Chapter Nineteen
Padriag MacGregor stood upon the outer curtain wall of Domhnall Castle, watching as a tiny woman, a mere speck on the horizon, climbed the mountain path. Flowing blonde hair was the only distinguishing feature he could see from his vantage. He adjusted his MacGregor plaid over his shoulder, the relentless wind of the Highlands ruffling his dark curls, and turned away, striding along the wall with his brothers Rabbie and Seamus.
“Mount up. Let’s go see what the waif wants,” Padraig directed.
“Probably a hot meal,” Rabbie suggested. “Seems out of place, a woman on a nag ascending to our gates. Hope nothing is the matter in the village.”
Padraig nodded, though he couldn’t recall ever seeing a single woman with hair as long as hers, like that of a noble woman from the Christianized Lowlands. They moved down the stone steps into the yard, traversing the dirt as other clansmen and a washerwoman cut across their path. Arriving at the stables, three horses were saddled. The three brothers mounted and rode through the heavy portcullis, trotting down the path to meet her.
She came closer, and soon, it became apparent that she wasn’t riding so much as she was laying upon the animal’s neck. She looked pale, despite her sunburn, thin, her hair in sore need of combing, and her gown seemed loose upon her. And though she seemed proficient with the reins, she hardly seemed expert.
…
Madeline looked up at the men approaching and scrutinized their curling hair of varying lengths, all dark. And their eyes…all three had dark eyes. The man in the lead looked to be the one in charge by the brooch at his shoulder, in a red great kilt, billowing tunic, and woolen boots laced up his legs. The others were kilted, too, one, with hair shorn along the sides wearing his tartan like a mantle over his shoulders. As he came closer, she noticed his forearms and neck were decorated with scarified patterns. All the men seemed to share similar features to Teàrlach’s. Pray she had found her destination. It had been a month since she had left Dungarnock, and she had lost count of the days.
She was so tired and had begun throwing up at times. Food, mainly bread and some dried fruits, had sustained her thus far, and just the thought of that sounded repulsive.
“Pray tell, woman, what brings ye to our threshold?” greeted the man in charge, his voice deep and rich. And his words carried a heavy accent, heavier than Teàrlach’s. All three were armed, claymores strapped across their backs, sgian dubhs protruding from their boots. They didn’t seem to think her a particular threat, though the man’s words were guarded. “Ye look as if ye’ve journeyed far.”
“I have, my laird,” she replied, her words sounding distant in her ears. “I live at Dungarnock.” The words didn’t seem to mean anything in particular to the Highlanders before her. Dungarnock was small and inconsequential, and most outlanders probably wouldn’t know of it. “I come in search of a man. Is this Domhnall Castle?”
They were indeed MacGregors, she could tell, even if she had the wrong stronghold, for they all donned Teàrlach’s tartan, a tartan she had lain beneath… She shook her head. She couldn’t think of those sweet nights. They only made her miss him with more urgency.
The man in the lead nodded, glancing sidelong at his brothers. “Indeed, I’m Laird MacGregor, Padraig, by name, and these are my brothers, Rabbie,” he said, pointing to the man whose head was shorn on each side, “and Seamus.” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the other, his hair cropped short except for a braid hanging over his ear.
They were Highlanders, stately, aye, but tribal. Besides, she recognized their names. These were Teàrlach’s older brothers. Despite whatever illness ailed her, her heart began to beat faster. She had made it. Pray, oh please pray he’s here among them!
“What be yer business with Clan Gregor, miss?”
She swallowed, gazing up at the feat of architecture that had perched the castle upon the side of a cliff, the mountain looming behind it as if carpeted in green lichen, devoid of trees and painted upon a backdrop of layered clouds. She glanced at Seamus, his hands lying one atop the other on his saddle pommel, Rabbie, whose arms were folded, forcing his thick biceps to bulge further, and Padraig, who seemed kindly enough, if not wary.
“My name is Lady Madeline Crawford and I search—”
“As in the Beast of Ayr? That Crawford?” Rabbie piped up, his eyes stern and mouth firm, like Teàrlach.
“Indeed, I’m nay fond of the title, but aye,” she replied, bowing her head. “He’s my faither.”
She felt suddenly dizzy, as if she needed water, and clenched the poor horse’s mane to steady herself. ’Twas silly, for she had already drained an entire flask just that day and refilled it in a stream not long ago. Whatever illness ailed her, it had given her incredible thirst. Yet now she sweat, spots dotting her vision.
“Lady Crawford?” Padraig repeated, his brow furrowing. “Why have you traveled so far from home alone?”
She blinked, clenching her eyes, trying to push the dizziness away. “I search for Teàrlach MacGregor. Pray tell he’s here?”
His brothers shot looks at one another. The laird turned back to her. “Nay, milady. He came ’round to see us, oh, some sennights ago. ’Twas the first time we had seen him in years. Only stayed a couple days.”
She began shaking her head. But after such a long journey, fraught with mix-ups and nights alone in a countryside full of eerie noises, overcoming her fear of riding so she might cover more ground upon the nag, she had put her last shred of faith in the thought he would be here. Her eyes bubbled anew. Before she knew it, she was succumbing to her dizziness. She lost her sense of balance, her vision fading, and she tipped sideways off her horse.
…
Rabbie lunged forth and caught her as she fell.
“Be damned…” grumbled Rabbie, hauling the lass off the horse and dragging her onto his lap. Her head lolled. It was clear to all of them, that beneath her travel grime, she was a beauty. Her looks were gentle, even, her lips full, and her nose and cheeks freckled. “What the hell has Eejit gotten himself into?”
Padraig grabbed her nag’s bridle, a contraption made of twine, fishing for the reins. “Who bloody knows? He looked like shite if I ever saw it. Hardly the man we’ve always known.”
“He did nay have much to say at all this visit,” Seamus added.
“Ride ahead and tell yer wife to send for the healer. Have a chamber dressed for the lass. When she wakes, we need to get to the bottom of this,” Padraig ordered Seamus.
Seamus turned his horse and galloped back up the winding path to the portcullis, clansmen on guard watching them with interest.
“It didna’ sit well with me, where he said he was going,” Padraig remarked thoughtfully as Rabbie adjusted the lass in his arms.
“Me neither. Bloody Ireland? He’s just searching for a battle. What do ye think the lass wants with him?” Rabbie asked, nodding his head toward Madeline in his arms.
Padraig shrugged. “Mayhap he swived her and left her. He did work for the Sheriff of Ayr a long time ago. Mayhap this has something to do with her faither. Who the hell knows?” he scoffed on an exhale. “’Tis unlike Teàrlach to create a scandal.”
“Aye, Teàrlach does nay ‘swive,’ Brother,” Rabbie said as they began climbing back up to the stronghold. “The man’s a careful sort, always has been.”
“Ye’re probably correct on that account,” Padraig conceded. “My guess is she needs him for some issue. Let’s get her well. Then I can question her.”
Rabbie looked down at the lass, a fair specimen. She felt soft, even if she was thin. And as he examined her, he heard a niggling voice tell him that Teàrlach might have feelings for her. Mayhap he had broken her heart. Mayhap she had broken his heart, and he had run off to Ireland to lick his wounds.
…
Madeline woke to warm surroundings. Her bed was soft, the Highland woolen blanket finely combed.
“Ye’re awake, milady,” came the soft voice of a woman.
She rolled her head to the side and noticed a healer, an old lady with a scarf holding back her silver hair. The chamber beyond the woman was fine, even if the dark stones weren’t plastered. Her shutters were closed. A hearth at the foot of the bed burned, the upland peat bricks giving off a sharp odor she had never smelled before. The chamber was small, making the two MacGregor brothers who stood to one wall, discussing a matter in hushed tones, seem that much larger.
Rabbie and Padraig. She remembered them now. Rabbie was the feral-looking one, his skin scarified and head shaved over each ear so that his hair was pulled back along the ridge of his head, tied at the nape into a thick plait. He wore wrist guards, woven shut with leather lacings halfway up his arm, was bearded, and he was just as broad as Teàrlach. Padraig was a touch shorter and tamer in appearance, though the difference in height was so negligible it mattered nay.
The men turned. Padraig’s lips turned up. It wasn’t a smile, but it gentled his features nonetheless. Rabbie’s face remained stern, much like Teàrlach’s face, his brow robust and his eyes assessing everything. He watched her intently, his eyes flitting over her involuntarily, probably unconsciously.
“I’ll ask yer lairdship to give me a moment of privacy with the lass,” the healer said to Padraig.
He and Rabbie nodded and exited.
“There, now that the men are gone, tell me, Lady, what have you endured?” the healer asked, pulling up the stool beside her.
“I came in search of Teàrlach. Though I’m told he is nay here,” she replied, as a cup of broth was placed in her hands.
The healer took up a comb and began working the ends of Madeline’s hair. “Nay. He came home, but that was more than a month ago. Left promptly again. Why do you search for him?”
Madeline swallowed, looking at the broth. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to drink. Her stomach felt rebellious again. She didn’t know how to answer.
“Milady?” prompted the woman.
“Did…did he say where he was going?” she hedged.
“He talked with his brothers, though I was nay made aware of their discussions. Why do ye seek him?”
Madeline kept her eyes on the broth, her burning cheeks giving away the old woman’s suspicion. The woman paused combing, then set aside the instrument and placed a hand on Madeline’s shoulders. “Have you fallen for him? Mayhap hope to convince him to care for ye in return?”
Madeline gulped and shook her head. Her words only trickled out, barely audible. “He begged me to elope with him, and, and I refused.”
“He begged you?” the woman asked, surprised. “Teàrlach’s never been one to beg. In sooth, he’s always been the quietest and most calculated of the MacGregor lads, men I delivered as bairns and nursed as well. Why did ye refuse him?”
Madeline finally looked up. “I was contracted for marriage to John de Moreville. I was a ward of King William’s. I…” She shook her head. “I was afraid to defy the king, but I’ve been released of my contract.”
She went on to explain, knowing at first her words seemed out of order. The woman’s kindly nods told her that if she didn’t believe the story, she was at least polite.
“But I begged the king upon my ceremony to spare me from the marriage. I was desperate. Teàrlach had already left Edinburgh, but we all thought he had returned to Glengarnock to resume his post. He never came back,” Madeline finished. “I had hoped to tell him that I hadn’t married. So I came in search.”
“My, my,” replied the healer, clicking her tongue. “’Twas an arduous journey ye embarked upon, coming all the way here.”
“I’m sure a better traveler would have completed the trek quickly,” Madeline replied. “I knew nay the route to take and relied on the kindness of strangers for much of it. But it was in vain. I should return home.”
Home. The word sounded empty.
The healer smiled sympathetically. “Have ye been well on yer journey?” she asked, resuming combing her hair.
“I’ve taken ill, though I feel much better right now. I’m sure it was just exhaustion. I’ve never done something so foolish in my life,” Madeline admitted. “’Twas a daft thing to do.”
The woman shook her head, chuckling. “Love can blind a person to their good sense. And it’s clear to me ye love our Teàrlach. Your illness…can you describe it?”
“Perpetual sickness. Even when I’m nay vomiting, the feeling lingers in my gut.”
“And are ye tired, lass?”
Of course I am. She had just journeyed for a month, much of it on foot, until a benevolent crofter had offered her the nag. By then, she had been so exhausted she was too tired to be afraid of the saddle.
“Aye, but I’ve traveled far.”
“May I feel your stomach, lass?” she asked.
Madeline nodded and allowed her bodice and corsets to be removed so she sat in nothing but her chemise and skirts unfastened around her waist. The healer laid her back while she handed over the untouched broth.
“I need to ask ye if ye’re untouched, child.”
Madeline froze upon the healer’s words. She couldn’t admit that she was impure. She couldn’t confirm the suggestion. What little reputation she had would be ruined. “I…eh, I am.” Her whisper sounded like the lie it was.
The woman leveled a knowing look upon her, and she finally admitted that she was no longer a maiden, sitting up again and looking down.
“Who claimed yer virginity?” asked the healer, her words still warm and kind. “A lover?”
Forcing the words over her lips, Madeline swallowed and nodded. “Teàrlach.”
Keeping her face impassive, the old woman resumed combing her hair. “And have ye had yer womanly courses, milady?” she finally asked.
Come to think of it, Madeline hadn’t had them in more than two months. She had been due for such courses not long after visiting Edinburgh. But they had never come, and they had been the farthest thing from her mind. A hand migrated over her mouth while the other rested upon her stomach.
“How long has it been since ye bedded with Teàrlach?”
The woman kept combing Madeline’s hair, no doubt acting gentle to keep Madeline from losing her sanity.
“About a month and a half ago,” Madeline whispered.
“And did he seed ye?”
God, oh God, she began to pray. Had he? Was it possible that she carried Teàrlach MacGregor’s bastard? How could it be possible having only lain with the man during the course of one sennight?
Madeline’s horrified expression and reddening eyes told the midwife all was as she had expected. “I’ve been a midwife for nigh forty years, mind, and if it’s as ye say, then ye carry Teàrlach’s son or daughter.”
She felt the illness coming on again. Both hands flew over her mouth as her stomach rebelled. The midwife scurried to the door, lifted the chamber pot, and brought it back just in time.
“What am I to do?” she cried as the heaving subsided. She threw her face in her hands, her mind reeling. “I have to go home. I’m sorry I came. Please…please mention it to naybody. I ask for nothing…I…I just have to go.”
Madeline began to push away the blankets, reaching for her bodice again, when she felt the midwife grasp her shoulders.
“Now, ye listen here, lass. Ye’re in no condition to make such a trek so soon. Rest back. Let your queasiness settle. Try to eat, for the babe needs nourishing to grow strong. I’ll brew a drink to help soothe yer stomach.”