Page 21 of A Plaid Case of Loving Ye
Together.
Why did his chest hurt? Was this fear?
“Good.”
This wasn’t more than a whisper, but Ramsay heard it clearly.
He turned his attention back to Lady Helen and squeezed her hand. “My own, milady,” he repeated.
Her lips parted, her breath escaped…and she didn’t inhale again.
Ramsay didn’t move for a while. Just knelt there, holding her hand, staring unseeing at the face of the woman who’d born wee Relic. He somehow knew it wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone die, but this time… Now he had a son.
Relic washis.
Theirs.
And he hadnoidea what that meant.
Finally, Nicola stirred, placing Lady Helen’s already-stiffening hand upon the blankets and wiping her own cheeks. Ramsay mirrored her move then pushed himself to his feet. He stood awkwardly, shifting his weight, as Nicola began to tidy the bedside table.
The body would have to be readied for burial. Since poor Lady Helen had been rejected by her kin, he supposed she’d be laid to rest here. She hadn’t wanted her son to go to her clan, nor his sire’s clan.
Henry MacDonald. That was the name of the bastard who’d hurt her so badly.
He didn’t know why his stomach clenched at the name. Was it just because now he was responsible for Relic and couldn’t allow Henry MacDonald the chance to harm the lad?
Ramsay sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. “I’ll…I’ll fetch one of the nuns to help ye.”
Nicola sent him a grateful look. “Thank ye.” Her eyes were sad, tears still drying on her cheeks. “I kenned ‘twas inevitable, but…”
When she glanced down at the body with a helpless shrug, his stomach clenched again, for a different reason. He wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her. “It still hurts,” he finished roughly.
“Aye,” she murmured, then sighed and returned to her work.
And Ramsay could do naught but slip from the chamber, hoping to find one of the nuns already awake for Matins.
The convent was bustling within a few hours, with nuns hurrying to prayer and others preparing for the day. He’d seen poor Lady Helen’s wrapped body removed from the infirmary and carried to the small chapel to await Father Blabloblal.
Ramsay felt—not for the first time—completely useless. Well, mayhap notuseless, but superfluous. He wasn’t needed here. He didn’t belong here.
But Relic was here.
Blowing out a breath, he rubbed his temples in frustration, hating the ache that always came upon him when he tried to remember aught from his past. Kissing Nicola had been a balm, but now he was responsible for a bairn and that ache was back.
Heneededto know who he was, for Relic’s sake.
With a sigh, he tipped his head back, staring at the tapestry illuminated by the dawn light. ‘Twas a strange scene; the martyrdom of the saint depicted in horrible detail, but… Ramsay cocked his head. He didn’t remember St. Stephen beingquiteso well-endowed.
“My great-great-aunt did that.”
He started, having not realized Nicola had slipped up beside him. When he glanced at her, she was staring up at the tapestry.
“Did what?” he asked.
She nodded to the religious piece. “My great-grandfather’s sister Nessa was brilliant when it came to designing and executing embroidered art. But her topics were considered unladylike.”
With a hum, he turned his attention back to the work. “’Tis a rathergraphicdepiction of the saint’s death.”
