Timeless Tales of Honor Page 7

  “We’d never do that to ye, Mary,” the oldest boy said sternly.

  “Aye. Papa would beat ye dead if ye did!” She stuck her tongue out at the two of them.

  “Aye. But only a coward would do such a thing.” With heads held high, both boys left the room.

  Very soon Duncan appeared with Rowan and Manghus behind him. Duncan looked relieved to see Aishlinn awake.

  “Mary,” Duncan said. “Could ye leave us be for a moment, lass? I’ve a need to speak to Aishlinn privately.”

  The little girl crawled down from the bed and returned her hands to her hips. “Ye’ll take care of her well, won’t ye?”

  “I do so promise, Mary,” Duncan said with a warm smile. Mary studied the men for a moment. Apparently convinced they would take proper care of her charge, she disappeared behind the curtain.

  “How be ye, lass?” Duncan asked.

  “Better than when you found me,” Aishlinn told him.

  “Good,” Duncan said as he put a hand to her forehead. Although it was the simplest of gestures, Aishlinn was not prepared for the way his hand felt upon her skin. Men never touched her that way. Tears welled and she fought hard to hold them back.

  “What be the matter lass?” Duncan asked. “Are ye in pain? Do ye need Rebecca?”

  Aishlinn shook her head. “Then why do ye cry?” he asked.

  How does one explain to a complete stranger that his simple touch brought back a flood of memories and feelings she had not experienced since she was a bairn? She did not have the words to express how she felt at that moment. “I know not why you’re all being so kind to me!” she blurted out. “You know me not and yet you all watch over me as if I were one of your own.”

  “We be Highlanders, lass!” he said as if that was all the explanation necessary. He gently brushed the tears from her cheek. “We help those who need it.” For Duncan, it was simply how things were done. You helped those who needed it.

  He gave her a few moments to compose herself. “Do ye think ye might be able to travel in the morning lass?” he asked her. “We dunna ken how close the English be. We’ll be much safer at Castle Gregor,” he told her. “But if ye feel not up to it yet--” Aishlinn stopped him with a wave of her hand.

  “I want to waste no more time lying abed,” Aishlinn said. “I could ride now if we needed.” It was a little lie, but one she felt necessary. She knew the longer they lingered here, the closer the English might be nearing. “I want no harm to fall on this family.”

  Duncan was touched by the lass’ concern. She had heart and worried more over others than she did of her own safety. “We can wait a little longer lass. Ye’ll eat and rest and we’ll leave before first light.” He said as he lifted her hand into his giving it a slight squeeze. “Do ye think ye stand to eat a bit?”

  “Aye, I do,” she answered as she struggled to move. Duncan helped her to sit and carefully propped pillows behind her back. It was too painful to lean against the pillows so she sat tilted sideways.

  Rowan appeared moments later carrying a trencher piled high with enough food she thought for three people. She thanked him kindly before digging in. Duncan and his men stood towering over her and it seemed they watched every bite she took. “Why aren’t you eating?” she asked them.

  “We’ve already eaten, lass,” Rowan said.

  None of them moved, their eyes planted on her. An uneasiness began to spread over her for she could not figure out why they stared at her so. “Is there something the matter?” She asked. They remained silent.

  Rebecca walked in, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “They just want to be sure ye eat, lass. Hellions though they are, they’ve great concern over ye. They worry ye be too small and frail. I told them ye only appear so, because they’re all so big and tall. But they dunna believe me!” She shook her head at them. “Will ye quit starin’ at the lass so queerly, lads? How’s she supposed to eat with ye sitting around watchin’ her every move?” Playfully, she punched Rowan in the arm and he feigned great pain, rubbing the spot as if he had been shot with an arrow.

  Before Aishlinn realized it, the small area was filled with people. She was formally introduced to Aric and she thanked him for giving them all safe refuge. “No worries, lass!” he said, his voice deep and booming.

  She was next introduced to Robert, who was thirteen and the oldest of their sons, followed by Bruce who was eleven. Mary had climbed into the bed and sat next to Aishlinn. “’Tis our honor to protect ye, Lady Aishlinn,” Robert told her with a bow. Bruce, not wanting to be outdone, gave a bow and a wave of his arm. Aishlinn smiled as she thanked them for their allegiance. “Such braw young men you are!” Aishlinn said. “I feel safer knowing you are both here to protect me.”

  Both boys stood straighter and Robert blushed at her compliment. “It’s what we warriors do, Lady Aishlinn.”

  Aishlinn felt it odd to be addressed as Lady. By English standards, she was nothing more than a peasant. Having no royal blood running through her veins and being raised as she had, being referred to as Lady was odd indeed. “Do ye like the bread, Lady Aishlinn?” Mary asked. “I helped mamma bake it today.”

  “Aye, Mary. It’s the best I’ve ever eaten.” And it was not a lie for it was soft and warm with just the right amount of crunchiness to the crust. “Perhaps you’ll share your recipe with me some day?” Aishlinn asked.

  Robert stood with his arms crossed, looking every bit the image of his father, Aric, who stood in the same manner at the foot of the bed. “Lady Aishlinn, how old be ye?” Robert asked.

  “I turned ten and nine this past winter,” she told him. He looked rather deflated by her answer, and she did not know why. Aric grunted. “I took ye for not much past ten and five!”

  “Ya daft men! I told ye she be older but ye dunna listen,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes at her husband. “Forgive the hellions, lass. Warriors they well may be, but they’re eejits as well.”

  “Are ye married?” Robert asked her.

  Aishlinn cringed. “Nay, Robert. I am not.”

  “Is there a suitor then ye have?” The question of having a suitor was just as ridiculous as the notion of having a husband. Neither suitor nor husband lay in her future.

  “Nay,” she told him as she turned her focus to her trencher. Aishlinn knew that most women her age were already married with a bairn or two. She had long ago resolved herself to being an auld maid, for she knew she was a quite plain young woman. Her stepfather had always been quite honest with her in that regard and that was the reason why he raised her in the manner he had.

  With a chuckle, Aric slapped his eldest son on the back. “Lad, take yer brother and sister out and tend the animals.” Robert looked decidedly displeased but did as his father had told him.

  Aric waited for the children to leave. “Forgive me son, lass, but he’s taken quite a fancy to ye.” He smiled as he gave her a wink.

  She shook her head, not believing that anyone, least of all a thirteen-year-old boy would take a fancy to her. She was certain they were merely being polite. With her appetite now satisfied, she handed the trencher to Rebecca.

  With a simple nod and a warm smile from Aric, Rebecca left the room. The men stood motionless as each studied Aishlinn very closely. The silence was deafening. “Why do you all stare at me so?” Aishlinn asked her voice tinged with worry.

  “Forgive us, lass. We’ve simply so many questions,” Manghus apologized.

  Certain she would get no rest this night unless she quelled their curiosity. Aishlinn inhaled slowly before speaking. “Well, then ask them.” Thrusting her chin upward, she squared her shoulders and hoped she looked far stronger than she felt.

  Duncan took a deep breath. “Can ye search yer memory, Aishlinn, for just a moment?” he asked softly. “Ya said ye ken no’ of yer mother’s or father’s clan. Are ye sure, lass? Ye’ve no names, no recollection of anything that may have been told to ye?”

  Aishlinn thought hard for a long moment. “There is nothing.
I did not learn that Broc was not my real father until the day they buried my mother. All I know is what her friend Moirra told me long ago; that my mother was a Highlander. She promised to tell me more when I was older, but she died not long after.”

  Pity-filled faces looked at her. She did not want their pity, only their help in finding her family, if indeed there were any left.

  Duncan did not want to push, but he had to. “Nothing at all then? No stories, no slips of the tongue? Please think, Aishlinn.”

  “Moirra told me faerie tales, nothing more, just faerie tales of big, strong Highlander men. But none in those stories were as kind as all of you.”

  Duncan was puzzled. “What do ye mean, lass?”

  Would it be considered un-lady like or unkind to share what Moirra had told her? Their continued stares of curiosity told her she could, as long as she was careful not to insult any of them. “She said Highlander men liked their drink strong,” she stopped, trying to find the best way to phrase what Moirra had said.

  “Go on, lass,” Aric encouraged her, a most serious expression on his face.

  She threw all caution to the wind and blurted it out. “Moirra said Highlander men liked their drink strong and their women ready.” She held her breath, anticipating they would be insulted by what she had just said.

  Laughter filled the room. They certainly did not appear insulted. Proud was a more apt description. “What is so funny?” Aishlinn asked.

  “Those be not faerie tales she told ye, lass!” Rowan said as he slapped a hand to his knee. “They be the God’s honest truth!”

  Aishlinn’s face burned red as a jolt of fear rushed up from her belly. For a moment she worried they might expect her to “be ready”. Then she remembered her plain, homely face and felt better. She was too plain to be wanted by any man, let alone one of these braw Highlanders. For the first time in her life she felt glad for being ugly.

  When she asked if they were quite done laughing, it only brought forth more of it. They may be brave and honorable warriors, but she suspected they were more hellion than anything else. She waited patiently for the laughter to cease. “Do you have more questions of me?”

  Rowan stepped close to her, the smile gone from his face, replaced with a look of concern. “Lass, why did they cut yer hair?” he asked. “Ya told Mary it was a punishment. What could ye have done so terrible as to deserve that?”

  Shamed, her hand went to her hair as she tried to smooth it. She imagined she must look a fright to them and did not blame them for their curiosity. Oh, how she wished they had cut it for some untold brazen act she had committed. Alas, she had no exciting or adventurous story to tell.

  Duncan made a mental note to admonish Rowan later for his blatant disrespect at having asked the question. Though he was as curious as the rest of them as to why she had been punished in such a manner, he still felt it an insensitive question.

  “For burning the evening meal,” she told them quietly. “’Twas about this time last year. I had been working in the fields all the day, plowing them to ready for the spring planting. I put a stew on the fire and fell asleep. They were angry the stew had boiled dry and was ruined.”

  She left out the part of how she had been awakened by a strong slap to her face that had knocked her clean from her chair. It was Horace, her oldest brother who had slapped her awake. He cursed at her for quite some time before the other two had grabbed her and slammed her face into the table, whilst Horace grabbed her long braid and cut it. Later he had fastened the braid to the tail of one of their plow horses. He had derived great pleasure from being so cruel. She had cried nearly nonstop for days after. Finally, she had convinced herself that plain girls didn’t need long locks and it would eventually grow back.

  “I canna imagine doing such a thing to a sister,” Rowan said. Hatred and disgust flickered across his face. Similar expressions could be seen on the faces of the other men as well.

  “I canna believe they made her work the fields like a man!” Aric huffed. “’Tis an atrocity is what it is.” The others nodded their heads in agreement. “We don’t treat our women that way here lassie, ye can be assured of it!” With his massive arms crossed over an even larger chest, Aishlinn felt relieved to know he was on her side. “We’d rather be hung by our shorthairs than to let such a thing happen!” Duncan shot a look of warning at Aric that said to watch his language in front of the lady before them.

  While she thought it admirable that they were appalled at how her family had treated her, there were reasons for their behavior. Aishlinn had not realized she had been talking out loud. “What were the reasons for treating ye in such a manner?” Duncan asked. She could not tell if he was appalled or bilious for his expression could have explained either condition.

  She flushed again, humiliated and ashamed. Perhaps she could pretend to be in pain, or needing rest and bid them to leave. She knew there was no sense in prolonging the inevitable for eventually they would figure it out. It was probably best to warn them now. “You think my face looks frightful now?” she said quietly. “Wait until the bruises fade and the swelling leaves it.” She twisted the edge of her coverlet between trembling fingers. “My stepfather taught me to work in the fields, to build things, and to hunt, knowing I would never be blessed with a husband. You see, even without the bruises and cuts, I am a quite plain and ugly young woman.”

  Loud protests filled the room as if she had just insulted the King of Scotland. Duncan shot to his feet, his face marked with anger and disbelief, unable to speak. Aric however, had readily found his voice. “What father would tell a lass such a thing?” he demanded. ’Twas a good thing Broc already lay dead in the ground, for Aishlinn was certain these men would seek him out and kill him for such an injustice. While noble, she thought, it was highly unnecessary.

  Rebecca rushed in, her brow creased, and ready to yell at the men for yelling in the direct vicinity of her patient. When Aric relayed what Aishlinn had told them, Rebecca flew into a rage of her own. The profanities -- some in the English but many in the Gaelic -- which Rebecca slung in the direction of Aishlinn’s dead stepfather, were enough to make most grown men blush.

  The men in this room were apparently unfazed by such talk coming from a woman. Secretly, Aishlinn wished she had just an ounce of Rebecca’s tenacity. Perhaps if she had known some of the words Rebecca knew, she could have used them as weapons against her brothers. Maybe then, they wouldn’t have mistreated her or cut her hair. They would have been downright fearful of her.

  Taken aback by the spectacle, Aishlinn lay still and bewildered in the bed. Tears threatened and she was not certain what to make of the outrage before her.

  The look on Duncan’s face said enough. He was utterly appalled by what she had just told them. He crouched on one knee before her and took her hand in his. “Lass, such a thing is not true. Yer stepfather be an evil whoreson of a man to have told ye such a such lies!”

  “Duncan, really. You needn’t be so kind. He did it only to protect me,” she told him. Really, such a fuss they were making and over what? The truth of the plainness of one young woman?

  Duncan shook his head. “Protect ye from what, lass?” He simply could not fathom it.

  “He knew I be plain and would never find a husband to take care of me, Duncan,” she said bluntly. Aishlinn had had her entire life to get used to the face that would garner her no husband or bairns. Once her face healed and these men had time to get used to it, then they would understand. “Isn’t that what fathers do? Protect their children?”

  “Aye,” Aric said, stepping to her side. “A father protects his children from all manner of evil, lass,” he told her. “But a father never tells his daughter such lies!”

  “Even if it be the truth Aric?” Aishlinn gritted. She was growing weary of the topic. “Certainly a good father would always be truthful with his children, even if the truth hurt.”

  Aric pursed his lips together. “If ye be ugly and plain, then I be King David!” His
scowl deepened and he looked quite menacing.

  Duncan squeezed her hand again. “’Tis the truth, lass. Ye be no’ plain nor ugly.”

  Aishlinn quietly searched for a memory or a time in her life when Broc or her brothers had said anything to the contrary. She could find none. Her entire life and everything she knew had been built around the premise that she was not only plain but ugly as well. Now here she was, surrounded by complete strangers who were insisting none of it was true. Although she would have loved to believe them, her heart insisted they were only being kind.

  While everyone else in the room was lost in their own conversation regarding the outlandish and cruel behavior bestowed upon their new charge, Duncan’s focus remained on Aishlinn. When a tear trailed down her cheek, he quietly suggested they take their conversation elsewhere and allow the lass to rest. After the last wish of a good sleep was made, and the curtain closed, Duncan remained at her side.

  Crouching beside her, he lightly brushed a loose bit of hair from her forehead with his fingertips. A surge of something quite unfamiliar rushed through Aishlinn, and she knew not what to make of it.

  “I ken ye be frightened, lass,” he told her. His voice was soft and reassuring. “I ken we must appear to be a strange lot to ye, all big and loud and speakin’ our minds. Och! We may stretch the truth a wee bit on occasion, but when it comes down to the very important things in life, we never lie.”

  Duncan knew that her current predicament could not be an easy one. He could only hope that someday she would realize he was being truthful with her.

  “When we make a pledge or a promise, we keep it ‘til our dyin’ breath. When we swore to protect ye and yer honor, we meant it.” Smoothing her hair he smiled at her. “And when I tell ye that ye be no’ plain, ye can believe that I tell no lie.” He squeezed her hand again, smiled and left the room.