Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

E rrol tenderly lifted Tira’s chin to find her soft gray eyes glistening with tears, his heart aching that she trembled with fear… of him .

He had known the suddenness of their wedding might cause her some apprehension, but nothing could have prepared him for the torment in her gaze.

Wondering if there was anything he could say to soothe her, Errol felt his throat tighten as Gavin’s warning aboard ship flew back to him…

Only time will tell if she recovers enough tae want any man near her again.

Och, Errol had no intention of consummating their marriage this night—by God, Tira had just given birth a week past!—or for a hundred nights if the mere thought would conjure such agony inside her.

All he could think of to do was try to find some way to comfort and reassure her, Errol sinking to his haunches so he could look her directly into her eyes.

“Tira, you dinna have tae be afraid. I’ve never known such joy as marrying you this day—after grieving when I had believed you were gone forever. Then you were lost tae me again when we failed tae rescue you last winter—och, the long months waiting for spring were torture until I could sail tae the Orkneys tae try and find you. All I’ve wanted was tae finally make you my bride and I willna do anything ever tae hurt you. I swear I will love and protect you until my dying breath?—”

“Errol, it isna you, but what he did tae me!” she blurted, tears tumbling down her cheeks grown pale in the firelight. “It isna fair you should have such a wife…sullied and broken?—”

“Not broken, Tira! You’re strong tae have survived and then you gave birth tae not one bairn, but two —och, I’ve never known anyone as brave as you.”

Errol rose from his haunches when she shook her head at him, a heart-wrenching sob bursting from her.

“I’m not brave! I wanted tae die! You dinna know…you canna know…”

“Then tell me, Tira…tell me all,” he implored her, pulling the other chair close so he could sit beside her.

Yet she shook her head again, her eyes wide as if she couldn’t believe he would ask such a thing from her—or mayhap it was that she couldn’t look him in the face to reveal such horror.

Errol didn’t think, only acted as he lifted her up into his arms and sank into the chair, cradling her like a child.

Her head against his shoulder, her body tense but he held her fast, Errol murmuring his plea once more as he kissed her rose-scented hair.

“Tell me all, Tira…so I can help you tae bear it.”

She went still in his arms for a moment as if stunned…then another moment, the only sound the crackling of flames in front of them—until a broken sigh escaped her and the words came tumbling from her like a flood.

A heartbreaking, horrible flood that made Errol feel enraged and helpless by turns, Tira shuddering in his arms as he listened to all that she had suffered, all that she had endured…until she was spent and went limp against him, no strength left in her even to weep.

Errol didn’t move, either, so shaken by what he’d heard that he could only stare unseeing into the now guttering fire, one fierce thought forefront in his mind.

Someday he would kill Thorgren Sigurdson—aye, he swore it ! He didn’t know how or when, but he would kill him.

Such an intense wave of protectiveness overwhelmed Errol that he trembled now, too, with fury that any man could be so brutal, so cruel?—

“Errol?”

Tira had stirred in his arms to look up at him, hope filling him that her gaze no longer held unease. Yet there was a dullness that alarmed him and he feared he had pressed her too far?—

“Can you ever forgive me?”

He stared at her uncomprehending, stunned. “Forgive you for what, lass?”

“I-I was so unkind tae you after all you did for me…och, I’m so tired, Errol. So tired…”

Her head fell against him and now Errol rose with her, his alarm increasing that she had grown even paler.

He carried her to the bed and flung aside the bedspread with one hand, wondering now if she might have fainted for how still she had become. Yet when he set her down with great care, he saw that she looked at him with half-closed eyes.

“You must rest,” he murmured, easing the slippers from her feet and then covering her snugly to her shoulders, the bridal wreath knocked askew on the pillow.

He left it there, though, not wanting to touch her further and again see apprehension in her gaze—though he prayed he might have eased some of her distress from her heart and mind.

His wife…his beloved Tira.

To his relief, she gave the smallest of nods and then closed her eyes, the soft steadiness of her breathing telling him that she had fallen asleep almost at once.

He stood there for long moments, just watching her, his fists clenching and unclenching as he thought again of what she’d told him—until finally he went to the fireplace to stoke the glowing logs into life again and then sank into a chair.

Exhaustion swept him, too, as he stared into the flames, their wedding night unlike anything he would have wished for them.

Yet that she had trusted him enough to reveal the horror of the past year—aye, now there was reason enough to be grateful and encouraged.

His sigh not so heavy, Errol stretched his legs out in front of him and lowered his chin to his chest, closing his eyes to the warmth of the fire and the gentle cadence of Tira’s breaths drifting to him from the bed.

His beautiful bride…aye, he had never felt so fortunate in all of his life.

“Wake up, Tira, it’s past midday,” came a familiar feminine voice as if from a great distance, Tira blearily opening her eyes.

Cora stood beside the bed looking down at her, which made Tira gasp in surprise and raise herself onto her elbows.

“What’s wrong? The bairns?”

“Och, no, nothing is amiss. I came here only when I saw Errol out in the bailey training with Gavin’s men. He said you slept still—aye, and in your wedding gown, I see.”

Cora’s sigh as she reached down to pluck something from the pillow made Tira gasp again, a blush burning her face when she saw the crushed bridal wreath in Cora’s hand.

“Your husband is an honorable man, indeed. When he swept you up and carried you from the wedding feast, I was concerned he might—och, I should have known better. You slept here”—Cora glanced behind her at the chair placed close to the fire—“and Errol slept there all night. Look, his half of the bed isna even touched.”

Tira did look, her heart beating faster that the bedspread on the opposite side lay flat and unrumpled, the two pillows as plump as hers were tamped down from her head resting upon them, which made Cora give a soft laugh.

“At least he changed from his wedding clothes before heading out tae fight and sweat with the others—and thank God in a better frame of mind than when poor MacSween was forced tae hit him on the head. I heard Errol laughing, a fine sound tae my ears. Something must have happened tae cheer him, at least I hope so.”

Now Tira’s cheeks felt afire from the query in Cora’s eyes, and she fell back down upon the pillow with a moan and covered her face with her hands.

“I told him all, Cora…everything from the past year?—”

“But that’s a good thing, aye? Errol is your husband now and deserving of your trust and truthfulness. Did he say anything?”

“No…just listened. When he brought me in here, I was so afraid, but he said I was strong and brave?—”

“You are strong and brave.” Cora sank down upon the bed and gently pulled Tira’s hands from her face to meet her eyes. “Few women would have survived what you suffered for so long, but you’re a wife now with a good man for a husband and two healthy bairns. It’s time tae get up and tend tae your family. You’ve only a few days—mayhap a week at most tae spend with Errol before he’ll leave with Gavin tae sail back tae Dumbarton?—”

“Leave?” Tira sat up as Cora nodded, and she suddenly remembered from the night before when Cora had said she would remain at Castle MacLachlan when Errol was gone. “I-I thought he would be taking me north tae his family.”

“Not north, but tae the east with King Robert while you and your sweet bairns will stay here. The English are amassing a great army and will soon march into Scotland. Mayhap the coming battle will finally set us free forever from England’s tyranny.”

“Ah, God…” Tira murmured, her heart thudding hard against her breast. Errol, leaving…to fight in a battle and mayhap to die—no, no, she wouldn’t think of it!

Cora had risen with a sigh and went to the armoire, where she drew out a yellow gown while Tira threw aside the covers and rose, too, feeling embarrassed that she had slept for so long.

Past midday? Yet she felt strangely lighter, like a terrible load had been lifted from her, Tira remembering her overwhelming weariness after she had unburdened herself to Errol.

Tell me all, Tira…so I can help you tae bear it.

Aye, those had been his very words…so kind, so compassionate, and she had taken them to heart and spilled out all the horror while he had held her against him until she had no strength to say anything more?—

“Wear this gown today, Tira, the color will look lovely with your hair,” Cora’s voice broke into her tumbling thoughts, while a soft rap at the door made Tira gasp.

Errol ? She felt a rush of disappointment when a maidservant entered the room, no doubt to help her dress, Cora looking at Tira’s flushed cheeks with a curious smile upon her face.

“Errol should be done training soon. Why dinna you accompany me tae the kitchen and we’ll pack a luncheon for the two of you? He will be famished and I’m sure you’re hungry, too. You hardly ate a mouthful last night, though it’s no wonder. Yet, Tira…”

Cora fell silent and drew closer to where Tira stood, and said in a whisper so the maidservant wouldn’t hear her, “Tonight invite Errol tae share your bed—but dinna fear, he’ll keep well tae his side until that day you tell him otherwise. Your husband needs good rest for what lies ahead, aye?”

Tira nodded, her face even hotter, only for Cora’s soft laughter making her feel astonishingly like laughing, too—for the first time in so long.

“The garden will be a fine spot for your meal with the roses starting to bloom,” Cora suggested as the maidservant hastened forward, though Tira had already swept up the gown from the bed.

An excited eagerness sweeping over her that felt just as surprising…but she wanted to see Errol again so she could thank him—aye, for everything!

“So that’s where they’ve taken her…” Thorgren grated to himself, staring at the formidable castle in the distance that seemed to soar above a rocky promontory abutting the sea.

The rough waves slapping at the hull of his ship as his men collapsed over their oars, their hell-bent overnight journey from Hoy exhausting the crews of both birlinns—though Thorgren felt no weariness at all.

Only hatred fueled by his determination to find his infant son—by Odin, he would claim him soon! His blood, his heir, Thorgren grinding his teeth as he stood at the prow, a bold plan taking shape in his mind.

He would never be able to take the castle by storm with those high walls and the massive gate, and with Gavin MacLachlan’s guards ever watchful upon the ramparts.

No, only by subterfuge would an enemy get inside—Thorgren glancing down at Roslin, who snuggled against him in a hooded cloak with her arms flung around his waist.

He had just enjoyed her again in full view of his men, her bottom upon the railing and her shapely legs spread wide for him.

Her gasps of pleasure making him grunt and plow her all the harder, her musky, unwashed scent filling him with even greater lust.

Their mutual pleasure a brief distraction from the task that lay before him, Thorgren cursing that he hadn’t yet sighted a sheltered cove along the coastline where they could find cover for the night.

The castle’s location had clearly been well planned defensively, which made him roar with frustration to his men to again seize their oars.

They had passed the mouth of a river a quarter league to the north where instead, they would have to sail inland to look for a secluded spot to beach the ships—and then strike out from there to accomplish his mission.

He could already envision the journey home with Tira left behind in a pool of blood, her throat slit from ear to ear, and his son held snugly in Roslin’s arms.

The comely wench he would marry as soon as they returned to Hoy, Thorgren had already decided upon it.

“Kiss me!” he demanded and Roslin quickly obliged him, thrusting her tongue so boldly into his mouth that he groaned and lifted her tunic to clutch her bare bottom.

She had bewitched him, this wild-spirited woman with her long dark hair and willing body, her throaty laughter making him hard as a rock.

No longer thinking of anything but plowing her again, Thorgren spun her around and bent her over to bury himself inside her…Roslin’s moans punctuated by his guttural grunts rising above the slap of oars striking the water as the ship lurched into motion.