With Dreams Only of You Read online

  Frederica could feel his lips as he spoke, barely brushing against hers, and it drove her mad. Her heart was pounding, her entire body quivering with want and desire for the man. She wanted to feel his kiss, to taste him, and to know that he belonged only to her. Forever.

  “As my love for you is, also,” she whispered. “Will you kiss me now or will you make me wait?”

  Eryx’s answer was to slant his mouth over hers, hungrily. Beneath the pewter-colored sky, as the snow began to fall, Eryx de Reyne marked the beginning of his love eternal for the lovely Lady Frederica.

  With dreams….

  Part Three: Isle of the Blessed

  By

  Suzan Tisdale

  Prologue

  Spring, 1365

  The wasting disease was a horrible way for anyone to die. Just as the name implied, it ravages a person’s body, eating it from the inside out.

  Marielle de Reyne MacAdams, a once beautiful and vibrant woman lay in her bed, wasting away from the hideous, ugly disease. Her once bright black hair was now a dull blend of black and gray. The green eyes that used to twinkle with merriment and sweetness were now cloudy and yellow. Skin that used to be the color of cream and just as smooth was now splotchy and covered with large, red sores. A once melodic voice was now nothing more than a harsh, scratchy whisper. No one could even say she was a shadow of her former self. A shadow had more depth.

  Her husband had said his goodbyes to her days ago. He made no final declarations of love, did not leave her with promises they both knew he would not keep. Delmer MacAdams shed no tears. He didn’t even pat his once beautiful wife’s hand. His only parting words were, “At least ye tried.” They both knew what that meant, but ’twas a secret Marielle would take to her grave.

  Their son, Helmert MacAdams was only slightly more emotional about losing his mother. He was too much like his father, even at the ripe old age of twelve, to feel any kind of emotion, let alone openly show it. Love was an elusive emotion, something neither father nor son could quite understand, no matter how hard Marielle had tried to show it or explain it. Whether it be from the blood that ran through his veins or something far darker and more sinister, Marielle could not say. He’d been a sweet boy once, long ago. But too much time spent with his father and not enough with his mother had changed him. The closest thing to an I love you, was when he said he would miss her.

  Their daughter, Josephine, however, was so far removed from her father and brother. Where Helmert was dark and brooding, moody, and quick to anger, Josephine was light and bright, a sweet child who laughed and smiled easily and, in general, possessed the most tender of hearts. She was but nine years of age and every bit the image of what her mother had once been.

  They sat alone now, just the two of them, as they had done every day since Josephine’s birth. Josephine tried not to cry, but ’twas an impossible task. Tears flowed down her cheeks and ran from her chin. She lay in the bed with her mother, holding her hand, and silently wishing God wouldn’t take her mother away.

  When it was just the two of them, Josephine—or Joie as her mother liked to call her—did not have to hide her feelings, did not have to pretend she was something she wasn’t. She and her mother could speak in French and not worry about being smacked about by Delmar for not using the Gaelic.

  “Joie, do you remember your duty?” Marielle asked in a voice that was weak and low.

  “Yes, Mamma, I do.” She didn’t want to talk about her duty or the secret or anything else at the moment. What she sincerely wanted to do was scream and beg God not to take away her sweet mamma.

  “Tell me, Joie,” Marielle said. “I want to make certain you remember it exactly.”

  Josephine wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her dress. How could she forget? She’d only been told the story her whole life, knew it all by heart. Still, she did not want to disappoint her mamma. Between soft tears she told her mother everything as she knew it to be. “I am to keep the sword hidden. I cannot tell Papa or Helmert about it, elst they’ll steal it away.”

  “And what else, Joie?” Marielle asked, her voice growing weaker as one moment blended into another.

  “I can only give the sword to my husband if he proves to be worthy.”

  Marielle smiled weakly and took Josephine’s hand in hers. “And how will you know if he is worthy?”

  Though Josephine knew the words, she was not quite certain that she understood what they meant. Still, she repeated them, to make her mamma happy. “He must be honorable, kind, and just. Above all else, I must be able to trust him with my heart, my life, my love.”

  Marielle closed her eyes and nodded. Josephine could tell that her mother was proud of her. “That is right, my daughter. Trust is the most important thing between husband and wife. If you cannot trust your husband with your heart, your life, or your love, nothing else matters.”

  Josephine closed her eyes and snuggled against her mother, placing her hand on Marielle’s chest. She could only hope that someday, when she was much older, she would understand more clearly what her mother meant.

  Chapter One

  Graeme MacAulay could remember with vivid clarity the first time he met his betrothed. Of course, she wasn’t his betrothed back then. Nay, she was just a little girl of eight, no bigger than a whisper. ’Twas more than ten summers ago when Graeme, two of his five brothers, and his father had gone to Inverness and stopped at the MacAdams’ on their way back to Lewis.

  He’d been waiting out of doors whilst his father and brothers discussed the matter of cattle with Delmer MacAdams. The MacAdams raised some of the best cattle in all of Scotia. Being a boy of fourteen and more interested in bookish pursuits than bartering, haggling or business, Graeme had stepped outside.

  He had just rounded the corner of the MacAdams keep when he saw a rustling in the tree ahead of him. ’Twas a massive old oak that he reckoned to be at least one hundred years old judging by the size of it. As he walked toward the tree, he caught a glimpse of burgundy making its way up the tree.

  While his mother had taught him to keep his nose out of other peoples business and to not go snooping hither and yon, his father was quite the opposite. Delmer MacAulay strongly encouraged such behavior, at least the snooping hither and yon. That’s not to say he taught his six sons how to be spies or snoops. On the contrary. Marcum encouraged his sons to question everything, for he believed that was one of the best ways to learn.

  From inside the keep, he could hear someone yelling, someone around his own age mayhap. But he could not make out what that someone was yelling. As he drew nearer to the tree, the burgundy continued its upward ascent. Graeme’s curiosity was piqued.

  He went and stood under the tree and casually looked up. There, hiding amongst the thick branches and leaves, was a dark-headed little girl in a burgundy dress. He couldn’t see her face, just a thick brown braid, a burgundy dress, and little boots. From his vantage point, he estimated her to be no more than six years old. He was about to inquire as to what she was doing up there, when a very angry looking lad rounded the same corner that Graeme had just taken. The lad had light brown hair, a skinny face and body to match. He very much resembled a stick wearing a fancy tunic and trews.

  “Have ye seen her?” the lad called out angrily as he stomped toward Graeme.

  “Seen who?” Graeme asked.

  “An ugly little girl with dark hair and the eyes of the devil!” the lad spat.

  “Nay,” Graeme said. “I’ve nae seen anyone who looks like that.” As far as Graeme was concerned, he hadn’t. He had yet to see the little girl’s face or eyes. Therefore, he couldn’t say if she was ugly or possessed the eyes of the devil. Never assume anythin’, his father had taught him.

  “Bloody hell,” the lad said gruffly as he stomped away. “Josephine! When I catch ye, I’m goin’ to peel yer skin off yer hide!”

  Though he’d been taught never to assume anything, he felt confident in his assessment that the angry lad and the girl in the t
ree were brother and sister. Only a sibling could induce the level of anger the lad had just displayed. Having five brothers, Graeme was quite familiar with the threats siblings often made to one another, especially in the heat of battle. He and his brothers had often fought over one thing or another over the years, to the point of drawing blood. Mayhap ’twas no different between a brother and a sister.

  He waited until the angry brother had rounded the corner and was out of earshot before he said anything to the sprite in the tree. “I take it yer Josephine?” he asked as he leaned against the massive trunk.

  The sprite was silent for a long time, no doubt trying to assess the situation and Graeme’s role in it.

  “You won’t tell him, will you?”

  Graeme noted a distinct accent, a combination of French and Scots. “Nay, I’ll nae tell him.”

  More silence from the tree sprite.

  “Pray tell, why be yer brother so upset with ye?”

  “You promise you will not tell?” Josephine asked.

  Graeme nodded as he kept a close eye out for the tree sprite’s brother.

  “I hid his pup.”

  “Ye hid his pup? But why?” he asked, resisting the urge to chuckle.

  “Well, actually, I gave his pup to a good family. Helmert was too mean to him. He kicked Jasper when he piddled on his bedchamber floor,” she explained. “I tried to explain that Jasper is just a pup and does not know better. If Helmert would just let him out more often and encourage him not to pee on the floor, then he would not pee on the floor. But Helmert will not listen to me. So I gave Jasper to the tinker.”

  ’Twas getting more difficult not to chuckle. The tree sprite sounded so sincere in her conviction that she had done the right thing. “How auld are ye, lass?” Graeme asked, nearly certain he knew the answer.

  “Eight,” she told him.

  He was very surprised by her answer. From where he stood, she looked very tiny, like a wood elf or a tree sprite. “And how auld be yer brother?”

  “He just turned two and ten,” she told him.

  Graeme believed this was nothing more than a normal spat between brother and sister. How many times had he tormented his older brothers and they him? “How about I take ye to yer mum? I be certain she’ll protect ye from yer ferocious, older, brother.”

  “She is the only one who does,” she told him.

  At the time, he hadn’t thought her statement peculiar.

  Three years later he had another opportunity to see the little girl again.

  Helmert had been tearing through the keep, bellowing like a mad bull as he searched for his sister. “Josephine, I swear I’ll rip yer head off when I find ye!” ’Twas eerily similar to Graeme’s first visit.

  Graeme, remembering his first encounter with the tree sprite, went in search of Josephine. The first place he looked was the auld oak tree, but she was not there. After a careful search out of doors, he went inside. She was not in the larder or the kitchen. It took more than half an hour before he finally located her in her father’s study, hiding under the large desk.

  Graeme crouched low so that he could see her better. It didn’t appear she had grown much in three years, though she had lost the cherubic face. This time she wore a dark green dress and matching slippers. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been quite terrified of her brother. Now, she looked quite angry.

  “I’ll nae tell, Josephine,” he whispered, offering her a kind smile.

  A scrunched brow said she didn’t believe him.

  “Pray tell, what did ye hide this time?” he asked, hoping his amused tone would help lighten the mood.

  Reluctantly, she finally confessed. “His strop.”

  Graeme raised a confused brow. “Why would ye hide his strop?”

  The little girl looked at him as though he were quite daft. “So he will not beat me with it.”

  He supposed that was as good a reason as any, but he was still quite confused. While the fisticuffs between him and his brothers had decreased in frequency these past few years, he could still remember well the times they had fought with one another, over the oddest of things. But never in all his years could he remember any of them using a weapon or a strop. Mayhap ’twas simply different between a brother and sister. Since he hadn’t been blessed with a sister, he couldn’t rightly say. Mayhap this was an argument best settled with the aid of her mother.

  “Mayhap we should go to yer mum again,” he said as he offered her his hand.

  Her fierce scowl was immediately replaced with a look of sadness. “My mum passed away more than two years ago,” she told him. The angry edge in her voice was gone.

  Graeme was about to suggest she seek out her father’s assistance when he heard his auldest brother Traigh calling for him in the hallway. “Graeme! We be leavin’ now, with or without ye!”

  Unfortunately, he knew his brother bespoke the truth. Graeme smiled down at the little girl. “Do nae worry, lass. I’ll nae tell anyone where ye be.” He didn’t bother waiting for a response. Instead, he stood to his full height, slid the chair back into place and quickly left the room.

  Graeme hadn’t given the child another thought. He had left for France not long after that encounter with Josephine, to study with his uncle, Samuel MacAulay, a most learned man and one that Graeme held in high esteem. He and his uncle had stayed in France for nearly four years.

  Upon their return to Scotland, Graeme’s father and two of his brothers met them in Edinburgh. ’Twas a happy reunion, though Graeme had thoroughly enjoyed his time in France, he had also missed his family.

  On their way back to Lewis, they had stopped again at the MacAdams keep. He couldn’t help but wonder where he’d find the girl this time or what trouble she might have gotten herself into. Would she be hiding in the chicken coop? The stables? Or mayhap, the auld oak tree again? Who knew, but he found he was looking forward to learning.

  His wait had not been a long one. They hadn’t been at the MacAdams keep long when Helmert came storming through the keep in search of his ugly sister. Graeme could not resist the urge to seek out Josephine and learn what she had hidden from her brother this time.

  It had taken even longer to find her this time, but she hadn’t disappointed him. After more than an hour of searching, he finally found her hiding in a garderobe.

  When Graeme had pulled open the door, there she was, on the bench, crouched in the corner, like a cat waiting to pounce. She looked embarrassed as well as surprised and even a bit angry. Graeme smiled down at her. “Good day to ye, Josephine.”

  “Go away,” she whispered harshly.

  Graeme quickly scanned both ends of the dark hallway. He could hear Helmert shouting one floor below them. “I’ll nae give ye away, lass,” he whispered.

  He could tell by the scowl on her face that she did not believe him. He gave another quick glance left and right before stepping into the garderobe, sitting down and closing the door. It was dark, save for a small beam of light that shone through the tiny window in the door. The space was small, barely enough room for one, let alone two. His arm pressed against Josephine’s leg.

  “What are you doing?” Josephine asked, her voice low and panic stricken.

  Graeme ignored her question by asking one of his own. “What did ye hide this time?”

  He was met with silence.

  “Lass, we first met when ye were but eight years of age. Ye were hidin’ in the oak tree. The next time we met, ye were hidin’ under yer da’s desk. I ne’er gave ye away then and I’ll nae give ye away now.”

  The silence stretched on before she finally answered. “I hid his horse.”

  Hiding a strop or a pup was one thing, but hiding a man’s horse? That was taking things a bit far. “Did ye hide it or give it away, like the pup?” Graeme asked.

  She was silent for a moment before letting out a sigh of frustration. “I gave it to a crofter.”

  Graeme wondered if that couldn’t be considered horse thievery? “Why?”

/>   “I had my reasons,” she told him firmly.

  “Lass, where I come from, they hang horse reivers,” he told her. Though he seriously doubted she would be hung for her actions, he was compelled to find out why she had done it.

  “He beats his horse, mercilessly,” she told him. ’Twas reminiscent of the first conversation they had experienced. Josephine sounded just as forlorn now as she had back then, when she had hidden the pup. He was left to believe that she was simply a tenderhearted young lass with a soft spot for animals. Still, he wondered if, by chance, she was not exaggerating, either to gain his sympathy or to lessen any punishment her father might mete out.

  “He beats everything weaker than him. Not just horses and dogs, but people too,” she explained.

  Graeme found her statement difficult to believe. Though he did know the world was filled with men like she was describing, he believed she may have been exaggerating. Still, he had lingering doubts. “Does yer da nae stop him?”

  He heard her swallow hard before she answered. “Nay,” she said. “Will you keep my secret?” she asked.

  Mayhap there was a grain of truth in what she said. He now wished he had been blessed with sisters in order that he might have some experience to draw upon. He thought back to his friend, Remi, who had two sisters. Remi oft spoke of his younger sisters and how they sometimes behaved in a manner he didn’t quite understand. Prone to romanticizing everything, crying over things that neither he nor Remi believed required tears.

  Something tugged at his heart. Compassion he supposed, for a wee lass with a tender heart and no mother in which to help her or guide her through life. “I’ll ne’er tell a soul,” Graeme said. “I’ll take yer secret to me grave.”

  Leaning forward, he opened the door a crack and stuck his head through. The hallway appeared empty so he stood to leave.

  Josephine reached out and touched his arm with her hand. “What is your name?” she asked.