Highland Hope by Julie Johnstone
Sixteen
Eve’s eyelids felt sewn shut and her mouth as dry as an empty goblet. She swallowed as she struggled to open her eyes.
“Ye’re awake!”
Eve blinked, squinting at the sun that made it impossible to see, and her eyes immediately watered. She jerked up her hand to shield them, her vision blurry.
“Oh! Och! Let me pull the cover over the window, Eve.” Footsteps thudded for a brief moment, and then a swish sounded from Eve’s right and Elena said, “’Tis safe to lower yer hand now.”
Eve did so, blinked again, and slowly her bedchamber came into view. But it was different. On the tiny stand by her bed, a fresh bundle of heather stuck out of a water pitcher. And there were colorful tapestries hanging on her walls, which previously had been bare, and on her bed… She blinked. A cream-and-tan fur lay across the foot of her bed. “Where did all this come from?” Eve asked and frowned. She was croaking like a frog.
She cleared her throat and looked to Elena, who was grinning. “The girls brought ye the heather, and Royce covered ye with the furs from his room the night before last because ye were shivering uncontrollably. And he hung the tapestries because ye burst out crying at one point and babbled about how yer room had no color, no joy.”
Eve bit her lip, her eyes widening. She’d been speaking of the bedchamber she’d occupied as a child. Her stepmother had taken all the tapestries Eve’s mother had sewn and hung in her room, and Eve’s father had not stopped her stepmother from doing so. “That was very nice of the girls and your brother,” she said rather than explain that her tears had not been about her bedchamber at Dunvegan Castle. Yes, it had been dreary, and the tapestries certainly did brighten it, but it had not left a pain in her chest because no one had been cruel to her to make her room cheerless.
“Ye’ve wiggled yer way into their hearts,” Elena said, giving Eve a pointed look.
Heat infused Eve’s face. “You mean the girls?”
Elena snorted as she brought a bucket of water to Eve. “Ye do nae do coy well. Yer face is bright red. Ye have my brother’s heart, too, and I would wager from that kiss ye gave him that he has yers.”
“What?” Eve gasped, scrambling to sit up and wincing at the pinch of pain in her right arm. Then the memory of the wolf bite washed over her, and she jerked her gaze to her arm, but she could not see her injury due to the sleeve of her léine that covered her arm. Fear for Royce shot through her for a moment, but then she recalled what Elena had just revealed. “Royce is unharmed from the wolf attack?”
“Aye,” Elena said, sitting on the edge of Eve’s bed. “He was nae harmed, except for cuts and scrapes from running like mad to get ye back to Dunvegan so ye did nae die from loss of blood.”
“Royce carried me all the way to Dunvegan?”
“Aye, and he ran, too. Then he insisted I give ye Warrior’s Reckoning so it would be ensured ye did not die. Take a look at yer arm. All that’s left of the gaping wound is a small cut. It will be healed before ye know it.”
Eve tugged the sleeve of the night rail down far enough to look at where she recalled the wolf biting her. It was as Elena had said. There was hardly anything more than a red line there, and she winced at the memory of the beast’s sharp teeth sinking into her skin. The pain had made her howl in agony. She could hear her own cries in her mind—and Royce’s guttural cry for her.
Her heart began to thump with the memory of the anguish she’d heard in his voice. He cared for her. Elena had said that Eve had Royce’s heart. Had he told his sister that or was Elena assuming so? Eve’s pulse beat yet faster, and her stomach knotted. She’d kissed him? A memory came to her suddenly, his mouth strong and hot on hers, his lips searching, his tongue twining with hers. He had tasted of whiskey. Heat pooled in her belly as she sat there, and an ache, a desperate yearning, blossomed in her chest, along with horror. She’d kissed him! She was another man’s wife—though he was an evil beast—and she’d kissed Royce.
“Ye understand what it means that he gave the Warrior’s Reckoning?” Before Eve could process the question completely, Elena spoke again. “He’d nae have chanced giving it to ye, if ye did nae have his heart. Otherwise, it would have killed ye.” Elena stared long and hard at Eve, making her want to squirm, but she refrained. “Ye must feel something for him, too. Ye kissed him.” Royce’s sister quirked her eyebrows at Eve.
Feel something for him? Yes. Yes, she did. Things she had no right to feel. Things she could not seem to stop. Things she had to control. She would be risking everything by telling Elena the truth, but Eve no longer could keep it a secret. “I’m wed, Elena.”
The woman’s red eyebrows formed a sharp V. “I beg yer pardon?”
Eve swallowed the large lump in her throat. “I’m wed,” she said, misery weighing on her. “I do have feelings for your brother. Feelings I never expected. Feelings I dreamed I’d have for my husband one day and that he’d have them for me.”
Hot tears of frustration and hopelessness pricked Eve’s eyes, and she half expected Elena to interrupt her, but the woman opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping for air. Then, in a tight voice, she said, “Continue.”
Eve wrung her hands but nodded. “My father used me for gain, without a care to the sort of monster he was wedding me to. He wed me to an English lord who could bring my father more land. Frederick, my husband”—the words curdled in her belly—“was abusive both mentally and physically. He does not love me. He loves his head of guard, and I could not take his abuse anymore. I planned to run. ’Twas impetuous, but I was desperate. The night I decided to flee Frederick, your own Father Murdoch came into port and I saw the posting for a companion for the girls, so I…”
“Oh my God,” Elena whispered. “So ye came here.”
Eve nodded. “Brus’s post said that whoever applied should not have family, and I do not feel as if I do. He also said they should know the healing arts, but—”
“But ye did nae know them,” Elena interrupted, her voice holding a surprising note of admiration.
Mayhap Eve was imagining it. Surely, Elena hated her now. “No, I did not know them, but you have taught me much.”
Elena cocked her head as she studied Eve. “What did ye hope to have as a life here, Eve?”
“I hoped to have peace. I hoped to find a place I could feel as if I belonged, as if I was needed for something more than the land I could earn someone by taking my hand. I hoped to disappear,” she said, striving to be totally honest in this moment. “I hoped to disappear and never be found by Frederick again. I thought since the Isle of Skye was so far from England, I’d have a very good chance of never being found by him.”
“It all makes sense now,” Elena said, looking contemplative. “Why ye’ve fought Royce’s attention when I could see how verra much ye wanted it.”
“You could see I wanted your brother’s attention?” Eve murmured, mortified.
Elena laughed at that. “A blind man could see yer desire for Royce, Eve—and his desire for ye.”
“But I cannot… We cannot… I’m another man’s wife.” Her heart beat so hard against her chest that she winced.
“Aye,” Elena nodded. “Ye are currently, but what if ye were nae?”
“If I weren’t?” Eve refused to let hope rise in her. She was Frederick’s wife, and nothing and no one could change that.
“Aye,” Elena replied. “’Tis what I said. What if ye were nae this man Frederick’s wife? What then, with ye and my brother?”
Eve felt as if something was wrapped around her chest and squeezing it. “Then hope,” she said on a whisper. “Then promise. Then—” she swallowed, “—then perhaps love.” An image of Royce and the girls filled her head. “And home. And children.”
Elena smiled. “’Tis what I thought. Do nae tell Royce the truth.”
“What?” Eve felt her eyes go wide. “I cannot allow your brother to pursue me, to think—”
“Nay, of course nae,” Elena cut in, rising. “I’m nae suggesting ye keep yer secret forever or allow any more kisses between the two of ye. I’m suggesting ye hold yer secret within until I speak to Father Murdoch.”
“Whyever would ye speak to Father Murdoch?”
“He’s a man of God,” Elena said, walking to the wardrobe where she pulled open the door to reveal gowns Eve had never seen. “Father Murdoch will know if there is any way out of yer marriage. I do nae know if there is anything that says a wife is released because of abuse, but if there is—”
Hope burst inside Eve, despite her trying not to allow it. “I never imagined… I’ve never heard of such a thing. I—”
Elena set her hand on Eve’s. “I have nae, either. There is likely nae one, but until we know for sure, keep yer secret. I believe that my brother loves ye. He gave ye the Warrior’s Reckoning, and he acknowledged knowing that in doing so it was like declaring ye had his heart.”
Eve felt elated and horrid at once. That Royce might have come to love her was impossible, and wonderful, and—Her mind tripped on the word. It was wonderful! It was so because she loved him, too. She did! She had been so busy trying not to feel anything for him that she had ignored just how much she had come to feel. She had fallen in love with Royce, and she was wed and would likely always be so.
Unaware of the havoc in Eve, Elena kept talking. “Royce is a man of unwavering honor and if he believes ye belong to another man, he’ll likely send ye back to yer husband. I kinnae say for certain. He’s been verra guarded since Lara—” She stopped and eyed Eve.
“I know his wife betrayed him,” Eve said. “He told me as much.”
“God’s blood, Eve. For him to have revealed to ye a thing that shamed him so tells me he absolutely must love ye.”
Again, happiness and horror collided in Eve’s chest.
“I hope Father Murdoch has a good answer for us,” Elena said, studying her. “And I can see by the anguished look upon yer face that ye do too.”
Eve nodded.
“Father Murdoch has gone to give last rights at the edge of clan territory, and he likely will nae return for a sennight. But when he does, I’ll speak with him. In the meantime, try to keep a distance from Royce. It will be difficult enough for the both of ye if ye kinnae be together, but it will be made worse if the love ye have for each other grows even deeper.”
The love they had for each other? Eve inhaled a long breath, the truth still so shocking. She loved him. She loved Royce, and he loved her, according to his sister, but he had not said those exact words to Eve, and Royce did not know Eve’s full truth. Would he hate her when he did? Quite probably. “I need to tell him.”
Elena nodded. “Ye will. Soon. Heed my advice on this, Eve.”
Eve pondered it for a moment, guilt flowing thick in her veins. She had already lied so long, and yet if she could tell him the truth and then present hope from Father Murdoch, would that make it easier for Royce to forgive her?
“One sennight,” she finally said, thinking of Royce. “Not a day more. I am very unsure this is the right thing to do.” Her neck knotted with worry. “I fear, no matter what, he’ll feel I betrayed him.”
Elena patted Eve’s hand. “Aye, I fear it, too, but hopefully reason will win over anger and wariness from his past.”
“I do nae like the English,” Brus whispered to Thor, who rode beside him up to the guard tower of Lord Sotherby’s castle. The two of them had traveled relentlessly to arrive here, and Brus was tired and annoyed. He’d not had a proper Scottish meal in a sennight, and English people were a sickly-looking lot who appeared unhappy at all times. The two guards that stood sentry at the entrance to Sotherby’s castle were no exception. They wore matching looks of displeasure, which probably had something to do with the ridiculous amount of clothing they were required to wear. Brus would never understand the English and their penchant for ruffled shirts and odd material wrapped around their necks as if to choke themselves. Then again, if he were English, he might want to choke himself, too. They donned what appeared to be two cloaks over their shirts and adorned themselves with jewels. Even the men! It was shameful!
“State your business,” said a young, dark-haired lad who couldn’t have been more than sixteen summers. His voice squeaked, and his eyes darted between Thor and Brus nervously.
It made Brus want to laugh, but he held in his mirth so as not to shame the lad. Brus could imagine the sight he and Thor presented. They were twice the size of most English men, and they both had long hair, whereas most Englishmen seemed to prefer to shear their hair, and they had both carried two swords crossed at their backs and two gleaming daggers sheathed at both hips, while their bows and arrows hung in slings over their shoulders. One could never be too prepared.
Thor spoke, as he and Brus had agreed upon earlier. “We’ve a missive from the king of Scotland for Lord Sotherby.”
The lad’s eyes got big. “One moment,” he said. He rushed across the bustling inner courtyard visible beyond the black iron gates and returned a moment later with a man closer to Brus’s age.
“I’m Alban,” the man said, his hand going to his sword. “I’m head of the guards. Geoffrey tells me you claim to have a letter for Lord Sotherby from King Robert.”
Thor held out the missive. “This is the letter. As ye can see, King Robert’s seal is there.”
Alban glanced down, studied the seal for a moment, then nodded. “What does the letter contain?”
“An offer of trade. King Robert wishes to trade his parcel of land immediately adjacent to Sotherby’s on the right for a parcel of land closer to Edinburgh.”
Alban’s gaze widened for a moment before he hid his surprise. He glanced over his shoulder and then back at them. “One moment,” he said. “Let me speak to Lord Sotherby.”
Brus and Thor nodded and watched as the guard slipped back through the gates, which he then called to have shut behind him as he strode across the courtyard, weaving around knights and castle wenches. He stopped in front of a man who was tall, and while he was not slight, he was not built like a warrior, either. He was dressed in colorful robes and the ruffled shirt Brus thought ridiculous, and he had thick, bejeweled gold chains hanging from his neck. He had a look on his face that Brus didn’t care for, though. It was a hardness of the mouth and a glint of the eye that bespoke of a cruel nature, and Brus’s gut instinct was immediately confirmed when Sotherby pulled out a whip and began to lash a long-haired, dark-headed woman who was tied to a pole.
“A man who hits a woman is a coward,” Brus muttered.
“Aye,” Thor agreed, as the guard Alban surprised Brus by attempting to intervene. Soon he became the one being lashed as the wailing woman was dragged away. After a moment, the lashing of the guard ended, and the man spoke to Sotherby. Alban motioned toward Brus and Thor as Alban handed Sotherby the missive they’d brought him. The lord read it, then looked toward them with a hint of a smile. He said something to Alban, who immediately strode to them, blood dripping down his arm from the lashing.
“Lord Sotherby invites ye to speak with him in the great hall after ye refresh yerselves.”
“We’d be honored,” Thor said, displaying his honed ability to hide his true feelings.
Brus was not quite as willing to hide his disgust of Sotherby. “Why was Sotherby lashing that woman? Such an act—”
“Takes fortitude,” Thor said, elbowing Brus.
Brus had been going to say that such an act was cowardly, but he gritted his teeth and nodded.
The look that crossed swiftly over Alban’s face was a knowing one, one tainted with his own disgust of the man he served, but it was hidden as fast as it had appeared, no doubt from fear of what would happen to him or those he loved if he revealed his true thoughts about the lord of the castle. “He was trying to extract information about his wife. She has disappeared, and the woman Sotherby was lashing is in the group of Summer Walkers who were at the docks the night his wife disappeared. She was thought to have possibly escaped with them. Sotherby wanted answers from the Summer Walker, who returned to the village just this morning.”
“And did Sotherby gain the information he sought?” Brus asked.
“Aye.” A grim look settled on Alban’s face. “It seems my lord’s wife did not travel with the Summer Walkers, but they know where she went. And now so does my lord. Come,” Alban said, cutting off any more conversation on the matter. “Let me show you to where ye can refresh, and then I’ll take ye to the great hall.”
Brus had little choice but to fall into step beside Thor, and they proceeded through the gate, just as Sotherby disappeared into the castle. The castle was a stark contrast to Dunvegan, which was not ornate but large, warm, and suited the needs of the clan. Sotherby’s home was cold and glittered with treasures as far as the eye could see. Gold urns adorned tables, and rich tapestries covered nearly every blank space of wall. Gold candelabras twinkled and glowed all along the hall they were led down, and everyone they passed, besides the servants, seemed to be wearing colorful silks.
It didn’t impress Brus. He found it ridiculous to have so much treasure collected and displayed. He’d passed many people on the way to the castle who had appeared to be starving. These were no doubt people Sotherby was responsible for, and the man clearly did not care. The lord had enough coin to provide for his villagers. Brus glanced at Thor to gauge his reaction. His cousin’s mouth was pressed in a hard, thin line that grew harder as they entered the room to refresh themselves. It was a small, square, stone room lined with five basins and castle wenches standing by with pitchers of water.
Royce and Thor both nodded politely to the servants, and after rolling up their sleeves, they held their hands over the basins, allowed the women to wash and dry them. Then Alban motioned for them to follow him. They went down two more corridors and finally entered a grand great hall with dark, gleaming tables filled with knights and their ladies, and a dais that had gold inlaid in it. A jester stood before the dais entertaining Sotherby and the blond-haired man sitting on the dais with him.
Alban led Brus and Thor down the center aisle of the great hall, heads swiveling toward them to watch their progress with open curiosity, from the door to the dais. “My lord,” Alban said, genuflecting in front of Sotherby.
The man didn’t spare a glance for his head guard. Instead, he focused his dark, unfriendly gaze on Brus and Thor. “Tell your king the trade is suitable to me. You may go.”
“We’re nae yer servants to be ordered about,” Brus snapped, his temper getting the better of his tongue. He could feel Thor glaring at him from his left, but he didn’t care. They’d get no information from Sotherby—that much was clear. The man hadn’t even extended an invitation to dine with him, as was customary for guests, especially ones bringing a missive from a king. Sotherby thought himself better than them; therefore, he’d not ever deign to speak to them.
“You are not as good as my servants, Scot,” the man snapped.
“I can see now why yer wife fled ye,” Brus said, knowing he should hold his tongue but his own past with Sebille was spurring him to be foolish.
“I’ll have your head,” Sotherby snarled, holding up a hand and waving it. Immediately, four guards descended, swords drawn—two behind them and two on either side of them. “Take him,” Sotherby ordered.
Brus’s sword hissed out of its sheath as he withdrew it, but Thor spoke. “If ye want to be responsible for starting a war, then ye can take his head, but I do nae think yer king will like that overly much.”
Brus was ready to fight. Though he knew they were vastly outnumbered, he’d been itching for combat with the English. Sebille. Her image—dark hair, darker treachery-filled eyes—flashed in his head. His blood pumped in his veins, and his fingers curled tight around his hilt.
Irritation flashed across Sotherby’s face, and Brus thought Thor might have just saved his arse. Brus couldn’t decide if he was grateful or irritated, but before a choice was made, Sotherby raised his hand again, as if giving a silent order, and then Brus heard a swish behind him before something blunt hit him on the back of his head with jarring force, sending a black screen sweeping across his vision. He felt himself falling, but he was powerless to stop it.
Brus awoke with a start and jerked backward, Thor’s big face directly in front of Brus’s. Thor smiled grimly, his elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling in front of him. He was kneeling, and Brus glanced around, confusion buffeting him, his head pounding. He was sitting in the dirt against some rocks, the sea shimmering as far as the eye could see. Voices drifted on the wind, along with the taste and smell of salt, and singing punctuated the hiss of the breeze and the rhythmic clapping of the waves hitting the dock.
“Ye’re in the village adjacent to Sotherby’s castle,” Thor said, rising and then holding his hand down for Brus to grasp it. He did, was pulled to his feet as he swayed, and then Thor released him and Brus righted himself. Thor scowled. “Did ye nae assure me ye’d nae do anything to harm our mission?”
Heat flushed Brus. “I did.”
Thor nodded. “Did ye nae assure me ye were over Sebille and how she betrayed ye and left ye for an Englishman?”
Rage clenched his gut. One woman. He’d loved one woman in his life, and she’d carved his heart out of his chest with her bare hands and sharp nails and left him with a bare, jagged, empty gaping wound that no amount of wenching seemed to fix. “Aye,” he finally answered. “I’m sorry.”
“Nay, ye’re nae. But ye will be if ye do nae keep yer damn tongue when we go to Sebille’s home. We need information, Brus. Our duty is to the king, and we’ve failed thus far. I do nae care if Sebille lies upon the dais with her husband to make a bairn, ye’ll hold yer temper or I’ll take yer head as Sotherby wanted to do.”
Brus nodded. He had a duty, and he’d failed. His anger at Sebille could not be allowed to rule the rest of his life. “I’ll keep my temper. I vow it to God. Did ye learn anything?”
“Nae really. Sotherby threw us out—or dragged us is more like it—after ye crumpled to the ground from the blow. I know the man will leave tomorrow to secure his wife, the poor woman. But that is all I know. And though I feel sorry for her, I can do naught to aid her since ye got us both thrown out of the castle. Besides that, we need to move on to finish our mission. As we were dragged out, I saw the Summer Walker he had been thrashing. She was tied once more to a pole.”
“We need to aid her,” Brus said, looking to the castle.
Thor shook his head. “She was dead, Brus.” Brus flinched at the news, and Thor’s gaze met his. “I will nae forget the injustice he served on this woman.”
Brus nodded and both men spat on the ground to show what they thought of Sotherby. “We’ll return,” Brus said.
“Aye,” Thor assured him, his voice like ice. “Under cover of dark, when the mission for the king is complete, we’ll return. And then Sotherby will discover how a lash at his back feels.”
“And he’ll give his life for the woman’s he took,” Brus finished.