“I’m fine.” Yes, her voice was a tad gravelly, but it was Saturday. Helen visited the village with food and her medicine basket every Saturday. “Everyone would miss me if I didn’t go. Besides, I’d like to spend a day away from Mingary.” If only I could tell her how much I’d like to get away. Helen donned the dressing gown and then grimaced, tapping her fingers to her tender jaw.
“Are you hurt, m’lady?”
“I’ll come good in a day or two.”
Glenda placed her palms either side of Helen’s face. “Let me have a look.”
Helen flicked up the neckline of the robe to cover her neck. No use causing a stir about the fingerprint bruises as well.
“Lord in heaven, he’s given you another bruise.”
Helen pulled away. “’Twas just a slap.”
“Just? Pardon me for speaking my mind, m’lady, but Sir Aleck should never raise a hand against you. ’Tis just not right.”
Helen looked to the tray with a bowl of porridge and a cup of mead awaiting her on the table by the hearth. “I’ll set to eating if you could brush out my blue kirtle and cloak.”
Glenda didn’t budge. “I do not understand why you always pretend nothing is wrong. From the noise coming from this chamber last eve, I was afraid Sir Aleck was going to do more than slap you.”
Helen sat and stared at her porridge. “It was that bad?”
“Why else would I barge in with an armed knight in my wake?”
“Thank you.” Helen sighed and looked her chambermaid in the eye. “I have no idea what I would have done…” Devil’s bones, I’ll not start weeping again.
“I believe Sir Aleck has grown more short-tempered since Miss Maggie was born.”
Helen picked up her spoon and nodded. Glenda was right, but there wasn’t anything Helen could do about it. “Mayhap ’tis the MacGregor army.” He must feel threatened as well.
“Who knows?” Glenda held up her finger. “But I’ll say it was fortunate Sir Eoin was about last eve.”
“It was,” Helen said, doing her best to be vague. Even Glenda could make a slip, inciting unwanted rumors.
“What happened after he sent me away?” she persisted.
Helen pretended to flick a bit of lint from her sleeve. “We took Sir Aleck to his chamber and put him to bed.”
“Heavens.” The chambermaid fanned her face with a brisk wave of her hand. “If only Sir Eoin were our chieftain.”
Helen looked up, affecting disdain. “Glenda, what a horrible thing to say.” Though Helen admonished her maid, she couldn’t deny she felt the same. Still, some thoughts should never be uttered.
“Apologies for speaking out of turn, m’lady.” She opened the trunk and held up the kirtle. “Come, ’tis time to dress.”
Helen took one last swallow from her cup of mead and stood.
Glenda gasped and stared directly at Helen’s neck. “My heaven’s m’lady, you’ve hand prints on your throat.”
Curses, the blasted dressing gown slipped. Helen moved to the looking glass and examined the purple bruises. “Only high-collared gowns for the next fortnight.” She tried to sound jovial.
Glenda harrumphed. “How you can be so unconcerned about nearly being choked to death is beyond me.”
Helen was very concerned. She was beside herself. Aleck actually had tried to choke her. What would have happened if Glenda hadn’t intervened? A Cold chill slithered up her spine. What might happen if he struck out against Maggie? She hated to think of it.
After pulling off Helen’s dressing gown, Glenda eyed her expectantly. In no way would it be proper for Helen to share her feelings, so she opted for the adage her mother had always used. “That which we cannot help must be endured.”
The chambermaid held up a set of stays. “I’m not sure how much more enduring you can do, m’lady.”
Helen held out her arms and stood patiently while Glenda transformed her into the Lady of Ardnamurchan, the picture of the woman the crofters and patrons had grown to love and respect. After covering her head and neck with a grey wimple, Helen regarded herself in the polished copper mirror. “With a dab of lime, no one will even notice the bruise on my cheek.”
After she bid good morn to Maggie, Helen gathered her wits and proceeded to the second floor where she rapped on Aleck’s solar door. Though he would be aware of her usual Saturday trip to the village, she’d always given him the courtesy of letting him know before she set off. Though she would have preferred to avoid him altogether, it was best to maintain her regular routine, lest she create further discourse. When there was no answer, she pulled down on the blackened iron latch and peered inside.
Odd, Aleck always spends his mornings in here. Where has he gone? Is he still abed?
She let out a long breath. At least she wouldn’t have to face him. Only heaven knew how he’d respond after last evening’s events. And he’d most definitely find a way to make the candlestick incident appear to be her fault. In the five years of their marriage, Aleck had proven an expert at passing the blame, not only to her, but to anyone who disagreed with him.
She headed to the courtyard to look for Grant. Surprised to find it unusually quiet, she found no guardsmen whatsoever. The blacksmith shack clanged with the sound of iron striking iron, the piglets in the pen by the stables squealed, roosters crowed, but aside from the few sentries patrolling the wall-walk above, the MacIain guard was not training with weapons as expected. Where are Eoin and his men? Are they gone as well?
Perplexed, she headed out the main gate to the stables. At last she discovered the MacGregor guard busy at work honing their weapons. Every man wielded a rasp, working blades of swords, dirks and battleaxes into deadly sharp weapons.
Eoin made an imposing sight, supervising with his fists on his hips. When he spotted her, he smiled and hastened her way. “Good morrow, m’lady, I hope you are well.” He peered closely at the bruised cheek, now concealed by a layer of powdered lime.
Bless him for not saying a word about last eve’s blunder in front of the men. Helen still held on to a thread of hope the argument hadn’t wormed its way through the castle gossips. “I am feeling very well, thank you.” Aside from the throbbing on the right side of my face and my gravelly voice. She held up her basket. “I usually visit the villagers in Kilchoan on Saturdays, but I cannot find Sir Grant anywhere.”
“Are you looking for him to provide an escort?”
“Aye.”
Eoin’s angled brows drew together. “Did you not know Sir Grant and most of the MacIain men sailed north for a sortie at dawn—ah—with your husband?”
Helen glanced up at the elderly guard on the wall-walk. “Aleck is away?” They always left the older sentries at the castle.
“Gone up to Sleat to inspect a report of suspicious activity.”
“That sounds rather dangerous,” she said absently, wondering whom else she would ask to escort her to town.
“No more so than sparring in the courtyard every day.” He pointed to his men. “My lads are taking a moment’s respite to sharpen their weapons.”
“Is that not a daily necessity?”