“Elspet,” he repeated. This time more solemn, as if Herbert’s ghost had stepped between them. “As I said, I am sorry for yer loss. I understand it was naught but six months past. I am sure it is a difficult adjustment—learning to lead the clan without him.”
“I am used to it. I have done it for well over eighteen years now. Closer, in fact, to nineteen.” Clenching her teeth, she cursed her foolish tongue. She should not have said that. With a hard yank, she jerked the last of the leather fastenings loose, grasped the armor, and hefted it off over his head. Frustration strengthened her. Enabled her to manage the plating with barely a strain. If only her inner turmoil could be handled so easily. “There now. Chest and back plate off. Remove yer belt and lean forward. Then I shall help ye remove the hauberk.”
He snagged hold of her hand and held her in place, staring up at her with those infernal eyes that saw right into her soul. “What do ye mean?”
“Undo yer belt,” she repeated, knowing good and well that was not what he meant. “We canna remove yer chainmail or yer gambeson until ye do so.”
“Elspet.” A gentle scolding warmed his tone, stirring an increased fluttering in her middle. “What do ye mean when ye say ye have led yer clan alone all those many years?”
“My husband thought it his duty to join every skirmish, crusade, or campaign that King Alexander ever dreamed necessary.” She flinched at the bitterness pinching her reply. “Forgive me. I get shrewish when I am weary.” She nodded toward his belt. “Undo it, aye? So, we can get to that shoulder of yers before daybreak.”
Concern creased his brow. Even more flickered in his eyes. They reflected a knowing, a dangerous understanding that threatened to weaken her resolve against his charms. He undid his belt and tossed it aside without shifting his gaze from hers. “Why would a man leave such a rare, beautiful woman alone for so verra long?”
She grabbed hold of his hauberk by the thick shoulder seams and yanked him forward. “I am neither rare nor beautiful.” She forced a laugh. “And at a score and ten, I am also neither so vain nor silly enough to believe in such flattery.”
“Ye became a mother when ye were not more than ten and two?” He pulled free of her grasp, scowling his disbelief. “What man would marry off his daughter at such a tender age? In fact, the youngest age of consent allowed by the church?”
With a step back, she drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Valan made it more than a little obvious. She would never get to his injury until she explained her past. She had no one to blame but herself for this impasse. ’Twas a just punishment for triggering this snare with her wagging tongue.
“My father arranged my marriage. Or sold me, actually. He cared not if marriage was part of the bargain. Herbert offered him more than any of the others.” She paused, struggling to find the words to explain. “My mother died in childbirth. As an unwanted daughter born late in life after four grown sons, the only value I brought my father was what he might barter for me. Even though Laird Herbert Maxwell was verra old. Old enough to be my grandsire, in fact. He was a kind man. He saw my father’s disregard for my welfare and knew if he failed to step in and save me, things would go verra badly indeed.”
“But ye were a child,” Valan argued. “A wee lassie of ten and two is naught but a child.”
“Not according to the church. And as I said, my father cared not if marriage was part of the bargain.” She paused, poured herself another whisky, and downed it. “Of course, since he held off until I reached the age of consent, it made him appear pious and moral.” She ran her thumb along her glass’s rim, remembering the many cruelties committed in secret by her sire. “My father was verra much about appearances.” She banished the man from her thoughts, refusing to waste another moment of her life on his memory. “And as I said, Herbert Maxwell was a man of great kindness. Patient. Good-hearted.” She filled Valan’s glass before filling her’s again. “My fate couldha been much worse.”
Valan downed his drink, then placed the glass back on the table. “No child should have to endure what ye did, patient man or no’.” He rose from the bench and paced the length of the room. With a hard glare at her, he halted his agitated walking. “Did Maxwell tire of ye after he robbed ye of yer innocence? Is that why he left ye alone so much?” He stabbed the air with his finger. “And dinna defend him by saying he gave ye shelter and food. He shouldha behaved as a trusted guardian until ye were old enough to choose to be his wife.”
“Yer views are not those of most men.” What a confusing warrior. She studied him as he paced, coming to realize his distress had more to do with himself than her. What ghosts haunted his past? Subtle suffering shadowed his handsome features and tensed his broad shoulders. This man was in pain. “Why do ye believe the way ye do about women?”
He shook his head. “Nay, woman. Ye didna answer my question. Why did the bastard abandon ye?”
“Herbert was not a bastard. In time, even though I saw him little, he became a friend.” Rather than look Valan in the eyes, she unlaced the long protective cuffs of heavy leather protecting her forearms. “A few months into our marriage, he was injured during a hunt.” She tossed first one sleeve and then the other onto the table. “After he recovered, he found he could no longer…” A heavy sigh escaped her. She had never attempted to explain the reason for her lonely marriage before. “His manhood failed him. We could no longer…join.”
Valan stopped pacing, but his disapproving scowl remained. “Why did ye not have the marriage annulled?”
She laughed. “And go where? My brothers and their wives had no use for me. They shared my father’s low opinion of my usefulness.” With a slow shake of her head, her laugh turned bitter. “And thankfully, Herbert had already fathered Beitris. His only child was growing within me when the accident robbed him of being a man.” She filled both their glasses and held his out to him. “After that, his pride forced him to join every battle he could find. Said it was the only way he felt whole again.” When Valan refused to take the drink, she added, “Tell me ye would not have done the same.”
Still glaring like an ox about to charge, he strode forward, took the drink, and emptied it in a single gulp. Without a word, he yanked off his chainmail, then unbuttoned his gambeson, and tossed it aside.
Her mouth went dry at the hard, muscular glory of him. Even in his prime, her husband would never have come close to the sculpted majesty of this man. Over the years, she had often helped with healing and caring for the wounded. The task not only kept her busy but also helped her clan. Never had she seen a man made like this one. She pointed at the bench. Sheer, stubborn willfulness enabled her to maintain a calm exterior. He must never know the powerful effect he wielded. “Sit so I may clean yer wound. I canna reach it as well when ye stand.”
He lowered himself to the bench, sitting in silence with his head bowed.
She hurried to the cabinet at the back of the room and gathered all she needed to clean, stitch, and bandage a wound caused by an arrow.
“Did ye never think to take a lover?” he asked so softly she almost didn’t hear.
She started to tell him it was none of his affair but stopped herself. Nay. This was the first time she had ever spoken to anyone about the aloneness she had borne over the years. It helped to tell her story. Her chest didn’t feel quite so tight anymore, nor her heart so heavy. “Herbert gave me his blessing to take a lover. All he requested was that I be discreet.” As she placed the bowl, linens, and bandages on the table, she frowned down at them, struggling with the memory. “I could nay do that to him. Not after he had been so patient and gentle with me.” She released a heavy sigh and lifted her head. “I was fond of Herbert and would see no more shame thrust upon him. He was the first kind man I had ever known. With his pride already in tatters, I refused to add to his burden.”
Valan locked eyes with her. “As I said, Elspet, ye are a rare and beautiful woman.”
“Nay.” She went to the hearth and fetched the iron kettle she had hung on the rod over the fire. “I am just a woman trying to live out my life in honor and dignity.” With her hand wrapped in a rag, she lifted the steaming kettle and carried it back to the table. After adding hot water to the bowl, she mixed a generous amount of whisky in it before wetting a roll of linen in its steaming depths.
“I am sorry I shot ye,” she said, now regretting she had shared her story. At first, it had brought her relief. But not now. Why in Heaven’s name had she done so? What power did this man possess to pull such an outpouring from her? “Forgive me, aye?”
He didn’t answer. Just leaned forward and propped his forearms on his knees.
“So ye dinna accept my apology?” she teased, trying to relieve the tension between them. The air throbbed with it. And she had no one to blame but herself. “Valan?”
