Bride of Dunloch (Highland Loyalties) (10 page)

Sighing, Jane moved closer to the fire where the remains of the afternoon’s thyme infusion stagnated in the bowl. It would be of use to her now—in addition to its ability to cause a body to sweat and thus reduce a fever, thyme was also a wonderful preventative of infection. She resettled herself onto her sore bottom and reached for a strip of linen. Dipping it into the cool infusion, she dabbed delicately at the scrape, pulling back the hem of her skirt to her hip.

“Does it hurt?”

With a gasp, she yanked the hem of her dress back down, and pulled her bare foot underneath its cover.

“I thought you were asleep,” she accused, more flustered than angry.

“I figured as much,” Robbie answered with a wry grin. “What happened?”

“I ... er, I tripped on the tub—on the stairs,” she amended, embarrassed at having revealed such a personal detail.

Robbie chuckled. “Well, which was it—the tub or the stairs?” When Jane glanced down, Robbie added, “And what has happened to yer backside? Hurt that in yer wee fall did ye?”

Jane flushed a deep scarlet. Tears stung behind her eyelids at the fresh memory of how roughly she’d been used by Lord Reginald. She’d not realized how much it bothered her.

He noticed the change in her expression, and his own face hardened—his mouth pressed into a tight line and his eyes grew dark.

“Jane—what has happened?”

Jane shook her head miserably, swiping with the heel of her palm at the moisture which had collected beneath her lower lids with the back of her hand.

“Jane, have ye ... have ye been
defiled
?” His voice shook with repressed rage. He shoved himself into some semblance of a sitting position with effort, and braced his hands behind himself for support.

“No!” she exclaimed, shocked and angry at his assumption. “And would you please lie back down before you set your fever off again?”

She moved to his side, and with one hand beneath his head and the other supporting his back, she assisted him in lying down again.

“You’ve got quite the imagination on you, sir,” she reprimanded tersely. “I am a respectable,
married
woman.”

“Even respectable women can fall victim to a man wi’ defiling on his mind. Was it your
respectable
husband that used ye so boorishly then?”

Jane furrowed her brows, offended by his blunt manner. “This is an entirely inappropriate conversation, sir,” she insisted.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Robbie concluded, his green eyes fixed intently on her. “That’s a horrible way of treating a woman ye’re meant to love, dinna ye think?”

Jane shrugged casually. “In that, you assume too much. He does not love me; my marriage was arranged and my husband is thrice my age.”

“Surely he must love ye—or at least he must be terribly smitten wi’ ye, a lass so young and pleasing.”

Jane glanced ruefully at Robbie. “My, you do have quite an imagination—or the fever must be acting up.”

“I dinna understand. What are ye on about?”

“My husband thinks me plain, and I know full well that I am,” she answered simply.

“By God, ye are not,” Robbie insisted. When Jane snorted in disbelief he continued, “I mean that. Ye’ve got yerself beautiful dark hair and a lovely pair of blue eyes. I dinna remember much about the first time I encountered ye, but I surely do remember those eyes staring back at me.”

He fell silent then, and lowered his gaze rather shyly. She had not considered he might ever be shy, and her stomach fluttered in that curious way again. She lowered her eyes, feeling rather shy herself.

“Well, I thank you for such a compliment, though I confess I find it difficult to believe. But it is all irrelevant. Right now, you should be taking another dose of infusion, not wasting your breath in flattery.”

“Ye didna brew it in the chamber pot, did ye?” he quipped, attempting to add some levity to the conversation.

“Don’t start,” she admonished, though a grin tugged at her lips despite her effort to remain stern.

Fishing two hot stones from the fire with the iron tongs, Jane submerged them in the water to boil.

“Will you turn your head that I may replace my stocking and my boot?” she asked politely.

Robbie grinned, his clear eyes glowing with mischief in the firelight, but did as she asked. She rather liked the way his lips pulled up at the corners when he was amused. He had an impish look about him when he did that.

Quickly, she pulled her stocking over her foot and relaced her boot. Then in the intervening silence she chewed her lip, wondering how best to bring up the subject that was on her mind.

“I ... I had a brief chat with the steward of Dunloch this evening after the meal,” she ventured. “Did you know him?”

“Tearlach? Aye, I ken him.”

“He seems quite upset about everything. I think
crushed
might be a better turn of phrase.”

“Aye, I imagine he is. I imagine a lot of people are.” Robbie’s words were guarded as he waited for Jane to come around to what it was she wanted to say.

“He has sworn his loyalty to England and to the king, and yet he admits that he remains steward to Dunloch to protect what rightfully belongs to the MacGillivray chief.”

Robbie narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “He told ye this?”

“He had gotten into the ale when I found him,” she admitted sheepishly, glancing at him from under her lashes.

“That were very foolish of him, to go spouting off to an English lass of all people. Ye could very well repeat everything he’s said to the English. D’Aubrey would have every occasion to hang him from the castle walls for admitting such a thing.”

Jane was silent for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“I don’t understand,” she said finally.

“What dinna ye understand? That Tearlach could be hanged?”

“I don’t
understand
,” she repeated more forcefully. “I don’t understand why the Scottish are warring against the king.”

Robbie stared at her, baffled and angry. “He forces us to pay him duties and taxes and when we willna, he steals our land and gives it to someone who will.”

“But the English must do the same. They have not rebelled against their king as the Scottish have.”

“He is
no’
our king,” he shouted in return, and then immediately winced from the pain his outburst caused his wound.

“But the Scottish throne was vacant,” Jane interjected.

The look on Robbie’s face made her stomach plummet. He regarded her as if she was an utter fool, and she was starting to feel very much like she was one.

“Ye silly wee lass—dinna ye ken anything? It were no’ his throne to take. He has taken advantage of our confusion over the royal succession, and has used it to usurp power in a land that doesna belong to him.”

“I-Is that true?” she stammered.

“How can ye doubt it?”

Jane hung her head, suddenly feeling very naive and silly. “Nobody ever talked of it in Sussex except to claim ... well, to claim some very unbecoming things about the Scottish people. I never knew what this war was about, and ...”

Robbie scrutinized her as she fell silent, chewing her lip in an attempt to fend of bitter tears.

“D’ye ken why we Scots hate the English so much?” he said slowly.

“I understand now,” she answered, nodding. “Your land has been stolen, and you are forced to pay taxes to a king and to lords that are not yours.”

“I can see ye’ve been listening, but still ye dinna ken why, so I’ll tell ye. Yer king is a villain on his own, sure enough. But the English lords, and the English soldiers that have moved in on Scotland in his name, are the ones who fuel our hatred. They kidnap our people to demand ransom, and when we canna pay, they hang them. Dinna think I mean only men, for they hang innocent women and children as well. They invent crimes to justify hangings, too—for a number of reasons, none of which are just. The soldiers stir up trouble so that we’ll fight to protect ourselves, our women and children, and when we fight, we are breaking the peace and we are slaughtered.

“And do ye ken,” Robbie continued, his voice growing low and pained, “why I thought ye’d been defiled? Why that were my first thought?”

Jane shook her head. Her eyes were wide, and her stomach heaved sickly at what he was telling her.

“I’ve seen it happen—to women and girls I’ve kent all my life. I’ve seen the pain that comes from being used rough; more than just bodily pain—I’ve seen it in their eyes. And I’ve seen the same pain in the eyes of the men that couldna do anything to protect them, nor to avenge them. We hate the English for what they do to us day after day. And we hate yer king for not only allowing it to happen, but for condoning it.
Encouraging
it.”

“And you hate me because I’m English,” she surmised dejectedly.

She felt Robbie’s hand grasp hers.

“No,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I didna say that. How could I hate the woman that has saved my life? Ye kent I were the enemy—ye must have, wi’ me bloodied up and skulking around a pile of dead Scotsmen. And yet ye still helped me. But if this land is to be yer new home, Jane from Sussex, ye must know the way things are. Ye canna remain blind to it as ye were. For it will be around ye every day. Ye canna turn away from it, even if ye wanted to. Ye’re a brave lass; a brave and kind lass. Ye must ken what yer people are really like.”

Robbie’s passion died away, and Jane was suddenly quite conscious of his hand grasping hers. The heat of his fingers tingled up her arm, and set her belly aflutter once again. She expected his shyness to return, but when she lifted her gaze to his, his green eyes held her intently.

For a moment she felt as if a force was pulling her gaze to his and she could not look away. Her eyes dropped to his lips, and at that moment she had never before felt such an intense desire to be kissed. The desire flooded her, provoking a yearning to feel his lips pressed against hers. She had revolted at the experience of having Lord Reginald’s tongue twining with hers ... but if it were Robbie’s tongue, Robbie’s mouth ...

Shocked at herself for the unexpected turn of her thoughts, she pulled her hand away from his.

“The water is boiling,” she said, clearing her throat.

A warm heat rose up her neck as she felt the force of his eyes still on her. She turned away, busying herself with tidying her already tidied items. Under the intensity of his gaze her movements grew clumsy, and she nearly burned her hand as she worked on the cooking pot.

“I’ve brought you a few things to eat,” she added to break the tension.

Avoiding his eyes, she passed Robbie the parcel of food.

“I thank ye,” he said softly.

“It’s nothing special; just some bannock and oatcakes—but I did manage to get some black crowdie to go on top.”

“That’s no’ what I mean, Jane.”

Her heartbeat quickened at the way he said her name—softly, as if he knew the effect he was having on her and sought to elevate it.

“It’s nothing,” she said again, stuffing the sensation down into her gut to ignore it.

“So ye’ve said.”

When he’d eaten a small chunk of the cheat and drank the fresh thyme infusion, she changed his bandage. Never had she felt so awkward, her fingers so stiff and uncoordinated. His skin under her hands felt smooth, and a longing to trace the planes of his stomach blossomed inside her. She wanted so much to place her cheek against his broad chest and feel his powerful arms wrap around her ...

And she fought every one of these absurd longings, for she was certain that he could hear, or at least
sense
her thoughts with mortifying clarity.

Besides, such thoughts were wholly inappropriate. Not only was he a Scot, an enemy to the king and to her new home, but she was also a married woman, the wife of the wealthy and powerful Baron of Dunloch.

But as true as these things were in her head, she knew she could not convince her heart of them.

The next morning at breakfast, tired and uncomfortable from an intermittent sleep on the dirt floor of the hut, Jane watched the castle inhabitants. There were lords and ladies, kin and friends of D’Aubrey. There were guardsmen, and there were higher ranking soldiers from the garrison at Fort Invercleugh.

And they were all English.

Robbie’s words swirled around in her mind, the things he had told her painting a grisly picture to which she could not turn a blind eye even if she wished to.

Bribery.

Rape.

Murder.

He could be lying to gain her sympathy, and the sickening churning in her stomach wanted to believe that possibility. But she knew he was not; the pain in his eyes and in his voice was too raw, too real.

He had chosen to follow his MacGillivray chief into battle against the English lord that took Dunloch from him and his people, and at first she’d thought it was for the sake of
land
. She’d never truly understood why land and castles and territory were so important before. But Robbie had thrown a new light onto what she understood and what she didn’t, and now she watched the English men and women before her, laughing and chatting as they broke their fast in the great hall of the MacGillivrays’ ancestral home, and felt truly wretched.