Terri Brisbin - Taming the Highlander

It was only later, when the storm raged outside and the sound of the winds and rain and thunder grew louder that she let out the emotions she’d been holding within her. The terror of being given to this man, the heartbreak of leaving her family and her one true love behind, and the hopelessness of her future all poured out of her even as the clouds poured their storming rains on the castle and keep.

Rolled in a cocoon of bed linens and exhausted by the physical and emotional price she’d paid for her brother’s safe release, Jocelyn drifted off to a sleep unbothered by the reality of her life now. And her dreams were filled with the face and the touch of the man she loved.

The darkness and warmth suited her, Jocelyn decided when she heard someone moving around her chambers. Tempted to lift the layers and layers of bed linens she’d wrapped around herself in the deepest, coldest part of the night, she remained still and kept her eyes shut tightly. She knew from the previous attempts to rise that her head would throb and the room would swirl uncontrollably and she would be forced to vomit again.

No, the dark and warmth and keeping her body still suited her just fine. But, the voice softly calling her name became more insistent.

“Lady? Lady Jocelyn? Are ye well?”

It was the old woman who’d assisted her in so many ways, but still, the aches and pain and unease in her belly tempted her to ignore the woman’s call.

“Lady? Should I seek out the laird?”

“Nay!” she called out, pushing the coverings aside. Spying Ailsa leaning her old, crooked frame over to nearly the floor to speak to her, Jocelyn shook her head and then paid the price she feared. She was fortunate that Ailsa was perceptive enough to recognize what was about to happen and grabbed the pot quickly.

It was some minutes before her stomach eased and she could lay back. Ailsa soothed her with soft words and a cool cloth to her brow.

“Lie back, lady. It will pass.”

“’Twas the wine,” she whispered, trying to explain to the servant.

“Spoiled?” The maid picked up the jug from next to her on the floor and sniffed at it suspiciously. Her decision was said with a shake of her head. “Smells fine to me, lady.” The woman turned the jug bottom up and not even a drop trickled out. “Mayhap the amount was the problem and not the quality?”

Jocelyn did not respond—there was no need. With the cloth back in place, the noise of the awakening keep seemed to recede. Ailsa coughed lightly, gaining her reluctant attention. There would be no way to stay here, cocooned away from everything, and everyone, that she wanted to avoid for the rest of her life.

“Lady, I called for a bath and it will arrive shortly. Mayhap I could help ye to the chair to wait for it?”

“I would rather stay where I am, Ailsa.”

The knock at the door told her that would not happen. Sliding the cloth from her face, she met the woman’s gaze for the first time. Old though the woman may be, Jocelyn had recognized Ailsa’s steel will at their initial encounter. Now, too worn out by the night before to resist, she accepted the hand held out to her and climbed to her knees and then to her feet. Her head complained with each move and her stomach felt as though it might rebel as well. Closing her eyes once more, she allowed the maid to guide her a few steps to the chair and sat down there.

As though she knew the effort it had taken her to manage even those few steps, the maid arranged the robe she wore over her lap and stepped away without saying a word. Jocelyn let her head tilt back and rest on the back of the chair. Ailsa’s gasp forced her to look.

The torn and bloodied chemise she’d left in the corner on the floor was now in Ailsa’s hands and a look of horror and piety filled her eyes. Jocelyn’s stomach twisted.

“Lady…” Ailsa began softly and then she paused, lifting the apron from her skirt and wrapping the bloodied garment and setting it aside. “Have ye need of our healer?”

Jocelyn could not find the words to answer. Other than the effects of too much wine, which had successfully blocked out the other parts of her that had hurt, she thought she simply needed more sleep and that promised bath. She shook her head.

The old woman looked around the chamber and tsked. It had the appearance of being the site of a battle. The bed torn apart. The linens spread on the floor. The jug on the floor. Her own disheveled condition could not help but add to whatever the woman was thinking.

At her gesture, Ailsa nodded and began cleaning and straightening the chamber, apparently ignoring the others who waited outside the room. Another knock and Ailsa crossed to the door, opened it, whispered some instructions and closed the door again, returning to what she’d been doing.

As Jocelyn watched, the bed was stripped and, with the efficiency of many years’ practice, made once more in a matter of minutes. There was a hesitation when she’d lifted the blanket stained with her blood, but Ailsa simply put it aside with the other bundle and finished the task. When the room had been brought back to some condition that pleased the maid, she stood back and nodded.

“Rest there, lady, until I return.”

“I am fine, Ailsa. Truly,” she said, although her tone did not even convince her of the truth of it.

“They will not enter until I give them leave to, so close yer eyes and rest. I will bring something to soothe yer belly from the wine. Then ye will feel stronger and ready for the bath.”

With barely a sound, she exited and Jocelyn was left alone in a room with no sign now of what had occurred the night before. Only the pain in her heart which would not be repaired as easily.

Chapter Five

Connor stared out the small window in his chamber and tried to gather his thoughts. He did not often drink the amount of wine he’d consumed after returning to his room last even. After the second jug of wine, he’d ordered the MacCallum boy released. After the third, he’d locked himself in his room and tried to block out what he’d done that sent him running from his new wife. The fourth jug seemed to finally work and he’d passed out in his chair.

The haze of the wine now helped him to block out Duncan’s droning on about some small matter about stolen cattle that needed to be found. He’d been ignoring him for several minutes when the door to his room opened with a crash and a small, old madwoman accosted him.

Although she could barely reach that high, Ailsa swatted him hard on the side of his head and then again a second time when he did not get out of her way fast enough.

“Ailsa! What has gotten into you?”

When she came at him again, looking not a bit regretful of her actions, he grabbed her hands and held her fast. Although Duncan gave a generous smirk, he offered no other help.

“How could ye? I nursed ye at my own breasts and know that no one ever mistreated ye.” She tugged one of her hands loose and swung at his head again.

“Tell me what has brought on this fit of madness. In spite of your past care of me, I will not permit this to continue.”

The woman backed away and took several deep breaths. Her furor kept her focus on him, so she had still not noticed Duncan standing in the shadows of the room.

“I ken yer feelings on marrying again. We all ken. But she is yer wife now and she was a maiden at that.”

He could feel his anger building from deep inside. He had no desire or intention of talking about the situation or occurrences between him and his wife with anyone, not even his old nurse. Before he could put her in her place, she whispered harshly.