A Proper Scottish Wife Ch. 14

When Isobel arose the following morning, it was late and she felt ill again. She attributed it once more to being in this foul house of miserable memories. She dressed in her fencing attire and skipping breakfast, went outside. Frang explained to some of the younger men the rapier and its use. She stood beside Cyrus McTeague, watching.

He took note of her attire with some surprise, and asked, "I've not seen you dressed in pants before, my Lady. Do you think it's proper for men to see your limbs?"

She smiled up at him and replied, "It may not be proper, but it's much easier to dance around with blade in hand attired in pants than a dress, Mr. McTeague."

"You're going to be learning this wee sword then?"

"I've been learning it for a month," she replied.

"I suppose it's weapon enough for a woman," he said. "It doesn't seem right he should be teaching it to young men. I would not think they could raise a proper defense against a man armed with a claymore."

"I was not present when it happened, Mr. McTeague," Isobel said, "but I've heard from others who were, that Frang struck Thorburn with the point of his rapier three times in the space of five minutes without Thorburn laying steel upon him. It's why so many of our own have taken up the blade."

"Is Thorburn any good?" McTeague asked. "Maybe the skill levels were unequal?"

"Thorburn is the best swordsman with a claymore I've ever seen, though I can't say I've watched many," Isobel replied. "You see Bjarkë over there?"

Bjarkë was working with two dozen men with the claymore. He demonstrated how to defend yourself from two or more attackers at once.

"Aye."

"What do you think of his skills?"

Cyrus watched for a couple minutes.

"He's very good."

"When they fight each other, Thorburn defeats him seven or eight times out of ten. Really, Bjarkë's the only one I've seen stand against him with any success. I've seen him fighting three, four, even five men and beating them all."

"And Frang struck him three times without being struck?" Cyrus asked.

"That's the tale. I don't know if anyone has mentioned this to you, but Ailene killed three of our attackers herself, and she's only been working with Frang a few months."

"Three you say!" McTeague exclaimed.

"Aye. I admit they weren't prepared for trouble with two women; they had a knife and club out to subdue us, rather than swords, and two of them were dead before they realized they were in a fight, but three nonetheless."

"It would seem the weight of the weapons themselves would put the claymore at the advantage?" McTeague added.

"The weight of the weapon may be a disadvantage," Isobel replied. "You're no longer trying to crush armor. In the time you can swing a claymore and bring it back for a return strike, Frang can stab you three or four times. Thorburn's good with the claymore because he's so strong and he waves it around like a wee stick. You never attempt to actually block the claymore, where the heavier weapon would be an advantage, merely parry it to the side. The weight works against it as it's deflected because it's difficult to get it back to offensive or defensive position. The rapier point remains aimed at you, ready to attack or parry immediately. That's not to say strength isn't a benefit. Frang has Ailene and I working to strengthen our wrists and hands all the time. I'm squeezing a ball of seeds constantly when my hands aren't engaged in something else."

Cyrus watched Frang with more interest.

"My joints bother me and it's difficult to swing the claymore now. I've about given up hope of being effective in a fight anymore. Do you think Frang would teach me the lighter blade?"

"He prefers teaching younger lads and women because he says they don't have to break bad habits learned with other weapons. He said the older ones like you want to swing the rapier like a heavier sword, but you're welcome to ask."

Frang saw Isobel standing beside McTeague and waved her over. He went into a prolonged set of engagements with her, showing the group various movements and the footwork he expected them to learn. Cyrus was pleased to see Lady McTavish appeared to be doing well, despite the disparity in their skill levels. Frang broke them into two groups with Frang taking the older ones and Isobel taking the younger ones to demonstrate the various maneuvers more slowly. Apparently, the younger lads were disappointed a woman was assigned to teach them, and weren't bothering to pay much attention to her.

One young lad, the oldest of the lot, was particularly obnoxious. Cyrus went over and cuffed the young man in the head.

"You'll not speak to the Lady of the House that way, ever!" He growled.

The boy picked himself off the ground and said, "Apologies, My Lady."

Cyrus picked up the wooden stick the lad dropped when cuffed, saying, "Perhaps Lady McTavish would give this old man a lesson. I'm not too old to learn something new."

Isobel nodded to him. "Attack me, Mr. McTeague."

"Are you sure, Lady?"

"I'll try not to hurt you, McTeague, since you are a gentleman, unlike these louts."

McTeague swung the stick at her and received a poke in the ribs for his trouble. More carefully, he attacked again, with the same result, though it took longer this time. He tried beating her stick aside with his superior strength, but hers evaded the heavy swing and his ribs paid the price again.

"I think I've had enough lessons for today," McTeague said. "I think I'll wear heavier clothing tomorrow."

"And tomorrow, I shall show you how to avoid the mistakes you made today, Mr. McTeague," Isobel replied. "You may go to the kitchen for some willow bark tea and ointment that Lady Cameron made. The cook will give you some. It should help with your bruises."

"Aye. That I will."

The young boys, afraid of McTeague and his heavy hand and quick temper for years, began their lessons with a new appreciation for the teacher. She turned towards McTeague with a quick smile and mouthed, 'Thank you.'

He went away rubbing his ribs. Aye, he thought, I'm not too old to learn this new method of fighting at all.

For the next couple days, every day was the same. Cyrus would show up in a leather jerkin and learn with the youngest from Isobel. When she finished their lessons, Frang worked with her to improve her skills beyond what she was teaching for another hour. The sweat was pouring down her face before they were finished.

McTeague had more difficulty with the footwork than the youngsters. He was used to standing a certain way for swinging a sword and this new fangled blade was so different. He could see what Frang meant by breaking old habits. He knew the youngsters sniggered behind their hands when he was particularly clumsy, as they seemed to be picking it up without problem, but he ignored their titters as long as they were polite to Lady McTavish. The Laird even thanked him the first evening after supper.

"How are your ribs?" Frang asked.

"I'll get by."

"I thank you for your support of Lady Isobel," he said.

"She deserves their respect," McTeague said. "She kept food in their bellies."

"Not just that," Frang said. "For taking your lessons with her. It gives her a measure of authority missing before. They weren't ready to take lessons from a woman."

"More's the pity. She could have poked them in the ribs instead of me," McTeague smiled ruefully.

"Lady Isobel caught on to the rapier very quickly. She was determined not to let anyone abuse her, ever again. She'll be a good teacher for them because of the similarity in height, reach and strength with those she's teaching. Right now, she retreats faster than anyone else I know. It's a good skill to have when you're young and inexperienced."

McTeague nodded to his Lord. Frang gripped him by the shoulder. "You've been a big help in other ways as well. I appreciate all you've done, McTeague."

"You're welcome, Laird."

Every afternoon, Frang would attend to the matters of the estate, meeting with William Craig and his tenants, learning more of his responsibilities as Laird. Isobel attended to the house, checking on Lachlan, meeting with the cook and head housekeeper, ensuring the house ran smoothly. They would speak at supper, before Frang disappeared to examine the books and Isobel retired wearily to her room to find another hot bath waiting. It was heavenly to indulge in a hot soak after the mornings exercise and the afternoons activities.

On the third evening after the others left, Isobel was rising from her bath when there was a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" She called.

"It's Frang," he replied.

"Just a minute. I'm finishing my bath."

He waited quietly outside until she could put on her sleeping shift and wrap herself in a robe. She opened the door.

"Can I help you, Lord Cameron?"

Aye, he thought to himself, looking at her fresh from her bath, wisps of damp hair framing her face, the material clinging to her body; you can ease the aching in my cock.

Aloud, he said, "We need to leave for the Keep tomorrow. I'm not telling anyone what time we're going, or even that we're leaving tomorrow, save Craig and McTeague. They can announce it to the others after we're gone."

"That's very wise, My Lord."

"Please don't call me, My Lord, particularly in private. I'm Frang. I'll always be Frang to you."

She nodded. "Very well, Frang. How can I help you?"

"Is your patient ready to ride horseback tomorrow or shall he stay here longer?"

"He can ride, Frang. I'm sure he's eager to be back with his friends."

"We're going to leave suddenly. Take only what you can carry behind a saddle. Have written instructions for the cook and housekeeper to give them as we leave. I'm not trusting anyone else until they've proven trustworthy."

"Aye, I'll be ready."

"I think we'll start the day as we have the last few, with training, but break halfway through. You'll be dressed for riding and won't even need to change clothes. Not even our own men will know lest they speak by accident. Bjarkë has identified those going back with us. They'll be told with twenty minutes notice. I'll not risk your safety with wagging tongues. We've chosen a route that avoids the last ambush location and other one's we're familiar with."

"It's a good plan."

Frang stood there a moment, looking at her, hot yearning clearly visible in his eyes. She pulled her robe closer, feeling bare under the intensity of his stare. He lowered his eyes.

"I hope you've enjoyed your hot baths, Lady Isobel?"

"Very much, Frang. Thank you for arranging them."

"Good night, Isobel."

"Good night, Frang."

Isobel closed the door behind him with a shiver. The heat of his gaze left her feeling cold rather than warm. She would have feared him had he ever been less than a gentleman. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

******

I will be so glad to leave this place, Isobel thought. I have been sick every morning I've been here. I was never sick at Cameron Keep. I can't tolerate this place another day longer. What was worse, she was hungry, but too nauseous to eat. Isobel put together what little she was carrying to the Keep, adding some bread from the kitchen which she wrapped in a kitchen towel to stow with her things.

She walked to the makeshift training grounds to begin another round of lessons. Cyrus McTeague appeared to have practiced his footwork on his own since the improvement from yesterday's end to today's beginning was markedly better. She praised his progress.

"I can't let these striplings get the better of me, Lady McTavish," he said. "I've fought near my whole life and I'll not let them beat me because I bear a new weapon."

"Mr. McTeague, if you insist upon formality, please call me Lady Isobel. I no longer wish any association with the McTavish name. That goes for the rest of you," she added.

"Very well, Lady Isobel," McTeague said.

They continued for another hour when Frang called a halt.

"We're leaving for Cameron Keep in twenty minutes," he shouted. "Bjarkë will call out the names of those going with. Be ready to go in fifteen, then saddle a mount."

Bjarkë started calling out names and those named scattered to grab what they would to take with.

Turning to Cyrus McTeague, Frang whispered, "Keep an eye out for any not named who leave before or after us. If they return afterward, confine them until I return to deal with them. We're looking for spies."

"Aye, Laird. I'll keep close watch on those who leave for no apparent purpose. I know a few must tend to their plots or families, but I know them and what direction they should ride. I'll report anything else to you."

"Bjarkë will be staying. While he'll miss the drinking at the Festival, he's no hand at dancing. He'll continue to work training those remaining behind and I've promised to bring back a bottle of whiskey. I'll bring one for you too, if you wish," said Frang.

"Aye. I don't mind a wee sip on occasion, nor does the wife."

"It pays to keep them happy, doesn't it, McTeague."

"If you want a quiet household."

"Good man. We should be back in four days. We'll send word if anything changes."

Frang went inside to grab his pack, grabbing Isobel's as well and taking them both to the stables. He asked her to remain outside and he'd bring her horse out after saddling her mare, a roan with calm disposition. He quickly saddled both mounts, tying their packs behind the saddles. Leading both horses out, he helped Isobel mount her saddle. The others were filing out of the stables as well, tightening girths, tying their belongings down, calming a skittish animal. It was happening quickly. Swinging into the saddle, Frang looked around to see the others ready.

Putting his heels to horse, he galloped down the road towards the Keep with the others following until out of sight of the house, then turning off onto a little used trail, he led them at a walk. Thirty men, plus Isobel, they moved as silently as a party this large could move, padding on sod or soft ground, avoiding rocks where they could. Two scouts rode ahead a hundred yards, two more trailing by fifty. Going quickly due to lack of cart or wagon, they reached the Keep without incident in three hours.

Frang hailed the guards and they opened the Keep's gates. Ailene came running out to meet them.

"I'm so glad you're back," she said, holding Isobel's horse, "I've missed you so much. Are you hungry? We've got food ready. Did you have any trouble? How's our patient?"

"Hold on," Isobel laughed. "I'm happy to answer your questions if you but give me a moment to answer."

Ailene laughed too. Frang came over to help lift Isobel off the horse.

"Lachlan is fine. You can see for yourself. He came with us. We had no trouble on the way. We were like mice in the church, sneaking across the moors. And, I would love to eat. I'm starving. I didn't eat anything this morning, although I had a bit of bread on the road. Are you satisfied?"

"For now. Come inside and I'll fill your belly. You can tell me how things are going as Lady of the House. Frang, you can join us if you like."

"I'll be there shortly. I wish to discuss some things with Stuart and Thorburn before I eat."

Ailene took Isobel's arm and led her into the kitchen, already chattering like magpies. Frang sought out Stuart, finding him going over the accounts in their father's study.

"My God, Stuart! Please tell me you can help me?"

"With your accounts? You've only had the property for five days. What could have gone wrong so fast?"

"Not with my accounts, brother. With my cock" Frang explained. "Having Isobel so close without touching her is driving me mad. I'm hoping you can arrange some time alone with Ailene. It doesn't even have to be alone. You can be in the room to protect her reputation. I'm fit to explode."

"She's very busy right now, preparing for the festival. The food, her dress; probably Isobel's dress as well. Company will start arriving early tomorrow. I'm not sure that she has any time to spare."

"I'd only need five or ten minutes to relieve the pressure. It wouldn't take much time at all, I swear. Imagine yourself being close to Ailene all the time and unable to do a thing about it."

"I'll speak to her and see what she says," Stuart said, laughing. "I promise nothing."

"Thank you. I'll await your instructions."

Frang left to find Thorburn and get some food.

******

The object of Frang's desire was eating in the kitchen with Ailene, discussing plans, tasks already ordered and those yet to be made.

"How much more must you do on your dress?" Ailene asked. "I've finished mine. It's so daring, I wonder what Stuart will say. I've never worn something so revealing before."

"About an hours work, no more. I should finish it tomorrow without problems."

"How have things gone with Frang? Is he respecting your wishes?"

Isobel sighed. "He is. I am in my own room now. He remains a gentleman, leaving me to my own devices. I'm grateful for his forbearance. Last night, he looked at me with such hunger, I felt naked under his gaze. He has not bothered me though, nor pressed his suit. I imagine we might continue on as we have, but at some point, I feel he must find someone else. I know he hopes for more, but I cannot give it to him. He is so kind. He's arranged a hot bath for me each night. It's so comforting after a morning of hard training and my household tasks. I feel so sore and tired each night."

"You've developed a good appetite, anyway," Ailene said, noting how much Isobel had consumed.

"I ate that much?" Isobel said, noting the empty plates, the half eaten loaf, the empty pitcher.

"Indeed, you did," Ailene responded.

"My goodness. I didn't realize I was so hungry. My appetite hasn't been good, particularly in the morning. I so detest that house and all of the dreadful memories, it's a wonder I ate at all."

"You don't have to worry about it for several days. We shall have fun and drink and dance. It's so long since I've danced, I can hardly wait."

"I don't think I've danced since my wedding to McTavish. Only briefly then; he was so eager to take me to the marriage bed. I wonder if I even remember how it's done?"

"You needn't worry about that. All of the Cameron men are splendid dancers. They shall make it easy to find the steps again."

"Let me help with the rest of the preparations. How can I assist you?"

"We have three guests spending the night tomorrow. The guest bedrooms need to be dusted, cleaned and thoroughly aired. If you could supervise that, all else is well covered."

"I shall be happy to," Isobel said.

She hugged Ailene and met with the maids in charge of those bedrooms to ensure all would be well for their guests. It was time for supper when the rooms were finished and she ate another hearty meal, before seeking her room. She was pleasantly surprised to find another hot bath waiting for her, Frang somehow arranging for her comfort even here during this busy time. He really was quite kind and considerate.

Ailene finally got to bed around nine and saw Frang was there as well.

"I'm sorry," she said. "If you require privacy, I can give you a few more minutes." She turned to leave.

"Actually, Ailene," Stuart said. "Frang hoped you could give him a few minutes. It seems being alone with Isobel has left him frustrated. He said it wouldn't take long."

"Right now? With you in the room?"

"I can't let you go to his room, and I can't leave you alone with him in ours. It wouldn't be proper."

"Yet, somehow, it's proper to have sex with your brother while you're in the room? Fine! Lift your kilt, Frang! Let's get your little problem taken care of, shall we. Can't have one of the Cameron males suffering from a stiff cock. It wouldn't be proper."

She knelt down, lifted his kilt and reached for his cock.