"Jocelyn came from the MacCallum clan, but has made Lairig Dubh her home and the Clan MacLerie her people. A good woman and a fitting mate for Connor," he finished and put his cup down. He leaned down and spoke words only meant for her ears as the chattering went on around them. "He was called the Beast of the Highlands before she came to him and she proved them all wrong about him and nearly at the cost of her own life."
"It sounds as though you care about her," Margriet offered, remembering the words spoken earlier about them.
"Aye, I do care. She is a good friend and a woman worthy to be married to the man I call Laird."
He emptied his cup and turned it over on the table so no more would be poured in it. He did not move from his seat on the bench, so Margriet thought him not ready to leave.
"And now you return to your father in Kirkvaw?"
She held her breath, waiting to find out if he would answer or not. He'd already said his mother was Scottish, so she wanted to discover more about his father.
"Aye, Sister. I return at my father's call, much like the prodigal son in your Good Book." He reached up and ran both hands over his head, wincing as he moved the area she'd sown.
"Does it still bleed?"
"Nay, it does but pull when I move it. As I said, 'tis but a flesh wound and not the worst I have ever suffered."
The men caught that bit and seized it, offering her story after story of his courage and strength in battle. In each, he triumphed against great odds and she wondered how much was true and how much they embellished the story each time 'twas told. Margriet watched as he laughed at their words, never correcting and never adding to the stories, but nodding in recognition of some parts.
"Is battle like today's fight?" she asked him. She'd never seen a true battle, only read of them in books or heard stories told of them. Here was someone who had been in the fiery heat of them and lived to tell.
"Nay, Sister," he began. She noted that he called her that smoothly now, as though he finally believed it her calling. "Today was simply some exercise and training long overdue because of our journey." He turned and met the gaze of every one of their men before speaking again. "Training that will begin daily from here on. We will not arrive in the north as weaklings who have lost their ability to hold a sword. You teach them words and I will remind them of the sword."
His challenge was met with cheers. Obviously men cannot pass too many days without their weapons drawn and aimed at each other. Another thing about men she would simply not understand.
Rurik stood now and held out his hand to assist her to her feet. He also took a step to the side, successfully blocking Sven from approaching Elspeth to do the same. He did understand. They allowed, or forced, Elspeth ahead of them, so there was no possibility of her speaking directly to Sven. They entered the room and he stopped at the door. Not certain if he would come in or not, he then began to pull it closed. He stopped for a moment and widened it so that he could say something.
"Sister Elspeth," he whispered. "Sister Margriet would offer you some good counsel and I would urge you to think on her words."
Then, he did leave; the latch fell into place as the door closed tightly. Margriet turned to Elspeth, whose expression turned angry.
"Elspeth, you must understand … ."
"That this is all a lie, lady? I do understand that," Elspeth interrupted. "Done for your benefit."
"And yours as well," she added. "I promised you a place in my father's house and a good match for a husband."
Elspeth tore the wimple and veil off and tossed it against the wall. Never had she seen the girl react like this-showing boldness where before had been only acquiescence. Now, she stood with hands on hips, and her chin thrusted out, looking like someone who would not accept what before had been acceptable.
"I have found a suitable man for husband."
Margriet gasped at her words. "Elspeth, you cannot think to marry him."
"He has spoken of his love for me."
Margriet did not know which pain felt worse within her-the one that said her young servant was going to be destroyed by the worthless words of a man promising love, or the one that spoke of her own destruction in the very same manner. Still, she could do something to prevent this young girl from the same downfall. She removed her own head coverings, taking several deep breaths to calm herself. She folded the items on the chair and began unbuttoning the tunic.
"Has he touched you?" she asked, comprehending the danger in that.
"He kissed my hand," Elspeth answered on a sigh.
"You are of common blood, Elspeth, and he, of noble. Think you his parents would allow a marriage between you?"
She said it plainly, for she knew that passion was already engaged between them. She did not wish to hurt the girl's feelings, but a servant girl, born and raised all her life in a small secluded convent, was more suitable a bride to the local farmer than to this nobleman's son who walked at the highest levels of court.
"We must continue this masquerade until we reach my father's house. Then, if you still want him and he will have you after finding out the truth, it can be sorted out then."
"But, lady … " Elspeth began.
"I will hear no more of this," Margriet said calmly and sternly. "You know the reason I must wear this nun's habit, for protection against them-" she nodded at the door where the sounds of the men still carousing could be heard "-but also to protect this from disclosure." She placed her hand on her rounding belly. "I, too, was promised love, Elspeth. You would be wise to see if a man's promises in the heat of passion are kept to me, before losing all you have to give to someone else."
Tears streamed down the girl's face as she stared at Margriet's belly and the proof of her sin. Margriet's throat tightened as she waited for Elspeth to accept or reject her words and their agreement of reward at the end. The only acknowledgment she received was a curt nod, before the girl turned away to prepare for bed.
Thora had provided a jug of water and a basin, so they each took a turn, washing their face and hands. Margriet longed for a steamy, hot bath that she could soak in for hours and it was the first thing she would ask for at her father's house. For now, the small comfort was a welcomed thing. The air was heavy between them now-not a word was spoken through the rest of the time it took to ready for sleep. As she lifted the blankets to climb in, Elspeth approached with a cup.
"Lady, I forgot that Thora left this for you. She said it will help you regain your strength for the journey ahead."
"But you were the one who became ill, Elspeth, you should have it."
The girl shook her head and held it out to her. When Margriet would have argued, Elspeth whispered, "Probably best for the bairn as well."
She sniffed at the cup and was surprised by its pleasant aroma-not like the medicinal potions brewed at the convent. This smelled of cloves and honey and something else she could not name. Margriet sipped a small taste and it washed smoothly over her tongue and down her throat. So smoothly, that she took another and another until she'd finished it.
She would ask Thora for her recipe and for what uses this brew worked, for it was tasty and easy to drink, two that couldn't be said of curative brews. Margriet thanked Elspeth for it and climbed into the bed, planning to enjoy her last night on its soft surface. They would spend about five more days riding north before reaching any village or town that offered such comforts. Five or six nights of sleeping on the hard-and growing cold-ground. She shivered as she thought of it.
Soon, the men downstairs grew quiet and a deep warmth seeped into Margriet, pulling her, pushing her toward sleep much faster than was her custom. With so many concerns and worries, sleep usually came upon her slowly. This night, she felt it dragging her down into its dark fog.
Chapter Thirteen
The Earl's Hall
Kirkvaw
The interruption came at a very bad time for Thorfinn, but Sigurd's timing was never good. The success of his work, however, was indisputable and so the man stayed alive and in his employ. Not wanting to delay the news from Caithness, he called out permission to enter. If Sigurd was surprised by the sight before him, he did not reveal it.
Good man.
Smart man.
The whore knelt between his legs, her naked body blocking the sight of her mouth on his cock, but Sigurd did not need to see the particulars to understand the situation. When she tried to lift away from him, apparently believing that Sigurd's presence meant an end to hers, he lifted the cane and let it land on her bare back. A hand in her hair told her that the bite of her teeth at this moment of pain would simply bring more of it. The bitch was in heat and, wisely, dove down, taking him in deeper as she knew he liked.