Chapter 9

9

" C ome in, Anice."

Robert stood and motioned her into the small room. It seemed much more filled with him in it. In spite of his presence in the keep and around the village over the last weeks, she was not comfortable having him this close to her. Pounding within her chest, her heart beat a bit faster and harder with every moment this close to him. As if he sensed her unease, he moved back away from the table and turned the chair for her, motioning to her to sit on it. And, if she'd learned nothing in his first weeks here, she had learned how stubborn he could be. She sat in the proffered seat.

This room had been her safe haven. She'd retreated here many days when the fear and depression almost overwhelmed her. There was safety in closing and locking the door, and losing herself in the columns of words and numbers, in the books that recorded the clan's history and day-to-day supplies and plans. By forcing her mind to focus on the numbers and letters she wrote, she also regained control over her thoughts and over her life.

Now, this intruder took control. Nay, not intruder. Visitor. She glanced over at him as he pulled a small bench from under the table and sat next to her, moving closer so that he could look over her shoulder. Wiping her damp palms on her skirt, she smoothed it over the growing swell of her belly and took a deep breath.

"Have you found something wrong, Robert? Your message sounded urgent."

"Nay, Anice. As I told ye the first time we reviewed these accounts, the books are as they should be. I asked ye here to beg a favor of ye."

This was not what she'd expected to hear from him. Questions about her methods of record-keeping, certainly, but begging a boon from her, nay, not that.

"What do you need from me?"

"Well, I have looked over yer work in keeping the clan and keep's records and I am impressed with yer thoroughness." She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, that old pride and satisfaction at a task well done forced her to sit up straighter. "Ye," he continued, "are much better at keeping the books than I am. And..."

"And?" She turned to face him. She dared not hope that he was leaving already. Then, a momentary flash of disappointment left her puzzled at her true feelings in the matter of his presence or absence.

"I would be beholden to ye if ye would continue to keep these records." He pushed the pile of books closer to her. "'Twould take but a short amount of time each day and I will do all the work involved..."

"Just the books?" This request pleased her deeply. It would give her something to fill her time, something to focus her thoughts on, something to ease her worries.

"Aye, just the books. Struan haes asked that I oversee some chores about the grounds and in the village and I can do that if ye'll see to them." Robert placed his hand on the closed account books on the table and stared at her. His eyes were so unique, so unlike anything she'd seen before. He was waiting for her decision, one she'd made the moment his request was clear.

"Of course, Robert. I can handle keeping the records for you."

"Good," he said, patting the cover of the record books and standing up next to her. "Ye are much better than I at doing this and 'twill give me a chance to get outside a bit more."

His impending departure from the room startled her. "Do you mean for me to begin now? This day?" She could see that he chafed at the bit, like a horse recently broken to it. Being cooped up in the castle was obviously not to his taste or style.

"Aye. Would ye begin this day? If ye have no other pressing business?" He was backing his way out the door already. His actions surprised her and Anice felt the urge to laugh at his boylike anticipation of escaping chores.

"Aye, Robert. Go, be about your other business. I am willing to do this for you." She stood and waved him out the door.

"I thank ye, Anice." Robert took several steps towards her and, without warning, placed his hands on her shoulders, lifted her to her feet, and kissed her forehead. And, just as quickly, he turned and left the room.

The shock struck her within moments, as if the movement of the air caused by his exit had been a fist instead of a slight breeze. A deep gasp tore from her lungs and she waited, waited for the terror and panic to follow.

But, it did not. Surprise. Complete confusion. But nothing like the anguish she usually felt at the touch of another. Especially a man's touch. Dropping into the chair behind her, Anice pulled a few deep breaths into her lungs. It took more than a few minutes for her racing heart to calm.

Looking around the room, Anice spied the pile of notes that Robert had left on the desk next to the record books. Numbers and letters in nice orderly rows and columns would help her focus. She pushed the loose hairs that curled around her face away, tucked them behind her ears, and bent over the tabletop. In a short time and with a bit of concentration, she was lost in the duties she'd carried for months before Robert's arrival. She could not tell how much time had passed when she heard Firtha's voice from without.

"Anice? Are ye here, lass?"

"Come in, Firtha," she answered. "I am nearly finished my work."

Firtha entered and, with the raise of one eyebrow, questioned her without words.

"Robert requested my help, Firtha. He haes other duties that Struan haes assigned and he asked me to keep the records for him." She knew from the softening in her maid's eyes that Firtha could hear the happiness in her voice.

"And ye have agreed? But of course ye have." Firtha reached over and took Anice's hand, patting it lightly. "Ye have wandered around this drafty place for weeks since he came, with too much time and too little to do except worry."

"Have I truly been that terrible to bear?" Anice smiled at the concerned look on Firtha's face.

"Oh, aye. Ye snarl and moan at one and all. Why, even Struan's most feared warriors give a wide berth around ye these days... and it haes little to do with the size of yer belly."

Anice smiled, even though she could hear a thin bit of truth below Firtha's comments. She had not given up her responsibilities easily; she'd fought hard and worked even harder to earn them and fulfill them after Dougal's illness. Having Struan simply remove her and place Robert in her stead had stung her, threatening to diminish the small amount of pride she still had in herself.

"I am sorry, Firtha, if I have made your life difficult." Anice offered a small smile, this one coming somewhat easier than her last one. She'd not felt capable of smiling or joy in many days, nay, many weeks.

"So, are ye done yet? Are you ready for some food?"

Anice sat back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head. She'd hunched over too long and her body let her know it. Even the babe in her womb responded by rolling around inside as she leaned back away from the table's edge.

"I think I would truly like a walk right now. The day looked promising this morn. Is it still?" Since this chamber did not share an outside wall, she could not tell if it was light or dark, clear or stormy outside.

"Oh, aye," Firtha replied. "Come, I'll fetch yer cloak before we go."

Anice closed the record books, straightened her writing supplies, and pushed her chair closer to the table. Following Firtha through the keep, it was just a short time before she left the chill of the hall and stood in the bright rays of the sun.

Wrapping her cloak tighter around her shoulders, she breathed the cold, crisp air deeply into her lungs.

After deciding to stay within the castle's walls, she and Firtha circled the keep in a brisk walk. She felt better, clearer-minded, and more in control than she'd felt in weeks. And she had Robert to thank for it.

He spit out a mouthful of dirt and pushed his hair out of his face. 'Twas his own fault and no one else's. He should have known that Brodie would grow up and be bigger than him, even as he was back when they knew each other. Well, he'd started this, he would finish it. Rising swiftly from his crouch, he leapt up and tackled Brodie. Aiming at his waist, Robert hoped to unbalance his opponent and take him down. His maneuver worked, but he crashed to the ground along with his childhood friend. Brodie must have realized the battle was over for he lay back on the cold, hard soil of the practice yard and let out a loud raucous laugh.

"I enjoyed that, Robbie," Brodie said as he climbed to his feet and extended a hand out to him. "'Tis glad I am to have ye back with us."

"Was there no one to give ye sport these eight years?" Robert rubbed the dirt and sweat off his clammy torso with a piece of plaid and accepted a dipperful of water from a lad with a bucket. Stripped down to his trews, he enjoyed the air cooling his body after his bout of wrestling.

"A few have tried, my friend, but none have done as well as ye."

They laughed once more together and Robert gathered his clothes from the ground. Walking towards the perimeter of the practice yard, he spied Anice and her maid approaching on the path from the keep. He quickly tugged his shirt over his head as they came to a stop on the other side of the fence.

"My... Anice," he stuttered, only now noticing how pale and breathless she was. "Are ye no' well?"

Unthinking, he reached out to touch her cheek and felt a flush of embarrassment as she backed away from him, leaving his hand awkwardly in the air between them. He really would need to remember not to get close to her and he needed to not stumble over her name each time he said it. Anice. Anice was quite a simple, plain name.

"I am well, Robert. Brodie, 'tis good to have you home again." Anice looked at Brodie and smiled. It was not much of one, but more than Robert had yet seen on her .

"'Tis good to be home, Anice." He watched as his childhood friend colored under Anice's attention. "Have ye been to see Rachelle while I was gone?"

"I fear not." A silence followed her brief answer as Brodie obviously waited for more and Anice obviously was not giving it. Robert cleared his throat and Brodie finally spoke.

"Well, then, both ye and Robert will need to stop by as soon as ye can. Robbie, ye must meet my wife while yer here."

"I would like that," Robert answered.

"Anice, you should not stay out in the cold much longer." Firtha's comment was clearly an order to return inside.

"Oh, aye, Firtha," she mumbled. "Brodie, I will visit with Rachelle soon. Robert." With a nod at him, she turned and walked with her maid back to the keep. He did not miss the maid's mouthed words of thanks over Anice's head.

"What was that about?" Brodie wrapped his plaid over his shoulders.

"I asked Anice to keep the books for me."

"Did ye now? I am certain that pleased her. Why did ye do that?"

"Struan haes asked me to oversee some tasks in the village and so I asked her to take care of the records for me."

"And your real reason, since I ken that yer duties in Dunbarton included much more than books and buildings?" Brodie had discerned some of his reasons already.

Robert leaned up against the fence that surrounded the practice yard and adjusted his own plaid. His own investigation of Anice had led him to believe that she needed something to occupy her time. That she sank deeper and deeper into worry and unhappiness as the babe's birth approached. And for a reason he could not yet name, he had wanted to help her, to give her something to do, to lift her spirits. He'd had no idea that the simple assigning of a task would have been the thing that made her smile.

"Anice needs to keep busy while she waits for the bairn."

Brodie simply grunted in response.

"Why isn't he here?"

"Who?"

"Ye ken—Alesander. Or should I call him ‘Sandy' as Struan said he wishes to be called?" Robert couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice.

"Believe me, we need him not now that he haes done his duty to the clan." Disgust and disdain filled Brodie's voice, too. Mayhap he would tell Robert more.

"His duty? Oh, ye mean marrying the MacNab's daughter and getting an heir on her? Aye, he's done that, but what about being here while she bears that heir? Or training with his own clan instead of traipsing around London with the king?" Robert cleared his throat once more but this time spit on the ground. Even just talking about his half-brother made his mouth bitter.

"If ye have no' found out yet, Robert, the clan is just fine with him being in London with the king." Brodie stood away from the fence and faced him squarely. "'Tis a fine thing ye did for Anice, asking for her help."

Robert laughed. "'Tis selfish, plain and simple, my friend. I hate to keep the books and long to be outside."

Brodie nodded in farewell. "I must see to Rachelle now. I have been away too long already. Come for dinner one night soon?"

"I look forward to it, Brodie. And to meeting yer lovely wife."

Brodie trotted off towards the gate and village and Robert watched with a sense of envy. Brodie was going home, to a place and a person who waited for him. A pang of wanting, so deep and strong that he could not breathe, shot through him. He leaned back once more, relying on the fence's strength to keep him on his feet. Just once, for just one moment, he wanted to feel the comfort of a home. Catching a glimpse of the very pregnant Anice entering the keep, Robert spit once more on the ground. So long as Sandy lived and was heir here, there was no place for him.

She concentrated on taking one step at a time. She concentrated on the amount of air that passed into her chest. She even concentrated on Firtha's inane chatter as they walked towards the keep. But none of that could calm her now .

He was a warrior.

Although not as large as Brodie, he was as muscular and as strongly built as any of the MacKendimens she'd ever seen. Watching in horrified fascination as he and Brodie wrestled, she was stunned into near panic by his strength and his ability to overpower someone much bigger and stronger than himself with his deft moves. Once again she was reminded of Alex, the distant relative of the clan who had visited last summer and who had been mistaken for Sandy due to his close resemblance. Alex had fought with Brodie as well, but at the time she was pleased by his prowess and manly form. The anticipation of being held by him had been welcome... then.

One thing was clear—he was not a steward. Those muscles did not come from lifting barrels and chests of spices and foodstuffs. That strength came from working with other warriors, testing and being tested in contests of might and endurance. Years of such training to reach the level of skill he had obviously reached.

As she placed one foot in front of the other and nodded in spite of not hearing her maid's words, she knew that he was much more than a steward, a caretaker of the clan's goods and grounds. Did Struan know the extent of his abilities and skills? Struan was ever-vigilant about anything affecting the clan so she doubted that he did not already know of Robert's other talents. Mayhap that was why he had asked him to take care of other tasks outside the keep.

Forcing a breath deeper inside of her, she tried to wipe from her mind the image of Robert, naked to the waist, deep in contemplation about his next move against Brodie. His face wore such a fierce and dangerous expression that she doubted she would ever forget it. And she must not.

She must not ever forget that within any man was a core of unpredictability, when anger or lust or even fear could redirect his strength against an opponent, an enemy, a wife. She must not ever forget the hardest lesson she'd learned in her life.

Never trust a man.

The next month passed by quickly for him and for the clan.

Taking advantage of some unseasonably clear weather, repairs were made and even some new buildings begun. The people of Dunnedin knew that more storms would reach their village before the spring finally claimed victory over the harsh winter.

Dougal sank closer and closer to death; even Moira was surprised that he clung to life as long as he did. Robert visited daily, most of the time sitting quietly or reading next to the man who raised him. Memories of the years before Dougal discovered the truth of his parentage filled his mind during these quiet times. Before the bitterness took control, Dougal had been a doting father to him, proud of his every accomplishment and milestone of growth. Now though, few words spoken and few truths revealed. Then one day, as the skies above grew darker and heavier with a coming storm, Dougal gave up his thin hold on this life and moved through death. Even after months of preparing for Dougal's passing, Robert was not certain what he felt for the man who died and the man who he buried among the others in the MacKendimen graveyard.

Anice waddled and grew even bigger as her time approached. The dark circles under her eyes also grew and made her look even more haunted, more vulnerable. To what or whom, he could only guess, since no one in the clan ever spoke her husband's name in her presence. He stopped as well, after those first few times, since he had drawn his own conclusions about the state of their marriage and the imminent birth.

As Moira had directed him to, he summoned Ada from Dunbarton. Robert still did not understand the need for her to be in Dunnedin, but no one argued with Moira when she turned that look and that voice on them. His old friend found a place among the old ones of the clan and was accepted quickly.

But the air was filled with a spark of anticipation, as if a scent of danger were in the wind and everyone smelled it. A certain wariness filled the people of Dunnedin and the clan waited for the reassurance of the spring, and the birth of the clan's heir. And true to form, in what seemed to be an attempt by nature to keep the coming events at bay, a series of violent early spring snowstorms rolled through the mountains and covered the village and keep.