Man and wife.
The words kept coming back to Ailsa, creeping up to surprise her when she was least expecting it. She was happy, she knew she was. She loved Logan and when she was in his arms, when he was kissing her, nothing else mattered. He loved her, he wanted her, but in recent weeks she had begun to wake up feeling unwell and when he reached for her she was obliged to excuse herself and slip away. During the day, when Logan was away, riding over the estate with Tamhas, her thoughts turned to the clàrsach and she would want to play it, but when she went to the small parlour, no matter how hard she tried, her ear would not pick out the nuances in tone required to tune it properly, and the sounds she made were harsh and discordant. They mocked her.
Logan never mentioned her playing, but Ailsa knew he had not forgotten it. She noticed that if he was humming or whistling a tune, he would stop when he saw her. As the weeks went on, frustration began to gnaw at her. She felt constantly tired and headaches made her short-tempered and irritable, prone to burst into tears at the slightest thing. Even worse, the more Logan wanted to help her the more she pushed him away, snapping at him when he tried to comfort her until, inevitably, he lost his temper.
They were in the drawing room after dinner, candles burning and the curtains pulled across the windows to shut out the October night. A cheerful fire blazed in the hearth, but, despite its warmth, the atmosphere between them was distinctly chilly. They had disagreed over some trifling matter at dinner and now Ailsa refused his offer to pour her some wine.
A burgeoning headache was making her tense and the slightest noise was amplified so that just the sound of the glass stopper being replaced in the decanter made her wince and she snapped at Logan, who muttered an oath.
‘By heaven, madam, you are turning into a veritable shrew! Is there nothing I can do right for you?’
She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to apologise for her tantrums and tell him just how much he did right for her. How much she loved him. Instead she found herself hunching a shoulder, wanting to hit out, to hurt him.
‘You can leave me in peace, Logan Rathmore, that is what you can do for me!’
‘Well, you shall have your wish,’ he fired back. ‘Tomorrow Tamhas and I ride over to Dellbost. We will be away for the night. Nay, maybe two!’
‘The longer the better, since we only make each other miserable!’
‘Perhaps you regret you ever married me,’ he muttered.
‘Aye, I do! Just as much as you regret marrying me!’ Ailsa was shocked to hear herself giving voice to her fears. It was not at all what she wanted to say to him. She clenched her fists and dug the nails into the palms. ‘Oh, Logan, I am sorry. I did not mean—’
But it was too late. He was gone.
Ailsa ran to the door in time to see him disappearing into his study. She wanted to go after him and beg him to forgive her, to try to explain how ill she felt, but the headache was pounding at her temples and making her feel sick. She decided she should go to bed. If she could just lie down the headache would pass quicker. Then she would be able to make her peace with Logan.
After Shona had helped her into her nightshirt, Ailsa dismissed her and climbed into bed. She leaned back against the pillows, thinking how best to beg Logan’s pardon for her latest outburst. She must explain to him how ill she felt, but she doubted he would understand, for he was always in the best of health. Indeed, she herself had never suffered a moment’s illness until now and she felt very foolish to be brought so low by the veriest trifles. That was why she had done her best to conceal the malady from everyone.
As the hours ticked by, the feelings of guilt increased. She thought of all Logan had done for her and how little she had given him in return. True, she was learning to keep house, but she had none of the accomplishments of a real lady. She could not draw or paint, her sewing was untidy and as for music, the harp had been her only true achievement. She could hold a tune, but her singing voice was too small to be considered fine.
Logan had been so patient and had treated her so kindly since she had been at Ardvarrick, and she was repaying him with nothing but complaints and misery. And now she had as good as told him she was sorry she had married him. It was quite untrue and she must tell him so. Ailsa turned on her side and cradled her cheek on her hand. She loved Logan and she must make him know how much.
Ailsa had no recollection of falling asleep, but when she opened her eyes again it was daylight and someone was moving quietly about the room.
‘Oh, Shona.’
The maid dipped a curtsy. ‘Did I wake you, ma’am? I tried so hard to be quiet.’
‘What time is it?’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘Where is the master?’
‘Why, ’tis gone eight, madam, and the master left the house these two hours since.’
Ailsa sat up quickly. ‘He has left?’
‘Why, yes, ma’am. He said I was not to disturb you. That you needed to sleep, which is why I have only just come in.’
The maid chattered on, but Ailsa barely heard her. Logan was gone and she had not told him she loved him.
The sun was rising into the clear blue sky as Logan and Tamhas cantered away from Ardvarrick. It was going to be another clear day, but for once Logan would have preferred torrential rain. Then he would have had an excuse to remain at Ardvarrick and make his peace with Ailsa. He did not like being at odds with her, but they seemed to have been constantly bickering since their wedding day.
Ailsa was increasingly anxious and withdrawn. He had no idea what was ailing her and, with the business of the estate weighing heavily on his mind, he was aware that he, too, had become short tempered. However, until yesterday, their arguments had been over quickly, followed by fervently uttered regrets and kisses in equal measure, but not this time.
This time he had ridden away with the coldness still between them.
Knowing there was nothing he could do about it until he returned, Logan tried to concentrate on the business in hand: preparing his lands to withstand the harsh months ahead. It was just over a year since he had returned to Ardvarrick and he had been pitchforked into a harsh winter. It had not taken him long to realise how little he knew about his inheritance. Tamhas had guided him through the past year, but this winter he was determined to take more control, to look after his lands and his people as a Laird should.
There was much to be done and time was running out. The weather was turning and the nights growing longer and colder. Logan and Tamhas had spent the past few weeks riding around his lands and discussing what was needed, now that the last of the crops had been gathered in and those cattle not sold to the drovers had been brought down from the hills. A few were to be overwintered, the rest slaughtered to provide food for the lean months ahead. They had now visited all the farms except those that required them to be away overnight, the ones that bordered Contullach lands on the far side of the Bealach na Damh, which was where they were going today.
They were approaching the pass when Logan drew rein and sat for a moment, looking around him in silent contemplation.
Tamhas brought his horse to a stand beside him. ‘Is anything amiss, Cousin?’
‘On the contrary.’ Logan nodded to the loch beside them and looked up towards the bracken-covered slopes beyond. ‘The country here reminded me. It is but a year since I first saw Ailsa.’
‘She was sitting beside a loch such as this, was she not?’ Tamhas laughed. ‘I always said she bewitched you with her music.’
‘Aye.’ Logan set off again, remembering how sweetly she had played, how beautiful he had thought her, even then, before he had fallen so completely under her spell. And it was not just the music, although Ailsa could not be brought to believe she had anything else to offer.
How wrong she was!
It was almost two months since their wedding. Logan had counted every day of it and every night. In many ways Ailsa had blossomed at Ardvarrick. She had told him her education had been rudimentary, but she was quick to learn and Norry, who had never liked figures, had been relieved to hand over the household accounts. Ailsa had insisted Logan should oversee the change, but it needed only short inspection to convince him that Ailsa could cope. Her entries were clear, any notes precise and all written in her neat, firm hand. He recalled how relieved she had been at Norry’s approval. And how she had blushed adorably when he had added his praise to that of the housekeeper.
Under Ailsa’s rule the house was coming alive again. Rooms long unused were opened up, shutters thrown open, cushions added to hard wooden chairs, flowers and green foliage brought in and fires kindled to make the rooms more welcoming. Logan had spoken to Norry, anxious that his new wife’s enthusiasm for homemaking should not upset the old retainers, but he need not have worried.
‘Whisht, Master Logan, she has offended no one. She is like a breath of fresh air in the house. If I might say, it hasn’t been like this since your sainted mother died, Lord rest her soul.’
She excelled at everything, except the music. Logan was aware of Ailsa’s deep sorrow that she could no longer play her harp. He was at pains not to mention it, but it was there, an ever-present sore and, although she tried hard to hide it, he suspected it was making her ill. What else could explain her wan looks, the way she no longer sat down to breakfast with him? The way she had ripped up at him over nothing yesterday.
He was sorry for the heated words that had followed, when she accused him of regretting their marriage. He should have challenged her then. Instead, he had walked away, returning late to bed and rising early this morning. Now he regretted leaving the house without waking Ailsa. Without telling her that of all the things in his life he might regret, marrying her was not, and never would be, one of them.
‘Now then, who is this coming down from Bealach na Damh?’
Tamhas’s voice interrupted his thoughts and Logan looked up. Three riders were approaching, their sturdy mounts picking the way down the final slopes to the well-defined track that ran along the valley bottom, beside the river.
‘Fingal Contullach,’ stated Tamhas, peering at the riders.
‘And that is Cowie with him.’ Logan’s horse pranced a little as his grip tightened on the reins.
Tamhas put out a hand. ‘Easy now, Cousin. Fingal has already flogged the man for his crimes. It is forgotten.’
Logan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Cowie has no more forgotten what he did than I!’
They walked their horses on until they were close enough to speak. Fingal brought his group to a stand and nodded.
‘Ardvarrick.’
‘Contullach.’
Logan would have moved on, but the man seemed inclined to talk. After a few moments’ stilted conversation, Fingal paused.
‘I hope you’ll see your way to renewing our agreement next year, Ardvarrick. The drovers’ price per head of cattle was a fair one and I don’t doubt we have both prospered by this summer’s peace.’
‘We agreed to the terms, Contullach. As long as your people and mine can rub along peaceably—’ Logan could not prevent his eyes flicking to Ewan Cowie ‘—I see no reason why we should not continue with the agreement.’
The old man grunted. ‘Five years ago, I’d not have risked coming through Bealach na Damh with less than a dozen armed men.’
‘Times change,’ said Logan. ‘In London they are calling this the Age of Reason. It makes sense to be on good terms with one’s neighbours.’
‘That’s true enough.’ Contullach seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he nudged his horse closer and put out his hand. ‘Then I’ll bid ye good day, Ardvarrick. And peace be with you.’
Logan took the proffered hand and gripped it. ‘And with you, Fingal. Long may it last.’
‘I do believe the old man is mellowing,’ remarked Tamhas, when the two parties had moved on and they were well out of earshot.
‘I knew he would come around, once he had seen the benefits of the agreement,’ Logan replied.
Tamhas rubbed his chin. ‘I have my doubts about Cowie, though. I saw the way he looked at you and I think you are right. He has not forgotten what happened between you.’
Logan’s lip curled. ‘I have beaten him twice. He’ll not bother me again, if he knows what’s good for him.’
‘I am not sure Cowie has the wit to know that,’ Tamhas replied. He swung round for one last look at the retreating figures. ‘You’d best be on your guard with that one, Cousin. There was murder in his eyes.’
Logan grunted and kicked his horse to a trot. ‘Come on. I want to get through the Pass of the Stags before we stop again.’
Ardvarrick seemed very quiet without Logan. Ailsa missed him as soon as she opened her eyes that morning and the knowledge that he had ridden off without saying goodbye was a constant blade in her heart. She kept busy around the house, helping Norry with her chores and collecting herbs and vegetables from the garden, but still the day dragged by.
She decided upon an early dinner, which she would eat with the housekeeper rather than keeping her solitary state in the dining room. Ailsa had been so fatigued recently that she had originally thought she would retire directly after dinner, but tonight she felt awake and restless.
She went to the drawing room, from where she could see the waters of the loch, its ruffled surface glinting gold and silver in the setting sun. She still felt restless, unsettled. It would be the first time she had slept alone since her wedding and she knew she would miss Logan’s breath on her neck, his body lying beside hers. Not that he had held her close or curled himself around her last night.
She was beset by a sudden stab of loneliness and dropped her head in her hands.
‘Mercy me, now what is all this?’
Ailsa quickly sat up. ‘I beg your pardon, Norry, I am being very foolish. I have so much and yet I feel so melancholy.’
‘Nay, mistress, there is no need to apologise to me. I thought I’d bring you a tisane of raspberry leaves. It helps, sometimes, you see, for women in your condition.’
‘Condition?’ Ailsa tried to laugh, but it ended in a sob. ‘Oh, Norry, I feel so wretched.’
‘There, there, my dear.’ The housekeeper stroked her head. ‘It is quite natural. The late Lady Ardvarrick was just the same, you know, when she was with child.’
Ailsa raised her head and stared at the housekeeper, who regarded her with a sympathetic smile.
‘Did ye not know, lass? Did they not tell you how it might be?’
No. No one had told her.
She had heard the maids giggling and had some vague idea of how a child was conceived, but no one had ever explained it to her in any detail. Why should they? She was the Contullach harper, it had never been intended that she should be a mother.
A growing sense of wonder filled her and she looked up at Norry, whose kindly face became wreathed in smiles.
‘Bless you, my dear, ’tis the news we have all been waiting for since you wed the master! It is very early days yet, but we all noticed that you cannot eat in the mornings. And other signs, of course.’
Yes, they would, thought Ailsa. The servants, especially Shona and the laundress, would be privy to the most intimate secrets of the bedchamber.
‘Can it be?’ she whispered, looking up hopefully at the housekeeper. ‘Can I be carrying Logan’s child?’ She put her hands on her stomach. ‘What should I do?’
‘Do? Why, nothing. Rest when you need to, but otherwise go on as you are. Now—’ Mrs Noranside shook out her skirts ‘—I shall leave you to drink the raspberry tea. I have put it there for you, on the little table at your elbow. You should drink it up and not worry your head about these megrims and crotchets. They will pass and all the sooner now you know what is causing them.’
She bustled out and Ailsa sat back in her chair, her mood completely changed. A baby! Would Logan be pleased? She could not doubt it. She took up the cup and dutifully sipped at the tisane. It was not unpleasant and she drank it all, lost in a pleasant dream of the future. She was suddenly impatient to make everything right with Logan. It would be easier to apologise now she knew the reason for her ill humour. But he would not be back before tomorrow, at the earliest, and what was she to do with herself until then? So many hours to fill!
Ailsa looked out of the window. Perhaps a stroll in the fresh air would help her to sleep. The sun was close to setting now, but the sky was clear and there would be light for a while yet. She ran upstairs to fetch a shawl and made her way to the gardens at the south front of the house. She stopped for a while on the upper terrace, glad of her thick shawl to keep off the chill. She breathed deep, relishing the fresh smell of the sea carried in with the onshore breeze. On the next terrace, the small hedges surrounded only bare earth, the flower beds having been cleared and mulched with seaweed in readiness for spring planting.
Ailsa descended the final steps to the lawn. A few hardy plants still flowered in the borders, soaking in the last, cool rays of autumn sunshine. She remembered how pretty and colourful it had looked in summer. Her hands moved to the still-flat planes of her belly. Perhaps next year she and Logan might bring a rug and sit out here on sunny days, the baby in a crib between them.
A movement caught her eye and she looked up. Someone was standing by the corner of the house, outlined against the sun, and for one exultant moment she thought it was Logan. Her heart leapt. He had come back because he, too, did not wish to spend the night apart! But as the figure moved closer, she realised it was too short and stocky to be her husband.
‘Ewan Cowie.’ She felt the first stirring of alarm, but she kept her voice calm, unwilling to show her fear. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Why, I came to visit you. We are cousins, after all.’
‘Only by marriage! You are not welcome here.’ She hurried up the steps from the lawn, eager to return to the house, but Ewan was coming down to intercept her.
‘How very ungracious of you, Ailsa.’
Nervously, she glanced up. There were no servants’ rooms on this side of the house and at this time of day it was unlikely anyone would be looking out from the drawing rooms or bedchambers.
She said, ‘Ardvarrick will be furious if he finds you here.’
‘But he isn’t at home, is he?’ Ewan had reached the middle terrace and was close enough for her to see that he was smiling. It made her shiver. ‘We have unfinished business, you and I.’
‘That is nonsense!’
‘Is it? I am Contullach’s heir. As his harper, you would have come to me, along with everything else he owned, when he died. I would have taken you then.’
‘If you had, Contullach would no longer have a harper.’
‘What care I for that?’ He was in front of her and blocking her way to the steps. ‘But in any case, we know now it is not true. Màiri told me, when she returned from your wedding. You yourself told her that you could still play.’
‘What of it?’
He was close enough now to see that his smile had become a leer. ‘Only that, if I had known it, I could have taken you years ago and Fingal would have been none the wiser.’
There was another path to her right, between the parterres. Ailsa turned abruptly, picking up her skirts to run, but even as she did so she felt a vice-like grip on her arm.
‘Not so fast, my lady.’
‘Let me go!’
He laughed as she struggled and swung her around, catching at her wrists.
‘You escaped me once, you witch, but this time I will take my pleasure. And pleasure it will be,’ he said, tightening his hold. ‘We will see what your fancy Laird will do when he finds I have enjoyed his lady’s charms!’
He was too strong for Ailsa to escape him. She could feel his breath on her face as he pulled her closer and she turned her head away.
‘Pray do not do this, Ewan. Think of Kirstin!’
‘Kirstin! Why, she’ll not let me into her bed above once a se’ennight. What a shrew she has turned out to be.’
His vicious reply shocked Ailsa. ‘She is your wife, Ewan!’
‘And if she’ll not give me what I want, then I must take it elsewhere.’
‘But not with me!’
‘Aye, with you.’
As he tried to take her in his arms, she managed to free one hand and rake her nails down his cheek. The sudden pain of it caused him to release his hold slightly. With a supreme effort she twisted from his grasp and ran. She had hardly gone three yards when he caught her. Ailsa screamed as he tumbled her over the low box hedge and on to the flowerbed. The soft earth cushioned the fall, but she was too shaken to scramble away before Ewan pinned her to the ground with his body.
He held her wrists above her head with one hand while his other tore at her bodice. Ailsa cried out, twisting her head from side to side to avoid his mouth. She was blazing with anger, she wanted to scream, but she was writhing too much to draw a full breath. She struggled valiantly, but with her legs hampered by her skirts and with Ewan holding her wrists, there was little she could do except squirm beneath him. She was tiring, too, but when he pushed her skirts aside and she felt his hand on her skin, she made a last desperate effort. She brought up her knee quick and hard between his legs. He grunted in pain, but did not release her.
‘Why, you hag, no more of that or when I have finished with you, I will crush your fingers beneath my boot. Then see how well you can play your damned harp!’
His threat only made Ailsa struggle more, until he dealt her a stinging blow to the face. Her eyes watered and she closed them tightly. She could taste the blood in her mouth, but she would not give in. She must keep struggling. Ewan cursed violently and Ailsa braced herself for another blow, but it never came. Instead, his weight was lifted from her and she heard the smack of a fist against bone.
She opened her eyes and almost fainted with relief when she saw Logan. He was on the gravel path and grappling with Ewan, whose face was covered in blood. Her dizziness was easing and she managed to scramble to her feet, her eyes fixed on the two men. She crossed her arms tightly to stop the convulsive shivering. There was murder in both their faces and she held her breath as she watched Logan drawing back his arm for another blow. Then she saw Ewan’s hand reaching into his sleeve.
‘Logan, look out. The sgian-dubh!’
Her warning was in time for him to jump aside and the deadly blade missed his body, but it slashed across his left arm. Ailsa looked on in horror as a dark stain spread slowly over his sleeve.
‘Very well, Cowie.’ Logan pulled out his own small dagger. ‘If that is how you wish to do this!’
Ailsa put her hands to her mouth, stifling a cry as the two men circled and feinted, each looking for the advantage. Logan’s left sleeve was turning black in the fading light. With such a wound he could not last long against Ewan. She should run and get help, but her limbs were paralysed. She could not move, she was rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes from the two men.
Logan gritted his teeth. His left arm was almost useless and his strength was failing. He heard a shout from the terrace but he would not allow himself to be distracted. Unlike his adversary. Cowie glanced away and Logan saw his chance. He launched himself at his opponent, dropping his own dagger and grabbing Cowie’s right wrist with both hands. He twisted it up behind his back, forcing it higher until the sgian-dubh fell from Cowie’s fingers and clattered harmlessly on the ground.
‘Enough,’ screamed Ewan. ‘Enough, for God’s sake! Ye’ll break my arm.’
‘Count yourself lucky I don’t break your neck!’
Logan wondered what madness it was that had made him drop his own blade rather than thrusting it into his opponent’s heart. Then he heard Ailsa cry out.
‘Quickly, Tamhas, quickly. Logan is hurt!’
Of course. She was his madness. And Cowie was her family, however much a villain he might be.
‘And why not kill the rogue?’ Tamhas demanded of him as he ran up, sword drawn. ‘Or let me do it. I’d be pleased to rid the world of such a cur!’
‘No.’ Logan shook his head. ‘Although God knows he has given me reason enough to put an end to his existence. And I may yet do so,’ he growled, giving Cowie’s wrist another twist before pushing him away.
Ewan Cowie stood, holding his arm and glaring at Logan, a mixture of hatred and fear in his eyes. Logan’s head was spinning now and there was a throbbing pain in his left arm, but he could not think of that just yet. Two of his men had come running up and he turned to address them.
‘Take Cowie to the cellars and lock him up. Go with them, Tamhas, make sure he is secure.’ He rubbed his temple. It was becoming more and more difficult to concentrate. ‘We will decide what to do about him in the morning.’
He watched them march their prisoner away before putting out his hand to Ailsa, who was still standing in the flower bed. There was something he wanted to say to her. Something important, but the pain in his head was growing worse. His eyes hurt, as if he was peering through a tunnel which was becoming longer and longer. Then there was only darkness.