The Inheritance (6 page)

Rory didn’t follow Isobel back to the castle after they left the cave.  He watched her trot through the gates, then turned his gelding in the opposite direction, digging his heels into the horse’s flanks and sending it hurtling through the fields, his emotions raging within him.  He needed a good gallop to clear his spinning brain.

His physical attraction to Isobel was normal, but what he felt transcended that.  Her childlike delight at seeing the firelight play over the lavender crystals
, and her surprise and shyness at his gift, touched his heart.  Isobel was different from the girls he normally met.  Most of them saw him as a good prospect for marriage, taking in his looks and high position within the clan.  They unashamedly tried to lure him with their charms, and although he enjoyed their attention and witty repartee he hadn’t met one he liked well enough to wed.  He wasn’t immune to their beauty, but the sly, calculating look in their eyes put him off.  He knew it was time to think of marriage and family, but every time he imagined himself coming home to a wife, she seemed to bear an uncanny resemblance to Isobel.

“Y
e stupid fool,” he cursed himself. “She is John’s wife.  She can never be yers, and showing her any kindness will only put her in danger.”  Rory knew that John would take great pleasure in hurting Isobel if he thought Rory would be hurt in the process.  She was already fragile due to John’s treatment of her, and now she knew about Joan.  He couldn’t subject her to more humiliation or ire from John. 

“Keep y
er distance, lad,” he said through gritted teeth, and turned his horse back toward the castle. 

As he rode past the village, his thoughts turned to Lorna.  She was long gone, but the memory of her remained,
filling him with longing for feminine comfort.  He met Lorna when he was seventeen and visiting a friend in the village.  He was walking back to the castle when he saw her standing in her dooryard, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun.  She was a handsome woman in her late twenties, whose husband had died not six months before. 

“Hey, lad
die.  Will ye give me a hand fixing the roof, I’m that afraid of heights.  I have some fresh currant cake and a glass of milk for the kind soul who patches that leaking hole up there,” she said with an inviting smile.  Rory felt his stomach rumble with hunger and made for the ladder.  The roof took moments to fix, and he found himself sitting inside her cozy cottage enjoying fresh cake, still warm from the oven.  Lorna’s kids were playing outside in the yard as she stood by the hearth, watching him with narrowed eyes.  Rory could have sworn that her bodice had been higher before he went up on the roof, and he took discreet peeks at her ample, creamy breasts over his cup of milk.

“Have y
e ever been with a lass?” she asked with a naughty grin, obviously not fooled by his downcast eyes.

“
Nay,” Rory mumbled, ashamed of his inexperience. 

“Would y
e like to be?” She walked over and pulled him to his feet to face her.  She kissed him lightly, running her tongue over his bottom lip.  She tasted of fresh cake and honey, and he felt an embarrassing hardness beneath his kilt.  Lorna slipped her hand under his kilt, cupping his bollocks, and enjoying his shock.   Rory sucked in his breath, not knowing what to do.  She giggled as she wrapped her hand around him and began to stroke slowly, her eyes never leaving his face.  She suddenly removed her hand and moved back.

“
Dinnae stop,” he breathed, as she turned away and walked into the other room.

“Come here then, my eager wee cockerel,” she called.  Rory followed Lorna into the bedroom and nearly disgraced himself as he saw  Lorna lying on the bed with her skirt
pulled up to her waist, her legs open in invitation.  He’d never seen a naked woman before, but the basic geography had been described to him in loving detail by his friends, so he dropped his kilt and went to his task, determined to do it right or die trying. 

Later, as he lay with his head on her soft breast, she stroked his hair and promised him further delights if he came back the next day.   Rory had continued to visit Lorna discreetly for the next two years
, sneaking away from the castle after dark, and often returning only as the pearly light of morning began to filter though the small window of Lorna’s bedroom.   His body hungered for her day and night, and Lorna taught him how to give and receive pleasure.  She’d been the first woman, since his mother died when he was seven, to show him any affection, and he fancied himself in love with her.  When he looked back on it, he was amazed that Lorna never got with child, but then having been married to an apothecary, she probably knew how to prevent an unwelcome pregnancy.  She eventually remarried, explaining to the heartbroken boy that she needed a man around the house, and her sons needed a father.  They parted warmly, and he still missed her mischievous smile and warm embrace.

He hadn’t given his heart to anyone since then knowing that the next woman he loved would have to be forever.  He wasn’t like some of the other young men he knew who were always falling in and out of love
, and never missing an opportunity for a roll in the hay.  When Rory loved, he loved with his whole heart, and he hoped that someday he would meet a lass who would love him that way in return.

Isobel was still smiling as she walked into the room she shared with John.  She pulled out the necklace Rory gave her and looked at it again.  It was very delicate, and the amethyst crystal felt warm in her hand after being worn next to her heart. 

“Who is it from?” 

Isobel nearly jumped out of her skin as John came out from behind the painted screen and advanced on her.  He looked menacing, and Isobel instinctively took a step back. 

“I asked y
e a question,” he snarled.

“It’s mine,” Isobel stammered.  “I had it
afore.”

“I
’m not going to ask ye again, woman.  Who gave ye that?”  His face was now inches away from hers, and the back of her legs touched the bed in her retreat. 

Isobel looked up into John’s enraged face.  He
’d been with Joan only that morning, and now he was acting like the injured party?  She wasn’t going to tell him a thing.  She didn’t care what he did to her, but she wouldn’t confess.  She was entitled to her secrets too. 

John’s hand felt like a sledgehammer as it hit the side of her face.  Isobel fell back on the bed
, tasting blood from her split lip.  She looked up at John in shock.  His face was contorted with rage, and she tried to scramble away from him as he grabbed her ankles and pulled her closer.  Isobel continued to struggle, so John grabbed her and flipped her onto her stomach.  She tried to wriggle away, but he pinned her wrists with one meaty hand, and held her legs in place with his thighs.  She heard the clink of metal as his belt buckle hit the stone floor, then closed her eyes as he yanked up her dress and rammed his cock inside her.  She screamed, but John bent forward, and clapped his hand over her face as he viciously thrust into her again and again.

Isobel lay there until she heard the door slam behind him
, tears streaming into the embroidered coverlet.  She slid off the bed onto the cold stone floor, and leaned her head against the feather mattress.  At last, she got up and wiped herself with a moist towel.  The towel came away stained with blood and John’s seed.  Isobel’s knees were shaking so badly, she could barely stand, so she crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over her. 

What was she to do now?  Who would help her?  John was her husband.  The only way out of this marriage was for her to die
, and she wouldn’t give the bloody whoreson the satisfaction.  It would make his life too bloody easy.  He would pay for what he’d done.  She didn’t know when, and she didn’t know how, but he’d pay.  She would make sure of that. 

She must have fallen asleep
, because by the time she opened her eyes the room was almost dark.  She was sore between her legs and her face felt tender and swollen.  She sat up and pulled up the blanket to her face as the door slowly opened.  She could see John’s silhouette in the doorway, illuminated by the sconce behind him.  He walked in slowly and stood by the bed.

“Isobel?” he called softly.  She didn
’t respond. 

“Isobel?” he tried again.  John sat down on the side of the bed and gingerly reached out for her.  She rolled to the side, trying to get away from him.

“Isobel, I am truly sorry.  I dinna ken what got into me.  I saw ye from the window parting ways with Rory afore returning to the castle, and I lost my head.  I thought ye went with him to get revenge for this morning.  I dinna mean to hurt ye, lass.”  He sounded truly contrite, but Isobel didn’t care.  She remained silent, glaring at him in the dim light of the room.

“Isobel, please.  Forgive me.  I won’t hurt ye again.” 

Isobel sat upright, dropping the coverlet.  She brought her face close to his, so he could see her swollen jaw.

“I will forgive, but I will not forget
, and if ye ever hit me or touch me in anger again I swear to ye here and now that I will take yer sword and run ye through from heart to cock.  Is that understood, husband?”  She spat out the last word and saw him cringe. 

“
Understood.  Will I have Mary bring ye some food?” he sounded full of concern, but Isobel knew what he was after.

“Nay
, I think I will go down to the Hall for supper; it’s my birthday after all.”  She wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily.  Let everyone see how the future laird treats his wife.

John hung his head in shame.  He pulled something out of his pocket and reached out his hand to her.

“I got ye something.”  She took the object out of his hand.  There was just enough light to see that it was an ornate silver cross on a leather thong. 

“Thank y
e, John, but I think I’ll wear this necklace for now.”  She touched her fingers to the warm crystal and John looked away.

“As y
e wish.”  He left the room and didn’t return that night. 

Isobel didn
’t go down the following morning, asking Mary to tell everyone she was ill.  Her face was still swollen, and her lip was so tender that she could barely eat anything.  Her biggest fear was running into Rory.  She couldn’t bear for him to see her like that.  Not only was she embarrassed, but she was afraid that it would provoke a scene between him and John, and she wanted to avoid that at all cost.  She didn’t want them fighting on her account, and she certainly didn’t want his pity.

The events of Isobel’s birthday hadn’t been mentioned again, and John carried on as if nothing had happened between them.  Isobel made a pretense of having forgiven him, but she simply couldn’t.  She prayed to God asking for guidance and the generosity of spirit to forgive John, but it hadn’t been granted.  She felt sullied and repulsed by her husband and cringed every time he came near her.  Sometimes in the morning, her teeth hurt from grinding them so hard the night before as John performed his nightly onslaught on her unwilling body.

Isobel looked at herself in the mirror as she tucked the last of her hair into a matronly cap.  She wanted to look as demure as possible.  She
’d been waiting for an opportunity for a few weeks and she wasn’t about to let this one pass her by.  Thank God for Mary.  She had let it slip yesterday that Mrs. Haggerty in the village was very ill, and might not last till Christmas.  Isobel had thought long and hard about her decision, but with every passing day she became more convinced that this was the only course of action.  She put on her warm cloak and sturdiest shoes, and went in search of John. 

She found him in the study reading a letter, which he immediately refolded and stuffed under a book.  Isobel briefly wondered if the letter was from Joan, but dismissed the thought from her mind.  It didn’t matter. 

“John, I would like to walk into the village today to see Mrs. Haggerty.”

John looked up in surprise.  He
’d made it clear that he didn’t want her leaving the castle on her own, since British patrols were always in the area bullying the people and he shook his head.

“Why do ye
need to go?”

“Mrs. Haggerty is very ill, and as the future Laird’s wife, it’s my duty to visit the clanspeople in their hour of need. 
Dinna yer own mother used to do that?”

John thought about it for a moment.  His mother was long dead, but he did remember her calling on tenants and caring for the sick.  It had been a long time since there was a Lady of the Castle and Isobel felt him relent.

“Aye, go, but take Mary with ye.”

“Mary is indisposed today. 
Nay one will harass me; I’ll take the path through the woods.”

John gave her a nod, his mind already on something else.  Isobel bid him a good day and fled the room before he had a chance to change his mind.  She stopped by the kitchens and asked the cook for some fresh oatcakes, a crock of butter and a small jar of honey
, putting them into her basket.  She slung the basket over her arm, and walked briskly through the gate heading toward the wooded path to the village. 

It was about an hour’s walk
, and Isobel enjoyed the feeling of freedom it gave her to be alone.  The December day was cold but clear, and the frosted grass crunched under her boots as she stepped a little off the path.  The wind felt cold on her face bringing with it the smell of pine and peat fires burning in the village.  Isobel passed a gurgling stream and cupping her hand, took a drink of icy water.  It was sweet and refreshing.

She thought of her purpose for going to the village
, feeling a little guilty about using poor, ill Mrs. Haggerty as an excuse.  She needed a legitimate excuse, so John wouldn’t suspect anything.  She would stop at the Haggerty’s first and then move on to her true errand.

Isobel was lost in thought
, and the hour passed quickly as she saw the first houses of the village.  The village was fairly large, and consisted of about fifty homes housing many large families and their livestock.  The air was thick with the smell of peat, manure, and baking bread.  Women, bundled against the cold, went about their morning tasks, getting water from the well, sweeping their dooryards, and calling to their children to stay out of trouble as they ran outside to play. 

She asked a goodwife which was the Haggerty house and walked over, knocking on the door.  Mrs. Haggerty, the younger, let her in, bowing slightly.  A chubby baby was asleep in her arms
, while a grubby toddler peeked from behind his mother with intense curiosity, his eyes traveling to the basket on her arm from which the smell of fresh oatcakes was wafting.

“Welcome,
my lady.  It’s an honor to have ye in our home.” 

Isobel handed the woman
her basket and asked after her mother-in-law. 

“Oh, she is poorly,
my lady.  My husband has gone for Father McDonald.  We dinna think she’ll last till nightfall.”

Isobel was nearly choking on the fumes from the peat flames in the hearth
, and thought Mrs. Haggerty had a better chance of survival if someone had opened the window.  She was led into the back bedroom, where the old lady lay in bed, waxy and still.  Her breath was ragged, an audible rattling in her chest as she struggled for breath.  Her son was right; the woman was not long for this world.  Isobel kissed her on the forehead, made the sign of the cross, and wished the young Mrs. Haggerty well before leaving. 

“God bless y
e for yer kindness, my lady,” Mrs. Haggerty cried, waking up the baby who let out a loud yell, as Isobel left the house. 

Now that her duty was discharged, Isobel felt free to pursue her own goal.  She
’d skillfully steered Morag into revealing all the information she needed, and was now headed toward the last house positioned at the edge of the woods.  It was more of a hut, and was well-removed from the other houses in the village.  A skinny goat was chewing on tufts of grass, and gave her a disdainful look as she knocked on the door.  The woman who answered was young and pretty with long golden hair worn loose like a maiden, and cornflower-blue eyes.  Isobel was taken aback, thinking she’d gotten the wrong house.  She’d expected someone much older and not quite so pretty.

“Pardon the intrusion, but are y
e Mistress Freya?” Isobel asked shyly.

The woman gave her a warm smile and pulled her into the hut.  It was small but clean
, and smelled of dried herbs and something medicinal.  She motioned for Isobel to sit at the scrubbed table, and handed her a cup of mulled wine before sitting across from her and studying her openly.

“So, y
e’re John McBride’s lady.”

She said this with a touch of pity
, which almost made Isobel burst into tears.  She took a moment to compose herself and stated her purpose.

“I see,” said Freya with a slight smile. “Are y
e sure about this?”

“I am
, and I must have yer word that my husband will never ken.”  Isobel felt a little defiant, but she didn’t want to offend the woman, so she lowered her eyes and took a sip of the wine.

“I
dinna build my reputation on telling husbands what their wives come to me for.  Dinnae worry, my dear, ye are not the first nor the last to ask.” 

Freya got up and walked into the back room
, where bunches of drying herbs were hanging upside down from the low ceiling, and countless jars stood on a wooden counter.  She measured something into a cloth pouch and came back into the room.

“Take a spoonful of this herb and mix it with warm water, leaving it to infuse for at least fifteen minutes, then drink a cupful an hour or two
afore bedtime.  Ye dinnae need to take it when it’s yer time of the month.”

“What will it do?”

“It will prevent yer husband’s seed from taking hold.  It has no permanent effects, so you can stop should ye change yer mind.”

Freya gave Isobel a reassuring smile, patting her hand.

“Dinnae worry, lass.  Yer secret is safe with me. Not wanting a bairn is not a crime.”

“Is it not a crime against my marriage and God?” Isobel asked miserably.

“Ye wouldna be here if ye had a happy marriage.  A woman must do what she can to protect herself. Having a bairn ye dinnae want is a crime against yerself.  Come back if ye need more. Now, put on yer hood and dinnae walk back through the village.  Take the trail to the left and it will lead ye back to the road.  No one must know ye were here.”

Isobel pressed a coin into the woman’s hand
, and hid her pouch inside her cloak.  She’d be all right for the next few months, and by then she would determine if she needed to come back for more.