Their grief was evident from the moment the first widow walked in the door. Their eyes were red from crying, the children clutching tightly at their mothers’ skirts, eyes wide with terror and loss. The widows, children, mothers, and fathers of those lost in the skirmish were clearly devastated, but some displayed anger more so than grief, even going so far as to stare down Kieran as if their rage could make him feel any more guilty than he already did.
“Thank ye all for coming.” Kieran stood up, meeting each and every eye that met his. He owed them that much. “Please, sit with me. I ken this is a terrible time for ye all, I only want tae make things right as far as I can.”
A couple of the widows nodded – Kieran knew each person in the room to some degree or the other. Their men had been some of his closest friends and fiercest warriors. Their loss was devastating to him as well.
“How can ye mak’ this right?” the third widow asked, crossing her arms over her chest while standing behind her chair in objection to the invitation to sit.
“I cannae fix what has happened, bu’ I can bring to justice the people who are behind this travesty. Tha’ is my intention an’ promise tae ye all. I will get tae the bottom o’ this. I will find the people responsible for this.” Kieran could feel nausea swirling in his gut, threatening to cause severe issues for him. He needed to keep this short – even if it was only for the sake of keeping his name intact through keeping the bile down long enough for no one to see it.
“An’ how will ye dae that?” she pushed further, her eyebrows raised. Her young son, no more than three summers old, clutched at her skirts, tears in his eyes even though he couldn’t have fully understood what was going on.
“I have returned tae the forest twice today. I am looking for clues as tae what happened; I have my thoughts on it, but I willnae give ye false hope until I have concrete answers,” Kieran answered, hoping his voice had remained level, “I called ye all here tae let ye know that I have arranged for the bodies of our fallen men tae be brought home for proper burial. There will be a special sermon on Sunday for them all. I need ye tae know I am broken by our loss too. I wish I could change the past, but I cannae. I can only mak’ things right in so many ways.”
“Ye should have done somethin’ better than ye did, Laird Kieran,” the father of the young lad who had sustained the burns spoke up, “It’s yer responsibility as the Laird tae safeguard the lives o’ yer people, is it not?”
“Aye, it is. I admit I failed in tha’ regard, I carry tha’ burden with me. If I could, I would exchange my life for theirs. I ken this is a difficult time for us all, I only ask ye tae ken I will dae all in my power tae mak’ sure this doesn’t happen again. I will ensure tha’ our people feel safe again.”
Kieran’s nerves were fraying faster than he could hold them together. He had always prided himself on being a fair leader, but there were days like these where he wanted to scream that he was only human too, that he was grieving too. But as the Laird, he could do no such thing. He could only be held accountable for the loss of lives and the remedying of the situation as far as he possibly could.
“I ken tha’ it doesn’t sound like much, looking for clues and organizing the burials, but it is the little bit tha’ I can dae until I have the answers I need.”
“Thank ye, Laird,” one of the widows sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, “You have always been a man of yer word. An’ while it doesn’t bring my husband back, knowing that yer going tae get tae the bottom of this makes it just slightly more bearable.”
The other widow who had said nothing until this point nodded her agreement, saying, “All of us have lost someone, bu’ we all know Laird Kieran is no fool. He is doing what he can; let us allow him tae dae what he must to bring us peace. This endless bickering, blaming, and shaming of him brings us nowhere. Let us bury our loved ones and let the Laird be free tae dae as he says he will.”
“Aye,” a few of the others nodded, and for the first time, Kieran felt he could breathe a little bit easier. It was by no means over, but he knew that there was one thing he would do for these people, and that was to keep his promise to them to get to the bottom of this.
Chapter Seven
Vivien paced up and down her room for the next couple of hours, gnawing at her bottom lip. Finally unable to take the frustration of her endless ruminations on Kieran and their kiss, she sat down to embroider a handkerchief to pass the time.
She hummed to herself as she sat next to her fireplace, absent-mindedly stitching without any real thought or care to what she was stitching. It was only when she started embroidering the initial on the piece that Vivien realized what she had been stitching in the first place.
She had somehow unwittingly chosen Kieran’s tartan colors for the border around the handkerchief and the tiny flowers she had delicately stitched. She gasped, looking down at the beginnings of the ‘K’ she had begun to embroider, her hand flying to her mouth in horror.
Vivien had no idea how that had happened. She had been so lost in thought that she had just embroidered as though it were any other handkerchief she had ever done, without paying actual attention to it – as if it were done by rote.
She stood up quickly, the cloth gripped in her hand, a feeling of dread gnawing at her bones. She couldn’t keep the handkerchief – if Reginald were to somehow find out about its existence through castle gossip, she would suffer great consequences. But Vivien was at war with herself; how could she destroy something that really should have meant nothing but really meant everything to her? It was a reminder of the most amazing day of her life, something physical to hold onto, even if she had not intended on sewing it.
She nibbled at her lip, torn between tossing it in the fire and hiding it. Vivien mentally shook herself; she really had only one option. She could not be Lady Stone while she was embroidering handkerchiefs for a man who was not Lord Stone. Before she could think twice, Vivien threw the cloth into the fire in front of her. She could feel the blood draining from her face in horror at her lapse in concentration.
Watching the handkerchief catch flame caused her a real pang of pain that lanced through her heart. The next thing Vivien knew, she was on her knees, pulling it out of the fire. The cloth was charred and burnt through most of the one half, but fully intact where the initial and flowers were stitched.
She beat out the embers on the hearth and clutched it to her chest, the very real fear of knowing her life would never be the same again chewing at her heart. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. There was nothing she could do to change her situation; she needed to accept her life again. She had lived it long enough to know that this was what her future held – a loveless marriage with a cold man. There was no happy ending with a rakish Highlander in her future.
Vivien quickly walked over to the wall next to her bed. She had found a loose stone in it when they had first arrived in Scotland. She pried it out, kissed the handkerchief, and placed it inside the hole in the wall along with all of her other sacred possessions that she kept hidden from Reginald.
A tentative knock at the door frightened Vivien as she was putting the stone back into the wall. She hurried to her chamber door and opened it slightly to find the pale face of Helen, her most-trusted maid, on the other side of it.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, looking up and down the corridor, half expecting Reginald to be standing there, ready to pounce on her for embroidering the handkerchief.
“I heard the Lord sent you to bed without supper, my Lady,” she whispered back, lifting a plate she held in her hands slightly so that Vivien could see it, “It didn’t sit right by me; you going to bed with an empty stomach while the rest of the household sleeps with a full belly.”
“That is very kind of you,” Vivien smiled, concern and gratitude for the young girl flashing through her mind. It was one thing for her to be in trouble with her husband. The risk Helen was taking for her was wholly unnecessary in her mind. What concerned her more was that word had reached the maid at all – that was something that both embarrassed and horrified her in the same instant. The last thing Vivien wanted from anyone in their household was a pity; this was the life she had married into. She could not have her household knowing the most intimate details of her everyday torture and nightmare.
She shook off the thought; it was a problem for another day.
“It’s my pleasure, my Lady. I would do anything for you; you need only ask. I hope it fills you enough to see you through to the morning.” The young maid smiled at her shyly.
