Page 17 of Tender is the Heart (The MacCallens and Randalls #2)

Chapter Seventeen

T he healer, Edward Randall, arrived soon after. At his request, everyone left the room to allow him to examine the boy. Everyone, that is, save for Margaret. She adamantly refused.

Neither Aiden nor Edward were brave enough to argue with her.

Margaret had to admit that Edward was tending to the child with much care. Whenever Duncan would wince in pain, Edward would apologize for it. “I fear it must be done, lad,” he whispered repeatedly.

When he was done with his examination of the boys injuries, Edward stood to his full height. “Ye have done well,” he told Margaret. “Ye used the correct salves and have bandaged him quite nicely.”

Margaret scoffed at the compliment. “I fear ye must thank Elayne and Lizabet,” she told him. “They did much of the work.”

“Either way, ye did well.”

Edward gave a gentle pat to the boy’s foot as he smiled down at Margaret. “He will need lots of rest, lass.”

“And good food,” she added, referring to how gaunt and bony the poor child was.

Edward chuckled softly. “Aye, that as well. But start him off on broth when he is able. Wait until the day after the morrow before ye give him anything solid.”

He left further instructions to change the bandages frequently, and to continue applying the salve. “I shall leave ye now, lady Margaret. I ken the boy is in good hands with ye.”

She scoffed once again. “Pray, tell me, healer. How do ye ken that?”

He laughed at her question. “I was told what ye did to Garrett Randall, and I saw his injuries.”

Her only reply was a shrug of indifference.

“And I can tell by the way ye look at this child that ye want nothin’ more than for him to heal and be well.”

His compliment meant very little to her at the moment. Her face must have given her away.

“Ye dinnae appreciate compliments, do ye?”

Tearing her gaze away from the sleeping boy, she looked up into the healer’s eyes. “Mayhap when they are justified, healer.”

“And ye dinnae believe ye deserve them now?”

The good mood she had experienced earlier in the day was as gone as fog in the morning sun. Anger still bubbled, deep in her stomach. Anger at Garrett Randall. And, if she were being honest, anger with her mother.

The memories that came crashing through earlier, when she saw the poor little boy being beaten so severely, refused to leave her. She hated feeling this way. Scared, angry, bitter. It wasn’t the healer’s fault she felt this way.

“I recommend ye get some rest, lass. Ye will do the boy nae good if ye are asleep on yer feet.”

Wanting only for him to leave her alone, she agreed with a nod.

Quietly, he stepped out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Alone now, she allowed the tears she had been so valiantly holding back to fall at will. Her heart broke for this little boy.

She didn’t care if he had stolen a trunk full of gold from the king himself. Nothing this poor child could have done would justify his father’s behavior.

Under her breath, she whispered, “I hope yer da hangs.”

Duncan barely moved at all through the night. Margaret stayed by his side, refusing to allow any of her sisters-by-law to take her place.

She slept, rather fitfully, in the chair beside his bed. Aiden had come to check on her at some point after the midnight hour. He brought her a bowl of stew and warm bread and insisted that she eat.

Part of her wanted to refuse to eat until Duncan woke and could tolerate solid foods. But she knew she would be no use to him, or anyone else for that matter, were she to keel over from hunger or exhaustion.

She ate enough to stave off the threat of starvation, before falling asleep again in the chair. At one point, she dreamed she was back at the MacCallen keep, once again being tightly held in her mother’s evil clutches.

’Twas a God-awful nightmare. Helen’s head was floating around the dark ether, cackling and spitting her usual venom. In singsong voice, she said, “I ken yer secret! I ken yer secret!”

Margaret woke with a start, clutching a hand to her throat, soaked in sweat, her breaths ragged. Awash in fear, it took a moment to realize ’twas naught but a dream. An awful, awful dream.

’Twas also a reminder of the ugly secret she kept. A secret she prayed she could keep buried and hidden for all of eternity. She knew, deep down, that keeping it hidden was nigh on impossible. As long as her mother still breathed, she could be outed.

She only prayed that that wouldn’t happen for a very, very long time.

At dawn the following morning, Aiden had Garrett Randall brought to the gathering room. Aiden knew he had to wait until his anger reduced to a low simmer before meting out punishment.

A dirty white bandage had been wrapped around the prisoner’s head. Dried blood had caked into the linen. Both his eyes were black and blue, and his lip had been cut.

Aiden wasn’t sure if all the damage to the man’s face had been caused by his wife or if his men had contributed as well. Admittedly, a sense of pride for his wife tickled at his stomach. The woman was fierce, to be certain. While she had proven she could take care of herself in this instance, he still had the desire to keep her safe and protected. Still, it did do his heart some measure of good knowing she wasn’t afraid to fight.

Aiden took his seat on the dais just as Danial and David were bringing in the shackled prisoner.

Margaret rarely left Duncan’s side that day. Faith, Hope, and Grace had come a few times to give her a bit of a respite, but she didn’t leave him for long.

’Twas late evening when he finally began to wake from his herb-induced slumber. Annabella was with her, helping her to change his bandages and apply the healing salve.

“That hurts,” he groused as Margaret was carefully removing one of the bandages.

“I ken, lad,” she whispered softly. “I am so sorry.”

The little boy sucked in a deep breath and held it, “Where am I?” he asked. “And who are ye?”

Annabella and Margaret glanced at one another, each of them genuinely concerned for the boy. “Ye are in the keep,” Annabella told him as she dipped her fingers into the jar of salve. “I am Annabella, and this is your lady,” she explained. “Lady Margaret.”

He struggled to lift himself up onto his elbows and turn his head to look at them. Margaret’s stomach tightened as he struggled to balance on twig-thin arms. “Lie still, lad,” she told him. “We are almost done.”

“Where is my da?” he said, still struggling to get up. “I need to get to him. He will nae like me layin’ about like this.”

“Ye need nae worry about him,” Annabella told him. “He cannae hurt ye anymore.”

They watched as his body stiffened. “He does nae hurt me,” he argued. “He only wants me to be good.”

Annabella started to speak, but Margaret stopped her by placing a hand on her forearm. She had far more experience with cruel parents than Annabella could even imagine.

“Wheest, lad,” she said soothingly. “Yer da kens that ye are here.”

He didn’t appear to believe her. “I need to get to him, Lady Margaret. He needs me. I have work to do.”

Margaret scooted herself to sit nearer his head so that he could see her more clearly. His ashen skin and sunken eyes were nearly her undoing. “Duncan, yer da kens we are takin’ care of ye. I give ye my word.”

Tears began to well in his eyes. “But he needs me.”

“I ken that,” Margaret said, trying to offer him a bright smile. “Every da needs their son. And ye are a verra good son to him.”

Her own experience told her the boy had been taught that the beatings he’d received were his own fault. She could just hear the things Garrett had probably told him. “If ye would nae disobey me, then I would nae have to beat ye.” Her mother had told her those things repeatedly over the years. “Ye make me do this to ye.”

Swallowing back her own tears, she knew now was not the time to try to explain to him the truth of things. He was far too weak to handle that right now. “Duncan, ye are nae well, lad, and yer da kens it. He is verra busy right now, so he asked that Annabella and I help to get ye better.”

He scrutinized her for a short time, trying to find any signs of deceit or treachery. The poor child was dubious and undoubtedly unused to anyone showing him any kind of compassion or tenderness.

“As soon as we have ye better, ye will go back to yer da,” she told him. ’Twas a lie, of course, and one she felt no guilt in telling.

She glanced at Annabella, who looked utterly appalled with the idea. Margaret gave her a look that she hoped silently said, “Please play along,” but Annabella didn’t understand.

“We are all done now with the bandages, Duncan. I want ye to stay still, aye? Annabella and I have to step into the hallway for a moment.”

He nodded weakly and lay his head down on the pillow.

Margaret grabbed the bowl of dirty water and the used bandages and got to her feet. “Annabella, can ye help me for a moment?”

Confused, but eager to find out what her sister-by-law was up to, she gladly stood up and followed her out into the hallway.

“Close the door,” Margaret said with a nod. “And keep your voice down.”

“I have nae said anythin’,” Annabella told her as she pulled the door shut. “But I certainly want to!”

Margaret led her down the hallway so that they could speak privately.

“Annabella, yer parents. They were good and kind to ye, aye?”

“Of course they were,” she replied.

“Then, ye cannae understand what Duncan is goin’ through right now.”

“And ye do?” she asked most curiously.

“Aye, I do.”

“Why on earth did ye tell him he would be back with his da?” Annabella asked gruffly. “Do ye nae care what he has gone through?”

Margaret didn’t take insult with her question. “Annabella, it will be over my dead body that the boy goes back to his father.”

“Then why?—”

Margaret stopped her. “Wheest, sister,” she said in an even-yet-firm tone. “If ye will allow me to explain it, ye will see the rightness of what I told him.”

Frustrated, but eager to understand, Annabella crossed her arms over her breast and waited as patiently as she could.

Margaret let out a quick breath before she began. “The boy has undoubtedly been beaten nearly every day of his life. He has been taught that the beatin’s are his fault.”

“Well, that is just ridiculous,” Annabella interjected.

“But ’tis all he kens,” Margaret replied with a quick sigh. “Annabella, ye were raised with good parents who loved ye and protected ye. ’Tis all ye ever knew, aye?”

She nodded her affirmation.

“All Duncan has known is what his father taught him. In his little mind, his father beats him because he loves him. He beats him because he is a bad child. A bad seed. If he would simply do everythin’ perfectly, to his father’s satisfaction, then he would nae be hurt. He would nae be beat.”

Understanding began to dawn in Annabella’s mind. “That poor child,” she muttered with much sadness.

“Aye,” Margaret said, glad that she was beginning to understand. “It will be a verra long while before Duncan can understand that what his father does to him is wrong. A verra long while.”

Annabella was quiet for some time, carefully studying Margaret as if she were trying to puzzle something out. Finally, she asked the burning question, “How do ye ken this?”

“Because my mother did the same to me.”

“I am so verra sorry,” Annabella whispered sadly.

Margaret swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “We must take our time with Duncan. Let him believe that his father kens he is here, that he wants him to get better, and that they will be reunited someday.”

“I wish I could just tell him the truth.”

“As do I,” Margaret agreed. “But, first, we must take care of his injuries and get him strong. Once we do that, we can make his mind and heart strong.”

“I hate this for him,” she said, shaking her head and pursing her lips.

Margaret was none too happy with the situation either. “One thing at a time, aye?”

Annabella agreed with a nod. “I will do as ye say,” she told her.

“Thank ye,” Margaret said. “Will ye tell the others for me? Help them to understand what we must do?”

“Of course,” Annabella said. “Now, give me that, and I will bring fresh water and supplies.”

Margaret handed her the bowl and dirty bandages. “I ken this is hard,” she said. “But we must be verra careful with him.”

“I wish Aiden would let us womenfolk have about a quarter of an hour alone with Garrett,” she said with much disgust. “Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“Chances are, Garret was raised the same way he is raising his son.”

It took a moment for that statement to sink in. “Ye think so?”

Margaret nodded. “I do,” she said. “And I should verra much like to break that cycle of abuse.”

Annabella snorted derisively. “Well, I, for one, would verra much like to break Garrett’s neck.”

Margaret couldn’t have agreed more.

Duncan wasn’t sure what to make of the two ladies. They seemed nice enough, but his father had taught him that women couldn’t be trusted. They would lie to you, just to get what they wanted.

Yet, there was something kind and warm in Lady Margaret’s eyes. Something he hadn’t seen since his sweet mamma died.

He wasn’t allowed to refer to his mamma in any kind of good way. To say anything good about her upset his father too much, and it would inevitably lead to a beating.

Deep down, he wanted to believe the pretty lady. He wanted to believe in that warmth and kindness he saw in her eyes. He wanted to believe that his da did want him to get better and that they could be together soon.

Mayhap she spoke the truth; mayhap she didn’t. In the end, he supposed he would eventually find out. His da never lied to him; he always told him the truth no matter how much it hurt.

The bed was far warmer and more comfortable than the loft he slept in at home. No sharp straws poking at his skin. The blankets were softer too, and they smelled nice and clean.

Even though his back throbbed and ached, he liked being in this soft, warm bed. He hoped his father was all right. Maybe he had a nice warm bed he was sleeping in too.

His eyelids felt heavy, so he closed them and thought about the nice ladies, Margaret and Annabella. Maybe they would let him stay here a little while longer. Maybe his da could stay too. Mayhap, if his da was around these nice women long enough, he would see that not all women were bad.

And mayhap, just mayhap, Duncan would be able to find a way to stop angering his father so much. Aye, he knew he had no one to blame but himself for the beatings. If only he would stop doing all the things that upset his father, then he wouldn’t have the need to correct him with his leather strop.

Mayhap, just mayhap, things could be like they used to be before his mamma died.

Aiden didn’t like what he was hearing. “Ye jest,” he said to his wife.

They were in his private study, discussing the young boy above stairs. ’Twas long after the evening meal, and the keep was settling down for the night.

Margaret was clearly doing her best to explain, but it wasn’t making a damn bit of sense to Aiden.

“So, what ye are tellin’ me is that the child would rather starve than to eat without his father’s permission.”

“That’s about the way of it,” she said grimly.

“That makes no sense.”

Margaret took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I ken that,” she said. “But he has been trained to nae take a morsel of food without his father’s permission.”

She had just recounted the events that unfolded above stairs. Little Duncan refused to even take a sip of broth without his father’s say so. “ My lady, I cannae do that, not unless my da says I can.” It didn’t matter what she told him, he wasn’t buying a word of it. “ But I spoke to yer da, Duncan. He says ye need to eat. To gain yer strength back.”

“So, ye want me to have Garrett taken above stairs to tell his son to eat?”

“Aye,” Margaret replied. “I do.”

Aiden began to pace in front of the hearth, weighing the pros and cons of allowing Garrett to be anywhere near his little boy. “Are ye certain there is no other way?”

“Aiden, ye were raised by good and decent people. I ken ye cannae understand how or why this little boy thinks the way he does. But I tell ye true. He will nae do anythin’ without his father tellin’ him he can. And that includes eatin’.”

His anger continued to bubble deep in his belly. “Ye realize I was set to have Garrett hanged in the morn.”

“I do,” she replied. “But ye simply cannae do that. At least nae yet.”

“Are ye certain ye ken what ye are doin’, lass?” The doubt had blended with the anger, making him feel ill at ease.

Margaret stood up from her chair and stood before him. “I do, Aiden,” she told him. “I understand what the boy has gone through.”

“Because of your mother,” he said. While he didn’t know the full extent of everything Helen had put his wife through, he felt he knew enough. Enough that he hoped the woman would someday burn in hell. Right alongside Garrett Randall.

A flash of something unidentifiable flickered in her eyes. He didn’t like what he saw there. Fear? Regret? Both?

“Aye, Aiden,” she replied before adding, “I did nae have it nearly as badly as Duncan did. But ’twas enough that I feel I can understand him. He simply cannae help himself. The fear he has of his father is far greater than any hunger he might feel.”

Aiden shook his head, disgusted by the entire matter. In truth, he wanted to hang Garrett from the nearest tree and simply be done with it all. But his wife was convinced that Duncan’s death was inevitable.

Reluctantly, he finally acquiesced. “Verra well, lass,” he said as he headed towards the door. “I shall have him brought above stairs at once.”

Relieved, he watched as her shoulders dropped and she let loose a heavy sigh. “Thank ye, Aiden,” she said with a smile.

“He will nae be allowed to be alone with him,” he told her as they stepped into the hallway.

“Of course nae,” she agreed.

They walked into the dimly lit gathering room. “I will have Danial, David, and Keith bring him up at once.”

She paused and placed a hand on his arm. “I thank ye for this, Aiden.”

Her warm smile made his heart skip a beat. He was then hit with the sudden realization that there was probably naught he wouldn’t do to see her smile, to see that she was happy.

As he was lost in thoughts of pulling her into his chest and kissing her most soundly, she was speaking to him.

“I promise ye that, once we get Duncan healthy and strong, ye can do whatever ye wish to that vile man.”

He couldn’t resist returning her smile. “I pray that he will be strong verra soon, lass. ’Tis difficult for me nae to simply gut the son of a whore.”

Margaret couldn’t blame her husband for how he felt, for she was feeling much the same way. Garrett Randal was a cruel, vicious man. But before she could see the man burn in hell, she had to make certain Duncan was well.

Within a quarter of an hour, the prisoner, Garrett Randall, was standing before Aiden. ’Twasn’t easy for Aiden to resist the urge to wipe the smirk from the man’s face permanently.

Aiden explained why he had him brought to him at such a late hour. Not that it mattered to him one bit that the man suffered any inconvenience. “It appears yer son will nae eat without yer permission,” he told him. “That distresses my wife a great deal.”

Garrett smirked with what could only be described as pride. “Yer wife? The woman who assaulted me?”

Aiden took the question as rhetorical. “I dinnae like it when my wife is distressed.”

Garrett shrugged with indifference. “Pardon me if I dinnae care about yer wife’s feelings.”

No sooner were the words out than Keith had landed a hard fist to the man’s gut. Garrett doubled over and would have fallen were it not for Danial and David holding him up by his arms. “Ye will show some respect to yer laird and his wife, ye bloody bastard,” Keith told him.

Aiden took a few slow steps and stood almost nose to nose with him. “Ye best give a care about my feelins, Garrett.”

Garrett took in a few short breaths, trying to appear that he wasn’t bothered by the punch to his gut.

“Now, ye are goin’ to go above stairs and tell yer son to eat,” Aiden told him.

Garrett smirked again, a habit that was beginning to annoy Aiden nearly to the point of murder. “What do I care if the little bastard eats or nae?” he said indignantly. “Ye will kill me just the same.”

Aiden didn’t like bargaining with fools. It made him sick to think he would have to keep this idiot alive long enough to save a little boy’s life. “I care,” Aiden told him. “And my wife cares.”

Garrett cocked his head to one side. “Yer wife?” He said the word wife as if it left a sour taste in his mouth. “Ye expect me to care about what she wants? That woman nearly killed me earlier this morn.”

Before Aiden could respond, he heard his wife’s voice coming from the stairs behind him. “Trust me, Garrett Randall. If I wanted ye dead, ye’d be dead.”

The grace and dignity with which Margaret walked was damned near mesmerizing to Aiden. What she did next made him swell with pride.

She walked right up to Garrett Randall and let him have it. A tongue lashing like none Aiden or his brothers had ever seen before.

“Ye listen to me, ye coward,” she seethed with so much vehemence that even Aiden felt like taking a step or two back. “Yer son lies above stairs, beaten and cut and near starved to death. He refuses to eat without yer permission. I cannae even get him to take a sip of broth.”

Garrett looked pleased with that.

Margaret took great offense to his expression. A heartbeat later, she slapped him across his cheek with such force that he nearly keeled over.

The smugness was now gone. In its place, a look of fury that made the hair on the back of Aiden’s neck stand on end.

His wife, however, wasn’t impressed. “Ye are goin’ to go above stairs and tell yer son that he can eat.”

“And why would I be doin’ that?” he challenged.

Her brow furrowed as she glared at him. “Because I will kill ye myself if ye dinnae. And trust me, ye fool. It will nae be the quick hangin’ my husband had planned for ye.” She let her words sink in for a moment. “It will be a verra slow, painful death. I shall take my time and savor every single moment of pain I inflict upon ye. And I shall begin with yer manhood and work my way out from there.”

Garrett studied her closely for a heartbeat. When he realized she spoke nothing but the truth, the look of fury he had previously possessed was rapidly replaced with sheer, unadulterated fear. He knew. He knew she meant every word she said.

A moment later, he gave her a curt nod. “Verra well,” he said. There wasn’t much strength in his tone of voice, which made Aiden all the more happy.

A moment later, Aiden took his wife’s hand and led her above stairs, with his brothers and the prisoner right behind them.

Margaret couldn’t possibly have realized the depths of joy one could feel at watching a small child take a few sips of broth. But it was joyous.

As soon as Duncan had obtained his father’s permission to eat, everything in the little boy’s countenance seemed to change, relief being the first notable expression.

Before he left, Margaret made the man tell his son to do everything she told him to do. She was no fool, Margaret Randall. She knew that a man like Garrett would do his best to prolong his own sorry life for as long as possible. Therefore, she had him give his son the words she knew the little boy needed. Otherwise, they’d have to repeat bringing the sorry man back every time they needed Duncan to do something.

As soon as Garrett was taken away, she sat down next to Duncan. “Ye see, lad? I told ye that yer father wanted ye to eat.”

He couldn’t lie on his back yet, so she had him propped up on his side. “I am sorry I did nae believe ye, Lady Margaret.” He was genuinely contrite.

“Bah!” she scoffed with a smile. “’Tis alright, lad. Now, let us get some warm broth into ye, shall we?”

As much as she despised Garrett, Margaret was thankful he had convinced his son to eat. Beyond that, she felt nothing but disgust and hatred for the man.