Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

L aird Steward was becoming weaker, and Janice expected every day that passed to be his last. He could no longer eat and was surviving on a thin but nutritious soup made by their cook, weak porridge, and milk.

Janice was no longer worried but resigned. She knew his death was inevitable and felt guilty because she wanted his life to be over sooner rather than later. It was not because she hated her father but because she loved him and could not bear to see him in such pain.

His cough had become worse, and the sight of the bloody phlegm that he brought up made Janice feel sick. She had often thought of giving him too much poppy milk one day so that he would not wake up. After all, she reasoned, they did it to sick horses and dogs, and her father was barely alive anymore.

"I wish he would just die, Maudie," Janice said one dark rainy morning. She had half expected the old lady to be shocked, but Maudie had lived a long time and had heard everything. "I am sorry; I did not mean that." She buried her face in her hands in shame.

"Aye, mistress, ye did," she replied. "Dinnae worry. Many people feel this way when their loved ones are sufferin'. I understand."

Janice sat down by her father's bed and smiled as his eyelids fluttered open. He looked at her directly for the first time in days, and his grey eyes were clear and lucid. He reached for her hand and kissed it, then held on to it with a surprisingly firm grip.

"You are a good girl, Janice," he murmured. "I know you will look after the estate when I am gone, and I know you will find a good strong man to take care of you. I will not push you anymore."

Janice was just about to reply when Alasdair entered and sat down on the other side of the bed, then grasped his father's other hand. The healer had obviously gone to fetch him, and since he was dirty and smelled of horses, she supposed that he had been working in the stables. How he had changed! This could not be the same man who had made such a fool of himself in the contest only a few weeks earlier. She did not have time to reflect on it, however, because her father was speaking again in his weak, hoarse voice.

"I am so proud of both of you," he said, as tears began to leak from his eyes. "I know my time has come, but I go to my grave happily, knowing that my affairs are in order and you are all well provided for. Alasdair, find yourself a good woman, as I did."

Alasdair smiled. "I will, Da." He stroked the laird's head. "And I will be a good laird, I promise."

"I know you will," the old man whispered. Suddenly his eyes opened, he looked upward, and a broad smile spread across his face. "Annie, it's you! I am coming, sweetheart. I am coming…"

Then, still smiling, he closed his eyes and took one last breath before his chest stopped rising and falling, and his heart stilled forever.

They were silent for a few seconds, then Alasdair whispered, "Thank God."

Janice nodded. "It is a strange thing to say, but I am glad he's gone. He is at peace now." She wiped a tear from her face, then stood up and drew the bedsheet over his face. "Will you stay here while I fetch Cathy? I know it is foolish, but I don't want to leave him on his own."

Alasdair nodded. "Yes, and it is not foolish. I feel the same way."

Janice slipped out of the door and found Cathy already waiting for her.

"Is he gone, mistress?" she asked gently.

"Yes," Janice replied. "How did you know?"

"I can always see death approachin'," Cathy answered. "I saw the signs last night, an' I was right. It is a merciful release, though. He was in a great deal o' pain. Now I will get the ladies fae the village tae lay out the body. Is there anythin' else I can dae for ye, hen?" Her blue eyes shone with kindness.

Janice shook her head, unable to speak. A moment later, she turned and ran to her bedchamber, where she threw herself onto the bed in a storm of weeping.

It had been a very long time since Bernard had smiled. Indeed, he felt as though he would never do so again, even when he tried to distract himself by forming a relationship with another young woman. Catriona Hamilton was small and pretty with blue eyes and dark red hair, and he had thought that courting her would help him forget about Janice. He was wrong.

Comparing the two women had only made him realize what he missed about her. They were like day and night, with Catriona being the day and Janice the night. Catriona was gentle and biddable, whereas Janice was fiery and stubborn. Janice would raise her voice to him as soon as something displeased her, whereas Catriona would sit quietly, either to sulk or to wait for him to apologize. She was a gentle soul, but a gentle soul was not what he needed. He wanted someone fiercely intelligent and easily roused to both bodily and spiritual passion.

The first time he kissed Catriona, he found no answering ardor on her part, only a soft pressing of her closed lips against his. When he gently prised her lips apart, put his tongue into her mouth, and pulled her against his body, waiting for the familiar surge of his arousal to appear, nothing happened. Unlike the spark that always burst into flame when he and Janice kissed, he felt no reaction at all.

Then, abruptly, she pushed him away and jumped back in shock. "What are ye daein'?" she gasped, her blue eyes wide with horror. "I dinnae want yer tongue in my mouth!"

He shook his head and smiled at her. "It is what people who like each other do, Katie," he said gently.

"It is dirty!" She almost spat the word, her whole face a mask of disgust.

"Have you ever kissed anyone before?" he asked curiously. "Because this is not unusual."

"Aye, I have, but it was no' like that!" Catriona replied, gulping down the glass of ale that was sitting at her elbow as if she wanted to wash the taste of him out of her mouth. She was furious.

He almost smiled. He had wanted passion, and now he had it, although not quite in the way he had wanted it. "I am truly sorry," he said, "I forgot you were not one of the ladies with whom I usually keep company. Please forgive me, Katie. You are a good, kind country lass, and I have been mixing with people who are a little more worldly. I did not mean to upset you."

Catriona looked up at him, frowning in displeasure for a moment, then her whole expression changed to a smile. "A' the girls are jealous o' me because I have such a handsome lad," she told him with a little sigh. "They a' wish they were me, but I am no' used tae yer fancy ways."

Bernard sat down and gathered her onto his lap, wondering how he had gotten himself into this situation. He remembered his last experience with a maid in Belieth; that had ended badly, but it seemed he had learned nothing since then. All he had wanted was a warm woman in his arms, but once again, he had misjudged things. Chambermaids were not pampered ladies experienced in the ways of the world, and he was a fool.

Catriona leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed with satisfaction, but Bernard was anything but satisfied. He missed Janice with a passion of which he had not believed himself capable, and he was constantly having nightmares that her father had betrothed her to someone else. After all, she was a beautiful and eligible young woman and could likely have the pick of all the young men of her own class.

He had hoped to fill in the emptiness in his soul by pursuing a new love, but it was evident that sooner or later, he was going to have to break Catriona's heart. She was a lovely girl, but she had only one flaw: she was not Janice. She did not make his heart beat faster, or his loins throb, or inspire the feelings of excitement and deep tenderness as Janice had done. He had no doubt that there would be many more kisses. However, he knew he would never even consider going beyond that first kiss that he had shared with her, and anything else would only involve lips.

Just then, William rounded the corner of the passage where they were sitting, making Catriona jump up and flee.

William grinned. "You should stop teasing that girl," he advised. "She is too good for you. I thought you had learned after Catherine Boyle."

Bernard sighed and put his face in his hands. "I know. I wish I had not started our relationship, but she was there and willing, and…" he trailed off.

"Have you bedded her?" William asked curiously.

"No!" Bernard looked at his friend in horror. "We have not even gone beyond kissing, and that was a disaster! She thinks because I put my tongue in her mouth that I am dirty."

William frowned. "It sounds as though the poor wee girl is out of her depth," he observed. "She has a lot to learn. Are you going to be the one to teach her? " He studied his friend, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

"No, I would not want to," he replied. "She is too pure."

William gave him a disbelieving look. "Since when did that ever stop you before?" he asked.

Bernard heard of Laird Stewart's death from William two days later when a message arrived for Laird Ballantine telling him the news.

"Laird Stewart has passed on," he told William sadly. "The consumption got him at last."

Bernard's heart leaped. "Is your father going to the funeral?" he asked tensely.

"No, he is already committed to accompanying Laird Maxwell to the Oban Horse Fair next week, and there is no time to do both," William answered.

"Are you going?" Bernard asked the question even though he knew the answer already.

William looked at his friend as though he was mad. "Mia is about to give birth any day now. Of course I am not going!" Then he studied his friend for a moment, suddenly realizing why he was asking. "Do you want to see Janice?"

Bernard nodded despairingly. "Your father will not be happy, but I am no longer content here, William." He shrugged. "It was enough to be here with my friends before. I had a good life, and I know I could still have that, but it is no longer enough. I must go to see Janice if only to find out if she has forgiven me."

"Why should you care so much?" William gaped at Bernard in astonishment. "You said you did not love her. Are you sure about that?"

"No. I just know I have to go and see her." Bernard was resolute. "And now I must tell your father."

He squared his soldiers and raised his chin, holding up an imaginary sword as if he was going into battle.

Laird Ballantine was incandescent with fury when he heard the news.

"We have sheltered you for years!" he yelled. "You have lived under my roof, enjoyed my food and shelter, and the security of my name. You practically grew up as a brother to my son, and this is how you repay me?" His face was crimson with rage.

"M'Laird, I have worked hard for everything you have given me." His voice was firm, and he looked Malcolm Ballantine squarely in the eye as he spoke. "I have served as a guard for you since I was fifteen years old. I have even killed for you. I am not your son, and I did not swear fealty to you for the rest of my life, only a few years."

Laird Ballantine suddenly had a revelation. He looked at Bernard keenly. "Janice Stewart is behind this, is she not?" he asked slyly.

Bernard said nothing, and the laird took it as assent. "I knew it! You are in a sad state, my boy, when you start thinking with that"—he pointed to Bernard's groin—"instead of your head."

With a great effort of will, Bernard stood his ground and said nothing, even though he would have dearly liked to punch Malcolm Ballantine in his aristocratic nose. The silence between them stretched on for minutes, with neither man wanting to admit defeat by breaking it. Eventually, the laird sat down and looked up at Bernard.

"Off you go, then, Taggart. But remember: as soon as you cross that drawbridge, you will never be able to come back into this castle again. Are you sure you want to do that?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Yes, M'Laird, I do," Bernard replied firmly. "Thank you for everything you have done for me. I wish you well."

Then he turned on his heel and walked out. He went straight to his quarters in the keep and began to pack his few belongings, then realized that he would have to speak to Catriona. He groaned. Breaking someone's heart before he went was not what he had planned to do at all.