Charming the Chieftain (20 page)

Denying the words had become an enormous burden on her heart. Now, she was at peace with herself. Openly acknowledging her emotions presented her the opportunity to lavish her love on Aeden without reserve, and she vowed to be content in whatever her husband felt able to give. There, enough.

At the moment, she needed to concentrate her efforts on replenishing her curative stores. After she set Ronan to rights, she was bombarded with requests for treatment before she found her bed last eve. Today promised to be a busy one.

Gathering her robe around her, she leaned over the bedside to grab her silk slippers. Immediately she knew something was amiss. Another sweep of the room revealed that the furnishings were out of place.

Strange. The hearth seemed much closer, the bed off-center, nearer the door. She muddled over the oddity. Last night she did think the walls were moving, but then she was caught up in Aeden’s loving everything seemed dreamlike. No one came into the chamber either, and ’twas doubtful their sanctuary had been breached in the dead of night. Even more preposterous the notion a person stole in just to move their bed and with Aeden atop it.

Then, it hit her like a blow to the head.

Mortified, she buried her face in her hands. Her cheeks burned at the picture taking shape in her mind. Now she would have the degrading task of enlisting a handful of male servants to position the bed back against the far wall. By nightfall, the entire castle would know that their chief and his lady’s marital relations were fierce enough to shift the very large, heavy bed a good twelve inches from the wall. How would she ever face anyone again? And what would Aeden say? A bubble of laughter interrupted the silent chamber.

Aeden had been the first one awake this morn and most likely aware of the bed’s awkward position. No doubt horribly pleased in that endearingly arrogant way of his. Well, if he couldn’t be bothered, then neither could she.

• • •

“We have finished the task in yon bedchamber, milady.” The manservant sported an ear-splitting grin.

Her face burned, and she longed for a gargantuan hole to materialize in the midst of the rushes so she could jump in, close it over her head, and disappear.

“Why is Hugh smiling like that?” Onora shook her head.

She turned to her aunt and waved away the question with a flick of her wrist. “Oh ’tis naught, aunt, save a trivial matter with the, erm, bed.”

Her aunt grinned. “I heard it managed to move over a foot and in the middle of the night, no less.”

Elisande tossed her hands in the air, exasperated. “How in the world did you — no never mind,” she dismissed the question. “I do not wish to know.”

Onora pat the seat next to her. “Let us sit, break the fast together and have a chat.”

Elisande took her place at the worn table. Onora poured a beaker of almond milk for each, while Elisande selected two baked bannocks from a woven basket and drizzled heather honey over both. A dragee of cheese and spiced apples to aid in digestion rounded out the meal. She set one plate before Onora and claimed the other, and then spent a few moments to satisfy her appetite, enjoying the barley flavor of the fresh bread, and sticky sweetness of the honey. Sated, she gave Onora her full attention.

“Niece, I am loathe to meddle in your business, but the truth is, I need speak to you about your religious beliefs.”

“What about them?”

“Do you know what ‘floating’ a witch means?”

Elisande’s lips thinned. “I thought we were past all that nonsense.”

“Well, for the most part you are, but there are a few hold outs fueled by Fiona’s bile.”

Elisande shifted in her seat. On the one hand, reluctant to ask the question nagging at her, yet, on the other, longing to know the relationship between the redhead and Aeden.

“Was Aeden … involved with this woman for a long time?”

Onora shrugged. “It all depends on what you mean by ‘involved.’ If you mean were they courting, then no. If you mean was she his leman, than yes, he was involved with Fiona.”

Elisande sucked in her breath. The thought of Aeden sharing that most intimate part of him with another woman ignited her jealousy. An image burned itself into her mind and it was the last thing she wanted to contemplate. If she were the type to use her curatives for ill-gain then she wouldn’t have any trouble dusting off a charm to cause boils. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite so blood-thirsty. So, she steered the conversation back to their earlier topic.

“To answer your question, floating is a way to determine if a woman is a witch. Stones of varying weights are placed upon the chest of the supposed witch whilst in a pool of knee-deep water. If the woman manages to float under such weight, she is charged with witchery and burned at the stake. However, if the unfortunate woman sinks and drowns she is considered innocent.”

“Please, tell me what this has to do with my beliefs.” Uncomfortable, she blew out a breath. “I can assure you aunt, I am not a witch, nor do I practice spell-casting.”

Onora laughed. “Of course not, what a notion.”

“Then pray tell, what is this about?”

Onora hesitated. “First let me say that you have transformed the keep into a warm, cozy home once again.”

Anxiously she searched her aunt’s face. “I hope I have not made you feel displaced, aunt. This is still your home, too.”

She shook her head. “You have accomplished that which a mistress is expected to achieve. Not many have the ambition, patience, or knowledge to run a household successfully. You have done such and more.”

She paused to take a sip of water. “I did try to change things, but Gavin forbade it out of some misguided loyalty to his first wife, and I allowed it, uncertain of my place in his heart.”

Elisande leaned forward. “But surely he loved you. Why else would he have eloped with you?”

“Oh, he loved me in his way, and it was enough. After his death the center of my world had gone. I saw no reason to put my mark on Caeverlark.”

Covering her aunt’s hand, she gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Do you still mourn your loss grievously?”

Wiping her eyes with her braids, she smiled, “Oh, time does heal the heart, and your presence has proved the greatest balm to my soul, and, of course, dear Tam has been a tower of strength.”

At the mention of Aeden’s uncle, Elisande smiled mischievously.

“Now, what is that smile?”

She shrugged. “Uncle Tam holds you in high esteem.”

Her aunt’s eyes narrowed at Elisande’s dewy-eyed look of innocence.

Elisande laughed. “All I mean is that he looks at you with the eyes not of a brother-in-law.”

“Oh, you’re talking nonsense.”

Patting Elisande’s hand in a motherly gesture, she renewed their previous conversation.

“Now, I want to know why you placed lemons around the kitchen’s archway.”

“Surely, you know they are considered good luck in kitchen matters.”

Elisande noticed Onora nod her head to one of the nosier servants.

Her aunt leaned over, and whispered. “Some of the servant’s should probably be allowed to eavesdrop, it might do them good to learn something new.”

Elisande beamed at the idea of being helpful to her clan.

“Lemons for luck in kitchen matters, ’tis such an interesting notion, was this your idea?”

She shook her head. “No. It was Father Fenton’s advice to me. You remember him, don’t you?”

“Hmm, now you mention it, I do remember the potty little fellow. He was a tad off the beam, dear. His strange mix of old wives fables, and superstitious blather certainly reflected his unbalanced mind. I am heartily surprised my brother never booted the man out after your mother’s death. The good Lord knows I tried often enough to have him run off the estate.”

The servants gasped right along with Elisande.

Shocked, she sputtered, “You cannot mean that, aunt.”

“You know I never say things I do not mean. The priest is more moon sick than a mountain goat that’s eaten too much black henbane. These bizarre rituals he taught you are nothing more than delusory nonsense.”

Elisande held up her hand. “Please, Father Fenton taught me sacred prayers. Why does everyone keep referring to my prayer sessions as ‘rituals?’ I do not conduct rituals.”

Bedeviled, she flung her arms out from her side. “I thought the Maxwells were Christian, yet, no one seems to recognize the invocations I chant.”

She noticed the two servants Christi and Morag made a poor pretense of polishing the gleaming high table. Elisande waved then over. “You women are in good standing with the church, are you not?”

“Aye, milady, of course,” Morag said.

“Then you must be familiar with the many prayers that I recite.”

“Well … I … ” Christi looked to Onora for guidance.

Elisande caught the look and tried to put the woman at ease. “’Tis all right, I give you leave to speak your mind. You have my promise I will not hold anything you say against you.”

Christi passed her dusting cloth over the candleholder in rapid swipes. She held the slender item in a chokehold, and looked like she may have strength enough to snap the piece.

“Well, milady, I am a god-fearing Christian, and I never miss a Sunday’s mass. But, I ’ent nivver seen nor heard of the things you get up too. To my knowledge, you’re recitin’ auld wives fables and a wee bit o’ the occult, milady.”

Flummoxed, Elisande gaped at Morag. “What do you have to say?”

“Oh, aye, well when you first came here, we all thought you were practicin’ the auld dark magicks.”

The younger woman shook her head vehemently.

“Pray tell, what is your opinion now, ladies?” Onora intervened.

“Yes, well … ” Christi shut her mouth.

“Go on.” Morag nudged the other woman’s shoulder.

Christi gave Elisande an apologetic look. “I wouldn’t like to insult you further, milady. Especially, since you fixed that blasted cough of mine not three days ago.”

“An occultist, or, a witch. I don’t know what the more offensive term is.”

She looked from one woman to the other.

“And this is the clan’s view of me?” Elisande croaked.

Morag touched Elisande’s forearm. “No, no milady. Not anymore. In truth, most of us had realized you truly cared for the clan, and that’s when we decided to overlook a few of your peculiarities.”

Well, that was something, she supposed.

“When did you come to this understanding,” her aunt pressed.

“Well, when milady began dedicating her time and her stores of energy to the sick and lame members of our clan.” Morag announced.

“Ah, now, Morag, let’s not forget the esteem in which she holds our chief,” Christi reminded her friend.

“Aye, so, right enough. And him with those terrible scars, too. And now we know you’ve been raised by a lunatic priest it only confirms our original notion that you mean no harm to anyone,” Morag concluded.

Elisande had a hard time taking it all in. “What of my book?”

“What book?” Onora’s brow wrinkled.

“The volume of Father Fenton’s personal scripture.”

Onora wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, and Elisande dropped her forehead into her hand to fix a vacant stare on the worn tabletop. “Dear God, was that a lie, too?”

“Well, not so much a lie, perhaps. More like Father Fenton’s misguided elucidation on Christian practices.” Onora poured out a small beaker of honeyed mead and thrust the cup under Elisande’s nose. “Drink up. You have had quite a shock this morn.”

Elisande grabbed the cup and downed the sweet liquid in one gulp. Onora refilled the beaker, which Elisande downed as quickly as the last.

“My dear niece, I know this has all been a terrible upset to you. I do believe you would benefit from a chat with Father Pollock. He shall assist you in making sense from this muddle. Also, Aeden suggested your ability to read would be an asset to Pollock and the Seneschal.”

Elisande took her aunt’s words to heart and listened with half a mind, as she directed the servants go about their chores. Well, at least no one thought she was a witch anymore.

Onora crooked her finger at Elisande urging her to lean in close.

“One more word, niece,” she murmured, her voice low.

“Yes, Aunt?”

“If you do not wish to have private words spread across the Lowlands by sundown, be mindful never to speak of personal matters within hearing of either Morag, or, Christi. They are both faithful followers, and very agreeable women, but the two together are a formidable source of gossip.”

Elisande mused aloud, “Is that the true reason we had this particular discussion in the hall?”

Onora smiled. “Guilty. By tomorrow, the small faction of followers hanging from Fiona’s every vile word will have learned the truth.”

“One might just discount the truth as rumor,” Elisande reasoned.

“No,” Onora assured her. “Those two are never wrong, and everyone knows it.”

Onora came around the table, patted Elisande’s shoulder and deposited a peck on her cheek. “All is right with the world, Elisande. Go and have a talk with Father Pollock, it’ll do you good.”

Elisande wasn’t too certain about that.

• • •

“What news?” Warford demanded.

“The only information I uncovered is that she most probably crossed into Scotland.”

“That cannot be possible.” He forced the words through clenched teeth.

“Well, it is not impossible.”

Warford withdrew his broadsword and delivered a lateral blow with the flat of the blade. The soldier staggered back and crumpled to the floor.

“You will hold your tongue.”

The soldier scuttled back against the wall and held his bloody head. “Yes my lord, I beg your pardon, my lord.”

“If this woman was Elisande, then she already had two months in which to hide. Why Scotland,” he pondered out loud.

He knew he was missing something, but, what?

“If what Robert says is true, more than likely a filthy Scots has abducted Lady Cadby.”

Sir Stuart hesitated.

“What is it?”

“I beg your pardon my lord, I must speak plain. After so many weeks in that barbarous land she is no longer virtuous, and I do not believe her worthy of your name.” Sir Stuart stated.