Authors: Lisa Dawn Wadler
Part Two
“The reputation of a thousand years may be determined by the conduct of one hour.”
- Japanese proverb
Chapter 6
Warm, dry, fed, and safe. Such simple things, yet they were so hard to believe after the last three days. Claire sat before the fire in a comfortable chair in her new chamber and tried to process the whirlwind that had been the last hour or two. The chamber was pleasant, boasting a comfortable bed, small nightstand, a chest, her current seat, and a small table next to it that held a cup of warmed wine. A small window on the far wall let in the sounds of the continuing storm and the smell of the ocean. A fur rug warmed her feet before the fire. She knew she should have been comfortable. The truth was that Claire had never been more afraid or lost in her life.
Now what?
Somehow everything had been better with Ian. Now she was alone in a place and time that she didn’t understand.
Everything had changed the moment they entered the keep. The unsure man she had kissed at the gate was gone. In his place was a man in charge. The laird had come home, and the household had burst into life. All commands were immediately attended. The wet blanket she wore was replaced by something soft, dry, and clean. Claire hadn’t even had a chance to take in where they were standing. She was given immediately into the care of Neala, the housekeeper, who bustled her off with the promise of a warm bath and dry clothes. Even as she had walked, she heard Ian making arrangements for a chamber for her, a meal, and something to wear. The last she heard of Ian was men taking him somewhere else.
The bath had been glorious. A warm room with a giant tub somehow seemed normal. Neala tried to explain the workings of the water heating system; it seemed to be a source of pride for the household. Claire was too overwhelmed to care. The woman fussed over her, fretted over her mud-stained clothing, and talked about Ian’s poor travel methods. After washing her hair, and helping to dry her, Neala produced a soft, warm undergarment, which she called a shift, and a robe. There were even slippers to protect her feet from the cold stone floors as they made their way to Claire’s chamber.
A clean room was waiting, next to Neala’s own was all that she understood. A young woman had brought in a meal while Neala fussed with seating Claire before the fire. The food was warm, and it was good. She ate it quickly. She knew the housekeeper had questions. She could see it on her face, all the things left unsaid. Instead, Neala told her she was safe, to not fret, and that her clothes would be cleaned and more suitable ones found. Neala produced her somewhat ruined black bag and left that for Claire by the fire. The housekeeper left the room with the promise of a quick return and, again, her promise of safety. She could have sworn that the housekeeper was a bit angry at something.
I hope I didn’t offend her. Maybe good manners are different here?
Neala left the chamber in which she had placed the poor lass.
How dare I not be told what I am dealing with! How am I to tend the woman without all of the information?
The laird’s chamber was where she was headed intent on giving an earful.
Since the door was open, Neala didn’t bother to knock. She looked at Ian with disbelief. “Why have you not taken a bath yet? You are chilled to the bone, and the last thing I need is a keep full of fever.” He had changed into his robe. She picked up the wet, dirty clothes from the floor and placed them outside his door.
“I had things to attend to, my horse needed care, and I had news to deliver. The men I left with will nay be returning. The men and their families needed to be told.” Ian’s pained voice left no doubt in her mind as to why. Ian moved to sit before the fire and eat the meal left for him.
Three young men were dead, a great loss. One of them had a mother in the village. Neala knew she would need to visit with her. None were married or had children. Neala had seen too many grieve the loss of a loved one in her forty-eight years. For a moment, her anger was forgotten, and she took a moment to be thankful for Ian’s safe return.
“I sent for Hagan. Have you seen him? There is much we need to discuss,” Ian said.
Neala sighed. “Hagan was in bed when you arrived. I’m sure he will be along shortly. The wee one has nay slept much for the past three nights. He and your sister were taking advantage of Cerwyn finally sleeping.” She could read his look of concern. “Dinna fret, there is nothing wrong. Wee Cerwyn is cutting some more teeth.”
Ian answered with a small smile. “If you say all is well with the child, I believe you. Though I dinna look forward to the next week or so. That child can be verra loud when miserable.”
What am I doing discussing teeth now?
Neala had come for answers, not a pleasant conversation. “Did you kill him?” This time she held Ian’s gaze.
Ian looked away from the housekeeper at the question and replied, “The men who killed my own? Nay, to my shame I did not.”
“Not them, the man who raped the lass. I should have been told. How am I to care for her if I dinna ken what has happened?” Neala knew her voice was a bit too loud.
Ian’s response was too short for her taste. “What? No one raped the lass, this much I can promise you.”
What is he not telling me?
Neala always knew when Ian held something back. “Well, then explain to me why she had blood in her undergarments and winced as she entered the bath. The poor thing has bruises all over her hands and arms. I tried to get her to talk and to make her feel safe with me. Nothing. Claire would not look at me directly. I have tended one too many abused lasses in my years. If she was nay raped as you claim, what happened?”
“Who was raped?” Hagan asked upon entering Ian’s chamber.
Neala didn’t even glance away from Ian as she said, “Claire was.”
Hagan ran his hands through his mussed hair. “Who is Claire?”
Ian stood and motioned for them to sit in the chairs before the fire. He paced as he addressed them both, “Claire rode in with me this night.”
Hagan shifted nervously in his seat. Neala knew it had taken a long time for Hagan to find a bride with a large enough dowry. It was very clear Hagan did not like the implication of Ian riding home with a woman in tow.
Hagan said, “I thought the bride’s name was Mairi.”
Ian quickened his pacing. “That
is
the bride’s name. Claire is to stay here. She will handle the accounts and ledgers.”
Hagan voiced disbelief. “Where did you find this woman? Why are you bringing in someone now?”
“Aye, ‘tis a fine question, where did you meet her? And what happened to her?” Neala was still no closer to the answers she sought.
Ian stopped and looked between the two. “‘Tis a long story, but one you both need to hear. Hagan, I would ask you nay to repeat this to my sister, the tale stays between us.”
“I dinna like keeping secrets from my wife,” Hagan replied as he tensed in his seat with worry too clear on his face.
“When I am finished, you will see the import of my request.” Ian resumed his pacing and began. “The men and I were attacked shortly after leaving Tavis’s lands, and the men with me were killed in battle. I was captured and tied to a tree . . .”
Never had she listened with more attention to the details, to the way Ian described their journey. As a young lass, Neala had come to this clan with Ian’s mother. The stories told by the old women had been fascinating. The tales of these doors and the old women had been fascinating. She thought the tales of the doors and the people who had come through were a local myth, perhaps just a continuing tale to chase away a dull day. Neala knew all the tales by heart, so the reason for Claire’s strange attire and lost expression should have been obvious. The way he spoke of Claire . . . she had never heard Ian speak of a lass like that.
Ian’s tale continued with the chase, the storm, and the cold. She feared the part about the inn would haunt her forever.
No wonder the lass looked terrified.
Neala wanted to interrupt several times but held her tongue. The questions could wait.
“And then we banged on the gate and waited to be let in,” Ian stated. “Which chamber is she in? I want to check on her and make certain Claire has all she needs.”
Neala had heard enough. “Hagan, you need to cancel the betrothal contract. Ian is already wed.”
“Perhaps you were nay listening. There is no agreement between them. The marriage continues as planned.” Hagan’s response was short and clipped.
“The laird is married. You heard the tale. That is a well-bred lass down the corridor. One can tell just by looking at her. Claire was untouched, and our laird claimed her. ‘Tis done. You of all men ken how this clan marries.” Neala’s comment was made with the assertion of one who was right.
Ian broke up the conflict. “Neala, Hagan is speaking true. Claire and I spoke of this. I offered to honor her, and she refused. The lass kens of our troubles and does nay wish to come between us and our solution.”
Neala stood and faced Ian. The laird she knew looked so like the little boy she had helped to raise, and he had been raised better than this. His parents would never have tolerated such behavior. She could see what he did not say: Ian wanted the lass. The decision brought only pain for him. Part of her wanted to comfort him, and the rest wanted to give his ears a solid boxing. “So what becomes of her now? Have you thought on that? Everything the poor child has been through and now she is set aside simply because she has no coin. Claire has been ill used by you. I thought you were better.”
Ian stared at Neala as she spoke. “Claire will have a home here for as long as she wishes. She is one of ours now. The lass saved my life, and I will spend mine making sure she is safe.”
It was not what Neala wanted to hear. With a nod, she turned to leave. “Get yourself into the bath before you catch a chill. I have left the poor child alone for too long.”
As she left, Ian’s voice filled the corridor. “Hagan, there is something I would ask of you.” Then Neala heard no more, her mind focused on the lass waiting.
With a soft knock on the door, Neala entered the chamber. Claire took a moment to study this woman before her. The housekeeper appeared to be well dressed compared to what she had seen before. Her long dark hair, peppered with gray, was bound in a long braid behind her back. She was shorter than Claire by about three inches. The housekeeper was slight of build but moved with an air of confidence. Her face held some light wrinkles, as she was definitely older.
She seems like she may be about Mom’s age
? The woman’s eyes held her now. Neala looked upset.
Claire rose from her chair. “Is something wrong?” She was stunned as the older woman moved in quickly to embrace her.
With a gentle squeeze, Neala answered, “‘Is something wrong?’ you ask. Aye, you poor child, something is wrong.” Neala pulled back. “Ian told me of you, of how you came to be here, and of what happened. You poor lost child, you should nay be here, should you?”
Claire broke away from the hold and sat on the bed. Looking up at the woman, she asked, “What did Ian tell you?”
Neala sat beside her and held her hands as she answered. “The laird told the whole of it.” Neala gripped Claire’s hands tighter as she continued. “It was right of him to do so. I had assumed, well, never mind what I assumed. I needed to ken. Now I can be of aid to you. I will be here to help you find your way. This I swear to you.”
In such a small voice, Claire asked, “Does everyone know?”
“Nay, child, just myself and Hagan, his brother by marriage. We will nay tell another soul. Ian felt we needed the truth. Now you ken with whom you can speak freely. We are in your debt as well. You brought our laird home safely. Oh, you poor thing, you have risked yourself, and now, now you are here. I never truly believed the tales were real. But here you are. We will see to it you are properly cared for.”
“Neala, have you ever heard of anyone going back? I . . . I . . . I just want to go home.” Claire looked up and felt the tears that threatened to fall. “Can I go home, please?”
Answering with a kind voice, Neala said, “I have only heard of people coming to us. They all stayed. I dinna believe they had a choice.” She smoothed Claire’s hair away from her face. “I am sorry. ‘Tis my belief you are here to stay.”
With those words, the tears Claire had restrained began to fall. There was no stopping them. She cried and, tucked into Neala’s embrace, was held as she sobbed. There was no going home. She was stuck there. The reality of it was too much. What had happened was too much. The tears fell, and still Neala held her while whispering soft words of comfort.
When the sobbing subsided, she found her head resting on Neala’s lap with her hair being stroked and back gently patted. Claire slowly sat up, wiping her face on the robe, sniffling. “I’m sorry.”
Neala’s warm smile greeted her. “Dinna apologize, child. After all you have been through, a good cry was deserved. I have a question or two if you feel you are up to it.” Claire nodded, and Neala continued. “I dinna ken how to say this delicately, so I will simply ask it. What happened between the two of you? Was it forced?”
Claire closed her eyes as guilt and shame took hold. “Ian told you about that, too?”
Neala answered quietly, “Ian told me his version. I want to ken yours. I want to ken if you will truly feel safe here in time or if Ian will be a source of fear for you.”
Studying her hands as she spoke, Claire replied, “Ian didn’t . . . I mean . . . there was no force involved.” Once the explanation began, she couldn’t stop. “It just happened. One minute it was the two of us, and then there were horrible men. They said such terrible things.” Shuddering at the memory, the late panic taking hold, her heart raced. “They talked to me, and I had to talk to them. They looked at me. I’ve never been so scared. They watched, they said things . . .” Tears again burst free, and Claire found her head on Neala’s shoulder.
With a sniffle, she continued, “The rest? It just happened. I didn’t mean to, but it just got out of control. I don’t normally behave that way . . . I never behave that way . . . I didn’t try to stop it. At the time I didn’t want to stop. I . . . I . . .” Claire’s voice faltered.