had seen contorted with pain, distress and fever. A curious ache settled into her belly and tugged at her breast as she watched the man sleep so peacefully.
“I shall return,” she promised, and then stood to exit the hut.
What she did not see as she left was a pair of clear, green eyes flicker open momentarily. Disoriented and groggy, the Scot gazed upon the source of the song heard in disjointed fragments through dying moments. To him, it was the voice of an angel come to take him to heaven, away from the burning pain of his wound. And of his soul.
Chapter 5
Through the pre-dawn darkness, Jane made her way along the banks of the forest brook and hurried across the open lands surrounding the castle. The sky was just beginning to show promise of lightening into day by the time she reached the curtain wall. Undetected, she slipped through the castle to her bedchamber where she hurriedly changed from her dress to her shift. Grateful for the softness of her bed, she slipped under the covers for a few more hours of sleep.
The moment she laid her head on the pillow, there was a rough shaking at her shoulder.
“My Lady,” Ruth’s voice said with urgency.
What was it? Had she been spotted? Did Lord Reginald know she’d left the castle?
“My Lady, wake up,” Ruth prodded, shaking more insistently. “You’ve slept late.”
Angry words of admonishment formed in Jane’s head towards Ruth for having wakened her before dawn. But when she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see that the light outside her window was the mottled grey of a morning well underway. Bleary-eyed, she pushed herself into a sitting position and looked about herself in confusion.
“Come now, my Lady. Out of bed,” Ruth repeated. “The morning meal is about to be served, and I doubt very highly your lord husband will not mind his new bride’s absence.”
“Yes, I agree,” Jane answered, her voice thick and gravelly from her interrupted slumber.
She rose from the bed and staggered to the vanity where she allowed Ruth to bind her hair.
“I do say, I dislike having to wear a kirtle all the time now,” she grumbled, scratching at the delicate cap. “It itches.”
“We could bind it in a net if you’d prefer,” Ruth suggested.
“Nay, the pins pull my hair.”
“Well, you know very well you cannot wear it loose now that you’re wed, so I’m afraid you’ll simply have to suffer through it.”
Once Ruth had finished with her hair and had dressed her, Jane made her way down to the great hall where the servants were already bustling about dishing out the meal. She took her place at Lord Reginald’s side, and when her trencher was filled by an attentive servant, she ate her pottage mechanically. It may have been delicious—from the way the other diners ate, it probably was. But she was too tired to taste anything, and with each lift of her soaked chunk of bread to her mouth, she fought against a series of yawns.
“Look at what you’ve done, Reg. You’ve worn the poor girl out,” quipped one of the castle’s visiting English nobles as he passed the head table.
Jane blushed furiously at the remark; Lord Reginald, on the other hand, chuckled appreciatively.
“I reckon I’ve got another twenty years left in me if I’m lucky,” he jested in return.
The noble barked a laugh at his response; neither man seemed particularly sympathetic to Jane’s obvious discomfort. When the noble had gone, Lord Reginald turned to his bride in concern.
“Truly, my dear, you do look terribly tired,” he noted tenderly. “Are you alright?”
Jane forced an overly bright smile onto her face and nodded energetically. “Oh, yes. I am very well, my Lord, thank you. It’s just that I am unaccustomed to this castle—it is so new to me. I do not sleep very well in unfamiliar places. It is nothing to worry over.”
“Dunloch is your home now,” he responded, patting her knee reassuringly. “You must make yourself comfortable
“I shall return,” she promised, and then stood to exit the hut.
What she did not see as she left was a pair of clear, green eyes flicker open momentarily. Disoriented and groggy, the Scot gazed upon the source of the song heard in disjointed fragments through dying moments. To him, it was the voice of an angel come to take him to heaven, away from the burning pain of his wound. And of his soul.
Chapter 5
Through the pre-dawn darkness, Jane made her way along the banks of the forest brook and hurried across the open lands surrounding the castle. The sky was just beginning to show promise of lightening into day by the time she reached the curtain wall. Undetected, she slipped through the castle to her bedchamber where she hurriedly changed from her dress to her shift. Grateful for the softness of her bed, she slipped under the covers for a few more hours of sleep.
The moment she laid her head on the pillow, there was a rough shaking at her shoulder.
“My Lady,” Ruth’s voice said with urgency.
What was it? Had she been spotted? Did Lord Reginald know she’d left the castle?
“My Lady, wake up,” Ruth prodded, shaking more insistently. “You’ve slept late.”
Angry words of admonishment formed in Jane’s head towards Ruth for having wakened her before dawn. But when she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see that the light outside her window was the mottled grey of a morning well underway. Bleary-eyed, she pushed herself into a sitting position and looked about herself in confusion.
“Come now, my Lady. Out of bed,” Ruth repeated. “The morning meal is about to be served, and I doubt very highly your lord husband will not mind his new bride’s absence.”
“Yes, I agree,” Jane answered, her voice thick and gravelly from her interrupted slumber.
She rose from the bed and staggered to the vanity where she allowed Ruth to bind her hair.
“I do say, I dislike having to wear a kirtle all the time now,” she grumbled, scratching at the delicate cap. “It itches.”
“We could bind it in a net if you’d prefer,” Ruth suggested.
“Nay, the pins pull my hair.”
“Well, you know very well you cannot wear it loose now that you’re wed, so I’m afraid you’ll simply have to suffer through it.”
Once Ruth had finished with her hair and had dressed her, Jane made her way down to the great hall where the servants were already bustling about dishing out the meal. She took her place at Lord Reginald’s side, and when her trencher was filled by an attentive servant, she ate her pottage mechanically. It may have been delicious—from the way the other diners ate, it probably was. But she was too tired to taste anything, and with each lift of her soaked chunk of bread to her mouth, she fought against a series of yawns.
“Look at what you’ve done, Reg. You’ve worn the poor girl out,” quipped one of the castle’s visiting English nobles as he passed the head table.
Jane blushed furiously at the remark; Lord Reginald, on the other hand, chuckled appreciatively.
“I reckon I’ve got another twenty years left in me if I’m lucky,” he jested in return.
The noble barked a laugh at his response; neither man seemed particularly sympathetic to Jane’s obvious discomfort. When the noble had gone, Lord Reginald turned to his bride in concern.
“Truly, my dear, you do look terribly tired,” he noted tenderly. “Are you alright?”
Jane forced an overly bright smile onto her face and nodded energetically. “Oh, yes. I am very well, my Lord, thank you. It’s just that I am unaccustomed to this castle—it is so new to me. I do not sleep very well in unfamiliar places. It is nothing to worry over.”
“Dunloch is your home now,” he responded, patting her knee reassuringly. “You must make yourself comfortable
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