Reckless by Hannah Howell

14

As he had for far too many nights since his wounds had healed, Alexander stood upon the battlements of Rathmor, his gaze aimed toward Leargan. He ached to besiege the keep and wrest Ailis from her uncle’s hold. Unfortunately, the late spring weather refused to accommodate his wants. The recent rains and the imminent threat of more made a direct, heavy attack impossible for the moment. A full attack on a well-defended keep was a dangerous, difficult task. In the adverse conditions they faced now it would be nearly suicide.

For himself, Alexander cared little and would have chanced it. But he could not order his men, some still barely recovered from his rescue, on such a foolhardy venture. It would simply be a waste of lives, and no matter what she was suffering, Ailis would not expect that. She would probably be appalled if he spent even one life in an attempt to save her. Necessity and the need to consider others had forced him to wait, made him bow to common sense, but he did not like it.

The thought of all that could be happening to Ailis, and all that had happened, made Alexander clench his fists in helpless rage. Was the child she carried still safe? Had she been forced into MacCordy’s bed despite the fact that she was with child? Had the handfast marriage they had proclaimed in their moment of desperation been honored or had it been ignored despite the fact that several dozen MacCordys had witnessed it? Was Ailis now wed to MacCordy by a priest? Was she even alive?

Alexander shunned that last question almost as it was forming in his mind. Although he usually scorned such things, he could not help but feel that he would know, would somehow sense that Ailis’s life had ended. Despite his efforts to hold her at a distance, they had become intertwined in so many ways that he was certain something would occur inside of him if she died, whether he was there to witness such a tragedy with his own eyes or not. He had fought it tooth and nail, but he had to accept that it was true, that she had somehow become that great a part of him. A light touch on his arm took him out of his dark thoughts, and he looked down into the sweet, solemn face of a nightgowned Sibeal.

“Ye should be abed, lass,” he scolded in a gentle voice, pushing aside his own grief and fear for the child’s sake. He certainly did not want to add to what the little girl already suffered.

“She will come back, Uncle,” Sibeal said as Alexander lifted her up into his arms. “Aunt Ailis will come back to us.”

“I hope ye are right, sweeting.” He headed back inside of the keep, afraid that the damp, cool night air could harm the child.

Sibeal slipped her arms about his neck and said with complete confidence, “I am right. I had one of my dreams, ye ken. It told me she was coming.”

It was not unusual for a child to make up tales or to set too much trust in a dream. Considering what everyone believed about little Sibeal, Alexander knew she was probably more susceptible than most children. He paused in mounting the stairs to her bedchamber. After a moment’s thought, he sat down on the steps with Sibeal in his lap. He felt he ought to talk to the child, for such delusions, if left unchecked, could bring her great harm. He told himself, sternly, not to allow her words to lift his hopes. To prevent the child from nurturing false hope was another reason to talk to her.

“Ye think I am a silly bairn,” Sibeal murmured, staring up at Alexander.

“Mayhaps misled.”

“Aunt said that folk would think me silly or might think bad things about me like I am a witch. So I dinna talk about it much. But I had a bad dream about her yestereve, and this night I had a good one. Do ye want to hear?”

“Aye, all right, Sibeal. I will listen. Yet that doesna mean that I believe in all of this or will think your dream means anything.” He hoped that by listening to her dream he would lessen the importance she had given it and ease his own superstitious fears about her reputed skills.

“The bad dream made me cry even though I kenned that it didna mean Aunt Ailis was dead.”

“What did ye see, child?”

“ ‘Twas all dark. I could see naught but shadows and a wee bit of her face. There was a big shadow bending over her, but it wasna a bad shadow. Aunt Ailis was hurting, but I dinna think anyone was hurting her. ‘Twas a hurt from inside her. She was afraid, but it wasna because of the hurting.”

“What was she afraid of, sweeting?” he pressed when she frowned and grew silent for a moment.

“Something outside.” She frowned even more. “Aye, the bad thing was near, but it wasna there, and the hurt was inside of her.” She shrugged and looked at Alexander. “Aunt Ailis says I will be better at telling as I get bigger and ken more words.”

“ ‘Tis the bairn. Ailis was having the bairn.”

Alexander was startled by Barra’s words, for he had not realized that his brother had approached him. He had been so intent upon what Sibeal was telling him that he suspected an entire army could have come up behind him. It was taking all of his willpower and concentration to fight the allure of belief. The lack of any skepticism in Barra’s expression of interest as he sat next to them forced Alexander to seek some means of protest. He had accepted a great deal since Ailis and Barra’s children had come to Rathmor, but there were some things he could not, and would not, abide. Sibeal’s skill had to be simply a little girl’s fancy.

“Now, Barra,” he said with a frown for his brother, “ye shouldna encourage the child in all of this. And I thought ye had sought your bed hours ago.”

Barra nodded. “Aye, I had, but I woke. I felt the need to go and check on Sibeal. She had sought my bed yestereve, and I had feared that she might suffer another frightening dream. Is that what happened tonight?”

“Nay, Papa.” Sibeal moved to sit on Barra’s lap. “I had a good one tonight. Last night was a bad one. I dinna have bad ones often, but they can scare me when they come.”

Barra touched a kiss to her scarlet curls and murmured, “Ailis had warned me.”

His agitation clear to hear in his voice, Alexander demanded, “Are ye truly believing that these dreams mean something?”

“Ye saw the proof of that with the puppies.”

“I saw luck.”

“Come, ye canna tell me that ye think the dream Sibeal just spoke of is a common one for a wee child.”

There was no answer he could make, so Alexander fell silent. The sight was a skill much believed in. When he was a beardless boy, there had been a few old women who had professed to having it, and one had proved her claim often enough. He had not liked it then, and he liked it even less now. If he did not understand something, he grew very unsettled, and he had little liking for the feeling. It was appalling to have a cause of that detested feeling within the walls of his keep. Despite all of that, he could not discard her words as nonsense. Barra was completely right in saying that it was an unusual dream for a child, and that gave the claim of Sibeal having the sight a credence he did not really wish it to have.

“What was the good dream?” he asked the little girl, unable to keep his reluctance and inner confusion out of his voice.

“The good dream is why I sought ye out,” Sibeal replied. “Ye seemed so sad, Uncle Alex, that I thought ye would like to hear about some good things.”

“Aye, lassie, I would.” He felt honestly touched by her concern for him.

“Well, Aunt Ailis wasna in the dark anymore, and her hurting had gone away. I couldna see anything clear, but I ken that she was outside now. She was just walking and walking and walking. Jaime was with her. I could see him. They were both looking right at me as they walked and walked. That means that she is coming back to Rathmor.”

“If I could believe in such things as dreams and visions—aye—I would say that it meant exactly that. However, I dare not let myself believe, not with all my heart.”

Sibeal nodded. The expression on her little face became very solemn. “Aunt Ailis believes, but she says she doesna like to.”

“Well, even if I did believe in it all, I canna send my men out riding over the countryside in this weather. Not with the MacFarlanes and the MacCordys hot for our blood and not upon the account of the dreams of a wee lass,” Alexander explained as kindly as he could. “My men would most likely think me the greatest of fools, even a madman.”

Again Sibeal nodded. “Aunt Ailis wouldna like ye telling folk about my dreams. She says they will make folk treat me as other than just a little lass.”

“Aunt Ailis is right, sweeting.” Barra set his daughter on her feet. “ ‘Tis best to keep such a thing secret. Many people just canna stop themselves from fearing it. Thank ye, lass, for sharing your dream with us. Now—to bed with ye. Do ye wish me to take ye up and tuck ye in?”

“Nay, Papa.” She kissed his cheek. “Good sleep.”

“Good sleep, lassie.”

“I need a drink,” Alexander grumbled as soon as Sibeal had gone, and he rose to stride into the great hall.

Barra followed Alexander and watched closely as his brother downed one tankard full of ale and refilled it before he sat down at the head table. In silence Barra filled his own tankard with hearty cider and joined his brother. Although he fervently wished that Sibeal did not possess her special gift, he was able to accept that a few chosen people were born with the sight. He also completely understood Alexander’s reluctance to accept it. Alexander was a man who strongly preferred facts and reasoning.

“Mairi’s grandmother truly had the sight? That Spanish lady—aye?”

“Aye, Alex. Ailis said that the woman often bemoaned it. According to Ailis, the old woman once said that the only good she could find in it was that it scared the blood right out of Colin.”

Alexander gave a weak laugh. “Ailis once told me that her grandmother detested Colin from the moment she met him. It seems she was a woman with some degree of discernment.”

“Alex, Sibeal isna a child to tell lies or wild tales wrought from imagination.” Barra spoke quietly and kept his gaze fixed upon Alexander’s drawn features. “In truth, ‘tis often too easy to forget just how young Sibeal is.”

“Ah, Barra, ye do ask a lot of me. Since Ailis and the bairns arrived at Rathmor, I have accepted the children, have I not? I have overcome my dislike of their MacFarlane blood. By Mary’s sweet tears, have I not seeded my own bairn in a MacFarlane womb, even handfasted myself to the wench? Must I now accept a niece who can see what will be, who dreams of what is to come? And if I do accept it, what can I do but sit here and wait for this”—he paused as he struggled for the right word—“prophecy to come about? There is naught I can do but wait, naught I can do to prove that the child’s dream is any more than a vision inspired by her own hopes. And, let us be reasonable. Am I to believe that Ailis has eluded the grip of her uncle and her betrothed and all of their men?”

“If any lass could do such a thing, our Ailis could. And if not Ailis, dinna forget Jaime.”

“Nay, I never forget that brute, but is Jaime still alive? Then, too, he is a touch on the simple side.”

“True, although I dinna think he is quite as slow as most believe. And he uses every wee bit of what wit he has when it means aiding Ailis. He may need her brains or the aid of another to get a plan of escape formed or to get them out of Leargan or Craigandubh, but once shown the how of it, there will be no stopping that young giant, even if he dies in the doing of it.”

“Ailis is far gone with our child. She could even be newly arisen from her childbed,” Alexander snapped. “ ‘Tis an impossibility.”

It was no secret to Barra that his brother was weighted down with the situation. Alexander’s fears and pain were clear to hear in his voice. Barra sympathized. He was beset with worry for Ailis. He just wished he had some idea of how deep Alexander’s feelings ran. Barra feared that Alexander himself had no clue as to the depth of his feelings. If Ailis was not carrying Alexander’s child, there was every chance that he might not be so concerned. It made it difficult to know what to say or do.

Barra took a deep breath to prepare himself, then said, “Aye, it may well look impossible, and if your bairn still lives—whether within or without of her belly—‘twould indeed be a very foolhardy thing for her to try and flee. However, neither of those things would stop that lass from trying if she got a chance, any chance at all.”

Alexander briefly closed his eyes as he struggled to push from his mind all thoughts of the hazards of such a venture. “Aye, the fool.”

“I willna argue that with ye, but ‘tis the fate of that bairn she carries that will prompt how the lass acts. Whatever she may think of ye, that bairn is hers. Ye ken as well as I how Ailis will protect her own. Whatever trouble there is between ye and her, she still kens that her child will be safer in your hands. If there is even the scent of a threat to her bairn, that lass would walk barefoot through hell and beyond to save it.”

“Sweet Jesu, she would, too.” Alexander groaned, his fear for Ailis and their child a bitter taste in his mouth. “I can only pray that there is someone at hand to talk some sense into the foolish lass.”

 

Malcolm glared at Ailis as he talked and paced the great hall. She calmly sat and waited for him to finish his scold so that she could get to bed. She knew she needed a lot of rest for the journey he was so arduously trying to talk her out of.

That his sane and unarguable remarks were being so totally if sweetly ignored put Malcolm into a sour temper. It was an emotional state not helped much by his very real fears for her. In her weakened condition, so newly arisen from her childbed, a hard journey such as she planned could easily kill her. She seemed to be stubbornly oblivious to the dangers she would be facing. Malcolm could not believe that she could be so blind or so stupid.

“Will ye heed me, woman?” he snapped. “This is sheer madness. If ye even reach Rathmor at all, ‘twill be only to fall stone dead at the gate.”

“Then Alexander can care for our son,” Ailis replied. “Malcolm, give it up. Ye canna change my mind.”

“I begin to question if ye even have a mind,” he grumbled as he sat down at the head of the table. “Just abide here for a few days longer.”

“Nay. That would be to sorely tempt fate. The bairn cries very little, but he does cry.” She smiled faintly. “I would be sorely worried if he didna. Yet his crying may have already reached ears better left deaf to the sound. Donald or Duncan may come back at any moment. Can ye promise me that no one here will betray me?” She could see by the expression on his face that he could not. “Ye ken how close our escape was. Then, too, one must consider the season of the year. If I stay here much longer, I shall be caught in yet another tempest. Or, worse, I could be caught out when many a man is abroad. That is certainly a danger I wish to avoid.”

The truth of her reasoning could not be argued with, either, but Malcolm sorely wished it could be. He saw her venture as nothing short of suicide, yet the danger in staying or in continuing to wait was also real. Even if he could find the words to deny that, Ailis had the sense to know that he was lying. In truth the girl was completely encircled, feeling a threat whichever way she turned. He inwardly grimaced, for he knew he was one of those threats, even if a more obtuse one. An innate sense of honor told him to void the promise he had extracted from her, but his body would not allow it.

Ailis watched Malcolm scowl in thought and contemplated the promise she had given him. It was a vow extracted under duress, so she could ignore it without any real loss of honor. She inwardly sighed, for she knew she would not take that route. A price had been asked in exchange for the lives of her and, most important, her child. Malcolm had fulfilled his part of the bargain. She and her son were alive and at no small risk to himself. Ailis knew she would honor the promise she had made. It was just very sad that the promise made to save her life was one that made it only a brief reprieve. Alexander was her life, and her promise to Malcolm was certain to drive Alexander away.

“Go to bed, then, Ailis,” Malcolm said, his voice heavy with resignation. “Ye will need your rest for the ordeal ye face come the dawning.”

“I thank ye, Malcolm, for all ye have done.”

“Aye, ye will, will ye not?”

“Aye.” There was an odd note to Malcolm’s voice, but Ailis found it impossible to read. “Good sleep.”

Malcolm watched her leave, then closed his eyes. “Ye are a bastard, Malcolm MacCordy, a right bastard.” He gave a short harsh laugh weighted with self-disgust when even that admission did not spur him to call her back into the great hall and tell her that the promise was forgotten.

 

Giorsal was waiting in her bedchamber when Ailis finally reached it. The girl stopped rocking the baby’s cradle and stood up. With the promise to Malcolm weighing so heavily on her mind, Ailis was loath to meet the girl’s eyes. From the start it had been easy to see that Giorsal thought Malcolm was the beginning and end of her world. Ailis knew all too well how that felt. She also knew that the promise and its fulfillment would deeply hurt Giorsal. She sorely regretted that, for the girl had been kind.

“ ‘Twas a vow made under duress, under threat,” Giorsal suddenly said. “Ye need not honor it. None would expect it of ye.”

It did not really surprise Ailis that the infamous promise weighed so heavily on Giorsal’s mind, too. “Nay, mayhaps not, although I am not so certain one can say ‘none.’ “ She sighed as she lay down on her bed after a brief peek at her sleeping son. “I had hoped that ye had forgotten what was said that night.”

“ ‘Twas but two days ago. How could I forget such a thing no matter when it was said?”

“Aye—indeed—how could ye?” She looked at the girl with an unrestrained curiosity. “And why does this trouble ye so? ‘Tis certain that Malcolm hasna played the monk since ye came here!”

“Nay—far from it. ‘Tis different with ye, though. The others were naught but whores, no more important to him than his chamber pot.”

“And I am? I canna see that.” Ailis felt that the girl put too much importance on a matter of simple, fierce lust.

“Oh, aye, I ken that ye dinna notice. Ye dinna see what a man does. S’truth, even another woman can see it, for if her heart is involved, as mine is, she can see the dangers and temptations that confound the man she wants. The smallest threat to her heart’s desire can usually be seen clearly by a woman in love. Trust me in this, Ailis, ye are no small threat.”

“Ye exaggerate.”

“Nay. This isna simply a lusting Malcolm suffers from. If it was, I wouldna care. Well, not much!” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “I just dinna ken exactly what he is feeling or thinking, for Malcolm keeps to himself a lot.”

“Aye, I ken that sort very well,” Ailis drawled, and her thoughts winged straight to Alexander. “However, I still think ye judge this matter wrongly.”

“Nay, Ailis, I dinna. Malcolm has never before cared what his cousins did. He ignored them, for to try and stop them could be to threaten his own holdings, meager as they are. Malcolm has never had very much in life, so he clings tightly to what little he does have now. He would never risk it all for a simple lusting. But by asking ye to share his bed for the night he has done just that for he kens well that his cousin will see it as a gross betrayal if it is discovered. Ye offer a man a fire, and my Malcolm craves a taste of it. He has hungered for it ever since he first set eyes upon ye. Ah, me, ye offer a man so much more than that, but I canna find the words to explain it all. I only ken that Malcolm seeks it. He only sought the easement of a man’s aching with all the others. Malcolm dearly wants what ye give Alexander MacDubh.”

“He can never have that,” Ailis said. “Nay, not even if Alexander throws it aside. Which he will do—quickly—when he learns that I have bedded down with Malcolm.”

“Ye and I ken that a man canna grab what can only be freely given, but a man doesna always see it. If Malcolm senses it, he ignores it, calls it foolishness. ‘Tisna what he wants to be the truth. Now, although I have never bedded down with him, I ken that Malcolm is a good lover. ‘Tis the only reason ladies of a high rank would ever seek out a poor, landless knight, and they do seek him out.” Giorsal grimaced. “ ‘Tisna vanity that makes him think the skill that draws so many who would otherwise scorn him could also draw ye to him and away from Alexander MacDubh.”

“The skill Malcolm possesses may rouse lust, but ‘twill never touch more than that. Canna ye convince Malcolm of this? He has asked a price for my life that, when paid, will certainly kill me. I will lose Alexander and, no doubt, my child as well, for Alexander will surely hold on to his son even as he sets the adulterous mother aside. Because of this thrice-cursed promise, I havena really been spared, only given a wee reprieve.”

“I will try, Ailis, but I canna promise anything. Such things are very hard for a man to understand, especially if he has never been in love. Malcolm scoffs at what the poets and ballad singers say as loudly as many another man. He may well scorn what I try to tell him about your feelings.”

“Then ‘tis as good as done. I am sorry, Giorsal. Very sorry.”

“Nay, there is no need for ye to be asking my pardon. Ye were asked a price for your bairn’s life, and ye must pay it. Ye dinna seek this, not as so many others did, nor do ye seek what Malcolm does. ‘Tis up to Malcolm to put a stop to this, but I truly fear he willna. Nay, not even though a part of him sincerely wants to. He kens well that he asks ye to play the whore and that isna his way.” Giorsal rose and moved to the door. “Still, I will try my utmost best to sway Malcolm—for both our sakes. Good sleep, Ailis, and good journey on the morrow.”

“Good-bye, Giorsal,” Ailis murmured, feeling a strong urge to weep for the girl. “Malcolm,” she muttered when Giorsal was gone, “ye are the greatest of fools. If ye truly seek what Giorsal thinks ye do, then ye only need to look around. ‘Tis right before your eyes.”

Sleep was what Ailis needed, but she soon realized it was going to be elusive. Her mind was cluttered with thoughts of what the morrow could bring. Although she had stubbornly resisted all of Malcolm’s urgings to stay, to wait, a large part of her had been strongly tempted to give in. She had to fight her own fears each time she thought of the journey ahead. To leave was to face several dangers, but to stay also held dangers. Ailis wondered when and how her life had managed to get so very complicated.

She slid her hand down to her stomach, which still ached. The womb which had produced her small son still cleaned itself out, still sought to recover from its ordeal of barely two days ago. A woman usually rested for nearly a fortnight, took it easy for a month after birth, yet she busily planned a walk of several days while her body still bled so heavily. She told herself of how a peasant woman, a poor crofter’s wife, managed to rise easily from a childbed and work. It did a poor job of easing her fears. She had not been hardened by a life of constant toil such as a peasant woman endures.

There was also her newborn child to consider. He was a strong healthy baby, but she would be asking a great deal of someone only a few days out of the warm safety of his mother’s womb. Babies died with an alarming regularity no matter how well favored the conditions. By taking her child on a journey of several days’ length, subjecting him to the whims of nature in all its cruelty, she could well be signing his death warrant. She could well be striving to deliver Alexander his son only for the burying on MacDubh land, not for training on how to rule it.

It was hard, for her fears for her child ran deep, but Ailis forced that thought aside. To stay with Malcolm was to risk certain capture by Donald, who would do exactly as he had so often threatened—murder her child and send it to Alexander in pieces. The journey to Rathmor was indeed a risky one, but it was also her only real choice. It also had to be attempted now while the MacCordys searched elsewhere, sent on a false trail by Malcolm. If her son was fated to die, then die he would, but at least he would meet his fate fighting in his own tiny way, and not as some meek sacrifice to Donald MacCordy’s mindless hatred.

A shiver tore through her as she suddenly wondered if Alexander was even at Rathmor to receive his son. Her last word of him had been Jaime saying that he had seen an arrow slam into Alexander’s back. That wound, combined with the ones inflicted before his men had rescued him, could well have proved fatal. What the beating and arrow wound had begun, the hard ride could easily have finished. Fever and infection could have set in. The more Ailis considered the matter, the more certain Alexander’s death appeared.

She violently shook her head. Alexander was too great a part of her. Somehow she would have known if he had died. A person could not remain ignorant when the light suddenly left their world. Ailis was confident that she would know if her love had ceased to be. All she felt was a deep need to return to Rathmor, to be back with Alexander and to present him with his son and heir. Even though she knew there was the chance that she was living on false hope, she preferred to believe that her urge to get back to Rathmor meant Alexander was still alive.

How Alexander would accept her child did not concern her at all. She knew he had grown to love Barra’s children despite their MacFarlane blood. She had also sensed his eagerness for the child he had planted in her womb despite how he had reacted at first. He had proved how much he wanted their child when he had tried to rush her to a priest for a church-sanctioned union and then proclaimed a handfast marriage to her before her whole clan. Alexander still did not want a wife, as far as she could tell, yet he had taken one and one who was the niece of his father’s killer, the thief of his lands. Nothing could have told her more clearly that he wanted the child.

When sleep finally claimed her, she suffered from nightmares born of her fears. It made her so restless that she greeted the dawn with something akin to relief. Now she could hold her fears at bay with the strength of her own will. She knew that fear had its advantages by making a person wisely cautious, but it could not be allowed to stop her from what she had to do.

She soon discovered that all her strength was needed simply to step out the door, for both Jaime and Malcolm renewed their arguments against their journey. Her own fear urged her to give in to their pleadings and arguments, but she held firm. Her son was held close to her body by a blanket sling and further protected by her cloak. The three of them were then efficiently smuggled out of Malcolm’s tower house and beyond sight of his lax guards.

Left alone with Jaime and her baby, Ailis was briefly terrified. It was so far to Rathmor, and it would take so long on foot. Malcolm had been unable to lend them mounts, for they would have been missed. She took the first few steps with a great deal of hesitancy, but then her strength returned. As her pace became more firm and steady, she realized that whatever dangers were ahead, at the end of her journey lay safety for her child. It was enough to give her heart.

 

Alexander greeted the dawn with a heavy heart. He rose and answered the pull to go to the walls. Word had come at last concerning Ailis. She was not at Leargan but at Craigandubh, but where within that formidable keep was still a mystery. Although the man who had discovered that news felt certain Ailis was still alive, he had no firm word on her health or if she had borne his child yet.

He did not want to heed the message hidden in Sibeal’s dream, yet found himself searching the horizon. The foul weather was showing signs of improvement. Soon an attack would be possible. Unfortunately, he was no longer sure of where to attack. Frustration made him clench his fists. Every plan of action that came to mind was merely an exercise in futility. He had to wait, and that had never been an easy thing for him to do. Patience had never been one of his strengths. When Ailis and their child were concerned, it was nearly impossible to find any such quality within himself. He literally ached to take some action and wanted to weep with the knowledge that there was none he could take.

His body was taut with the evidence of his feelings as he searched the surrounding countryside with his eyes and hissed, “ ‘Tis enough to drive a man to madness. I ken not where to look or who to go after. For the sake of God and my peace of mind, Ailis, will ye send me some word of ye?”