The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (26 page)

He sobbed uncontrollably, a broken man if ever she had seen one.

Iseabail was moved by pity. “Seumas,” she said his name quietly and placed her hand lightly on the arm that held his sword. “Mayhap it would not hurt to hear him out?”

Seumas shook his head as if to push himself from his morbid remembrances to decipher what she had said. His eyes widened in disbelief, and her breath caught in her throat. Did he think she was betraying him? Seumas slipped his sword back into place, but rested his hand on the dagger, still close at hand at his waist.

“Very well, Iseabail. What will ye have us do? Go into the house he has made his own and sit down at my table, which he has made his own, and drink the wine from the vineyards he has made his own?”

Her face heated at the comment. He was right. What was she asking him to do?

Seumas took a deep, steadying breath, banking his anger, and stroked the side of her face. “I am sorry, love. Please…what should we do?”

She did not know, but Giles was on the ground, pathetically begging for mercy. Quarter was given even to an enemy.

“Perhaps we could sit over there.” She indicated the small table beneath an elm beside the vegetable garden, neatly turned over for winter. “We could sit out here, and we could hear him out.”

Seumas took her hand and smiled, nodding acceptance of the plan. “Come and sit here, Giles. Because of the kindness of my wife, ye may have one chance to speak yer mind to me, and then ye will leave. Do ye hear?”

Giles nodded with downcast eyes. “This is your wife, then?”

Seumas halted, his fists curling at his side. “Speak now and never mind diversions.” He put his foot on the bench, perhaps to avoid sitting at the same table with this man.

“M’lord.” Giles folded and unfolded his hands nervously under Seumas’s scowl. “When I returned from our travels, I had nothing. I had been robbed by vicious desert bandits who killed several of the men I was with for no other reason than to see if their blood ran red. It was awful.” Giles glanced up expectantly but apparently did not see the look he had hoped for in Seumas’s eyes. He lowered his gaze again. “My land had been mortgaged by my father even before we left for the pilgrimage. When I returned, my family was dead, and I had nowhere to call home.”

Seumas had told Iseabail about his father— that he was a bum and that was why, as a boy, Giles had spent so much time with Seumas and his own hardworking father. Giles had been treated like a son, the brother Seumas had never had.

Seumas waited for him to continue. His face seemed etched in stone.

“I thought of your father and how much I had loved to be here. I came by and found it vacant and rundown. I worked very hard,” a trace of smile lit up Giles’s face as his gaze surveyed the land affectionately, “to build it back into the farm it once was.” Stopping, he turned to Seumas. “I heard you were dead. I did not think there would be any harm.”

Seumas stiffened and removed his foot from the bench. His back was straight, but he looked to be struggling with what to say. “Who told ye I was dead?”

Giles shifted his gaze away.

Seumas remained standing with his back to him. His voice was a little louder this time, the anger seeping into his words. “I asked who told ye I had died?” He slowly turned to face the man.

Iseabail glanced between the two and wished she had never asked for them to talk.

“Did ye not hear the question?”

Giles refused to answer.

Seumas pressed his palms against the table and glared at his former friend, derision and loathing dripping from every word. “If ye thought I was dead, why did ye not come to see to my body?”

Giles eyes were rimmed with red, his lips pursed into a tight bow.

“Did ye care nothing for yer friend? The man whose farm ye decided ye could move into and take over?”

“I was a different man then.” Giles stood up and shouted the words then began to sob uncontrollably. “I was a selfish whoreson who cared about no one and nothing.”

Seumas balled his hands into fists, and the muscle in his jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

Giles shook his head, snot and tears dripping off his chin. “You do not have to forgive me. I do not expect you to. I came here hoping to keep your family name alive with this place.” He poked his hand toward the eastern hills. “Ask the tanner. Ask the miller. I told them I was your servant now come to do right by you, that I was a wretched shell of a man, but you had allowed me to make amends. I told them I was not worthy to carry your boots, but you had allowed me to work your farm.”

Giles was a pathetic sight. Iseabail glanced down, not sure what Seumas should do. She prayed he had more wisdom than she, and whatever decision he made, she would abide by it without question.

The silence was deafening.

“Regardless, Giles, ye may not continue to stay here. Please see to whatever is actually yers and pack it now.”

Giles’s lip quivered uncontrollably. He cast his gaze down then shuffled to the house.

Iseabail did not speak. She did not know what to say.

Seumas took her hand. There was pain in his eyes. “I had wanted only happy memories for us here.” His eyes rounded in his sadness, and he took a shaky breath. “I have somewhere to show ye. It is more peaceful than this.”

The slate roof of the chapel lay hidden among the trees past the barn. She was moved by the quaintness of the windowless stone structure. The interior had little light and the moveable, wooden benches were lined up and ready for service. The lanterns that hung along the walls were just waiting to be lit.

“It is beautiful.” She spoke in a reverent whisper.

Seumas faced the front of the chapel, gazing around as if stepping back in time. A small smile played on his lips. “My family spent many a day in this place.” He glanced at her. “This is the only chapel around. The priest would come every season for a visit.”

Iseabail thought of her own family’s chapel and its disuse since her uncle’s arrival. That would not be the way for her family.

He stepped up closer to the wooden cross, the branches it had been made from still showing their rings and notches. Something caught his eye and he moved in to take a closer look. His body tensed.

Iseabail came up beside him. “Is something amiss?”

“I cannot believe it.” His voice was quiet. He picked up something small, rubbing it with his fingers, and inspecting it closely. Tears filled his eyes. She placed her hand on his arm and leaned in to see.

“What is it?” He opened his palm to her. A small conch shell rested there. “A shell?” He held it closer so that she could see the little design carefully carved out of its center. A cross. “It is beautiful. Did you make it?”

He shook his head. “It was a gift to my mother.”

“From whom?”

“Giles gave it to her when we were six years old. My mother kept it with her right up until she died, and my father returned it to Giles. I cannot believe he still has it.”

A sweet boy had turned into a ruthless man. His sobbing face flashed in her mind. Mayhap not so ruthless anymore.

Seumas’s emotions played across his face as he struggled with what to do. His childhood friend had intended to kill him. No one had asked why.

Seumas nodded as if to himself. “I need to speak to Giles alone.”

Iseabail followed him back into the light, walking quickly to where Giles had accumulated a small pile of his belongings and was placing them on a wooden cart.

“Hold, Giles,” Seumas called to him.

Iseabail waited where she was. She sat at the small table as the two men headed into the barn. She understood Seumas’s turmoil. Giles had once been an important part of Seumas’s life then something had happened to turn him into a vicious man.

Seumas came out of the barn, seeking out Iseabail. Giles was close behind him and did not make eye contact. They were not smiling, though it seemed they had come to an understanding.

“Giles will be staying in the barn until he can find another place to go.”

Giles continued into the barn with his little cart of worldly possessions.

Seumas came toward Iseabail looking somewhat more peaceful. He quirked a smile.

Iseabail glanced at the barn. “How long will he be here?”

“He will go tomorrow to see if he can find work closer to the sea. Mayhap there is a family that requires help. He is still strong and hardy.” He turned toward her more fully, and she went into his open arms. “Let us begin again.” He stepped away to smile down at her. “Come, my love, see yer new home.” He swept her up into his arms and brought her to the front door.

Seumas ducked to clear the entryway as if he had done so a million times before and placed her in the middle of the room. Iseabail looked around with delight. A large stone fireplace with shelves flanking either side sat before her, and an open area with a simple table for taking meals was to her left. The light streamed through the window beyond, casting a glow on the bouquet that sat in the middle of the table.

Iseabail gasped in pleasure. “Your home is beautiful.”

“Our home,” he corrected her, hands on his hips.

She went to push the small wooden bench in closer to the table then straightened out the tapestry that hung at the window overlooking the yard. Gently, she fingered the material, now bare in spots. No doubt made by his mother. She could well imagine the woman toiling away at the flowers decorating the material.

She smiled at him. “I would enjoy making a home for you anywhere, but this is especially pleasing. I have the history of your own dear parents to guide me by their spirit.” She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

“I have more to show ye,” he whispered in her ear before nibbling it. “Will ye come with me?”

She nodded, and he led her up the center staircase to the top floor landing. The three chamber doors were centered around this opening.

“You have many rooms.”

Seumas smiled sheepishly, “Methinks we will be able to fill
our
rooms just fine. What say ye?” He rubbed her stomach suggestively. “Perhaps we already have a start.”

The thought of her being with child gave her pause. How wonderful that would be. She tilted her head, giving him a saucy smile. “You have certainly been doing your part, m’lord, to make that happen.”

He beamed at the compliment, before making a determined face. “I am not one to wait for the desired results. Come. I will be happy to do my part again.”

He took her hand, and she allowed him to lead her into a bedroom that was magnificently laid out in comparison with the simplicity of the rest of the house. A large four-poster bed covered the far wall, with windows flanking either side. She squealed in delight, bouncing on the bed. It creaked under her as its ropes pulled tighter. Iseabail got up on all fours and beckoned to her husband.

“Come, m’lord, let us see again to that growing problem you keep having. Methinks we can surely master it this time.”

His kilt fell quickly from his body, and her teasing shifted to longing. She inhaled slowly as she perused his splendid body. She admired the rippled muscles along the length of his thighs as he approached her. He stopped beside her, his eyes beseeching her to touch him. She licked her lips and dragged one hand down the length of his torso to his stiffened rod. She wrapped her hand around it, squeezing gently. He closed his eyes and groaned.

“Would it not be fair to say I do my part?” She began a rhythmic push and pull against him.

His moan sounded low in this throat. When he opened his eyes, his raw desire pierced her, stilling her hand. He tunneled his fingers under her hair, pulling her against his length, ravaging her mouth. The intensity caught her off guard, but he held her to him, his body giving her its own answer.

“I want to fill ye until ye cannot take any more,” he said.

Her head lolled to the side as he sucked at her neck. She shivered against him. “Yes, fill me.”

Leaning her back, he slid his hand up her leg, taking her dress up with it. “I cannot wait. I need ye now.”

“Do not wait,” she whispered her encouragement, spreading her legs for him.

He entered her quickly, and she moaned in pleasure, every part of her attuned to the sensation.

“I want ye to grow heavy with my child,” he whispered against her ear as he rocked into her. “Let it be here and now.”

She tilted her hips up to better receive him. “Give me your seed,” she panted against his mouth.

He moved more quickly until he was thrusting into her. He slipped his hand under one leg, lifting her, and entered her more fully. The sensation was exquisite, and she yelled out his name as he did indeed pleasure her, spilling his seed deep in her womb.

His chest heaved when he rolled off her. Tears were in her eyes as she snuggled into his embrace.

He was breathing heavily and placed a kiss on her head. “I cannot get enough of ye.”

She kissed his bare chest. “And I hope you never will.”

Seumas left Iseabail to explore her new surroundings as he became reacquainted with his family estate. He avoided the barn. He had told Giles to keep to himself, that he would allow him a few days to get settled somewhere else. Seumas had sympathy for the man, but knew he could not be accepted back.

He walked to the top of the slope, which gave way to the moors beside the ocean. Seumas looked out over his land. A great swell of pride filled him. His land. His father’s land. His father’s land before him. His own children’s land. He glanced back at the house. If he had been a more selfish man, he would have gone back there now and made love to his wife yet again. He should have been satiated, but the more he had of her, it seemed the more he wanted. He sighed acceptance. She should have some time to herself.

As he walked along the few remaining rows of rye and barley, Seumas could see that Giles had not exaggerated about how hard he had worked to bring the farm back. It would not have taken long for the fields to be overgrown with weeds. Giles had worked hard and done well.

Closing his eyes, Seumas breathed in the unique mix of salt air, heather and fallow earth. He had never thought to know that smell again. Overcome with joy, he needed to share this wonder and all but ran down the hill in his excitement to bring his beautiful bride to experience his fondest memories of the place. Would she mind the interruption? Hopefully not. And if he made love to her again? Well, perhaps he was a selfish man after all.

*****

Iseabail smiled as she watched Seumas trudge up the hill to survey his land.

What a wonderful feeling. His land, our land, our home.

Sighing, she started to remove the few cooking items—pots and jars—from the shelves alongside the walls to place in a wooden tub she would use as a washstand. Humming a tune as she worked, she glanced out the window. Giles stood at the barn door. He turned toward Seumas, hands on his hips. A shiver ran up her back. When the man was gone, she would feel better.

She realized the tune was a song her mother had sung to her when she was little, when things were safe. Iseabail stopped, a small cup in her hand. The cloth fluttered in the breeze at the window.

What was the next line?

She closed her eyes and imagined her mother’s face as she sang. Starting again at the beginning, Iseabail hoped it would come to her.

What was it, Mama? How did the song go?

Her mother turned to look at her. The song stopped. The touch on her arm made Iseabail jump. Her eyes flew open, and the cup dropped to the ground. The crashing sound sparked her memory as the disjointed notes tumbled through her mind.

Giles towered over her, his breath overpowering when he smiled. He had come in so quietly. Her breath hitched in her throat. She took a step back and tried not to look panicked.

“Giles, you scared me.”

His eyes seemed vacant. He was standing too close. She stooped to retrieve the pieces of the broken clay cup. It had been such a pretty little cup. The blade glittered beneath the shelf, and she hesitated only a second. Surprise was her only defense. It was cold against her hand, the hilt fitting perfectly in her palm.

“Seumas has gone to the field if you are looking for him.”

He already knew this. She hid her hand in the folds of her skirt. Giles had watched Seumas leave. She had hoped it would remind him it was not appropriate for him to be in the house with her alone. He moved in even closer. Her heart raced. She tightened her grip around the small wooden handle that lay against her thigh. Why would he want to ruin everything he had worked for simply to bother her? Certainly she was overreacting.

Giles slowly looked her up and down, taking in every detail and pausing short of her face. Dread spread through her. Perhaps she was not. She had seen that look too many times from dishonorable men. Her chest rose sharply with her shallow breathing and heat flooded her face at his blatant expression of appreciation. Like a blast of cold air, she realized Seumas had been right. Giles was a bad man.

“Shall I get Seumas for you, then?” she asked as calmly as she could, hoping to break the trance that her bosom held on him. “Giles?”

He finally looked her in the face. His eyes were wide, a deep frown on his forehead. He looked so lost that she felt bad for the assumptions she had made about him.

“Are you not well?”

He made no move. Gave no answer.

Directing him to the table, she said, “Perhaps you should sit down.”

She moved toward the table to pull the bench out, but Giles took her arm in an iron grip. She swallowed the fear making its way up her body. His was the face of a tortured man.

“Giles, please.” She said it firmly, trying to reach him. Stop him.

Seumas was gone for the day. Help would not be coming if things turned worse. She squeezed the wooden handle tighter.

Giles shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Please?” He looked out the little window that faced the fields.

His expression held a faraway look and too late Iseabail realized the truth. He was insane. Her gut tightened. All sound seemed to cease. There would be no reasoning with someone who had no capacity for it.

The haunted eyes turned back to her, wide and unfocused, but his expression softened. “Seumas got you, too? Why am I not surprised?” His grip on her arm loosened, his fingers lightly caressing. Bile flooded her mouth. She glanced at the door. What were the chances she could make it past him? Which fields had Seumas gone to? She bent her elbow slightly, trying to remember the proper thrust needed for the dagger.

“Aye, Giles.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high. She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “We have not been married very long.”

“Can he see to your needs, Lady Iseabail?” He held her gaze, adding in a whisper, “
All
of your needs?”

Iseabail jaw tightened.
Bastard.

His lips curled up at one side. “I did all I could to make sure he would not be able to.”

And you failed miserably.

The cruelty of his words reminded her of the scar Seumas bore, a scar which had caused him to believe he would never be able to have a wife or children. The malicious statement cut to the quick.

Giles quirked a brow.

“Tsk. Tsk. It was only what he deserved.” His voice was flat, and his gaze searched her face. His dark, hooded eyes paused on her lips, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his own. “You are too beautiful. He does not deserve you.”

Iseabail’s jaw cramped as she ground her teeth. She had fallen for Malcolm’s charms and been used by her uncle. She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling. She would not be treated so again. Giles worked his fingers around her neck, into her hair. The muscles in her arm tightened.

“He has always had everything, you know. A father who loved him and treated him with respect. A farm where he could raise a family and provide for them.” His eyes narrowed, as if in pain, when he looked away from her. “Why did he have so much when I had so little?”

Why did men always feel the need to explain their cruelty? The thought surprised Iseabail, but she knew it was true. Her uncle had said he did it because he loved her mother. Malcolm said he would violate her so that she would have no choice but to marry him. They all thought their words could justify their deeds. Misdeeds.

Giles’s grip loosened. She took advantage of it and pulled away. He yanked her back against him, his snarling face contorted with rage, then shoved her against the wall.

She hissed in pain.

No, no. Not again.

He gripped her throat, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

“Methinks not, my dear. He is wrong!” His angry voice filled the small house. “He
does not
deserve everything. I should get something.”

He ground his hips into her, flattening her against the wall. The shelf dug into her side, pinning her arm down. He grabbed her chin, yanking her head toward him. She turned away and fragments of the little cup crushed beneath her feet. With his hands on either side of her face, he held her head still, his angry mouth slashing across her lips. His body effectively kept her nailed to the wall and her hand clamped to her side.

“No.” Speaking against his crushing lips, she fought to keep the panic from her voice. “Do not do this, Giles.” Her arm could not get free, but she twisted the dagger so that the blade pointed up, the way Seumas had taught her. “You have a chance for a new life.”

He grabbed the hem of her gown and tugged it up, breaking the hold that kept her arm in place. He slid his sweaty hand up her thigh, and she saw again her uncle’s leering face. Giles’s arousal was solid against her leg.

She shifted to free her arm. “This will not do you any good.”

“Oh, it will,” Giles said. “I have not had a woman in a very long time.”

She closed her eyes and braced herself. He hiked her skirt up higher and rubbed his calloused hand up her thigh.

I can do this.

The smell of her uncle’s putrid breath surrounded her.

Never against my will. Never again.

Malcolm’s leering face as he laughed at her filled the room.

Giles forced her legs apart.

One. Two.

“It will be enough to take his woman since I could not take his life.”

Three.

She slammed her knee into his groin as the little knife found its mark under his ribs. His muscles seized as he released her, and he groaned. She gagged and shut her eyes tight but jerked the knife deeper. Her hand grew sticky where his lifeblood trickled down the knife. His body arched in response and his head fell limply to her shoulder. She shoved him away from her, and he dropped to the floor. Her heavy panting was the only sound in the room.

The crack of the wooden door hitting against the wall and the burst of fresh air forced her to open her eyes. Seumas hesitated in the doorway, his hair blowing about his shoulders.

“Iseabail—” His eyes widened as he took in the scene. “I heard Giles yelling— What has happened?”

Her knees buckled.

He moved closer, stepping over Giles’s crumpled body.

Iseabail collapsed against him.

“Are ye hurt?” he asked.

“No man will ever take from me again, Seumas.” The tears flowed down her cheek, seeming to contradict her words, but the determination that grew in her chest would not be denied.

He tightened his grip on her and growled deep in his chest. “May he burn in hell.”

Iseabail sniffled, willing her breath to steady. “He was insane.”

He cupped her head where he held it against his shoulder. “I did not know.”

“I had to kill him.”

“Ye defended yerself.”

She stepped away, righting her dress. Hands fisted at his sides, he glanced from the torn skirt to her face. She saw the question in his eyes, but he would not voice it.

“I did defend myself. I have not been violated. I meant what I said.”

“I believe ye.” Seumas’s stoic expression spoke volumes. He led her outside, closing the door behind them. The crisp air smelled of sweet hay and the salty ocean breeze. Iseabail drew in a breath, fighting to steady her heart. He continued up the hill to the little stone chapel.

Seumas led her to the wooden pew, straddled it, and pulled her onto his lap. She snuggled close, finding comfort in his steady heartbeat.

He caressed her back for a long time. She concentrated on her breathing, willing it to calm. Her world slowly seemed to right itself. She had killed a man because he would have hurt her. It was a justified killing.

Seumas seemed to know her thoughts. “Soldiers often find their lives threatened and need to make the decision to kill or be killed.” She slipped her arm around his waist. He was solid, and she was safe. “When we do have to kill, it is usually here, in a chapel, where we can find peace for what we have done. The taking of a life is never easy and carries with it its own burden.”

Tears welled in her eyes again. She tightened her lips. She could face this. She would not be weak.

“Ye did what ye needed to do.” Seumas sounded strong.

She leaned back to look into his face. “But he is dead.”

He shook his head with finality. “That one is not worth yer tears.”

The room was still. No sound. She heard his words, but they did not touch her heart.

“Methinks I need some time here to myself.”

He searched her face then kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I will be back soon.”

*****

Seumas brushed the dirt off his hands and stood at the new grave. Glancing across the fields to the house, he decided it was far enough away that Iseabail would never come across it. Mayhap he should have just thrown the body out for the wolves to devour. It was what the man deserved.

He carried the shovel back to the barn. The clouds moved in, promising much-needed rain. How would Iseabail feel being trapped inside? He hoped she would find the time to recover from this ordeal. The first drops fell as he reached the chapel.