She looked up at him, the hazel eyes swimming with tears. “I heard whispers once that you lost your wife years ago,” she said. “Cartingdon Parrish, if nothing else, is a fertile ground for gossip. If it is untrue, I apologize for repeating it.”
He gazed into her eyes, remembering the pain he had suffered through four years ago. Strange how he didn’t feel it as horrifically as he used to; true, it was still there, like a faded ache from long ago. Oddly enough, Toby seemed to do a great deal towards pushing it into the deep recesses of his memory where it was a moment of sadness and nothing more. It had been a time when he thought he had died inside. But Toby made him feel very much alive and he was willing to speak on the subject.
“It is true,” he said. “She perished in childbirth. I lost my daughter as well.”
Toby’s grief shifted focus. “I am so terribly sorry for you,” she said sincerely. “Losing a sister is bad enough, but to lose your wife and child… I surely cannot imagine the pain you experienced.”
“I hope you never will. I will do my best to ensure that you do not.”
Toby stared into his storm colored eyes, realizing she felt comforted by the fact that he had indeed experienced grief on her level. He understood. It gave her strength, somehow drawing them closer, and she wiped at her face in an effort to compose herself.
“Then we should not keep Ailsa waiting,” she rose from his lap but continued to hold his hand. “I am ready.”
He stood next to her, towering over her with his size and strength. Gently, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they moved towards the door.
“Your bravery, as always, is astonishing,” he said softly, allowing her to pass first through the door.
She smiled weakly. “’Tis not bravery. ’Tis simply the way of things; it must be done and hysterics on my part will not change it.”
“That is much more like the Elizabetha I first met at Forestburn.”
“How do you mean?”
“Strong and decisive.”
“And appalling?”
He grinned, hearing his words echoed. “You are never going to forgive me for that, are you?”
“Perhaps. But not today.”
He kissed her hand as she descended the stairs, his gaze lingering on her golden brown head. As much as he had loved his wife, he couldn’t ever remember feeling such strong emotion for her as he felt for Toby. There was something about the woman that already had her embedded deep into his heart and soul as if nothing else had existed before.
Together, they made their way to the tiny chapel of Harbottle. Toby felt moderately strong until she entered the chapel and saw her sister’s coffin near the altar. Then, she faltered, her eyes brimming and her heart pounding. It was a struggle to remain strong. As Tate escorted her into the small chamber, Kenneth, Stephen and Edward were there to greet her. One of the most tender acts of compassion that Tate had ever seen was when the young king, unable to voice his sympathies, took Toby’s hand and held it tightly. As she struggled not to cry, he struggled not to cry also. He just stood there and held her hand. The little girl that had so terrified him with her attention had nonetheless left her mark.
Wallace gave the liturgy that sent Ailsa’s young soul to a better place. Instead of a hymn, Tate stood over the grave and sang the song that Ailsa had loved so well.
To the sky, my sweet babe;
The night is alive, my sweet babe.
Your dreams are filled with raindrops from heaven;
Sleep, my sweet babe, and cry no more.
The tenderness of it broke Toby’s heart.
*
January was abitterly cold month and it was rare that the sun was able to break through the heavy covering of clouds at any given time. On the afternoon following Ailsa’s burial, the sun, remarkably, was able to burst through the mist. In the master’s chamber, organizing all of her worldly possessions, Toby took it as a sign from God. She thought perhaps he was happier now that he had Ailsa to keep him company and that thought, however foolish it seemed, kept her from the depths of grief. It was a comfort.
She stood for a moment in the lancet window, eyes closed, feeling the weak warmth on her face. Her emerald-colored surcoat was in her hands, as she had been fussing with a spot on the fabric. She knew it must have occurred the night Tate and his knights had come to sup at Forestburn. She remembered that day with some fondness, though it seemed like a terribly long time ago. In fact, everything at Forestburn seemed like it belonged to another time and another world. Now her world was Harbottle Castle and a future she could never have imagined.
A future that revolved around a man she was becoming increasingly attached to. As Toby kept busy in her chamber, Tate and his men were down in the bailey effecting repairs on the walls and front gates. The siege had left them burned and a small army of men were going into the forest that lay to the south of the castle and harvesting trees to rebuild the gates. Toby couldsee the men in the distance filtering in and out of the tree line. She didn’t see Tate but she imagined he was among them.
Thoughts of the man brought a smile to her lips. For twenty-one years of her life, she had been relatively alone. She had never imagined she would ever wed, as she had firmly told Tate when they first met. Now she was betrothed to the man who had called her appalling. She giggled softly as she thought of his initial impression of her; not that he hadn’t been correct, but at least now he saw her strong personality as a positive trait and not a negative one. She hoped, with time, he would see her as much more. She couldn’t even hope that the man would love her; that was a fool’s dream. A strong like was good enough for her.
A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts and she turned in the direction of the panel.
