Heart of Stone by Rebecca Ruger

Chapter Twenty

He didn’t want to abandonthis position, which he’d maintained since she’d fallen asleep nearly an hour ago. But he did after a few more minutes, gently lifting her head from the crook of his shoulder and laying her on her back for a moment. Calum sat up and swiftly gathered the bedclothes, which had been kicked and strewn about the foot of the bed. He had no plans to dress, but the heat of passion was dormant now and he didn’t want her to get cold. When he’d tucked her under the blanket, he resumed his position at her side, lifting her once more that she was curled against him and his arm held her close.

Lying upon his back, he let his free hand lie on his chest and gave his attention to the timber ceiling while his thoughts wandered.

How was it possible, he wondered, that she could have accomplished what she had? How had she, in so short a span of time, made so indelible a mark upon his heart? In truth, when she’d told him she loved him, he’d nearly scoffed at it. ’Twas not possible, he was sure then, that a person could become so enamored of another so quickly. Infatuated, mayhap. That’s what he’d assumed she’d meant, why he hadn’t fussed overmuch at her declaration.

But then...but then he’d watched her walking toward him last night with that crown of flowers upon her head, her gaze so bright with that promised love and he’d suffered a moment’s doubt about his own belittling of it. He’d felt then possibly as she’d looked, infused with something far greater than mere and fleeting infatuation. It had twisted his insides, not unpleasantly, that he’d vowed it was worthy of examination at some point. And then last night, just here inside this chamber, where she’d displayed no modesty, showed no hesitation, but accepted the intensity of his desire for her, had answered it with her own wonder and eagerness, and Calum wasn’t sure he would ever be the same. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he knew; she’d embraced all things she loved with as much vigor, ever open and curious.

Before he fell asleep, he gave some brief thought to wonder how many bridegrooms had lain awake as such on their wedding night, contemplating their good fortune.

Eventually, he slept and when he woke, he roused her with soft and lingering kisses along her bare shoulder.

“If it were up to me,” he said, when her lashes began to flutter, “I’d keep you like this, naked and accessible, all the live long day. But we’ve more than ourselves to consider, bride. We’ve a house to build yet and I’m no’ so sure those lasses dinna start their day banging on this door every morning.”

She groaned, sleepily and happily, snuggling deeper into his arms. “But until they do...can we not stay here?”

“Would that we could.”

She lost the gradual smile that had come so sweetly upon being woken by his lips on her. Thoughts came to her.

“When the house is finished, you will go to Caerhayes.”

“Aye. But then, the sooner I get there and get it done, the sooner we can get on with our lives.”

“Croft and cattle and crops and Calum,” she said, finally blinking her eyes open, her smile widening again.

“And dinna say I never gave you anything,” he said, happy to lean over her, smother her in his embrace for just a few more seconds.

“I’ve only had the Calum thus far, so you owe me yet.”

His grin and his mood increased. “I’ll be paying off that debt in naught but the Calum for a wee little bit.”

“A better deal for me, as the Calum is worth so much more than the croft or the crops or cows.”

“Tis a very agreeable wife I have this morning,” he commented.

Her response did not disappoint. “I am still flush with that Calum I had last night. But you should not get used to any lengthy agreeableness.”

It was amazing and completely beguiling how she could blush at the same time as she spoke so cheekily. “I was afraid you might say that.”

He leaned in for their first proper kiss this morning just as a knocking came at the door. Calum and Julianna groaned into each other’s mouth and then laughed at this. Recalling that he’d set the latch in place last night, he dared to call out, “Go away,” which turned Julianna’s sigh into a giggle.

“Aww,” was whined through the door. Marta.

One corner of Calum’s mouth quirked while Julianna bit her lips and knew some guilt. She called out, “We’ll be down shortly, Marta.”

They might have stalled yet more but that the child continued to talk from the other side of the portal. “Helen said that this stain on my gown was no’ ever going to come out, but I dinna want to wear the habit again. Please,” this one word moaned with so much angst and entirely too many syllables, “can ye help me?”

A quick kiss, that was all then, and Calum supposed, still smiling,  “I see many such mornings in our future.”

“I think we’re going to have to get creative if we desire any lengthy amounts of privacy.”

“Get creative. Aye. I’ll add that to my list.”

“That’s a very agreeable husband I have this morning.”

One more kiss, this one lingering, despite Marta still speaking from the hallway.

“I am still flush with the Julianna I had last night,” he finally said before he allowed his wife to leave their bed.

***

A PROPER THATCH COULDbe achieved using a variety of materials. The roofs they were constructing for these crofts inside Blackwood’s boundaries would know a mixture of straw and heather and rushes, all of which was gathered by Julianna and the girls. They’d been directed to scour the woods and meadows for dead or dried reeds of heather and straw and were shown by Artur how to bundle these neatly into eight to ten inch diameter sections, twisting the tops and tying them off with pieces of jute. Booth and Peadar accompanied them when they were forced to search deeper and deeper within the woods when the closest supply had been exhausted. But they found the work exciting, certainly as the progress on the big croft coincided with the number of bundles they completed.

Finn, they learned, was the son of a mason so that he’d managed to competently oversee the laying of the foundation days before, stone and what looked like daub but was called mortar, he’d said. This would provide greater integrity to the structure and prevent the wooden posts they’d struck into the stone base from rotting. Through and around those upright wooden posts, they wove more flexible and thinner woods—withies, Calum had said they were called—which saw Peadar and Tomag and Booth chopping and collecting as much as they could of thin birch and ash and hazel branches. The west side, as Calum had hoped, was indeed built with foot wide planks, which they overlapped as they built them up.

And while Julianna and Brida continued work on the thatch, Helen and Marta were given the job of applying the daub that had been made from moss and clay and sand and straw. Artur oversaw this element of the construction, proving once again how very patient he was, as the girls surely wore as much of the daub upon themselves as was given to the walls.

It was hard work and made for long days and Julianna loved everything about it. Discounting Finn’s regular grumbling, which truly was just his manner, no one fought and no one shirked their assigned duties that Julianna was so thrilled with her not-so-little family that they worked so well together. She was especially glad of two things; first, that Artur did make the chores more enjoyable for the younger ones; and then, that she’d had the foresight to insist that she and the girls wear their old Murkle habits out at the house site. When all was said and done, these likely would be suitably only as rags or as kindling, they took such a beating.

She enjoyed very much when the sun was out and shone down so warmly upon the area that Calum and the others doffed their tunics so that they didn’t overheat. All the men were lean, and Tomag and Peadar even showed hints of finer shapes, but not one of them could boast the physique of Calum. At one point, she thought she must have sat idle for many minutes, ogling her husband’s glorious form. Until, from his perch atop the corner posts where he was laying the grid work of timber for the roof frame, he happened to glance down and catch her staring at him.

They’d been wed a few days by now and he had, each night, made love to her superbly that she was not exactly the ignorant and untried lass anymore. So when he lifted his brow and smirked devilishly at her for her gawking, Julianna winked at him, eliciting a beautiful chuckle from him. She blushed still, and the wink wasn’t done as smoothly as she’d have liked, but she was sure she’d conveyed her appreciation for his body all the same.

Lowering her gaze from her husband, Julianna’s admiring smile was replaced by widened eyes as she caught Brida covertly stealing glances at Tomag’s shirtless body. The lass was darling, not gaping openly as Julianna had done. Her eyes only darted back and forth from Tomag to the heather in her hands while her cheeks were charmingly pink.

Oh, my.

Fifteen minutes later, when Calum had come down from the roof, he accepted the flask Julianna passed to him from where she and Brida sat with their growing pile of thatched bundles and the lessening pile of raw materials. He sat next to her but opposite, that he faced behind her. Julianna spent a fair amount of time staring further at him, at his hard arms and his sun-loved and solid chest. He leaned back his head, taking a long draw from the flask, his throat undulating magnificently with each swallow. When he was done, he dropped the container at his side and met Julianna’s worshipful gaze. The grin he gave her now had only ever been noted inside their chamber at night. Julianna had fallen in love with it at first glance and was not unmoved by it now.

“You keep staring like you were, lass,” he whispered, for her ears alone, “and I’ll be forced to take you deep into the woods, have my way with you.”

Excited by merely his words, an exhilaration that surfaced as a tingling in her chest and between her legs, Julianna slanted her face toward him and murmured back, feigning a disgruntlement, “Do not make promises you are not prepared to keep. That’s just cruel.”

“Aye, and dinna throw that gauntlet down lass. You ken it would no’ disturb me at all to carry you off, not caring who might see or what any might suppose we were getting up to.”

Turning further, she kissed his lips and then whispered against them, “I hope you save that enthusiasm—and some of your energy—for later. I was hoping you and I might enjoy a bath together at the loch when night came.”

And now Calum’s eyes widened before another grin overtook him, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’ve got some fairly great ideas yourself, lass.”

“I’m learning,” she said with no small amount of sass.

He turned then and gave his attention to the house, bringing her gaze there as well.

“Another day, and the whole frame will be complete.”

“It’s amazing, and much taller and larger than I’d have thought.”

“We’ve a good-sized crew to fit under that roof, lass, even after the men get their own crofts. And I’m no of a mind to duck my head every day, in and out. The next two we build dinna need to be this large, and we’ll use the hillside as one wall that they’ll go even quicker.”

“It’s just all so marvelous.” She turned again toward him and waited for him to look at her. “We have a very fine family, do we not?” She asked then.

“Aye, we do. Do you ever consider how curious it is that all this came about because my traitorous uncle and your scheming stepfather made those plans to see us wed and dead?”

“Oh,” she began, a grin coming swiftly, even at his frank speaking, “I wouldn’t have phrased it as such, but there it is. I guess truth is truth. And yes, it is quite remarkable how it evolved from how it began.”

***

TWO DAYS LATER SAWCalum and his men riding away from Blackwood, headed toward Caerhayes. As expected, Gabriel had offered to accompany them. Calum had politely but firmly refused him.

“I need to ken she’ll be safe and...if I should no’ return—”

“Dinna even think it,” Gabe had interjected, scowling. “You will. You’ll be back in no time. But if it sets your mind at ease, Cal, then be assured that neither she nor those lasses will ever want for a thing. On that, you have my word.”

Calum had frowned, despite this guarantee. “But dinna marry her if I’m gone. I could no’ bear that.”

“Jesu, you’re a huge arse today, aye?”

He couldn’t even laugh but sent out a choked and harsh breath through his mouth. Meeting Gabriel’s eye once more, he’d asked, “This how it was, whenever you had to leave Christine?”

Gabriel had pursed his lips. “You ken she were a good woman, Cal. Gone too soon, too young. But Cal,” he’d gone on, shaking his head a bit, “she dinna ever look at me the way Julianna looks at you. And I ken I never eyeballed my wife no’ half as much or as pathetically as you do.”

Gabriel’s words and his growing smirk finally wrought a chuckle from Calum. “I swear to God, I dinna ken I’m doing it half the time, but that Finn and Artur are always hounding me about it.”

Gabriel had clapped him on the shoulder then. “Go on then, get it done and get back here. If I canna marry her, I’m gonna insist that you return.”

“Who’s the arse now?”

Another shrug and they shook hands then, embracing at the same time.

There was no one standing in the yard, crying and waving kerchiefs at them as they left. Calum couldn’t recall how that conversation had come about the night before, but it was Finn who’d groused that he hoped that wasn’t the case. This had led Calum to beg of Julianna that they give their farewells first thing in the morning, before they’d left their chambers. She must have understood and though teary-eyed, she’d agreed that she and the girls would head up to the new croft immediately after breakfast and finish the daubing, as they still had one side to complete on the big house, before Calum and his men departed.

“Promise me you’ll come back to me,” she’d begged this morning while they were yet naked in bed.

Calum had hesitated. He did not like making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“Lie to me, Calum, if you have to.”

“Aye, I’ll come back to you, Julianna. This, I vow,” he said. He wasn’t sure how the hollow promise might appease her but was not of a mind to leave his wife in distress.

Julianna had traced her finger along his jaw then and he was sure that it was for his benefit that she’d pasted on a bright smile and told him, “You might rather say farewell with your lips.”

Calum had needed no other urging, but had made love to her, with neither any true promise of a tomorrow nor—thankfully—any little hands pounding at their door.

But damn, it was difficult to ride away from her.

“Och, he’s got it bad, lads,” Finn called out, pivoting in his saddle to throw his smirk back to Artur and the others. “Gonna be a wretched ride to Caerhayes then, watching him pining for his new bride.”

Artur returned, “Guess yer whining’ll be different, aye, Finn? Closer we get to Magda?”

“May the good Lord give me strength.”

“What if she dinna let you go?” Peadar put out.

Finn’s scowl suggested this was not worth consideration. “She canna stop me.”

“She can sure follow you.”

This dashed away any remnants of Finn’s good humor. “She will no’. And none of ye are allowed to give her our direction. Or anything. Dinna say nothing to her.” He pinned a glare onto Artur, who regularly loved to get Finn in trouble with his wife. “Doing yer own self harm, you tell ’er where we’re at. Just think on that.”

After a few more minutes, Tomag wondered aloud of Calum what his plan might be for confronting his uncle. Finn had advised that he’d made the men aware of Domhnall’s possible betrayal.

Before he might have answered, Peadar offered his plan. “I say we play dumb, dinna let him ken we ken what he’s done.”

“I’ll play no games with Domhnall,” Calum said. “I’ll no’ waste my time. I’ll find him, tell him I ken of the despicable plot. He’ll deny it, I ken. But he’ll no’ fight, he’s a coward. He’ll be locked away—or be killed, by my sword or another’s, it makes no difference.”

“Dinna expect him to be surprised,” Artur said. “If he were acting with Julianna’s stepfather, likely that man got word to him that they’d not earned their coin, that we lived yet.”

Calum nodded, having thought the same thing not long ago. He gave instruction to his men, what he’d been thinking on for several days. “Finn is with me. Artur, you and the lads recruit the army. They’ll no’ take his side. You canna rule by fear and expect your minions to rise for you when needed.” He glanced sideways at Artur. “First thing, plant a dozen soldiers at the end of the tunnels. Bring another dozen into the hall.”

Ever pragmatic, Artur acknowledged what was always in their minds whenever conflict seemed imminent. “Might not make it out of there.”

Calum reasoned, “We chose to side with Scotland and die if we must, if that were required of us. This is no different as he plots against her same as if he sent down the MacKinnon army to stand beside the English. But there will be no grand stand against us this day. The MacKinnon army will side with right.” He was confident of this, knew the army well. They were more Calum’s men than the laird’s. They would rise against Domhnall.

He’d given some thought to what he might do if his uncle drew on him. He would fight him, he knew, as he’d been conditioned to do. Be a good man sometimes meant ridding the world of evil.

After a while, they picked up the River Nairn north of Blairmore, which barred any further conversation as they moved single file over a thin trail near the raging and rushing water. This, then, allowed Calum’s thoughts to return to Julianna. He need only close his eyes to see her, her image so powerful inside of him. It did not escape him that while he’d faced death so many times before, in more harrowing circumstances than what they might see at Caerhayes, he’d not ever been mournful of it as a possibility, hadn’t ever lamented what he might leave behind.

It was but midday when they reached Caerhayes. Calum hadn’t expected that any man atop the wall would display any shock at seeing him, as if his uncle would have made known his cowardly plans to any humble soldier. Thus, they were greeted with waves and shouts of welcome, these returning men well-regarded among the MacKinnon army.

Calum inclined his head, searching the faces, looking for any sign of any evidence that one of these men had acted in collusion with Domhnall, or at least had been made aware of his plans. He saw nothing that gave anything away as he and the others rode through the gate.

They dismounted and greeted a few soldiers come to give their welcome, but Artur quickly steered these men away.

Collecting his saddle bags, Calum met Finn’s gaze as he did the same nearby.

“Let’s get to it, then,” Finn said with a broad wink. He inclined his head toward Artur, who with the lads would make the rounds inside the barracks or out on the training field, gathering the army to the keep, and with purpose.

Finn followed Calum into the keep.

The hall of Caerhayes was nearly empty, naught but a pair of lasses scrubbing the floor in the far corner.

“Where is the laird?” He asked of them.

“Belowstairs,” said one, using the sleeve of her forearm to wipe at her nose.

“Fetch him,” Calum directed. “Tell him the party to Kinclaven has returned.”

“Aye,” said the girl, as she stood and scurried away, toward the northern corridor and the stairs.

Finn said to the other lass, “Bring us some ale, some bread and cheese. And then ye find somewhere else to be.”

Calum took a seat at the laird’s table, which flanked the entire wall opposite the door. He put one hand upon the hard timber and drummed his fingers slowly, thoughtfully. Tomag came into the hall then, pushing the weaselly bailiff, Cuthbert in front of him.

“Ah, Cuthbert,” Calum said congenially, ignoring the question in the man’s eyes, the way he glanced with some consternation between Finn and Calum, how he sent Tomag a scathing look, as if he’d been manhandled. “Good to see you, sir. Won’t you have a seat?” Calum indicated one end of the long table. “Please,” he insisted when the bailiff did not move. Still, it took a shove from Tomag to set the man into motion. He might have said more, might have toyed with him a bit but that the young girl returned with a tray and set it before Calum at the table. Keeping her eyes on her task, she removed the pitcher and several goblets and a plate of crusty bread and fresh cheese, placing everything on the hard timber. She glanced then at Finn, who inclined his head, before she made haste to leave the hall.

Calum helped himself, filled one goblet and sipped thoughtfully.

Domhnall MacKinnon showed himself only seconds later.

“What is—och, nephew. You’ve returned!”

Calum did not rise as he should have, as the laird’s presence should require.

“I am.”

“And your bride? Where is she?”

“I left her at Blackwood.”

Domhnall’s bushy brows furrowed. He’d inquired after the bride only as part of his feigned ignorance, as if he knew of no plot, as if he truly expected that a wedding had taken place. Domhnall really didn’t expect to hear that Calum actually had wed Julianna. Mayhap Faucht had not sent word, had only taken the coin, and deemed it Domhnall’s loss.

“Aye, I wed Julianna Elliot there, at Blackwood,” Calum told. “Her stepfather, Faucht, did not exactly offer us a warm welcome. I stole her.” His voice was flat.

His uncle’s brain was on fire, Calum could well see, and wondered how far Domhnall would take the pretense.

“No welcome?” Domhnall asked, faking outrage, but his response was too long in coming. “Why, I’ll have his head! We had a deal—a contract signed to have you wed the lass.”

“Mayhap he ken nothing of it,” Calum said idly. “He had other plans, plans of his own devising possibly.” He sent his gaze to Cuthbert, sitting rigidly, warily at the end of the table. “What say you, Cuthbert? Likely it was you who sent the missives, handled all the communication. Aye?”

Most telling, Cuthbert and Domhnall exchanged a silent glance before the bailiff answered. “Aye, that was me. Back and forth with the contracts and the messages.”

Artur came then, walked into the hall with his sword unsheathed but only laying over his chest, somewhat cradled in his arms. He inclined his head toward Calum and was followed in the next few seconds by a dozen MacKinnon soldiers, who took up positions around the perimeter. Several of them gave nods to Calum, either as assent or welcome. Calum returned his attention to Cuthbert. “And what else was passed back and forth between you—under the laird’s direction—and Angus Faucht?”

The bailiff swallowed and squeaked out, “No’ anything else.”

Tomag and Finn closed in on him, while Calum suggested, “Think about it, man. Think long and hard on which side you want to find yourself—here and now. And then answer my question.”

Domhnall bristled, and moved in front of Calum, before the table. “What is this about? Cal, have ye gone daft? There was no other—”

Possibly, it was the harshness of Calum’s gaze, the seething fury in the gray eyes he lifted to Domhnall that quieted the old man. “You will have your chance to speak, Uncle.”

“I will have—? Just who in the bluidy hell do ye ken you’re talking to, whelp?” He straightened himself as he shouted, as his face turned red. “I’ll have ye—”

“Silence!” Calum roared over his uncle’s bluster. And while he let Domhnall see all the hatred in his eyes, kept his brutal gaze upon him, Calum instructed Tomag, “Help Cuthbert to recall the truth.”

No one laid a finger on the bailiff. He lifted his hands defensively even as Tomag was still five feet away and croaked, “I only did as he asked, as is my duty. To obey the laird, even when I dinna care for the plans or the schemes.”

Calum tilted his head with little sympathy toward the conniving bailiff. “Dinna care for his plans and schemes?” To Domhnall he said, “Hear that, laird? Your bailiff dinna agree with some of your plots. But aye, and aren’t you fortunate that he’s so dutiful a servant?” And then, his regard returned to Cuthbert. “Pray tell us, man, of these plans and schemes. Say it loudly, if you will, that all who are present may learn of the laird’s machinations.”

Cuthbert swallowed convulsively, and now studiously avoided Domhnall’s glare. Tomag prodded him with a shove at his back. “’Twas a plot hatched to see you kilt.”

There was no collective gasp of astonishment inside the hall. Calum and his men were not surprised, and the MacKinnon soldiers were well-trained, able to keep their shock unspoken, though several scowls turned toward the laird.

“Tell me, Uncle,” Calum drawled, scratching idly at the scarred wood of the table top, “what is the price these days to have one of your own murdered?”

The old man’s ruddy face turned redder, save for a spot in his forehead that whitened alarmingly. “Scotland will never be her own again,” he said stoically. “Why can ye no’ see that?”

“Why can you have no faith in her, in those in favor of her freedom?”

“We canna win.”

“And so you plot to murder your own flesh and blood to make your way sweeter if she falls?”

“I plot to save Caerhayes, to preserve all the—”

Calum held up his hand. That was all he desired, the truth given. He wouldn’t sit and listen to any manufactured justification for it. It doesn’t matter, Calum thought. He didn’t need Domhnall, didn’t need Caerhayes. He had Julianna.

“Finn, Artur,” he directed, “lock him up. I’ll send word to the Lord of the Isles.” That man, to whom all the MacKinnons owed their fealty—after their king, of which there was none just now—would have the decision of what to do with his wayward vassal.

It was done.