Moon Craving cotm-2, page 2
part #2 of Children Of The Moon Series
Their housekeeper, Anna, was kind, but she was a busy woman, and Abigail did not like to be a bother. She only continued to work on improving her Gaelic with the old woman born in Scotland because she refused to give up hope. Eventually Sybil would allow the daughter she considered useless to join Emily in the Highlands. She had to.
Indeed, Abigail had been sure that time had come when Sybil had taken her aside these seven days past and told her that she would be leaving the keep with Sir Reuben and Sybil on a trip. Abigail believed Sybil had finally acceded to Emily’s entreaties and thrown herself into preparations for the trip with excitement she had not felt since her sister had been taken from her.
Of course, Abigail had experienced some trepidation at the prospect that she was being taken to a nunnery. But surely the abbess would have said something in her last letter if that were to be the case. Abigail had asked her mother if she would be seeing Emily.
Sybil had replied that it was possible. Abigail had thought she was just being coy. Now, she feared the older woman had meant exactly that. It was possible, not probable.
Finally, Abigail found the letter from the king and read it with growing panic.
It could not be possible. Her mother would not be so cruel. But the missive from the king said otherwise. Sybil, damn her avaricious soul, had said nothing of the true reason for the upcoming journey, but the letter laid out her mother’s greed and treachery in ink, sealed by the king himself.
How could a mother plan something so nefarious for her blood offspring? Worse, how could she do so without warning Abigail of what was to come?
A hand grabbed her shoulder, fingers that felt like claws digging into her. Her heart stopped and then began beating faster than a rabbit’s.
She was spun violently around and came face-to-face with her livid mother.
Sybil demanded, “What do you think you are doing?”
She could not hear the words, but Abigail had no trouble reading the anger or the question coming from her mother’s lips.
At first, shock and fear at being discovered paralyzed Abigail’s thoughts. She tried to speak, but could tell no sound had made it past her throat from the disgusted expression twisting her mother’s features.
That disgust sliced through Abigail, leaving a bloody trail of inner pain behind. However, instead of the shame she usually felt at her inabilities, fury at her mother’s betrayal boiled up inside Abigail.
More than two years had passed since the first edict from the king that had torn Abigail’s world apart for the second time. Because of Sir Reuben’s miserly response to the king’s call for soldiers from his landed knights, the king had demanded his vassal provide a marriageable daughter. He and Scotland’s monarch wanted to intermarry English nobility with the hard-to-control Highland nobles.
Emily had been sent to Scotland to marry Talorc, Laird of the Sinclairs. Only she had ended up kidnapped and wed to his rival, the laird of the Balmoral clan.
When Abigail had learned of this situation, she had assumed that would be the end of it. Scotland’s king should be happy one of his Highland lairds had taken an English wife. Naïve as that thought might have been, she was certain she had been right.
According to the king’s letter, Abigail’s planned upcoming marriage to the original Highland laird was the result of Sybil’s petition for redress, not the Scottish king’s. Her mother had petitioned her king, knowing the outcome would be that her deaf daughter would be given in marriage to a stranger in a foreign land.
Abigail put every bit of loathing she felt at her mother’s perfidy in her glare. “I was looking for the truth; something difficult to come by in your company.”
Sybil dismissed the insult with a sneer. “You have no business in here.”
“By your action, you believe I have no place in this keep at all.”
A silent stare answered her accusation, but it spoke more loudly than words could have. Sybil wanted Abigail gone. Pain tore through her, the years of rejection coming together in one moment to pierce her heart with a mortal blow.
“When were you going to tell me?” Abigail asked, making no effort to modulate her voice.
“When I felt it necessary,” Sybil replied with dismissive venom.
“At the altar? When I stood before a priest to say vows?”
Her mother’s expression was all the answer Abigail needed. Sybil had had no intention of preparing Abigail for the wedding that was to take place across the Scottish border. Abigail didn’t think anything could hurt worse than the betrayal she found between the lines of the king’s missive. She had been wrong.
Knowing not only that had Sybil arranged for this marriage, but that she intended Abigail to go into it not only deaf, but blind as well, destroyed the last vestiges of hope of her mother’s love to which she had stubbornly clung all this time.
“How could you be so cruel?” How could any mother set her daughter up so foully?
“It is not cruel to secure your future.”
Abigail didn’t believe the benevolent justification for a second. “There is no security in subterfuge.”
She should know. She lived in daily fear of being revealed as deaf. Many considered such an affliction the result of demon possession. The Church’s answer to such a circumstance was enough to give Abigail nightmares. Many, many nightmares since her sister left at their king’s edict to marry a Highland laird.
“You should be grateful. What chance would you have to marry without my machinations?” Her mother had the gall to look self-righteous, but Abigail knew better.
“Emily wanted me to live with her. I would have been out of your way then.” Abigail forced the words out, knowing her mother had no patience for her affliction.
“Not permanently. Once her husband realized you were cursed, he would send you back to us.” Sybil spoke as if the words were not daggers to the heart of her eldest daughter. “This is a better solution.”
“Emily’s laird knows of my affliction. She told him.”
“Of course she didn’t. If she had, he would never have allowed her to extend the invitation for your visit.”
Abigail felt herself shaking. “Do you hate me so much?”
“I am showing a mother’s concern in securing your future. Jolenta is jealous of the good match you are making,” Sybil had the gall to point out, confirming she had told Abigail’s younger sister of the wedding plans.
The truth that the slight had been on purpose could not have been more obvious.
Abigail had to swallow back bile as she became physically ill at this additional evidence of her mother’s hatred. “The only future you are securing is your own.”
“Think what you like.” Sybil shrugged. “You clearly place no importance on my motherly wisdom. Thankfully, I still have a daughter who listens to my advice.”
The unjustness of the accusations took Abigail’s breath. Sybil had withheld both motherly affection and advice ever since her eldest child had become an abomination to her. Saying as much would carry no weight with her lady mother, though, so Abigail did not try. “I think the Sinclair laird will be furious when he realizes he has been deceived.”
“Then you had better make sure he never finds out.”
“How can I do that? We will be married.” She didn’t have Emily to nudge her when others spoke to her or cover for her when she missed something.
“You need spend little time with him. He is after all, a barbaric Scot.”
According to Emily’s rare letters, Talorc of the Sinclairs was both barbarian and proud. What would such a proud laird do when he learned of the deceit? Would he kill her? Declare war on her father? Sending her to a nunnery or back to her family was the best possible scenario, but not one she could rely on.
And the sad truth was, Abigail’s mother obviously didn’t care what the outcome would be, so long as she was rid of her cursed daughter.
“He will be my husband regardless. What if he seeks out my company?” she asked, with little hope of reasoning with Sybil.
Her mother’s expression revealed what she thought of that possibility. “He hates the English. He is acceding to the marriage because of the dowry his king has offered him.”
The king’s missive had said as much, outlining a very generous dowry that sounded more like a bribe from monarch to laird to ensure the Highlander’s cooperation.
“What of my dowry?”
“You think I would provide such when your sister ended up married to the wrong laird? I insisted that the dowry provided with Emily be returned to the Sinclair laird or for him to do without.”
Cold certainty settled in Abigail’s heart. “You want to rid yourself of me and had no intention of paying a nunnery a proper dowry to do so.” That was supposing a nunnery would take her, even with the right monetary incentive. “So, you have orchestrated this bargain made in hell.”
Sybil slapped Abigail, knocking her backward. “Do not dare speak to me thus.”
“Why not? It is the truth.” Abigail put her hand over her throbbing cheek, screaming in her head, but unable to express the pain through her voice.
“The truth is, you will no longer be my problem.”
Abigail staggered under the verbal blow so much more painful than the slap. “What if I tell him before he is bound to me? What will you do then?”
She could stop the madness before it began.
Those words were the last Abigail was able to utter as Sybil lifted the stick that hung by a thong from her girdle—the one she used to pound on the table for attention or as a weapon to punish servants. Realizing what her mother intended to do, Abigail turned to run, but tripped on her gown.
The first blow fell across her shoulders as she tried to regain her footing. The second came swiftly after, and soon Abigail gave up on trying to get away, but merely curled into a ball, her only protection in making a smaller target for the enraged woman to hit.
The blows stopped abruptly and Abigail sensed a scuffle above her, but she refused to uncover her head to see what was happening. Gentle hands lifted her as a familiar scent told her who held her. It was her stepfather. She raised her head to discover Sir Reuben looked furious. He yelled something at her mother, but Abigail could not read his lips from her position. She could tell the words were strained and angry from the taught muscles in Sir Reuben’s neck though.
Her mother opened her mouth, but he spoke again, shaking his head. Abigail could feel the vibrations in his chest.
Sybil’s eyes widened in shock and then narrowed in anger, but she left. And at that moment, Abigail craved nothing more.
Sir Reuben said something but clearly was not attempting to communicate with Abigail as he tucked her more firmly against his broad chest. He carried her through the keep to her small bedroom and laid her on the bed.
“I have called for Anna to come tend you.” He spoke carefully so Abigail could read his lips without effort.
“Thank you.” She was too distraught to be sure her words had voice, but she hoped he understood.
He sighed, looking guilty—which surprised her. “I should have realized she would not tell you of the wedding.”
Not knowing what to say, unsure if she was capable of speech at all, Abigail looked away.
Sir Reuben turned her head back. “Listen to me, child.”
She gave him a look.
He smiled. He actually smiled. “Then read my lips.”
She nodded grudgingly, barely moving her head up and down once.
“At first, I thought your mother’s idea mad, but then we got the first letter from Emily.”
Abigail sucked in a betrayed breath. So, her mother had planned this as soon as the rumors had reached them that Emily had wed not the Sinclair, but the Balmoral laird? She had long suspected Sybil wanted to send Abigail, rather than Emily—the stepdaughter she relied on to help her run the keep—in response to the king’s initial marriage edict.
Only Emily had refused to confirm Abigail’s fears. She had even acted excited about the prospect of going north. She had promised to send for Abigail as soon as she could.
Now Abigail knew for certain that it had not been Sybil’s choice to send Emily. She did not know how her stepsister had managed, but Abigail was certain Emily had arranged to be sent in order to protect her from the very outcome she now faced.
“Emily . . .” It was the only word she could get out.
Chapter 2
Sir Reuben sighed. “Your mother never intended to allow you to go to Emily. She saw that solution as too tenuous.”
“She hates me,” Abigail whispered, the words burning like acid in her throat and heart.
“Sybil is a perfectionist. She put great store in your looks and the probability you would make a good match and advance her aspirations. The fever that took your hearing stole her dreams as well.”
Abigail glared, trying to move back from her stepfather, causing pain enough to make her wish she had stayed still.
His shoulders sagged and an expression of deep sadness lurked in his usually commanding eyes. “Her behavior was not justified, but none of us are perfect. We often hurt those we love the most when our disappointment is too great to overcome.”
Emily had told Abigail a story of when she was little, before her father and Sybil had married. Abigail wondered if he spoke of that time now. It did not matter though. No matter what her mother’s reasoning behind her cruelty, it left Abigail in a horrible circumstance.
“He will kill me,” she said, giving voice to her worst fear.
Sir Reuben’s shoulders drew back and his pride settled on him like a mantle. “I would not allow it if I thought there was even a remote chance of such a thing.”
“You cannot know.”
“I can. There is a far more likely outcome.”
She doubted him but felt far too disheartened to argue the point. “Why?”
“Why did I allow it?”
She nodded the tiniest bit.
“Your sister found happiness with her highland laird; perhaps you will, too.”
Abigail could not make all the words come. She finally managed to say, “Hates.”
“Your mother has heard he hates the English, but Emily said in her letters that he was now allied with her husband. He cannot be that filled with hatred, or he would not have allied himself with a man married to an Englishwoman.”
Abigail just stared at Sir Reuben, tears burning tracks down her temples.
“You have hidden your affliction from the keep, surely you will be able to do so in his castle.”
She shook her head vehemently, pain rolling through her at the movement. But it was impossible. She knew the keep and its people. It would be different somewhere else. Much, much too hard.
Sir Reuben caressed her cheek and smiled sadly. “Perhaps he will find out, but if he does, do you not think he will find it more convenient to return you to your closest family, rather than send you all the way back to England?”
For the first time since reading the king’s missive, a tiny glimmer of hope came to light in Abigail’s heart. Was it possible this situation would reunite her with Emily after all?
Sir Reuben must have read the hope in her eyes because he nodded. “I considered all the possibilities before I allowed your mother to petition the king for redress on what she saw as a grievous offense, that of her stepdaughter being married to the wrong laird.”
Abigail shook her head again, bringing on another wave of pain in her shoulders. But it was a lie. Her mother was full of them.
“Whatever her true reasons, this was the only way you could leave her influence forever. Had you gone as a guest to the Highlands, she could have called you home at any time. I love your mother, but I know she has a vindictive streak.”
Abigail’s tears had been drying, but at the reminder of the hatred her mother had for her, they spilled over her eyelids once again.
Sir Reuben brushed them away with his thumbs. “Here now. It will be all right. If you wish me to tell the laird the truth of your affliction, I will.”
She stared at him, her tears drying in her absolute shock.
“I give you my word.”
Her stepfather was a hard man, a man she had never gone to for comfort or solace, but one thing she knew: he kept his word.
Anna arrived at the door then, clucking and looking as upset as she had the time her own little granddaughter had fallen too close to the cooking fire and burned herself.
“Think about what I have said. We are to leave for the border tomorrow. You can give me your answer once you have looked in the eyes of the man you are intended to marry.”
The words stunned Abigail all over again. Only the most besotted parent took their child’s opinion into account when arranging marriage. It was a boon she could not have expected, for she was not cherished at all.
Sir Reuben’s offer was beyond a boon even; it might be enough to give her the courage to face what the journey tomorrow would bring.
“Thank you,” she whispered, forcing sound she could not hear, only feel in her throat.
His face twisted in a grimace. “I owe you far more, child.”
Then he left Abigail to Anna’s ministrations.
The trip to the MacDonald holding took two days.
Abigail had spent both days in pain and avoiding looking at or responding to her mother in any way.
Ever since her fall from grace, she had hoped to again earn her mother’s approval and love. She now knew that to be more a fairy tale than any of those Anna had told her and Emily about werewolves in the Scottish Highlands. It would never happen.
And she would not care.
Her mother did not love her, but Emily still did. Her stepsister had never stopped caring for her. Abigail intended to be reunited with the only family that mattered to her. Somehow. Some way. She would see Emily again, and Abigail would tell the other woman how important her devotion had been.
She now knew Emily had truly saved her life, in more ways than one.
It was easy to ignore her mother in the journey as fear and pain vied for Abigail’s attention. She could not think about her future without great trepidation mitigated only somewhat by her hope.
