The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (18 page)

“That old bastard. I heard he liked boys more than girls,” a man said.

Seumas turned but could not tell who had said what. The room blurred in front of him, and he closed his eyes.

“Well, maybe so, but she is a catch, that one. It is the MacNaughton’s only daughter, after all.”

Seumas was out of his seat and tottering without remembering the thought passing through his mind. A few people turned to look at him, but no one said anything.

“Her uncle made a fine bargain for that one.” A man laughed, but he would be damned if he could pinpoint the location.

James pushed through the crowd, close to Seumas.

“James.” His own voice sounded so foreign. “I am a bit soused and cannot find—”

“You cannot find your room?” He pulled his head back and covered his nose with his hand as Seumas moved in closer to the boy.

Damn—so now I am drunk!

“Please, nae…will ye help me?”

The boy pulled back again before he answered. “No, sire. I do not go to rooms.”

Why was this boy trying to take him to his room? He did not want to go to his room, but he could not remember what he did want. Whatever it was, this boy could help him, but…

“Nae, nae, James, not my room.” Seumas sat down hard on his bench and tried to keep his head from spinning.

It was Iseabail. I want to see Iseabail.

The boy continued away from Seumas, and he was left with his own thoughts.

Feeling close to weeping, Seumas poured another cup but a small hand stilled his.

“No, sire, you do not need any more.” The brave little boy had returned and stood close to the table. “You are quite done in already.”

He was probably eight years old, and he showed more
courage than any other person in the place. Seumas released the bottle and the boy withdrew his hand.

“Do you want me to help you get to your room? That is all I will do though,” he added, sounding adamant.

Seumas tried to focus his thoughts. “Sit with me, please.”

The boy glanced over his shoulder, probably to make sure his boss or father or whomever could not see him, before he took the seat offered.

Seumas remembered suddenly. “I heard someone speaking of a woman, maybe a marriage, but I do not know where they were sitting or where the voices were coming from.”

“Do you mean the marriage between Lord Somerset and Lady Iseabail?”

Seumas froze. Unable to speak, he simply nodded once and waited for his life to have meaning again.

“They are to be wed day after tomorrow, methinks.” He frowned. “Everyone is talking about it.”

Not wanting to break the spell, Seumas asked the question that could change his life. “Where?”

“I believe Lord Somerset got word today and has left for the MacNaughton land.”

She lives!

The lad’s wide-eyed look showed his astonishment when Seumas tousled his hair. It was almost laughable.

Seumas stumbled out of his seat. “See to my horse, will ye, James?”

“I will help you to your room, before you fall down, sir.” James put his arm behind Seumas to steady him, even though he was twice the lad’s size, and helped him to his feet.

The room took a violent pitch as Seumas stood. He grabbed at the nearest thing to stop from falling. The woman pushed the grabbing hand away from her chest, and James caught Seumas before he hit his head against the table.

“Easy now, sir.” The boy continued pushing and pulling Seumas by the shirt and arm as they headed up the narrow staircase. “You need to rest, sir.”

Dumping him unceremoniously on the bed, the boy was kind enough to remove Seumas’s boots and add wood to the fire before he left.

Seumas’s dreams were of dark caverns where he could hear Iseabail, could smell her, and yet could not find her.

“Iseabail, Iseabail,” he called out to her as he passed through the cave, water dripping like blood down the walls. “Why can I not find ye?”

He heard her calling him, the sound of her sweet voice was etched on his heart. “Seumas, please…”

He woke with a start to look for the ax planted in his brain.

My God, my head must be damaged to hurt this much.

Slowly, he tried to sit and grabbed the chamberpot in the nick of time.

He lay on the bed, his body drenched with sweat.

I am dying...

His next thought was that he could be with Iseabail, but he sat straight up, grabbing his head and wincing in pain.
He tried to get off the bed but only made it to the chamberpot. Clutching his head, he dressed and walked down the stairs as lightly as he could. He squinted through the pain as the disheveled tavern wavered in his view. What had happened?

“Nae more, now, man
. I am telling you right now.” The owner walked toward him with a lot more energy than Seumas could have mustered. “You get out of here if you need to start any more fights. Do you see what you have done?”

Seumas looked at the man, dumbfounded. “I cannot say as I know exactly what ye are speaking of, sir. Do ye have anything for my head?”

The man’s jaw fell open in disbelief, and Seumas waited until he could speak again. He did not. Instead, he poured Seumas a drink, set a plate with bread and cheese in front of him, handed him a bill already nicely tallied, and headed back out, presumably to the kitchen.

Seumas sipped his drink and gnawed on a hunk of bread. After a few mouthfuls, he began to feel better. Steadier. He broke off a piece of cheese and—

Iseabail.

“Sir, I need my horse, quickly.” Seumas got up from the only righted table and reached in his sporran for the last of his silver pieces.

“That is not near enough for the damage you caused.”

“Prepare the gray destrier
and keep the brown gelding in payment. Will that settle us?”

The man nodded and left. He returned a few moments later with a skin of water for his journey.

“Thank ye,” Seumas said.

The man gestured out the front, and Seumas was greeted by his horse, fed and watered and ready. Seumas scratched his head, trying to remember the direction.

James came out from the bar as soon as the innkeeper had left. “Feeling better now, sire?”

Seumas smiled. “Much better. Can ye tell me which way to MacNaughton?”

“As I told you last night, straight down the lane then bear to the left.”

Seumas nodded and headed toward the door.

“Sire?” The young boy came up beside him and took his hand. “I am truly sorry for your loss. Calum sounds like he was a fine lad. Methinks I would have liked him.”

Somehow, Seumas stopped from gasping. When had he talked about the boy? He nodded because he had no response.

“And thank you for the coins.” James glanced behind him as if to ensure they were still alone. “I have almost enough to return home.”

Seumas watched as the boy headed up the stairs. He had no memory of any conversation, but he did like him. And he was right. He would have liked Calum.

And Calum would have liked him.

Iseabail awoke in the room she had often dreamed of with longing and wondered if she would ever see again. It really was not the same room though. How could it be? The last time she had been here she had had two loving brothers to protect and take care of her. Now she had no one. She was dead inside.

The table beside the fire held a tray with bread and cheese. She got out of the bed. She was wearing bed clothes, but when had she changed? If not her, then who had changed her? A maid? Or had it been her uncle, who so enjoyed touching her and, even more, her touching him? She pushed the thought aside. Not knowing was better. She plopped down at the table and ate listlessly. She had no idea how long she had slept and her lack of appetite gave her no clues.

Ripping off a piece of the bread, she was thankful for the little things. She never would have believed she could endure all she had been through, and yet, here she was. Now she needed to make a plan. First, she had to keep her uncle from getting near her again. Second, she had to do the same with her new husband. He had a propensity for boys, which would help. She had no need of a man’s touch. She would mourn the loss of children, but she would survive.

She jumped at the knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“It is Gordon, m’lady. May I come in?”

Iseabail’s heart squeezed at the sound of her kind tutor’s voice. He had been with her since she was a child, and his silent support had always been a blessing. She yanked open the door and flung herself into his arms.

“Oh, Gordon, how welcome a sight.” Her voice was muffled in his chest as she held him close.

“Now, now,” he patted her lightly as he hugged her back, “it is wonderful to see you as well. Let me take a look.”

He backed away then hesitated when he recognized the signs of her uncle’s abuse. It was there in his eyes, the way they narrowed and studied her. Gordon and Iseabail had an understanding—it would not be spoken of. Nothing ever was. When her uncle took over the house, she became his property and as such, no one could gainsay him. His physical abuse was permitted. Had word of his sexual abuse been exposed, he might have been reprimanded, though it was as likely that the powers that be, his equals, would have decided to wink and overlook the abuse. She knew well the cruel ways of the world.

Gordon also recognized
the look
. He was forever trying to keep her uncle’s filthy hands from her. It was not something they ever discussed, but her tutor’s unexpected arrivals had often interrupted Uncle Henry’s plans. It did not take long for Iseabail to realize it was intentional. He could only do that when he was nearby, however, and too often Gordon traveled to Percy to look after his sickly sister.

“Do you know that your uncle has gone to Lord Somerset’s to tell him of your return?” Gordon’s eyes were round with concern as he scanned her face.

Iseabail did not know what he saw there because she felt nothing. “I assumed he would not wait. He is anxious to acquire his new lands in the Border area. He told me about it on the return.”

“Lord Somerset should be here tonight.” He took her hand and they sat on the oaken coffer at the foot of the bed. Her mother’s coffer. “Iseabail, I heard about Calum. What happened?”

She sat up straight, trying to be strong as she told her story. Instead, she broke down in tears when she spoke of Seumas and how much he had helped them, how he had put himself in harm’s way to protect them and how she had had no inkling his motives were anything but pure.

“Now, now, Iseabail.” Gordon held her close as she sobbed, her heart breaking. “I think perhaps you were acquiring feelings for this man, yes?”

She turned into his tunic, wet with her tears. “I was, Gordon. Methinks I loved him.”

Gordon drew back, forcing her to look at him. “You think you loved him? What did you do about it?”

It took Iseabail a minute to realize what he was asking. Her heart hurt. How could he ask such a thing? “Have you been so long under my uncle’s pay that you also see me as cattle to sell at the highest price with as little use as possible?” She stomped away from him and walked to the window.

“Forgive me, Iseabail,” Gordon stumbled with his words. “I meant only to ask if you had expressed your feelings to this man.”

“Forgive me.” She struggled for composure. Crying helped nothing. “That is my one saving grace. I did not realize the depth of my feelings until it was too late. Now he fills my dreams, by day and by night, and I realize how far I have fallen in love with him.”

The silence in the room was thick. She wanted him to tell her what to do, to tell her how to deal with this betrayal. She held her breath, listening for his words of wisdom.

“Well, Iseabail,” he crossed the room and took her hands as he spoke, “I pray you can put this man out of your dreams so you can fulfill your new destiny as Lady Somerset.”

He placed a small kiss on her forehead and retreated without another word.

Iseabail turned back to the window. She ignored the knock calling her to dinner and refused them much later when they came to light her fire and prepare her bed. Fireflies danced across the meadow outside the castle walls, and she imagined she was one of them. She could go wherever she wanted, and no one would look for her. No one would bother her. She could live as she pleased.

Exhausted, she turned to her bed and gasped at the man standing in the middle of the room. He was covered from head to foot in mud. His eyes were huge and held a hint of madness.

“What are you doing here, Seumas?” Her heart seemed to miss a beat at the sound of his name.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I do not want to hear anything from you.”

She turned away so he would not see the tears coursing down her face. He was here. The man she loved was here. The man who had killed her little brother was right behind her. She heard his feet shuffle and tensed. If he got any closer, what would she do? Rail at him and beat at his chest? Or embrace him and tell him how much she loved him?

*****

“I have been on the road for days without rest and little food.” Seumas’s head started to fall back. He dropped down onto the coffer, his legs too weak to support him. “I merely want to talk to ye, and I will be gone… Please.”

The sight of her standing at the window overwhelmed him. A breath of fresh air after being submerged. His lungs filled, yet he could not breathe. His heart sang.

She is alive
.

He drank in the sight of her as if she were water in the midst of a drought. He ached to touch her—the silkiness of her hair, the softness of her skin—to pull her against him. His elation dampened when she turned toward him, her face dark with anger.

She stood rigid, not even the rise and fall of chest visible in the fading light. Her eyes were cold as steel. The silence grew. She would not listen to him now. He sighed with deep regret. His shoulders stooped under the weight of her rejection, and his body trembled from exhaustion. The heaviness of his head became too much, and he leaned into his hands.

With no pride left, he finally spoke, “May I please have something to drink before I return to the road?”

She went to the water stand and poured him a cup. Her hair cascaded down her back. He imagined what it would feel like to touch her. His body stirred as if from a deep sleep.

Oh, Iseabail, if only ye knew how much I desire ye. I would take ye as my wife and love ye…

The tracks of her tears gave him pause. She shoved the cup at him.

He grabbed her hand. “Please hear me, Iseabail.” He barely had the strength to keep her from tugging her hand out of his grasp. “Sit here so that I may look upon ye one last time.” His voice broke. “Hear me, I beg ye.”

She sat down stiffly beside him and removed her hand from his. Her composure was unshaken. If not for the tears, he would have believed there was no emotion in her at all.

He scratched at his beard, the dried mud falling to the ground. “I did not kill Calum. I would never hurt that lad.”

“It was your dagger, Seumas.” She spit the words at him as she finally faced him. “How can you sit there and lie to me again?”

“When did I ever lie to ye? I only tried to protect ye. Ye and Calum.”

“Do not speak his name. He deserves better than to have his name on your lips.”

“Why would I have lied to ye? Tell me that.”

Her gaze did not waver. “For the money. You were going to ransom us and get the reward from my uncle. Malcolm told me all about it.”

Seumas rolled his eyes. She would believe that scoundrel but not him? “Ye put yer trust in the wrong man.”

Snorting derisively, she said, “I do that quite a bit.”

Silence—they both waited. Seumas was losing his battle to stay awake and realized with great despair that he was not going to get anywhere with her. Still, he had to try one last time.

“Iseabail.”

She looked at him and, for a moment, he beheld the woman she had been for him, the strong noblewoman whom he respected and loved and could have built a life with.

“I have fallen in love with ye,” he said.

Emotion flitted across her face. Hope? She pressed her lips together. The veil of indifference fell back into place, covering her beautiful features.

*****

A knife to the heart would have pained Iseabail less than this encounter. For the barest instant, she yearned with all her heart and soul to believe Seumas. She looked into those haunted, crystal blue eyes and wanted to trust him. To let herself love him.

But he stood before her, exhausted and barely able to hold himself upright, asking to be heard. To be heard? He offered no apologies or explanations. Why? After everything they had been through, did she not deserve the truth? She let her gaze roam over him, assessing his sincerity. An overgrowth of beard covered his dimples. His eyes rounded in mock sincerity. Nay. He would make up a story and expect her to believe him, to trust him. They always did.

Trust no one.

Iain had been correct. She should not have trusted this man. Should not have trusted any man.

That was the hardest part. All his concerned words and tender gestures meant nothing. She had been a fool to believe his were genuine. With others around, he had finally shown his true mettle. He was not kind. He was a mercenary. He would do anything for money. Calum’s life was the price she had paid for her knowledge. A price too high. Her guilt was such that this marriage to Lord Somerset would only by the start of her penitence.

She stood erect, her shoulders back, and faced the only man she had thought she could trust and maybe even care for. She had never expected him to love her, she knew he would not have been able to love her when he learned about her uncle, but she had believed he truly cared, and she could barely control her rage. She swallowed down the seething anger that worked its way up her throat, begging to be spewed at this man.

Fighting to keep her voice from shaking, she tipped her head back.

“Get out of my room, Seumas. I hope to never see you again.”