“Go with God, Hacon Gillard,” she whispered, then fled back to her chambers, knowing she did not have the strength to watch him ride off.
Chapter 14
“He has been gone for three months. He willnae be returning to you.”
Jennet looked up from the woolen nightshirt she was making for Murdoc to glance around the solar before fixing her gaze upon Katherine. Lady Serilda and her maid had gone. That did not surprise her. Katherine would never have spoken so bluntly if her mother had still been in the room.
“Ireland is verra far away,” Jennet replied. “One cannae expect Hacon to go there, fight a battle, and return in but a fortnight.”
“He should have returned by now. ’Twould be wise for you to prepare your widow’s weeds.”
“Ye cannae wish your own brother dead.”
“Nay, of course not, but I am not fool enough to cling to false hopes.”
“Until I am brought word of his death, I will believe that he will come back as he promised.”
“My husband also promised to come back, but he now rots beneath English soil.”
Katherine strode out of the solar, roughly shutting the door behind her, and Jennet sighed. She wanted to ignore Katherine’s bitter words, but that was impossible. Hacon had been gone for a long time. Three long months had passed without a word from him or about him. She did not need Katherine’s comments to make her fear she would be a widow before she had any chance to be a wife.
It puzzled her a little that Katherine seemed to want her to suffer the pain of widowhood. In wishing for that, Katherine was also wishing for her own brother’s death. Jealousy seemed to spur Katherine on, and Jennet knew it was not simply a jealousy of her marriage. Katherine was beginning to feel the loss of her own mother’s attention and affection. Lady Serilda had become a dear friend and, in some ways, a mother to Jennet. Jennet would not give that up to soothe Katherine, but she did wish there was some way to end the woman’s unreasonable fears and irritation. Unfortunately, it was something that Lady Serilda and her daughter had to sort out by themselves,
“Jennet?”
She looked up to smile weakly at Ranald as he entered the solar and sat beside her on the window seat. “’Tis good to see you, Ranald.”
“Ye dinnae look verra happy, but I shall lay the blame for that at my mother’s feet. I saw her leave the solar, looking as sour as she ever has.”
“Your mother is worried about Hacon.”
“Mayhaps. Howbeit, ye most certainly are, so I have come to distract you.”
“Have you now.” She set aside her sewing. “What diversion have you planned for me?”
“’Tis past time ye had another inspection of the tower house. They have started work upon the wall.”
“The wall?” she asked as she followed him from the room.
“Aye. The barmkin? That big stone wall encircling the tower house? The verra one ye asked for?”
“Ah. Pardon. I promise to fix my mind upon the building and naught else.”
“Good. Now, fetch your cloak”
With a helping hand from Ranald, Jennet hefted herself up to sit on an unfinished section of the barmkin. Ranald was right. It had been her idea to add that encircling, protective wall around Hacon’s tower house. Everyone assured her that Hacon would approve. She heartily wished he was there to do so himself. Instead, she and Ranald worked to build the tower house while Hacon fought for the Bruce in some faraway land. She cursed the Bruce, just as she had each day since Hacon had left.
“If the weather holds fine,” Ranald said as he handed her an oatcake, “it could weel be done by next summer’s end.”
“Aye. I but pray Hacon will be pleased.” She idly nibbled the oatcake.
“Of course he will. If naught else, we have followed his own plans.”
“Weel, more or less.” She exchanged a brief grin with Ranald. “Howbeit, I cannae believe he would have disagreed with what few additions we made. Aye, not when some were at the behest of his own mother and father.”
She sighed, then gazed at the partly finished tower house. Building it had become important to her. Somehow it brought Hacon closer. And it had kept her from being overcome with fear and worry, at least during the day.
What surprised her was that she had finally come to accept Hacon’s life as a knight. She did not like it, knew she would probably continue to complain, but she no longer condemned him for it. Although Hacon’s mother and Elizabeth had both talked to her, she knew the change had come mostly from within her. She hated the waiting, the constant fear with which she must live until he returned, but she knew she would not run from it. It was the price she had to pay to be with him. When he did return, she was sure she would consider it a small price. At least, she mused with an inner smile over her own vagaries, until the next call to arms.
