Authors: Felicia Rogers
By God's Grace (2 page)
****
Arbella stretched. A cocoon of warmth surrounded her. Her limbs weighed a ton as she moved them about. Her stomach emitted a low growl, a reminder she'd forgotten to eat. She splayed her hand, feeling rough wool fabric. Bed? How had she gotten here?
She opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the candlelight in the room. Once adjusted, she knew she wasn't alone. There was a huge man standing in the corner with arms folded over a massive chest. Her uncle perched on the edge of a chair. “Jamus,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
“Take ye time lass. Ye must be thirsty and hungry.”
“Aye, I am.”
“Tavish has made some broth for ye.” Jamus twisted and snapped his bony fingers. A similar giant appeared. To keep from bumping his head, the individual stooped. Soup was handed to Jamus. Then the giant reached over, placed large hands in Arbella's armpits, and pulled her up into a sitting position.
“Thank you,” said Arbella. While he worked to make her more comfortable, her eyes drifted from him to the man leaning casually against the wall and then back again.
She sucked in a breath, biting on her lip.
Jamus patted the bed. “Lass, don't fear Tavish. He wouldn't hurt a fly.”
Tavish stared, offering a wide-mouthed grin. Smiling back she said, “I am not afraid of Tavish. I just thought I saw two of him. In fact, I believe I still do. Did I hit my head?”
“Tavis, did the poor lass hit her head on anything?”
The standing figure answered in a loud, booming voice, “Nay.”
“Uncle Jamus, then I am seeing in twain, and now they are both talking.”
Jamus laughed. “Nay, lass, ye aren't seeing double. Ye are seeing Tavis and Tavish. They are twins.”
“Indeed,” she said, lowering her eyes. After a moment, Arbella got over the oddity of the two giants and went to grasp for the bowl of broth from Jamus, but he pushed her away.
“Ye are trembling. So I think I'll hold the stew.”
“Aye,” said Arbella, leaning back into the pillows and waiting to be fed. It was nice to have someone take care of her for a change.
Jamus fed Arbella in silence. When the stew was finished, a sigh of contentment left her parted lips. “Jamus, give my compliments to the cook.”
He smiled. “I am sure Tavish will appreciate the compliment.”
“Are you saying the giant of a man cooked this stew?”
“Aye, that is what I am saying, lass. And as glad as I am ye have enjoyed yer stew, and as happy as I am ye are alert, I believe we must interrupt the happiness to discuss yer caregivers.”
Arbella faced the opposite wall before speaking. “Must we?”
“Aye, I believe we must.”
Her body faced him, but she kept shifting her eyes so she never gazed right at him. “They aren't here at the moment, so maybe we should wait.”
Jamus arched his brow. “Is that so?”
“Aye. Maybe you should come visit at another time. I can, of course, inform them you stopped by.”
“Aye, maybe. When do ye think they will return?”
Arbella tapped her forehead. “It's hard to say.”
“It is imperative I speak with them.”
Arbella worried her lip once more. Guilt set in. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes and trailed down her face. With a deep sigh, she said, “They're gone.”
He patted her hand. “I know, dear.”
Deep, racking sobs shook Arbella's body. Jamus leaned forward and wrapped her in his arms, patting her back. When she calmed down enough to speak, she asked, “How did you know?”
“I saw the mounds with the crosses. I believe ye need to tell me what happened.”
Arbella settled back on the bed. “Jamus, it was so awful. First, Martha became ill. She was burning with fever, and she couldn't keep anything down. We tried everything to cool her, but nothing worked. Then one morning, she just refused to eat. She took a nap, and she didn't wake up.” A shiver ran across her chest, as she took a deep breath. “Jonas was headed for the doctor, but before he could even get on the horse, he was burning up with the fever as well. I took care of them the best I could, but nothing I did worked.”
“So ye buried them. When did all this happen?”
“Let me think. I believe it has been about two years ago.”
“Two years!” Jamus's voice rose.
Arbella nodded. “It has to be two years because there has been two planting seasons since they passed.”
“Are ye telling me, ye have been running the farm this whole time alone?”
“Aye, I have. Not real well, I'm afraid. The landowner came by to get his share, and he wasn't impressed. He said he was going to lodge complaints the next time he saw Jonas.”
“I am assuming this never happened.”
Arbella's lips twitched downward. “It never happened.”
“Has he returned to speak with Jonas?”
“Nay, he hasn't. I hope this season I will do better on the crops. If I don't, there is sure to be trouble.”
“Ye can't stay here, lass.”
Arbella glanced at Jamus with worry. “Why? Why can I not stay here?”
“Lass, this is a big place. Jonas and Martha barely managed it. I see no way ye can maintain all this on yer own.”
Desperation laced Arbella's tone. “Jamus, can you not lend someone to help me?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Why not? You have plenty of men to spare. Surely there is one person who is available to help me so I don't have to lose another home.”
Jamus picked up her hand cradling it gently. “I am sorry, dearest, but ye have to leave with me.”
“I don't understand.”
“I was coming to get ye because ye have been here long enough.”
“Humph, I disagree.”
“Too bad. It is time ye get married.”
She lay back against the bed and stared.
Jamus's voice rose, “Lass, ye are twenty and three. In some circles ye would be past childbearing age!”
Arbella chortled. “Is that so? Well, in some circles, I would be on my fourth or fifth child and right on to perishing.”
“While that may be the case, ye cannot remain here. Besides, yer father would be spinning in his grave if he realized I had let ye go this long without making a match.”
Arbella sulked. “Why can I not stay here? I have made it this long.”
Jamus patted her hand like a wayward child. “The truth is, I have come to get ye and take ye home.”
“Nay, I am already home.”
“To the Highlands, child.”
“That was my father's home. This was my mother's. I see no reason to pack up and leave.”
“Arbella, look at me.” She reluctantly obeyed, and Jamus added, “Duncan has returned.”
For a moment, the room shifted out of focus, and Arbella thought she might faint again. Breathlessly she asked, “Duncan? He is home?'
“Aye, he is.”
“But why? I mean, why now? What happened for him to return?”
“His brother, Cainneach, died and left no heir. The elders summoned Duncan to come home and lead the clan.”
“I see.” Avoiding his gaze, she shrugged her shoulders and added, “And what does this news have to do with me?”
“To put it simply, the Kincade Clan needs ye.”
Arbella frowned in confusion and Jamus continued with the explanation. “In a fortnight, all the surrounding clans will gather to have a tournament. During this tournament, every available lass will be paraded in front of Duncan.”
“For what purpose?”
“Don't be so naïve. To give Duncan a choice of wife, of course.”
A sudden intake of breath escaped. A cursory look revealed the truth. She would never garner Duncan's attention arrayed like this. Nails broken, ragged, and containing a thick layer of dirt. Clothes torn and faded. Hair lying limp with a lackluster feel.
With her hands running down the sides of her body, she implored Jamus. “There is no way I can impress him like this.”
Jamus stared. “Aye, I know. We have a lot of work to do.”
A small twinge of sadness fluttered in her heart. Gulping, she asked, “Isn't there another girl in the clan he would appreciate more?”
He rubbed his stubbled chin in thoughtful repose. “Aye, there are some verra pretty young lasses in the clan, but none of them have the history of ye and Duncan.”
“That is not a positive, but a detriment.” Arbella swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood. Walking around the room, picking up trinkets and putting them down, she attempted to memorize every part of her world. No doubt she would leave with Jamus, for he wouldn't leave her on the farm alone. Which was just as well. Loneliness had set in for some time.
Why, just the other day, she'd caught herself talking to the cow. The discussion centered on what she planned to have for dinner. At one point Arbella could have sworn the cow had responded back, saying, “Chicken would be heavenly.” At which point Arbella repositioned her head covering. Must've been the sun getting to her.
Without farther reflection, Arbella said, “I will leave with you, but I don't think this will work. I doubt Duncan will even remember me. And if he does, those memories are not the kind to endear him.”
“Ye let me worry about that. Now pack up what ye wish to take. We will be leaving before nightfall.
Â
Â
Duncan arrived at the Sinclair keep in one piece. Bored with the lack of action, he'd suggested sheep raids, wenching, and just your general drunken stupor, but the riders maintained a stony silence and a grim face.
When Grant arrived at Greenbriar, Duncan had high hopes he would be coming home in glorious fanfare. But upon arrival, it seemed quite the opposite. Admittedly, the clan had just suffered a crushing blow with the loss of their leader. But shouldn't he be more melancholy than anyone else? It was his brother who had perished. Why didn't sadness assail him? He should have been upset. In all honesty, his brother had been taken from him long ago. Duncan had never thought to see him again. So to hear Cainneach had passed wasn't an unexpected loss.
The castle looked the same as when he had left. Large, imposing stone walls, a moat filled with noxious debris, and a rotting gate.
Drawing closer, Grant called out. The gatekeeper nodded as the group rode through into the open area and stopped in front of the keep doors.
Duncan shifted in the saddle, shielded his eyes, and looked around. His initial assumptions were correct â nothing had changed. The huts sagging five years ago were still sagging now. The keep door hung askew on its hinges just as it had before. His brother, Cainneach, had been true to his word. He had said Duncan could leave and return at any time and be sure to miss nothing. He had been right.
Duncan dismounted and stalked toward the doors. Before reaching the destination, Cainneach's wife, Lyall, appeared. Arrayed in black, she held a handkerchief to her nose and blew. Tears appeared in soulless eyes and flowed freely down her hollowed cheeks. If it had been any other woman, Duncan would have offered comfort. But not for Lyall.
This woman had given Cainneach no love. They'd married to unite the clans and nothing more. Because of their distant relationship, there were no heirs. Legitimate heirs, anyway. This was the reason for the summons. The only reason Duncan would ever be heir to the clan.
“Aye, Lyall, how are ye?” he asked, mustering up a bit of false interest.
She sniffed, dabbing a square cloth to the corner of her damp eyes. “It has been so hard, Duncan. I loved him so much.”
“Humph,” Duncan muttered.
Lyall scooted closer, grabbed his middle, and squeezed. Repulsed by her mere presence, he took a step backward, distancing himself.
“Lyall, please. Ye know I dislike yer public displays of affection.” Duncan wanted none of the clan to believe he held designs on his brother's widow. This could lead to all kinds of assumptions about why there was no heir, as Lyall well knew. The woman's name stood for wolf, but the lass was better described as a sneaky fox. With her, one thing was certain. She held an ulterior motive.
Her tears disappeared when they stopped having an effect. Spine stiff, her beady eyes focused on his face. “It is good to have ye home. Now maybe something will get done around here. I am sure ye noticed nothing has changed in the past five years since ye have been abroad.”
“Aye, I did at that.”
“Humph. Yer brother, he liked things to be consistent.”
“Lyall, what happened to Cainneach?”
With a brow raised, one eye stared straight, while the other shifted back and forth studying the yard. Assured they were alone, she said, “No one knows. I went to his quarters to check on him, and he lay there not breathin'.”
“Had an accident occurred?”
“Nay.”
Something was amiss. Running his hands through his hair, he knew there would be no honest answers coming from Lyall.
The men who retrieved him from Greenbriar sat behind him. Still upon their horses, they stared in his direction and awaited his orders. To Lyall he said, “I will dismiss the men and be in to talk with ye shortly.”
“Aye, a fine idea. And Duncan?”
“Aye?”
“The council of elders awaits ye in the great hall.”
“They are assembled?”
“Aye. Yer brother has been dead nigh on to six weeks now.”
“So long,” mumbled Duncan. He should have come home sooner.
“What's that ye say?”
“Nothing, Lyall. Tell the council I'm coming.”
With a curtsey, she turned on her heel, headed up the stairs, and went inside.
Duncan faced Grant. “Thank ye for yer escort. Ye can have the men take their horses to the stables. They may then retire to their own activities.”
“As ye wish, Laird Duncan. However, Bryce and I will accompany ye to the council meeting.”
“That won't be necessary.”
Grant dismounted. “Laird Duncan, may I speak freely?”
