Chapter 36

It was nae use folk telling Brodwyn it was already spring, since every morning when she awoke her world was grey: the walls, the wee bit of sky she could see through the arrow slit in the wall she faced, her thoughts—particularly them.

The life she had lived was over; nae sense in denying the truth. One day she might get out of this bed, even lie on her back once she healed, but Kathryn had warned her she would be highly unlikely to walk again without something to lean on, and e’en then she would always have to drag one leg after the other. At first that prediction made her wish her cousin had let her die; she deserve naught more frae Kathryn, a woman she, Brodwyn, had almost destroyed.

Kathryn had quickly told her she must forget the past. “Put it out yer mind, lass. Ye have a bairn to live for, and I can tell ye for naught, holding yer bairn in yer arms changes everything.”

Brodwyn couldn’t imagine that. Her dealings with men had always been about sex, frae the day she gave away her virginity, she had realised there was power in the act, a way of bringing a man to his knees, moments of vulnerability she could play upon to make them desire more of what she did for them. Bairns had never entered her mind. After many years of enjoying herself where and when she wanted, she had decided that she must be barren.

A fact that had suited her just fine.

Trust Henry La Mont to make her realise it was providence and naught else that had kept her safe, but that guid fortune had run out. She had always known Henry was cold—oblivious of others’ needs or desires; she understood that outlook. Hadn’t she also lived life for herself?

She twisted her head around on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. It felt like forever since she had walked outside, since she had been able to walk. Her hip hurt, but Kathryn said she was pleased with the way it was healing and that soon she might be able to rest on her back—a boon to look forward to. The thought made her grimace.

Nae sooner thought than done, for Kathryn suddenly appeared in the doorway with a basket on her arm. It reminded Brodwyn of the one her cousin had always taken when she went to visit the sick and dying at Dun Bhuird—Lhilidh’s mother Geala for one.

Lhilidh… Now there was a name to conjure up bad memories.

Ones too late to repair.

Lying abed without a man made the days drag, and women were her only visitors, though what danger to their men she could be in her condition was questionable.

That same bed seemed to sigh as Kathryn sat down on its edge beside her, basket on her knee. A do-gooder—that was her cousin, a lass she had always sneered at but now was glad Kathryn had been here for Nhaimeth’s wedding, for whom else could have brought her back frae the maws of death?

Every time she saw Kathryn, it seemed her cousin had matured more than well. Kathryn carried herself with an indefinable air of confidence that had been missing while Brodwyn lived at Dun Bhuird. E’en with her added years, Kathryn had grown in beauty. Her long golden hair might be worn in braids wound round her head these days, yet the style simply set off her high cheekbones and sat atop her head like a crown. “I think this will be the day,” Kathryn said.

The cheerful greeting grated on Brodwyn’s nerves. She put nae great faith in that statement coming true, for it had been Kathryn’s first words to her for the past three days.

Nae matter, she held her breath, hoping for the best and fearing the worst, while Kathryn raised her shift to check out the wound. Kathryn always managed to surprise her.

Brodwyn wasnae deaf, she kenned well that Kathryn hadn’t come alone.

“Will she be able to walk?”

The question lacked subtlety, but then the voice asking sounded a wee bit short on years to care. “Visitors are supposed to divert the sick not make them despondent, and don’t hide behind me; that’s rude. Walk around where my cousin can see ye.”

Expecting to see a lass, Brodwyn was puzzled by the young lad in leather short-coat and trews, with a finely carved wooden sword tucked in his belt. He had a look of Euan McArthur but she kenned for a fact Rob was his only son. Kathryn cleared up the mystery, “Brodwyn, this is Maggie, Euan and Morag’s daughter.”

“She has a look of him—fierce.” She smirked, having found something to smile at while Kathryn continued to tend her wound. “I should have realised ye wouldn’t bring a lad in here to gawp at my white arse.”

“Whist now, dinnae be crude in front of the bairn,” a comment frae Kathryn that did naught to soften for Maggie the blow of Brodwyn mistaking her for a lad.

“I’m standing right here, if ye want to toss anymore insults at me,” Maggie grumbled.

Kathryn laughed, “Well if ye thought being the McArthur’s daughter protected ye frae them, I’m happy to tell ye that yer wrong. Brodwyn here was ne’er even intimidated by my father being Erik the Bear,” Kathryn reminded her, a smile underlying her words that brought one to Brodwyn’s own.

“I did give ye an awful time of it,” she said, her head twisting to look over her shoulder at Kathryn. “Which begs the question why yer so willing to look after me now.”

Kathryn chuckled, “This is how I fill my days now, tending to the sick and foolhardy. I love discovering a new herb with healing powers and reading books written aeons ago by healers. Gavyn’s way of pleasing me is to bring back interesting auld manuscripts.” She sighed and Brodwyn felt her fingers touch the scar as she smoothed a healing ointment across her hip. “I’m a mother now, Brodwyn; that makes a difference; as ye will soon find out.”

Maggie snorted, “I don’t want to ever be a mother; it’s boring. I like riding and training to defend Cragenlaw and myself frae our enemies.” Maggie’s lips clamped shut as if she had learned not to elaborate on her notions of becoming an adult, realising she had probably been laughed at over and over for her outrageous beliefs.

“I remember Kathryn here dressing in her brother’s mail and loosing an arrow at Gavyn as he rode up to Dun Bhuird,” Bronwyn told Maggie. She also remembered Harald that night, and what it had taken for Brodwyn to make him show his face by Kathryn’s side—to make an impression that would count as they had wanted it to.

She could tell that frae now on Maggie would see her aunt in a different light. “Anyway, why were ye so keen to come into my chamber if yer not interested in the herbals?”

“I’ve never seen what happens when a sword cuts into flesh. Most folk usually die, but ye didn’t,” she stated baldly. Brodwyn wondered if she had ever been fearless enough to say exactly what she thought without trepidation or worries about the consequences.

“Mayhap yer time would be better spent wondering why Brodwyn would put her own body in the way of a sword just to save yer nephew. That kind of courage is worth so much more than fighting with a sword to inflict harm.”

It was strange to hear Kathryn standing up for her. Nae one ever had before, not even Jamie Ruthven, who had said he loved her then turned his back and walked away. Yet she couldnae find it in her to blame him. She knew he had been at Cragenlaw when she was hurt but had gone away with his wife and bairns afore she woke frae the potion Kathryn had made for her. Just as well. There was nary a doubt in her mind that any beauty she’d possessed had flowed frae her like the blood had poured frae her wound.

Even her entertainment appeal had diminished.

“I’m going now. I’ve seen her wound and there was naught else,” a tight-lipped Maggie told them and marched frae the room.

Brodwyn let out a laugh that battled for superiority with the bark of a fox. “Dinnae let us keep ye frae the training ground,” she said as Maggie swiftly stalked frae the chamber. “Hard as it is to say, since Euan McArthur is housing me, he deserves that bairn.”

Kathryn’s mouth widened, but she said naught as she pulled Brodwyn’s shift over the scar on her hip and moved to the head of the bed. “Now,” she finally said, “let’s see if we can get ye to sit up.” She slipped her hands under Brodwyn’s armpits and began to lift her up, not without a lot of effort on Brodwyn’s part. By the end of the attempt Brodwyn was both shivering and sweating at the same time.

For all the days she had lain there, waiting, hoping for her wound to heal, it had seemed to her that except for carrying a bairn in her belly, naught much would be different, but the effort of moving had just shown her how weak she actually was and, as she leaned back against a pillow, her future seemed to drain away with every last bit of her energy.

Finished, Kathryn began to walk away until Brodwyn used what little vitality she had left to reach for her wrist. “Kathryn, cousin, can I ask a boon of ye?”

“Of course. What is it ye want? To bathe? A drink? Name it, ye can have it. Mayhap a bite of something more exciting to eat than broth? Ye look pale.”

Dragging in a breath to expel what felt like the most important words she had ever offered, Brodwyn said, “If anything happens to me, will ye take my bairn, look after it? I ken yer a grand mother. If I can be sure of that, I can die happy.” She let go of her cousin’s wrist, couldn’t keep up the effort.

“What’s all this talk about dying when at last yer getting better?” Kathryn sat down on the edge of the bed and as her stare narrowed, she held Brodwyn with a steady gaze. “As soon as yer well enough to travel, Gavyn and I will take ye home to Dun Bhuird. I feel ye will be happier in familiar surroundings,” she promised afore she left the chamber.

Brodwyn’s eyelids closed as she felt sleep overtake her.

At last, she could sleep without regrets.