2

The Only Option

"What d'ye mean ye gotta marry her?" Neal asked Rab over supper in Rab's workroom.

Normally they would have eaten in the hall with the rest of the castle inhabitants, but Rab was so distressed over the queen's command that he opted instead to have food brought to him in his workroom, which was where he mixed and measured and brewed all his tonics, tinctures and potions for wellness. He also had several partial skeletons of animals on the walls to study, since the only way he knew to study anatomy was to use animals, and some animals had very similar structures to humans—such as pigs and dogs and so forth. But the study of the human body was forbidden by the church and Rab knew that to get caught doing so was to risk excommunication and being stripped of his title and lands. There were however, secret texts by the revolutionary doctors in the field that Rab had read while at Edinburgh, his mentor had possessed three and it was a closely guarded secret that Rab would take to his grave.

"What I said, little brother," he repeated with a sigh of exasperation, eating a bowl of beef barley stew with a hunk of bread and some cider to drink. "The queen has commanded me to marry Mirabelle Fraser and so I am going to be married, whether I want to or no."

"Did ye want to marry someone else? Mayhap that girl ye say ye met in Edinburgh?" Neal suggested slyly.

"Zelena? Hell no! She was not my kind of lass, ye ken, and she wanted from me what I did not feel for her—my heart. What there was between us—'twas all on her side, Neal, an' not me after the first kiss or two."

He was speaking of a buxom redheaded girl he had met while at school, the daughter of a local herb woman he had been buying herbs from. The girl wa pretty enough, but she possessed the temper of a shrew and had the voice of termagant, and after going out on one brief night to a dance, Rab had soon seen that she was not for him. She was vain, grasping, and seemed to think of him only in terms of a sex object. He had been unsure if she were a virgin, despite her claims, she seemed to know far too much about the act for an innocent, though Rab didn't like to accuse where there was no foundation. He himself knew the bare minimum, because despite being sent to school when he was just at the age to develop an interest in the opposite sex, he had not been interested in any of the bordellos and tavern tarts his fellow students frequented.

Concerned with contracting some disease that would ruin his chances of ever begetting an heir on the woman he eventually married, he immersed himself in his studies, and since he studied law and medicine had precious time for gaming, drinking, and whoring. And less coin too. He had gone once to some bawdy house, dragged there by his fellow law students, Nick, Albert, and Murray, but while the others happily took their turn with one of the ladies, Rab could not manage any kind of feeling for them except regret that they were doing this for a living, and ended up taking the woman he was supposed to tup into a room, and paying her a silver to act like they had done it, when all he did was talk to her about ways to prevent communicable diseases and pregnancy and tell her stories of his home in the Highlands.

As for Zelena . . .after her first few attempts were rebuffed, he hoped she had gotten the message and took pains to avoid her the next time he sought out herbs from her mother, Cora Miller. But he didn't want to discuss any of that with his impressionable brother.

"Then ye did no' want her for a wife?"

"No . . .even if I were free to pick my own, she'd not be one I chose. She hae not the temperament of a lady." Rab shook his head.

"What about this one? The Fraser lass? What kind o' temperament does she have?"

"I dinna ken, lad. All I know about the Frasers is the stories all the Carlyles do . . .and how some o' the lasses o' that house are odd. 'Tis said she talks to the beasties an' they listen. An' she reads also, an uncommon thing for a lass."

"I read," Neal pointed out. "I've heard she's a witch."

Rab sighed. "Now dinna ye go repeating rumors, Neal. There's no evidence she dabbles in the dark arts an' even tho' she be a Fraser, I willna have her name slandered. Clear?"

"Aye, milord," Neal said gustily. His brother was not like the other men or his father when it came to women. He had an odd code of respect with them, and Neal had never seen Rab get drunk and pursue one of the maids in the hall or the village lasses, the way many of his father's guards and his father himself did. Neal had lost count how many mistresses Malcolm had taken since his own mama had died.

He finished his own bowl of stew, practically licking his fingers afterwards.

Rab saw and said, "Send for Moira and tell her ye need another plate. A boy like ye needs more n'one."

Neal happily rang for Moira, one of the upstairs servants, and she brought him more stew and bread, and some tea for Rab. "So . . .what d'ye think she's like—the Fraser lass?"

"Hopefully like our mother," Rab replied, that being the only woman he had ever truly admired. Ceri had been smart as a whip, able to argue circles around Malcolm, and had run the keep and her household with a velvet glove. In fact, most of the reason it still ran well was due to her instruction and the staff she had put in place, all of whom made sure that even though she was in heaven, the keep still ran as she had intended. She had been compassionate and gentle, but stubborn as a stone when needed, and her loyalty to her family and love for her children absolute.

It was not that she had no faults, often she had lamented about her sharp tongue when it came to dealing with fools and liars—and this included her husband—and her tendency to give more of her attention to her middle and younger son, and not as much to her elder, who had his father's approval, and her rather stern attitude when it came to the cleanliness of her home, her servants, and herself.

But he could still recall her telling him, "Ye must no look at yer flaws only, Rabbie, but also the good things ye do. Ye may no' be the warrior yer brother is, but ye have other skills just as necessary. And God loves all his children the same, be they warriors an' knights or simple spinners and fishermen. Ye remember Jesus disciples were ordinary men, no' kings and nobles, fer a reason. T' show that all men are equal in His eyes, and not a sparrow falls that he doesna weep."

She was the reason, he knew, that his father had allowed him to study medicine, for she had believed in doing what you felt called for, and not just doing something because ten of your ancestors before you had done so. She had given him the courage to keep his convictions and to follow his heart.

"I dinna remember her all that well," Neal admitted, he had been young when she died, barely five. "Just her voice sometimes an' the way she always smelled like heather and vanilla."

"Ye have her eyes, an' her smile, dearie," Rab said fondly.

"Her hair too, aye?" he touched his mop of curly dark hair ruefully.

"Yes. Ye need a trim b'fore ye look like Angus' collie."

Neal rolled his eyes. "I like it this way!"

"Ye like when bugs an' nits get in it?" Rab countered. He pulled a curl. "At least wash it, otherwise I'll have ta shave ye bald."

"No!" the boy yelped, horrified.

"An' when's the last time ye had a bath?"

"Umm . . err . . . when I went fishing. I swam a little in the burn."

"That's no' a real bath. Ye're gonna take one tonight, an' wash yer hair."

"But . . .I dinna . . ."

Rab frowned. "Must I make it a command, lad?"

The boy pouted. "Oh . . .aye! Ye're like a fussy hen, Rab Carlyle!"

The elder Carlyle raised his eyebrow. "Ye compare me to a chicken? Ye insolent imp!" Then he grabbed his brother and began to tickle him unmercifully.

Neal yelped, trying desperately to get away, squirming like a hooked fish, while laughing uncontrollably. " . . .s-stop . . .Rab please . . . I . . .take . . . it back . . ."

"Take what back?" he queried mischievously.

" . . .everything . . .Raab . . ."

Rab's slender strong fingers quit tickling. "Now . . .will ye obey me? Or do we have ta go t' stage two?"

"No! I'll be good!" Neal begged. Stage two was when he used a feather, and it was twice as much "torment".

"Smart lad," Rab grinned, then he released his smaller brother.

Neal composed himself, then said, "When will yer new bride arrive?"

"In a fortnight, I think. So I'll have time t'get things ready, an' Annie, Moira, and Laurel will help me arrange the feast an' the bedroom for her."

"Are ye gonna have yer hair trimmed?" asked the boy, his eyes dancing. "An' make a new yellow shirt n' plaid?"

"Yes, scamp. I want t' make a good impression on my bride."

"Rab? What if she doesna like ye?"

Rab coughed. He had his doubts that the girl would like him at first given that their two families were enemies. "Well . . .there is much between us we must overcome, but . . .I intend to begin as I mean t' go on. An' I hope eventually she'll come t' see the keep an' our family as her home."

"And ye too?"

"And me," he agreed. "Now why don't ye send down for some peach cobbler? I hear Ailsa made it special."

The boy was out the door like an arrow shot from a longbow. Rab watched him go, then he prayed that God would send him a wife he could learn to like and eventually to love, and who would love him in return. Because he would rather not be miserable in his marriage. He also hoped she were not too odd because his people at Carlyle were not always kind to those who were different. They had learned to tolerate him and his idiosyncracies, but a stranger, and a daughter of their hated enemies was quite another story.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Belle sewed flowers onto her bridal chemise with mindless abandon, not really paying much attention to what she was doing. She couldn't bring herself to care too much about her bridal trousseau, not now, when the choice of the groom was no longer up to her. She had been told all of her life that she would someday marry a proper lord, like her father, and he would be selected with care by her parents and bring honor to her house.

But now . . .now she felt like so much royal chattel, commanded to marry a man she had never met, and worse, a man who was an enemy of her family. A man who, if the rumors were true, dabbled in medicine because he was afraid to fight, and only inherited his title because his elder brother had been killed in that border skirmish that had also claimed her elder brother Gavin. The shared loss should have drawn them closer, she supposed, but the common ground was eclipsed by the gulf between them of a blood feud and the fact that Belle was terrified she would be treated as nothing more than a tournament prize.

As a wife, she knew she would be subject to the rule of her husband, and while she would not have minded had the husband been one of her choosing, this stranger could do whatever he wished to her, and it would be sanctioned by the church and secular law.

She had spoken to her mother, trying to allay her fears, but her mother hadn't been able to do so. Margaret's only advice to her daughter had been to try and be kind to her new husband, in hope that kindness might soften up the man, and she had told her a bit of what to expect on the wedding night, though Belle thought she knew some of what went on from seeing horses, dogs, and cows breeding.

"Come now, Belle, 'tis not the end of the world. Many women do not know their husbands ere the wedding night, but they manage. The bedding is not so bad an' it can be over quickly."

Belle frowned. "How quickly?"

"Um . . .well, it depends on the man. If he's drunk or sober, if he's . . . excited to be with his bride or tired . . ."

"Do most men like it?"

Her mother laughed softly. "Most can't get enough of it. Oh, once or twice there are some that . . . are not interested in women but they are rare and . . . .well . . .I doubt ye'll have to worry about that. I've never heard anything to indicate the Carlyle heir is adverse to women. He went off to Edinburgh, after all, to school, and once you're in the city, they say ye learn more than ye bargain for."

Belle bit her lip wondering if Raibeart had learned more than he had bargained for. And just what had he learned?

"And what else, Mama?"

"Well, when 'tis time for the bedding, the women will bring ye up to yer room, strip, ye, bathe ye, and prepare ye for bed. Ye'll wait for him to come t'ye and then his men will do the same and put him in bed wi' ye, then leave. Then ye may talk or drink some mead and then he'll . . .decide when it's time."

"What . . .will he do?" she queried, her mouth bone dry.

"He'll kiss ye and squeeze ye here and there and then he'll . . ." she licked her lips, clearly as uncomfortable as her daughter about this conversation.

"He'll what?"

"He'll—ride his horse into yer stable!" her mother blurted. "And, God willing, sire a fine son wi' ye!"

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes, the first time usually does. But the pain goes away. And there is ointment you can use to help," Margaret answered. "I can gi' ye some. Although . . .there are three kinds of men in this world, Belle. The first kind is the one that's considerate and gentle in the bedroom, who takes his time an' makes sure his bride is pleasured as well as himself. That kind is easy for ye to grow to love. The other may take his pleasure and not always care t'gi' ye yours, and be gruff and cold, but he can be taught to love. But the last—the last is cold and doesna like it anyway but with pain and fear, and that kind—ye cannot teach anything to, because he's made for pain will never love ye."

"And what—what kind of man do ye think this Carlyle is?"

"We shall pray he is one o' the first two, dearie," Margaret said, and stroked her daughter's hair. "At least ye have inherited my looks an' not yer papa's. Sometimes that can help."

Belle nodded dully thinking that it didn't matter what she looked like if the man she was bound to was a cruel man, as she feared. I don't want this, Mama! I don't want to marry some stranger who will use me and hurt me and then cast me aside if he sees fit!

But she said nothing of this to her mother. Best they all thought her resigned to this marriage. All the better when it came time for her to flee.

She had secreted a small bag underneath the straw in one of the unused stalls in the back of the stable, putting it there one morning as she went out to check on Silk and the new foal. There it would remain until she was ready to run.

She had clothing, some toiletries, an extra pair of shoes, a cloak and a small bag of dried foodstuffs. Journey bread, dried beef and fruit, some nuts. She also had a destination in mind. Further down the Fraser land, there was the pastureland for the sheep and cows. There was a small remote crofter's hut and she could stay there for the meantime. It was deserted this time of year and anyone thinking to look for her would assume she had gone off Fraser land, not remained on it.

She would have ample wood for a fire and be able to see anyone coming up to the mountainside croft long before they saw her. It was the perfect plan.

No one decides my fate but me!

Then she felt guilty for betraying everyone like this, but she had no wish to be chained to a beast for the rest of her life, her enemy who see her as a way to punish her for all the sins of her family.

The queen was a woman, and must know what it was like to be given to a man not of her choosing. After all, Mary had been married briefly to the King of France, and that had been arranged. Yet she had married her cousin, Lord Darnley, for love. Belle was sure if asked which she preferred, the queen would have said the second marriage.

But I prefer no marriage, or if I must marry, I shall choose my own husband, not be sold to one like a prize broodmare.

Bending her head, her chestnut hair concealing her face, she kept sewing flowers serenely. But in her head she counted hours.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Thirteen days later:

Belle woke in the early pre-dawn hours and groped about for the clothes she had stashed beneath the mattress. She had a blue work dress borrowed from her maid, Bridie, and sensible stockings and shoes plus a green plaid cape to wrap herself in. It should be enough to get her where she needed to go. After bundling up her hair beneath a cap, such as some servants wore, she slipped out the door in her stocking feet, not wanting to risk waking her maid who slept in the alcove beside the door. She carried her shoes in her hand. In a small pouch at her waist was a Book of Hours, a devotional book given her by her mother on her birthday, and also the current book on animal husbandry she was reading.

Everyone was asleep, except for those on night watch, but the guards were used to her slipping in and out at odd hours due to her animal duties. She passed them calmly, acting as if she had to go and check on an animal in labor. As soon as she was outside she put her shoes on and hurried to the stables.

The warm smell of straw, oats, and horses engulfed her and for a moment she stood still, drinking in the familiar scents and the sounds of the horses sleeping and occasionally snorting or swishing a tail against the side of a stall. She crept over to where she had hidden her bag, and found it easily, even with only the moon though the window above to guide her. She paused again after she had retrieved it, gathering her courage.

Are ye sure ye wish to do this, Belle? She asked herself.

Aye, I'm sure.

She peered into the broodmare stall, where Silk and Bonfire were, and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She would miss tending to the animals, stroking them, feeding them, and watching them grow. She loved many of them like they were kin, but she knew she couldn't linger here. Every moment was a moment more she could use to flee.

Hiking up her bag on her shoulder, she bid a silent farewell to the horses and slipped away into the night.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Belle had intended to be well up into the foothills by morning light, however she hadn't counted on finding a cow in labor away from the herd and upon discovering it, realized she couldn't leave it alone to deliver, as it was lowing in pain and she feared something was the matter.

Of all the times to come across a cow in labor! She groaned, but her innate sense of responsibility forbade her to leave the poor animal. It might be found later by the herders, but she was here now . . .and even with the urgency of her mission, she halted and knelt beside the cow.

"Hey there, lass. What seems to be the trouble?"

The cow was down on her side, and Belle recalled to watch for her hooves as she felt her over. The calf seemed to be in the right position. Frowning, she palpitated further. Ah! There were twins! And the first calf was not quite right.

"Shhh! Let me see," she crooned. She wished she had hot water, her salve, but she had nothing.

Until she recalled her mother's ointment. She dug through her bag and found it, thinking wryly that surely her lady mother had not intended it for this use. She rubbed it all over her hand then reached into the birth canal.

Her hand encountered the calf's foot, and she straightened it, it had gotten tangled with the back hoof.

This took awhile, since the cow's contractions squeezed her hand unmercifully. Belle found herself panting along with the cow. "Oh Mother Mary have mercy!" she prayed, then she began to help the calf into the right position.

Slowly, the calf emerged, first the head in its birthing sack, and then the feet.

Soon a small heifer lay on the grass.

"Good girl!" Belle praised the mother. "Now once more!" She tore the sack off the heifer and rubbed it with her plaid, tying and cutting the cord.

The little animal opened its eyes and bleated, it was a brown and white shorthorn.

The mother turned and began to lick the baby with her tongue, urging it to get to its feet.

As the heifer tried to find its legs, the cow again labored to give birth to the second calf.

Finally that one was also out and it was a little bull.

"Ah what a fine son and daughter ye have!" Belle said, and she moved to cut the umbilical cord with her sharp knife.

But she was so busy tying the cord and cutting it that she failed to notice the cow's hind hoof jerk as it delivered the afterbirth.

The hoof struck Belle's ankle, hard enough to break it.

A jolt of intense pain shot up her right leg and she fell forward with a cry, the knife tumbling from her hand.

The cow lurched to her feet and began licking the newborn bull, and the little calf stepped on Belle's wrist as it got to its feet.

Belle screamed, for though the calf's hoof wasn't heavy enough to break her wrist, it did leave a spectacular bruise.

The startled cow mooed and nudged her offspring to their feet.

Belle tried to sit up, but the pain in her leg was so great she nearly passed out.

Gritting her teeth, she began to crawl through the grass, trying to get far enough away from the cow to see to her leg.

As she dragged herself through the grass, she cursed her own inattention. Finally, after she was several feet from the new mother and calves, she tried to turn about and see what had happened to her ankle.

But the sudden movement caused red hot agony to shoot up her leg and she cried out before her eyes rolled up in her head and she fainted.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Rab, Malcolm, Neal, and ten of their household guard rode out from Carlyle keep to the wedding at Fraser castle. They traveled at a steady pace, content to reach their neighbor's home in about forty minutes.

Neal's collie, a white dog called Winter, ran ahead of the horses, his white plumed tail waving.

Neal rode beside Rab, on his black gelding, Dancer, and asked his brother, who was dressed in his wedding finery, a deep blue frock coat over his yellow shirt and Carlyle plaid cloak, and deep black leather boots, "So, do you think your new bride will be pretty?"

"Uh . . .I believe she's known as quite a beauty," he answered, urging his mare, Auriel onward with slight pressure from his knees.

"What does she look like?" asked his brother curiously.

"I believe she has chestnut hair and blue eyes," he answered, trying to recall the description sent to him by Mirabelle's mother.

Suddenly Winter perked up his ears, whined, and began barking.

"What's up with that mangy cur?" demanded Malcolm irritably, he had a sore head from too much ale.

"Winter! Here, laddie!" Neal whistled for his dog.

But the collie took off running through the grass, they were halfway to their destination, on the border between the two estates.

"Winter!" Neal cried in dismay, then heeled his gelding after the dog.

Dog, horse, and boy disappeared over the crest of a hill.

Malcolm scowled. "Fool mongrel! Somebody should put an arrow in its head by now!" He drew rein, signaling the rest of the escort should halt. "If he's not back in five minutes, we go on wi' out him an' he can catch up."

"Papa, I'm sure Neal won't—" Rab began.

"Rab! Come quick!" Neal cried, his voice cracking. "'Tis a girl!"

"A girl?" Rab frowned.

"Hurry! 'Tis a lass lying here an' she's hurt!"

"Oh, God's bones! Cannae ye just tell someone?" groaned Malcolm. "Ye're gonna be late fer yer own wedding!"

"Better late than someone dies because I didna take the time to see to her," Rab argued, his mouth set in a stubborn line. He urged Auriel into a trot and followed where his brother had gone.

He found the boy, the dog, and the strange woman in the middle of a field of Fraser cattle. He drew rein and hopped off of Auriel and knelt beside the injured girl, who lay still as death. His hands felt her neck for a pulse. Finding one, he breathed a sigh of relief. He carefully examined her head for bumps, feeling along her skull. His hands encountered masses of chestnut hair with auburn highlights but no swelling that he could detect. Perhaps she had passed out from pain?

It was then that he saw the way she was lying, and how bent her right leg was. Above her shoe, the leg was starting to swell and he moved to it and felt along the bone.

"Rab? Is she dead?"

"No, lad. She's got a broken ankle though." He quickly examined the rest of her, and saw the bruised swollen wrist as well. "And mayhap a sprained wrist too."

"But what's a woman doing out here?" Neal frowned. He grabbed Winter to stop the dog from washing the comatose woman's face.

"Mayhap she's a pilgrim?" Rab asked, trying to figure that out himself. He noted the girl was quite attractive, with a heart-shaped face and pert lips, her dark lashes swept her face in a black velvet fringe to her pale face.

He put his hands on her heart, feeling the heartbeat for a moment.

"What are ye doin' feelin' her bosom like that?" Neal coughed, his eyes wide.

Rab went red at the implication. "I'm not feeling her . . .well, I am, but . . .'tis not like ye think. I'm checking her heartbeat."

"An' how is it?"

"Good considering she's passed out. The ankle needs to be set. Go find me some splints, Neal. I'll need two straight sticks." Rab ordered.

His brother cantered off on Dancer, Winter following.

A rather flustered Rab reminded himself that this was a patient, nothing more, and he had treated some women in Edinburgh.

Though none as bonny as this one.

He huffed at himself and then went to set the ankle, carefully aligning the break as he pulled it straight again. Luckily she remained unconscious throughout the quick yet painful procedure. He removed her shoe and stocking, then walked over to Auriel to get down his medical satchel, which he brought with him everywhere out of habit.

As he was reaching within it for the bandages he always had on hand, Neal returned with the sticks.

Rab took them and splinted the ankle, then wrapped it efficiently in the bandages. He used water from his canteen and a small cloth to bathe the injured wrist, put some marigold ointment on it, and then wrapped it as well.

"Now what do we do with her?" Neal queried.

"We canna leave her here. We need to take her with us. Mayhap the Frasers know who she is." He knelt to search the pouch at her waist, finding two books there. Books? Then obviously this was no peasant girl. He flipped open the cover of the devotional, and saw something written in a graceful hand on the flyleaf.

"My dearest Belle, may you always find comfort and strength in the Lord. Your loving mother, Margaret Fraser," Rab read aloud. The book tumbled from his hand. "God in heaven! 'Tis no shepherd lass! 'Tis my new bride here."

Neal's mouth dropped open.

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Note, the name Raibeart is Robert in Gaelic. I have Belle work with animals because Emilie deRavin is very active with rescue work with animals in real life and I felt it was an appropriate occupation and hobby for her besides being a scholar.