Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series (16 page)

Much to Nora’s mortification, she was forced to ride with Wee William the following morning. But then, she hadn’t really been given a choice in the matter.

When she returned from her morning ablutions, she found that she and Wee William were alone. The others had already left and had taken Elise and John with them. When she inquired as to why the others had left without them, she wasn’t sure if she believed Wee William’s answer.

“The men are in a hurry to return home,” was his curt response from atop his horse.

Seeing she had no choice in the matter, other than walking the rest of the way, she took a deep breath and took his offered hand. He pulled her up to his lap, wrapped the fur around her as he’d done numerous times before, and urged his horse forward.

Why should this time be any different than the other times she had ridden with him?
Something
felt different. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that each time she had closed her eyes to sleep last night, she could only think of Wee William and how a kiss from him might feel.

Feeling tense and a bit embarrassed, she sat ramrod straight, afraid to touch him for fear that he would be able to somehow read her thoughts. It was too embarrassing to think of what his reaction might be if he knew what was tumbling about in her mind.

“What ails you this mornin’, lass?” Wee William asked, after they had ridden for sometime.

Nora felt her face flush as she tried to gain control of her stomach. It had plummeted to her toes and back when she heard his voice and his question. “N-nothing ails me, William.”

Wee William grunted, a sound she had grown accustomed to these past days. Mayhap it was a noise that all Scots made, for she’d heard that sound come from all the men on numerous occasions.

They were riding through a valley and the sun had not been up for very long. It cast the landscape in brilliant shades of pinks, oranges, and yellows. Nora was glad to see that the snow was still melting, a sure sign that spring was not far away.

“Are ye sure, lass?” Wee William asked, breaking her quiet reverie.

“I assure you, sir, that I am well,” she hoped she didn’t sound too irritated. It wasn’t Wee William’s fault that her mind was engulfed with thoughts of kisses and bare skin. She blushed, unable to look at him for fear she’d be tempted to fulfill the fantasies that refused to leave her thoughts.

Wee William grunted again, not believing her for a moment. He had six sisters and he knew that when a woman said
nothing
was the matter, there was usually
something
the matter. He decided to give her some time to sort it out with the belief that eventually, she’d tell him what was bothering her.

It was not long before they caught up with the men and children. As typical, Elise was perched upon Daniel’s horse wrapped in fur. The little girl was fast asleep with her head against his chest, a fact that Nora found quite unusual.

Seeing the worry on Nora’s face when she noticed Elise fast asleep in his arms, Daniel sent her a warm smile. “She be well, lass. I think our journey has finally caught up with her.”

Nora leaned over to take a peek at her sister. Her little nose was red and running, as it had been for days. That in itself was not unusual, considering the cold weather they’d been forced to endure. While fresh air might do a body good, excess exposure to the cold and damp air was never a good thing.

Wishing to ease her worry, Wee William spoke up. “We’ll be at Gregor before the sun sets, lass. We’ll all feel better then. I believe we could all use a hot bath, warm meal and a nice bed to sink into.”

“That sounds heavenly, William,” she readily agreed and began to relax.

Mayhap that was all she needed. To be inside, by a warm fire, and away from all the men. More specifically, Wee William. Mayhap these thoughts and odd feelings were merely the result of being surrounded by men many for so many days. She concluded that
that
was what had brought the onslaught of lustful feelings and images about. Once she was away from them and surrounded by decent and virtuous women, her thoughts would return to normal.

Nora relaxed with that comforting thought, for she had never aspired to be a wanton woman or a harlot. She wanted to be the righteous woman her father had raised her to be and not like the women she had heard about when no one thought she was listening. The ruined girls who worked as bar wenches or the girls who made their livings by warming a man’s bed. She knew she’d not end up like those women for various reasons -- the most important being there wasn’t enough gold in all of England to pay her to do what Horace had tried to do.

Elise continued to sleep peacefully while they rode in comfortable silence. They had spilled out of the valley and onto flatter, more open ground before noontime. The land was still blanketed in white but the warmth from the sun was quickly turning it into a heavy, slushy mess.

Though she worried over how Wee William’s clan would treat them, Nora decided a roof over their heads was worth any impending ugliness or mistreatment. She was far too cold, tired, and hungry to care. At the moment, her feet were so cold that she could have stuck them in a roaring fire and it would still have taken a week for them to thaw.

The landscape was flat in spots, hilly in others and large black rocks jutted out at random places. Because the ground was far too sloppy and wet they sat upon rocks while they ate a very quick meal. They’d eaten the last of the bread the day before yesterday. Today they finished off the last of the dried beef and cheese. The men promised this would be their last meal out of doors for they would be at Castle Gregor in a few short hours.

Elise ate very little. Nora noticed her sunken eyes and pale skin. The child was not herself and had been sleeping most of the day.

Nora’s stomach tightened with worry and unease when she pressed the back of her hand to Elise’s forehead. “She’s burning up!” she exclaimed. Her eyes immediately went in search of Wee William.
 

He had been standing with Rowan and Tall Thomas when he heard Nora’s worried voice. With a purposeful stride, he reached Nora and Elise in short order. He, too, reached out to feel the child’s forehead and cheeks. Her skin was dry and hot, and her pupils were glassy.

“This is all my fault,” Nora whispered as she looked up at Wee William.

“Nay, lass!” Wee William argued. If anyone was to blame, it was Horace. Had the man owned an ounce of compassion, well, things would naturally be different.

Nora blamed herself. Had she been a better wife to Horace then he would have allowed her to keep the children. Mayhap, if she had tried harder, been nicer, done things differently. Her mind flittered to and fro to all the “what ifs” and “maybes” and they all circled back to the same place. “What if’s” and “could have been’s” weren’t important at the moment. Elise was sick and it was Nora’s fault.

Wee William looked into Nora’s eyes, brimmed with tears of worry as well as exhaustion. He could not stand to see her so distressed.

He stood taller and headed toward the horses. “Mount up!” he called out to his men. “Elise is ill!”

The men did not wait for further instructions. As soon as Wee William’s words left his mouth, the men flew into action. They quickly packed away the meal things and were mounted in a matter of moments.

Wee William brought his horse to stand next to the rock where Nora sat cradling Elise in her arms. Nora shifted Elise around with one arm resting under her bottom, the other holding her small head against her shoulder. From atop his horse, Wee William bent slightly and scooped them up and sat them on his lap.

“She’ll be well soon enough, Nora,” he told her.

For the first time since she met Wee William, she doubted him.

Far too many children died from simple fevers. Malnourishment, cold and damp living conditions and lack of proper care, often made it quite difficult for a child to fight even the simplest of illnesses.

John and Elise had been living in a dank, dark, cold castle for a year. Their living conditions had been squalid and foul. And then they’d been stolen away in the middle of the night and carried half way across the world, forced to sleep out of doors or in caves, with little more than cheese, dried beef and stale bread for nourishment for days. ’Twas no wonder Elise was ill.

Tears of remorse and self-reproach fell from Nora’s eyes. If anything happened to Elise, she would never forgive herself.

Eight

H
umiliation and outrage drove Horace Crawford and kept him warm despite the freezing air and snow. The sun had risen hours before he and his brothers finally made their way back to the cottage. With chattering teeth and frozen skin, they rushed into the cottage and began wrapping themselves in blankets.

Nigel made several attempts at starting a fire. His hands were trembling so much so, that he could not hold the tallow steady. While Nigel battled with the tallow, Donald went to the cupboard in search of the bottle of whiskey. He nearly fell into the opening in the floor that led to the cellar.

Frozen to the bone, angry beyond comprehension, Donald could not speak just yet. He found the whiskey and took a long drink. He made his way around the opening in the floor and across the room to where Horace sat on the bed huddled under the blankets. Donald climbed onto the edge of the bed and held the bottle out.

With shaking hands, Horace took the offered whiskey. He could barely keep the bottle to his lips and had to use both hands to keep from dropping it all together. Streams of whiskey trickled down the sides of his face as he drank greedily. Were he able to speak just yet, he would have been cursing at Nigel to hurry the hell up with the fire.

The three brothers sat clustered together on the bed, each lost in his own thoughts as they drank and stared at the fire Nigel had finally managed.
 
It was quite some time and a full bottle of whiskey later, before any of them began to regain the feeling in their extremities. Exhausted from the long walk home in the snow and cold, the three men fell asleep in front of the warm fire.

Hours later, Nigel and Donald were awakened to the sound of Horace yelling and cursing.

Horace had awakened long before his brothers, still unable to figure out why the Highlanders had come into his home in the middle of the night. He could not begin to fathom why he and his brothers had been taken out into the middle of nowhere and left with no harm done to any of them other than injured pride and frozen skin.

He had gone to the cupboard in search of another bottle of whiskey when he discovered the table had been moved and the door to the cellar opened. Unable still to comprehend why the Highlanders had appeared, the open cellar door caused him more confusion than he wanted. Mayhap they had killed Nora and her body now lay dead in the cellar below. The thought of her dead, frozen corpse brought him nothing but a twinge of delight.

Cautiously, Horace had crept down the ladder and much to his disappointment he did not find his wife dead. But the flicker of the candle he held had shown him something
was
amiss. He moved the ladder to the side and crouched low. That was when he had discovered the stone lying on the ground and a sizeable hole in the wall. Curiosity took hold and he warily poked his hand inside it and felt around. Nothing.

He had paced around the cellar for a few moments before the cold air began to seep in. His mind was racing as he made his way back up the ladder. He lowered the door and scooted the table back over it.

Why? What had they wanted?
He kept repeating the questions over and over in his mind. What on earth could they have wanted? What had been hidden in the cellar?

And what of Nora? Where the bloody hell was she? He went to the trunk at the end of his bed and saw that her belongings were missing.

Firth.
The whore had taken the opportunity to run away again. Ungrateful wench!

Ever so slowly Horace began to piece things together.

 
Highlanders.
He had heard many rumors over the past year that told of his stepsister, Aishlinn, running away to the Highlands. It was also told that the Highlanders she had found refuge with, had killed the former Earl of Penrith. Other rumors said that Aishlinn, too, was dead. He hoped the latter were true. The stupid wench had been far more trouble than she had been worth.