Page 36 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tucked in her warm bed under the quilts, with Feather curled on the pillow beside her, Davina allowed herself a moment to experience something that might just be happiness. A warm feeling of safety, without fear or cold or pain, but with comfort and a strange sense that she was someone who mattered in the world.
But would the world allow her happiness? She’d heard often enough from Dame Maria that she was undeserving, that she should never have been born and it was only through God’s grace that she was still living and breathing under the protection of the convent.
Never had she imagined she could ever experience a day such as she’d had today. Her world had taken such a turn that it was difficult to believe. Even so, a deep trickling of pain ran through her heart, telling her it couldn’t last, that the men would find her and take her… to somewhere the Lord alone knew. That good things could never come to one as wicked as she surely was for escaping.
She brushed a hand across the soft fur on Feather’s back and was rewarded with a tiny purr.
Yet, for all she deserved nothing but misery, today it was as if her whole life had been bathed in sunshine. All that had gone before, all the terror, the sadness, the loneliness, and the anger, had vanished. It was like a magical wand had been waved over her.
That such a man as Laird Everard could exist on this earth and show her such kindness was something she could never have contemplated in those dark convent-days.
She almost felt she was living in a glorious dream and would wake up soon enough and be back in her cold cell at the convent.
Yet, the gentle purring beside her ear told her the dream was real enough.
She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
Disappointingly, there had been such heavy rain in the night that her herb garden, where she’d turned the soil in readiness for planting, had turned into a pond of mud.
Clad in her old, drab kirtle, she took her parcels into the infirmary, where Broderick examined them approvingly. He turned the large jar of salve in his hand. “This is a special salve,”he said gleefully. “Made with herbs I dinnae grow here, like helenium, cropleek and hollowleek.”
“Well, I shall seek those out when next I attend the market. That is, if the tinker is there with his potions.”
He looked over the remaining herbs and salves with delight. “Ye’ve done well, lass. These will add tae the remedies we have fer folk with aches and pains.”
She stacked her little hoard of jars and bottles on the shelf and peered out the door. There were no patients waiting. The rain had cleared, and although there was still a suspicious bank of dark clouds hovering, it was fine enough to lend Davina hope she could plant at least some of the herbs she’d brought from the village.
Leaving Feather sitting in the doorway staring with disgust at the wet pavement and the muddy garden, Davina tied the old kirtle above her knees in an effort to keep it clean and dry. She discarded her boots and sallied forth to try to plant a row of herbs.
Ugh! She dug her hands into the mud, wincing as the drops of mud spattered her apron. Flicking a glance at the small furry figure perched in the door of the infirmary she chuckled. “Very wise, Feather.”
Wiping a splash from her cheek, she recalled Everard’s amusement at the splodge of mud he’d noticed on her nose. At the thought of his eyes on her, a singular thread of heat woundits way through her, swirled in her belly for a moment and then continued down, resulting in a slight shakiness in her knees.
Best not to waste her thoughts on the laird.
She had almost finished planting the seedlings along the row and was feeling quite pleased with her efforts when she heard a sharp yell from Broderick.
“Get out of here, ye pest.”
Startled, she looked up, her eyes falling on a small black and white goat that was busy eating the first of the herbs that had shot up in the spring sunshine.
Leaping to her feet, she waved her hands and flapped her apron. “Shoo. Those arenae fer ye tae eat!”
The goat looked at her sideways out of one yellow eye and continued its chomping without taking a moment’s pause.
Still flapping her hands, she stepped along the row, splashing her feet in the mud. “Begone ye foul beast,” she yelled. The goat took no notice as she drew near.
Now she was alongside the animal, which had dug its hooves into the mud and was refusing to budge. She pushed at its bony hindquarters. “Shoo. Move along. Go find something else tae eat.”
She pushed harder and at last the goat made a sudden leap forward, leaving her flailing in its wake. She tottered, striving to stay upright but the momentum was too great. She dropped like a boulder, falling face forward into the mud, letting fly an almighty wail as she descended.
She pulled herself up to a sitting position, her hands and arms coated with dark brown ooze. The same dark brown ooze was dripping from her hair and running down her face.
The goat looked heartily pleased with itself and at once sniffed at her muddy kirtle, as if deciding whether or not this was something else it could devour. Wrenching her skirt out of harm’s way, she went to stand up, but only succeeded in slipping further in. There was nothing for it but to turn onto her hands and knees and crawl out of the mud.
She was just managing to get to her feet when Broderick came racing over with a large piece of rough-woven cloth which he flung around her shoulders. At the same moment a lad dashed over, seized the miscreant goat’s tether and tugged it away from the garden.
