down the corridor, he descended into the hall. His mind raced. Madeline. He was being sent back to her, after trying so hard to sever his heartstrings. She had been all he could think about, and now, her name was the only thing he thought. He marched out the front doors, down the steps, into the bailey, and encountered Duncan discussing the day’s plan with a cluster of men in chain mail.
“Good morn, man,” Duncan greeted him with a grin. “Ready to go to the training grounds?”
“Change of plans,” Teàrlach grumbled.
Duncan furrowed his brow at Teàrlach’s scowl, but moved aside at Teàrlach’s gesture.
“What is it, man?” Duncan asked.
“I’m being sent on an errand, so I’m leaving you in charge,” Teàrlach stated.
Duncan groaned. “Ah, being in charge is nay my favorite position.”
“Aye, your favorite position involves Clara,” Teàrlach jabbed, attempting to sound humorous, normal, anything other than what he was feeling.
Duncan waggled his eyebrows. “And do I nay know it. What sort of errand do you fulfill?”
Teàrlach’s frown deepened. “I escort Lady Madeline Crawford from Dungarnock to Edinburgh Castle.”
Duncan’s face twisted into a sly smile. “You lucky bastard…” he remarked. “She is a fetching one.”
“Aye,” Teàrlach said, staying the urge to tell Duncan to fok off. “I’ll be back in a fortnight. Travel will be slow considering I’ll be driving a cart as well as the lady.”
Duncan nodded. And if Teàrlach was going to get his hands on that ledger, no one could suspect him of doing so. This was where his best skills came into use.
“I’ll watch over this flock of chain mail until your return then,” Duncan jested.
“Good.” Teàrlach nodded. “I’ll gather some traveling effects. See to it my door remains secure whilst I’m away. I’ve got a few valuables that needn’t take the trip with me.”
Duncan nodded and Teàrlach maneuvered around him, marching to his door and doing a quick survey of his possessions. He would take his chain mail, sword, and several daggers. Within his pack, he would take his plaid, more daggers, and a couple flasks of whisky, in addition to personal sundries.
His eyes then landed upon a purse, a crude sack made of fabric scraps and barely big enough for smelling salts sitting upon his desk. It was tied with a blue kerchief. Madeline’s favors. Madeline’s hair. He had never intended to give the kerchief back. The pouch and kerchief were the most valuable items he owned. He picked them up and rubbed the kerchief between his finger and his thumb, his piece of Maddie to keep, and tied a string around the pouch so he might wear it like a necklace.
He left his gray surcoat and selected the blue one for guardsmen denoting the Moreville family crest. He also left an extra comb on the bed stand. For effect, he blew his nose into a wadded kerchief and tossed it beside the comb, and on his desk, he left a few leaves of parchment and his inkwell, valuable items to be sure and not something that would typically get abandoned.
He donned his chain mail next, sliding his padded gambeson over his head, fishing his arms through the sleeves, and tying it closed. He pulled his thigh padding and greaves over his legs, securing the fastenings, and stepped into his chain mail chausses. Afterward, he laid out the chain mail habergeon upon the bed and slid his arms inside, weaving them within to find the arm holes and lifting the weighted contraption over his head encased in his hood yoked around his shoulders. He would carry his helmet. The blasted thing felt like an oven for one’s face, especially during a sunny day, and he wore it only when necessary.
Once his surcoat was draped over him and his sword belts secured, he dragged up his pack and departed across the yard to see what the open-aired cart intended to be Madeline’s wedding carriage contained. Probably no food or supplies whatsoever, except for a modest sack. He was right. A few blankets for ground sleeping and a sack of breads and cheese sat on the empty planks. He bit back the curse he wanted to mutter aloud. Mind your tongue, man, you leave this place once and for all. The cart was nicer than the previous one, however. It had a driver’s bench. At least King wouldn’t have to carry him and haul the cart at the same time.
After calling for his horse and full tack to be brought forth, he tossed his saddle and blankets into the cart, hitched King, calming the beast who wanted nothing more than to thrash his disapproval by grabbing his bridle on both sides and stroking his cheeks. Then he climbed onto the seat of the cart and gave King’s rump a slap of the reins. The cart lurched forward, unsteady at first, until King finally relaxed into a rhythm.
Madeline. Now, alone with his thoughts, heading for Dungarnock, his heart raced with thoughts of her, how she might react seeing him again, how she might cry more when he left her once again. His mind spiraled with ideas of how in the hell he was going to steal Moreville’s coveted ledger book without anyone being the wiser. If he could never wed the lass, he would at least see her vindicated.