Chapter Eighteen

 

 

1305

 

 

Exhausted from lack of sleep, Catherine yawned and opened her eyes wide in an effort to stay awake. As they sat at the trestle tables that spanned the hall, Duncan smiled, clearly pleased with himself. He’d let her sleep not at all and she’d delighted in his attentions. She blushed thinking of it. In their bedchamber she could forget he didn’t want her. If only it wasn’t the only place he desired her.

Catherine blinked as she listened to how many young women had gone to Castle Glenshee to participate in what Duncan called the Creaming of the Well. As chieftain, his father presided over the annual ceremony. While they broke their fast, Duncan explained, “Unwed maidens race to the well in hopes of being the first to draw the water. If they succeed and get their true love to drink it afore day’s end, they shall be wed within the year. ‘Tis a ceremony I always made certain to avoid.”

Catherine listened to his story with mixed emotions. She thought it a sweet tradition—a woman filled with expectation trying to win a man she loves. Hoping he’d love her back. Laughter caught in her throat. Pain lanced her heart. She’d believed in love…once. That seemed so long ago—certainly before the king ordered someone to wed her who wanted naught to do with her.

Exhaustion fogging her mind, she spoke from the heart. “I am glad I need not participate. No one would drink water I drew.”

At the shocked expression on Duncan’s face, she realized what she’d said. Would he think her chasing after a compliment? Or would he pity her, seeing the truth of her words? She rose, rushing into the kitchen before Duncan responded.

She stood just beyond the door, wiping away tears and feeling like a silly fool. Why can I not stay my tears? ‘Tis not proper to let them see me cry. I am no better than children when they skin their knees. At least they have an excuse. I am just...weak.

Why did hearing the simple tradition make her fall apart? Because she wanted to believe again. Wanted to have hope.

Needing to escape Cook’s watchful eyes, she ran outside, only to find herself knee deep in snow. I cannot even escape successfully. No wonder Duncan does not want me. Thoughts continued to swirl. Chin up, she told herself sternly. Trevor would be mortified if he witnessed such conduct. What did he tell me the day I wed? ‘You can do anything if you put your mind to it.’

Catherine dropped to the snow and let her tears fall. So much for getting hold of herself! Her husband didn’t want her, she couldn’t control her emotions and she’d landed in a family that believed true love came from drinking water! As if it was that simple. Duncan wouldn’t love her no matter what. Bound to her by God’s law, he tolerated her presence, naught else.

Her feet were wet—and she was freezing. She’d run outside without boots or even a mantle over her green kirtle.

The door opened and Duncan appeared. He took one look at her sitting in the snow crying and shook his head. Walking toward her, he squatted in front of her, his hand gently brushing her hair from her tear stained face. His eyes searched hers for a long moment, but held an unreadable expression. She gulped and sniffled, trying to stay her tears, not wanting to be a complete ninny. He caressed the side of her face, then gently kissed her forehead, his eyes holding a trace of a smile. He rose and picked her up in his arms like a child. His tenderness summoned more tears as she twined her arms around his neck and buried her face against his neck, feeling safe in his arms.

Saying nothing, Duncan carried her into the warmth of his Hall.

~ * ~

The new year started with bitter snow storms. Shivering, everyone rushed inside as soon as they finished chores. Duncan, silly man that he was, thought it bracing. Catherine rarely ventured outside. Cooped inside the house for days, she spent hours plying her needle on a new kirtle for Meggie with other women before the hearth. She even tried her hand at spinning wool, a task she had neither knack nor patience for. Her strands went from too fat to too thin. Siobhán’s nimble fingers pulled and worked the wool from the bundle while her foot kept a steady rhythm on the peddle, allowing her to spin the finest strands of wool Catherine had ever seen.

She went back to her sewing and spent the rest of the evening listening to the seanchaidh tell his tales.

 

A sennight after the storms began, Duncan delighted her with an unexpected offer. “Would you like to learn how to play Chess? I could teach you.”

Pleased he offered, Catherine nodded. Duncan was a patient teacher, and she thought herself an apt student. They played most evenings, enjoying the comfort of the other’s company.

Concentrating on the game, she was surprised when he brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek.

She swallowed hard. “Are you trying to distract me, my lord husband?”

Duncan smiled, his eyes alight with mischief. “Distracting you, my love, is one of my many joys.”

Catherine glanced around the hall to see if anyone heard him. Why would he say such a thing? Like the women, Duncan’s men also gathered in the Hall. Some sat on the floor, others on benches around tables, but none seemed to be paying attention to Duncan and her. She dipped her chin and pretended absorption in the game.

Rubbing his chin, Duncan watched Catherine surveying the Hall. It was obvious his statement shocked her. There had to be some way to tear down the protective barrier she’d built around herself and he was determined to try every one of them.

His men filled their time sharpening knives and whittling small animals to amuse the children, but he knew they felt restless, wishing to be outside. He did. Watching the men ply their knives, he thought of the apples they’d placed in barrels filled with straw after the harvest. Below the frost line in the ground, they’d be as fresh as ever. Smiling in satisfaction, he called to Alex. When the young man came, Duncan whispered orders to retrieve the precious apples.

When Alex returned a short time later with two youths carrying baskets laden with apples, Duncan rose to meet them.

“Thank you, Alasdair.” He called to the youngsters. “Come quickly.” Passing each child an apple, he said, “Take one to every person inside the Hall.” They scampered off in all directions delivering apples. They returned to fetch more from the baskets and raced back to hand them out, squealing with delight.

Several young men gathered near the hearth and the ladies at their sewing. Catherine watched as they used their knives with painstaking care to keep the skin intact. Some swore when peelings broke. Laughing at her puzzled expression, Duncan leaned forward to explain, “They try to peel it so the whole skin comes off at once, not breaking.”

“Why?”

“If they toss it over their shoulder and glance around quickly, they shall see their true love.”

Catherine looked dubious.

“Care to try it? Or are you coward?”

With the gauntlet thrown, Catherine had every intention of peeling the apple and keeping the skin intact. Not because of his silly tale, but to prove she could do it. Reaching into her belt for the jeweled knife he’d given her, she wondered why Duncan challenged her. Concentrating on the apple, she took her time and peeled it perfectly. A smile crossed her face. She’d done it. Peeled the apple all by herself!

She looked at the peel in her hand and wondered what to do with it. Oh, why not? Allowing herself no time to think further, she tossed the peel behind her. Surprised to hear a sudden burst of giggling children, she turned to look over her shoulder. Duncan stood there with the peel between finger and thumb. His smile turned into a wide grin as he passed it to one of the children.

Catherine’s smile faded. Why would he tell her that story? He had to know she’d rise to the challenge. And he deliberately placed himself behind her, to be the one to catch it. Why? Upset, she started to shake. She wanted to believe in happily ever after. She had when she’d been a child, but now she knew better. But then why...? Was this Duncan’s way of telling her something or did he just delight in torturing her?

“Oooh, you are maddening!” Catherine stared into Duncan’s eyes. His never wavered. Suddenly she wanted to believe he cared.

So her husband wanted to play games. Well, she could do that. She’d turn the tables on him and play his game—only play it better. Rising from her chair, she decided to kiss him and risk the consequences. For once she’d be brave enough to take the risk. She walked toward him. She touched his face with her hand, her fingers trembling.

Catherine brushed his lips with hers. She whispered, “Now would be a really good time to show me you love me.”

“I do not need a second invitation.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guided her toward the stairway.

Meghan came out of her bedchamber and appeared at the head of the staircase. She held her Christmas rag doll in her hand, but dropped it. Collapsing to the stone floor, her small body was as limp as the dollie.

Catherine screamed and ran over to the staircase and knelt beside her, Duncan at her heels. She placed her hand on the young girl’s forehead.

“She burns with fever.”

Duncan scooped the tiny girl into his arms and rushed to her room. Catherine stripped off the child’s clothes while instructing, “Moisten cloths. We have to cool her down. Duncan, please go outside to gather snow. Once it melts, I can use it to sponge her.”

Despite their efforts, by evening Meghan was delirious. Duncan paced his daughter’s room and despaired, “I feel inadequate. Give me a sword and an enemy. A sick daughter I cannot control.”

A thought struck him. Surely his father hadn’t felt the same when he’d been sick. Could that possibly be why...? Nay!

Hours turned into days and half the Hall’s occupants fell to the spreading illness. With so many clansmen brought low by fever and excruciating stomach pains, Catherine set up a communal sick room below stairs, trying to contain the illness. Concerned for his people, Duncan tore himself away from his daughter’s bedside vigil to help her set up more pallets.

Shortly after returning to Meggie’s room, Angus knocked on the door. “I needs must speak with Duncan.”

The two men stepped into the hallway and spoke in hushed tones. When Duncan returned, he crossed to the arrow slits. Catherine followed. “Duncan?”

“Sad news. Elderly people from the village succumbed to the fever and three of Father’s villeins died.” He rubbed his hand up her arm and looked as if he would say something.

When Cat saw his bloodshot eyes, she ordered, “To bed with you, husband.”

Duncan grumbled, “Nay, I am fine. Just tired.” Even as he said the words, he doubled over in pain, holding fast to his stomach. “Och, it feels like someone tosses a caber into my belly.”

“Oh, aye. Fine as a newborn lamb,” she huffed, fighting the edge of panic. “Off with you, before you collapse like our Meggie.”

Duncan smiled despite the pains. Was that a burr he heard in his lovely wife’s words? But what warmed his heart even more was her calling Meggie theirs. “Nay, my shrew wife, I cannot leave our daughter. She needs me.”

His beautiful wife exhaled her frustration. “Then there is only one thing to do.” Turning, she called out, “Angus, Alex, please help me move Meggie into our chamber. I shall tend stubborn father and daughter together.” She wrapped her arms around her husband to help him upstairs and Duncan thought some of the warmth running through his fevered body might actually be pleasure. If she wished him well, she must no longer wish to be rid of him.

Perhaps he made progress.

Days and nights ran together as Catherine numbly ran up and down the stairs tending people, pushing herself far beyond endurance. Exhausted, Catherine sat, half leaning on the bed as she bathed Duncan with ice water, fearful she’d get chilblains from the icy liquid used to try and break the fever.

“May I have a drink?” Meghan croaked.

“Meggie!” Catherine cried with delight, feeling the child’s head, now cool to the touch. “Praise the saints. You are better.”

She fetched Meghan some water, relieved color returned to the child’s pale cheeks. Returning to her husband, she placed the back of her hand to his forehead, lingering to stroke his cheek. “What I would not give to feel you cool as well.” Instead, his body ravaged with fever.

Deep into the night, Catherine sat beside him and moistened his brow while others slept. Her heart broke when he hallucinated.

“I love you,” he said, then moaned once again in pain.

Catherine thought her heart would break. ‘Twas only his fevered state that made him mumble words she wanted to believe with all her heart. To do so would be folly. If only he meant those words. She’d not let herself believe them, even knowing she loved him. Especially knowing she loved him.

These past weeks he seemed happy. Oh, why hadn’t he given their marriage a chance when first they met? She knew the answer only too well. She was English, and he hated everything English. No matter how much she wanted the words to be true, a man didn’t fight a foe and suddenly forget the woman he married is of their blood.

Sobbing like a child, he said, “Da, do not leave me here. Come back.”

Catherine soothed his brow, but he continued to weep.

“Da, I am sorry I have been sick. Take me home.”

He tossed and turned, unable to rest.

“Athair, please do not leave me!”

Catherine lay beside him and wrapped her arms around his heated body. How can I stop his torment? She closed her eyes to plead with God.

Quieted by Catherine’s ministrations, Duncan calmed, only to begin thrashing about again. “Laird MacGhillechearr, please do not beat me. Nay! I promise I shall ne’er drop the saddle again. I but felt weak from my illness. I will not... Nay!”

This must be what Tamara intimated when they’d met at Castle Glenshee. Her strong, brave husband vividly remembered being abandoned and abused. No wonder he hated his father. Could she chase away shadows of his past? As she lay beside him, holding him to her body to still his shivers, she determined to try.

“Shh, Duncan. Naught can harm you now. Rest.”

For hours she held him, whispering soothing words into his ear and placing moist cloths on his brow. She wept relief when Duncan, too, grew better. Being such a strong man, always pushing himself in the lists, he fought the illness off faster than most.

She mentioned nothing of his fever dreams. He’d be shamed if he thought he’d revealed something he perceived as a weakness. Her husband was too proud to let that happen. Ne’ertheless, she’d set her mind to ridding him of ghosts of his past and she had every intention of seeing that through, no matter how long or how hard the task proved.

Catherine concentrated her efforts on the room downstairs as people continued to fall ill. To her relief, a similar amount recovered. God blessed them and they’d lost no one in the Hall, although too many people had died in the village and at the castle.

 

What seemed like endless days later, Angus entered the sick room to see if any were well enough to partake of broth Cook just finished preparing. Catherine reached for the cup, but it dropped from her grasp. She sat with a small thud as if her legs wouldn’t hold her.

“My Lady!” he gasped. “The fever is upon you.” Angus spun on his heel, calling from the hallway, “Duncan! Lady Catherine is ill.”

Duncan rushed into the room. He paused at the doorway, his eyes taking in his sick wife. Moving to her, he knelt on one knee. Running his hand over her cheek to brush the hair from her face, he nearly flinched from how hot she felt. “How long have you been ill?”

Her eyes glazed. She tried to answer, but couldn’t speak.

Sweeping her into his arms, a chilling fear filled his heart, as cold as Catherine’s fever was hot.

He headed upstairs to place her on the very bed where she’d tended him. Fighting tears, he said, “Angus, have snow brought and melted. I feared this might happen. She pushed herself too hard caring for the rest of us.”

Now it was his turn to care for her.

She tossed and turned for days.

No matter what herbs people gave Duncan to try, her fever didn’t break. Reaching the point of desperation, he mumbled, “Woman if you even think to die, I vow I shall kill you myself.” He couldn’t lose her. He knew she didn’t believe him when he told her he cared, but he did. That thought scared him to death.

The following days found clansmen mourning as they buried loved ones on the outskirts of the village. Duncan came inside from helping them, then headed upstairs to his bedchamber and sat on the edge of the bed.

Would his beautiful young wife die? Nay, he’d not let her. “Fight, Catherine,” he pleaded in a broken voice. He simply couldn’t lose this stubborn woman. He needed her far more than he’d thought possible—far more than he cared to admit.

“Please fight. I need you to stay with me.”