Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

N urse Mildred said nothing when Laura came to see how she was doing later. The elderly woman just eyed her in silence from the bed.

Because Laura was her nurseling, Mildred had made sure to keep the young girl safe every night, nursing her when she was sick and comforting her after nightmares. When they traveled and slept at inns, Mildred would sleep on a truckle bed next to her young charge or in the bed with her. Beds were expensive items of furniture and sharing them was common, but the main purpose of this constant proximity was to ensure that Laura's maidenhead was never called into question.

"I have come to rub liniment into your sore limbs, Nurse," Laura said in a neutral voice.

Mildred clucked her tongue. "There is no need to act as if butter would not melt in your mouth, Laura. A blind bat could see that man has covered you."

Laura had the grace to blush. "Yes, but I am not ashamed. We belong together, Altair and me."

"And what about the Donaldssons?" Nurse Mildred wanted to know. "Do you think they are going to hand over three bags of gold to your father for the privilege of meeting you for two weeks and then having you leave without so much as a fond farewell?"

Settling onto the edge of the bed, Laura shrugged. Pouring some liniment into the palm of her hand, she began rubbing Mildred's leg with a brisk, vigorous motion. "Something will have to be worked out. Altair is a laird. Perhaps he can strike a bargain with them."

Mildred rolled her eyes heavenwards. "Saints preserve us. You doltish wench! Have you never heard of a little something called ‘manly pride'? You have insulted Laird Donaldsson and his blockhead son. They will want much more than their money back."

Trying very hard not to pout, Laura began massaging the other leg. "That's all I have ever been in this exchange—a bargaining chip for men to play with."

"Unfortunately, until otherwise, that's how it will always be for a woman. Why do you think those horrid daughters of Laird Donaldsson's are such evil hoydens? They know from the moment they were born all they will ever be is a bargaining chip. The laird's a fool. He should have put those useless lumps into the army and trained them to be shield maidens—give them a better outlet for their boisterous spirits—instead of keeping them locked up in the women's house."

Laura found a lot to agree with when her nurse said this. She felt a surge of affection for Mildred. "I was not joking when I told the laird that I want you to look after my own children, Nurse. You have always been there for me, and I thank you for that."

Relenting, Mildred chuckled. "Well-a-day, dearie, if we are going to see this through to the bitter end, maybe you should start calling your wee ones ‘bairns'."

As desperate as Altair and Laura were to spend the days lying in one another's arms in bed, it was not to be. "I should send word to yer Faither and ask his permission for yer hand in marriage, Sonsie," Altair said, as they sat in the dining hall together. When he looked around for the flagon of wine, he saw it was gone, replaced by a small pitcher of light ale. This small instance of Laura taking control to make sure he did not drink again brought a humorous smile to his mouth. "But an ordinary messenger will nae reach him in time."

This made Laura frown. "In time for what?"

Stephen was bringing a platter of fruit and cold cuts from the kitchen when she said this. The two men exchanged looks. Altair sighed, rubbing his eyes by pinching his finger and thumb over the eyelids. "Before the Donaldssons besiege the mountain."

Dead silence followed this truthful statement.

"Can I fetch ye anything else, Laird?"

Altair shook his head. "Nay. How many more deliveries d'ye think we can get from the surrounding towns and villages before they come, Stephen?"

Giving a small bow, the Berensons' youngest son did a quick calculation in his head. "They have a standing army, Laird. All they would have to do is fill each man's knapsack. It's nae likely auld Redmond would want to buy produce along the way. A laird's army assembling in peace times cannae live off the land or pillage from barns like the King's men. I mean, look how fast ?thelred arrived after receiving the damsel's letter. An army cannae take many more days than that."

"Army?" Laura was shocked. "Is that not a bit of an overreaction? You cannot declare war on someone because your son's betrothed decides to back out of the agreement." Turning to Altair, she gripped his hand. "Send them a message, Laird. Tell them that I ran back home and that they must apply to my father to repay them the money. He will not be able to repay it all immediately, but if they are patient, he can give back half after this year's harvest. They must wait for the rest."

Stephen and Altair looked at Laura as if she had lost her mind.

"They would have sent a scout to track yer progress, lass." Altair reminded her. "A bonny Sassenach and her elderly nanny could never travel through Scotland incognito. By now, the clan knows ye got nae further than Iolaire." He moved away, pacing with restless energy.

This bleakly pragmatic statement made Laura feel awful. It was all so unfair. "B-but Laird Donaldsson told Father that Ethelred and I could change our minds at any time, and nothing was written in stone. If the Donaldsson clan gives Father the chance, he will pay them back every penny of my bride price once the next harvest comes in."

Obviously trying hard not to sound patronizing, Altair explained. "That's what men say to get a woman to step willingly into the halter. They never meant for ye to take their blandishments seriously because both parties believed ye to be a meek and biddable young woman. And what if yer faither's next harvest is nae enough for him to spare the gold? Sixpence gets ye a shilling that yer faither's already sent the gold on to his creditors to assuage paying interest anyway."

Ill at ease about being a witness to such a private conversation, Stephen bowed and backed himself out of the room. This gave Laura the chance to speak out. "My maidenhead is no more, Altair. If the clan comes snooping around Sterling fortress, I will step outside the gates and tell them to be gone! What they want from me, I can never give. My maidenhead is gone forever, and I thank God for that. A woman should be seen as more than just a well-behaved virgin!"

He moved closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulders for comfort. "Ah, sweetheart, ye're noble blood and Sassenach connections are worth as much as yer virginity—maybe more. Sir Morecambe Raleigh can claim kinship with any number o' high and mighty individuals close to the King. All the Donaldsson clan will do is wait three or four months for ye to show some sign of swelling, and when ye don't, they will have ye wedded and bedded before the cat has time to lick its ear. And we cannae be sure they will nae punish ye for yer transgressions either."

Never before had Laura felt like more of a commodity. She wanted to scream and kick against the destiny others had mapped out for her. But as much as she loathed the idea of being Lady Donaldsson for the rest of her life, she would sacrifice herself for the sake of the man she loved and his family of servants.

Hiding her face against Altair's chest, Laura whispered in a muffled voice. "Maybe it's best if I go back to Donaldsson Castle then. If being connected to an influential English noble's family is all they want, they are hardly likely to care about my wanton status." Made brave by the loving way his hands stroked her arms, Laura gave a small hiccup of laughter. "If I had never made love to you at all, Altair, I think I would have been driven mad over time wishing and longing for it. One night with you will last me for the rest of my life, just like my love."

"Quit yer haverin', Sonsie." Altair growled, "I will never let ye go. And I will kill anyone who tries to come in between us." She felt complete because his words were no idle boast. The warmth of his breath heated the top of her head as he bent to kiss her hair.

"Is havering good or bad?" Looking up at him, Laura felt laughter bubbling up and lightening her sober mood. "Because it sounds very insulting."

Pinching her round cheek softly, he chuckled. "Dinnae be throwing that word around glibly at a raucous tavern—although that is the one place ye might have to use it—haverin' means ye're talking nonsense. Silly chatter. But men dinnae like to be scolded with the word, so have a care."

"Pff," Laura blew air through her lips. "Sticks and stones are the only things that can hurt us. Words are nothing."

Giving her another quick kiss, Altair smiled as he said, "That gives me an idea. I will write to Laird Redmond and try to open up negotiations. Surely, he doesnae want to strike oot with an act o' war all at once. Diplomatic discussions might be a way to get aroond this."

Laura did not see very much of Altair for the rest of the day. Nurse was in bed complaining about her stiff leg muscles. The Berensons took two ponies down to the village to fill up the woven willow baskets with foodstuffs and fodder. And Altair disappeared into his chambers to compose a letter.

Realizing that it might be her last chance to go outside the crumbling castle walls, Laura walked past the gates to look around. All of her focus had been inside for so long, she had never paid much attention to the mountain scenery. This gray stone landscape had been all Altair could see year after year, and was curious to try and look at it through his eyes.

As for the mountain itself, it sat like a great humpbacked beast in the middle of the rolling hills and steep escarpments. Like all the surrounding peaks that marched off into the distance, tufts of green grass grew almost to the top of the mountain, but before it could reach the crest the straggly growth withered and died. The only living things surviving on the rocks were lichen and moss. Everything seemed to feed off the continuous cloudy moisture like hungry vampires.

Only on the clearest days would the clouds disappear into the blue. But this being Scotland, most often the gray sky hung heavy over Iolaire, bringing the mist and cloud cover with it. Today was such a day. Sometimes, a gust of wind would part the curtain of clouds and give her a glimpse of the majestic land over which Laird Altair Sterling ruled, only for the rift to close and block out the view with the next strong breeze.

Her sight denied by the cloying fog, Laura closed her eyes. Immediately, her senses were sharpened. The scratch of bird claws on stone echoed through the still silence. The pee-wit sound of thrushes as they searched for snails to eat. The faint screech of eagles as they glided with the wind beneath their wings, searching for prey scurrying in the shadows. And when the bird flapped to change direction, she could hear the rustle and click of their wings, it was so eerily quiet.

Far away, Laura discerned the rushing thunder of a waterfall pounding down the cliffs.

Reaching out her hand, she allowed her fingers to trace over the eroded rocks, feeling each pit and dent and wondering how many thousands of years it had been etched in there.

The air smelled metallic and damp. It was the first time in her life, Laura noticed that stones had a particular scent. Ancient and remote, but always, always in the background of every breath she took.

"Would ye like to see the complete view?"

She was not surprised when Altair's deep voice spoke a few inches away from where she was standing with her eyes closed. Opening her eyes and smiling, Laura said without turning her head, "What's the use? The clouds keep it all concealed."

Coming to stand beside her, he took Laura's hand. "I will tell the mists to depart for a while. Come."

The magic around the fortress must have sensed its master's will. They had not walked for more than six steps before a strong wind blew and cleared the air. Bright blue skies framed the sun when Laura looked up. But it was the scenery around her that took her breath away.

Far below, she could see the thick pine forest marching down the mountain slope, heading for the wide burn, its waters white with swirling rapids. Everywhere, heather grew thickly, painting large swathes of the meadows purple and white.

The river rushed downhill to feed a black loch lurking in the glen. "That is Loch Lairie," Altair informed her, pointing to the dark span of water. "They say that no one has ever been able to spin a fishing line long enough to reach the bottom."

The fortress had been built on the domed stone protuberance at the mountain's top, with only two narrow pathways leading to and from the peak. The causeway leading to the gateway was clearly marked and provided a relatively smooth mountain ascent or descent for anyone using it. But only a single file approach could be accommodated on the thin path. If two or more travelers attempted to walk it, one or more of them would find themselves jostled dangerously close to the edge, with a fifty-foot drop on the side.

The second path was even more treacherous, as it meandered over boulders and narrow ledges. And when it reached the side door, the portal could not be opened from the outside. If more than one or two people were standing on the doorstep ledge, they would be pitched backwards down the mountain when the door opened from inside.

"I am starting to get some idea why you are not worried about being attacked," Laura said as she ran her fingertips over the thick granite walls. "But the view is magnificent." As they circled the fortress, the only way to do it was by stepping with their feet close to the wall. One inch away from it, and they could tumble down the steep mountainside like a falling pebble. Laura felt Altair walking closely behind her, his hands ready to catch her if she tripped or fell. It was a nice feeling.

"They cannae attack from above or below." He told her when they circled back to the gateway. "Between the Berenson lads and meself, we can pick off each man as he sticks his head over the rockface. Hell, we dinnae even need to use crossbolts—we could let loose with a slingshot. One stone to the head would be enough to make them dizzy and take a misstep."

"And they would fall back down the mountain." Laura finished the sentence for him. "Has anyone ever tried to conquer Iolaire?"

She loved it when he laughed. The frown disappeared from his forehead, and the harsh lines around his mouth became a cheerful grin. "I was nae so careful the first time, I aged beyond reason. There I was, sauntering aroond the village, lookin' as I do noo. The villagers began muttering behind their hands whenever they saw me. Seventy years had gone by since me mither held me as a bairn in her arms, and I was still trying to charm the milkmaids into the hayloft like a lad o' seventeen!"

Laura could not help wrinkling her nose. "Ugh, I can sympathize with those maids. A seventy-year-old man acting like a horny old goat is disgusting."

He pretended to be outraged. "But I looked no more than thirty summers!"

She would not take it back. "An elderly man should act with distinction and decorum, Altair, no matter how well-preserved his looks are."

This time, he allowed his mirth to show. "Och aye, ye're right. But I learned me lesson the hard way. The villagers came up the mountain with burning torches and pitchforks, wanting to flush me oot and purge me from their sedate, normal lives. It gave me the wake-up call I needed. There was no more cavorting with the local maidens after that. The Kirk warns the local folks every Sunday to have nay dealings with the devil living amidst the clouds at the top o' the mountain."

His expression was resigned, with only the faintest trace of bitterness. Laura imagined the Laird of Sterling Castle burying his dead servants as they grew old and died in his service, leaving their children and grandchildren to continue their work. It was a wonder that Altair's heart had not turned into hard, cold stone like that of his castle.

Reaching out her hand, she touched him gently. "Let me take your letter down to the village, Laird. I will send a messenger from the hostelry in time to intercede with the Donaldssons."

But Altair was not listening to her. Instead, he was staring down the mountain towards the village of Iolaire nestled in the glen below. When she followed his gaze, Laura saw a thin wisp of black smoke rising up from the horizon.

"There is nay need, Sonsie." He sighed and said, "Yer betrothed's faither is already here."