"Payton is in the practice field and I believe his sisters were going out to the courtyard behind the kitchens to see if the apples are ready for picking. They've a mind to ha'e Cook make them apple tarts."
"Ah," Cam said with a faint smile as he settled on the bench beside Joan so that she sat between him and Ross. It was then he noted the bulge of the scroll she had kept tucked in her tunic through most of the journey. The only time she'd removed it since his suggestion that she keep it there was when she wasn't wearing the tunic. They'd always been careful to roll it in the cloth though to keep it safe then . . . well, there had been a time or two when they'd been a little too distracted to bother, he acknowledged, and for a moment he was awash in memories of those times when passion had overwhelmed them both.
At least, Cam had thought at the time that they were both overwhelmed by passion, but now he wondered if Joan had truly felt anything at all, or if she'd been feigning enjoyment to please him and gain his aid. For Cam, their passion had been all consuming and addictive. He not only wanted it to continue, he felt as if he needed it, as if he wouldn't be truly alive without her nearby. She, apparently, didn't feel the same way, he thought grimly, and then glanced around at the sound of the kitchen door squeaking open. Annabel was returning with two servants on her heels; one carried a pitcher and tankards, and the other bore a tray with pastries on it.
"Here we are," Annabel said brightly as she reached the table and settled on the bench beside her husband.
Cam smiled at the woman. He'd known Lady Annabel most of his life. She was at least four decades old, but had aged well. Still, she had aged in the twenty years since he'd first met her as a boy. Her always curvy figure had grown a little rounder, her dark hair was now dusted lightly with gray, and her pretty face held the traces of laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Despite that, he thought she was a beautiful woman, but then he knew her to be kind and caring and perhaps that colored his perceptions.
His gaze slid next to Joan and he let his eyes travel over her face. She had healed during the journey. The swelling was long gone and only the faintest hint of bruising now remained. What was left was a woman as beautiful to him as Lady Annabel. When he had seen her, Joan's eyes had been so swollen they had appeared slits. Now they were large and wide open, revealing that they were a beautiful blue gray color. The cut on her nose had healed but left a small scar that would fade with age, but it was small, barely noticeable to him, and the cut to her lip had healed as well, leaving a similar faint line. Her mouth was beautiful just the same, well formed and full enough that did he not know better, Cam would have thought they were still a little swollen.
"So," Ross said once the servants had finished setting food and drink before them and headed back toward the kitchens. "Joan has a message fer ye."
"For me?" Lady Annabel asked with amazement. "Who would send me a message?"
"Her mother," Ross answered. "Maggie Chartres."
Annabel frowned, but then shook her head and said, "I do not know that name."
Ross nodded as if he'd expected as much and then turned to glance at Joan expectantly. "The message?"
"Oh," Joan murmured suddenly and stood up.
"Is something amiss?" Ross asked, eyebrows rising.
"Nay, I just . . ." Joan flushed, her hand rising to cup the scroll through her shirt. She then grimaced, shook her head, stepped over the bench and moved a couple feet away.
"She kept it on her person to keep it safe durin' the journey," Cam explained quietly when Laird and Lady MacKay stared after Joan with curiosity. "When I came upon her on the road, bandits were trying to steal her bag with the message in it, so I suggested she tuck it in her tunic instead."
"Ah," Lady Annabel murmured with understanding while her husband merely nodded and relaxed.
Cam glanced back to Joan then, noting that she had the scroll out, but was just standing there staring at it. After a hesitation, he stood and moved over to join her. "Is something amiss?"
Joan glanced up, a startled look on her face, almost as if she'd forgotten he was there, Cam thought. But after a moment she shook her head. "Nay. I just . . . my mother . . ."
She ducked her head to hide the tears that suddenly swam into her eyes and Cam almost sighed to himself. He was angry and hurt just now, but couldn't stand by and watch her suffer without trying to comfort her. Mouth tightening, he pulled her against his chest to pat her back awkwardly. " 'Tis all right."
"I don't know why I'm getting all weepy," Joan sniffled against his chest.
"Ye've carried that message since yer mother's death," he pointed out. " 'Tis yer last connection to her. O' course ye'll feel sad giving it up."
"Aye," Joan muttered, raising a hand to dash at the tears on her face. He was right of course, this was the last connection she had to her mother, and she was experiencing some grief at having to give it up. But it was more than that. Delivering this message had been her sole purpose since her mother's death. Once she handed it over, that duty would be done. She would no longer have a purpose and Joan had no idea where she would go when she left here. Friar Wendell had made it plain she was not needed in Grimsby. She had no home to go to. No family to take her in. And on top of all that, handing over this message truly meant the end of her link with Cam too. He had promised to see her safely here and he had. He could leave anytime. In fact, she was still surprised that he hadn't already left. But once she handed over the scroll that would surely be the end of everything between them.
All of that combined made her want to just sit down and weep. Instead, Joan took a deep breath, wiped the tears from her face again and straightened her shoulders. Lifting her face, she nodded solemnly at Cam. "Thank you. For everything."
He opened his mouth to say something, but then abruptly snapped it shut, nodded stiffly and gestured for her to lead the way back to the table.
Joan hesitated, wanting to say something, anything to ease his stiff expression and make him at least smile, if not laugh. But she suspected the only thing that would accomplish that was to agree to go to Sinclair with him and she couldn't do that. She just couldn't, so sighing, she nodded and turned to walk back to the table.
"Thank you," Annabel murmured, taking the scroll when Joan stopped behind her and held it out.
Joan merely nodded and moved back to reclaim her seat beside Laird MacKay. The moment she was seated, Cam settled beside her. She noted that he turned to watch Lady Annabel open the scroll then. Laird MacKay was watching his wife curiously as well. Joan just picked up her drink and took a sip. She was curious too as to what was in the message, but didn't expect to find out. Her own mother had refused to tell her. Why would Lady Annabel?
A gasp from Lady Annabel made Joan set her drink back and glance to the woman.
"What is it?" Ross asked, concern drawing his brows together.
"Maggie Chartres was a healer in Bedfordshire. She served the village and Elstow Abbey. She knew my sister, Kate," Annabel murmured, her eyes still moving swiftly over the words written on the scroll.
"Hmm," Ross muttered, not seeming happy at this news. He then turned to Joan almost accusingly. "Ye said ye were from Grimsby. Ye made no mention o' Bedfordshire or Elstow Abbey."
"We lived in Grimsby all my life," Joan said helplessly. "And my mother never made mention of Bedfordshire or Elstow Abbey."
Ross scowled, but glanced back to his wife as she whispered, "Oh no."
"What's about?" he asked at once, and looked braced for anything.
"Kate died twenty years ago," Annabel whispered, still reading.
Much to Joan's surprise, Laird MacKay actually looked relieved at this news and said, "Well at least we'll no' ha'e to worry about her coming here to cause trouble again."
When Joan instinctively glanced wide-eyed to Cam, he tipped his head to hers and murmured, "She robbed them and tried to kill Lady Annabel when she and Ross were first married."
Joan gaped at this news, but then glanced sharply to Lady Annabel whe
n she gasped again.
"What?" Laird MacKay asked sharply and the man was clenching his hands as if fighting the urge to snatch the message from his wife and read it for himself.
"She was with child when she got to the abbey. Grant's child," Annabel said, still reading. "She died on the birthing bed."
Ross MacKay stiffened and then turned slowly to stare at Joan, an odd expression on his face.
She shifted uncomfortably under his stare, unsure of the reason for it.
"The abbess wrote to Mother and Father at the time to let them know, but they responded that the only daughter they had was me. Kate was dead to them and they were not going to be saddled with the burden of her child," Annabel continued grimly, anger flashing across her face.
"Bastards," Ross breathed, still staring at Joan.
"Maggie suggested the abbess write to me to tell me of Kate's death and the baby, but the abbess refused," Lady Annabel said, sounding horrified as she continued narrating. "She said we had paid for Kate to be taken away and would hardly be interested in her daughter. She also said that while the abbey had been given a dower to take in Kate, she did not feel any responsibility toward Kate's offspring and had no intention of raising her."
"Old bitch," Ross muttered, still staring at Joan.
"So she gave her to Maggie to take away," Annabel continued as she read. "And Maggie . . ."