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“Stay here, I have to do something for Francis but my father won’t dare meet you in our rooms,” Bash told his wife as he collected his sword and cloak. “Will you be alright?”
Kenna gave him a small smile. “I think so,” she said. “I have a slight ache in my head. I will just have some rest and perhaps we could have dinner later on?”
“I’d like that,” Bash replied, smiling before he left.
Sighing, Kenna prepared to take her corset off but when a knock on the door sounded, she turned to it, slightly amused. Thinking it was her husband and ready to chide him for knocking on the door to his own rooms they shared, she opened the door wide and was surprised to be met with a guard.
“A package came for you, my lady,” he said gruffly, handing her the package as if he believed his job was more than a messenger boy. It was, but it must have been important for a guard to deliver it.
“Thank you,” Kenna said, awkwardly bestowing him a tip before shutting the door closed.
She placed the box down and undid the strings carefully before opening it up. Inside was a tartan shawl with a letter which said, “We extend our greetings and hope our wee lady has a happy marriage. From Scotland, with love - Mother, Father & The Rest of Clan Betune” .
Tears clogged her throat as she sank down into a seat at the table, running her fingers over the material of the familiar tartan pattern of her Clan’s. She had got used to seldom wearing the Stuart tartan as a lady-in-waiting of the Queen’s, but it had been years upon years since she graced her body with her family’s crest and tartan.
Tears ran freely down her cheeks as she inhaled the deep Scottish scent of the shawl. Her eyes closed as she remembered the fields of the lowlands and the beautiful country manor she grew up in with her elder brothers, Robert and Douglas and younger brothers, Andrew and Lachlan.
She had believed they did not care for her any longer. She had brought shame to their family. Slept with and claimed the King of France, only to be dispensed of and thrown into a lifelong marriage with his bastard son. Now, his son was the only favour she could curry in order to remain with her head on her shoulders and not be killed.
Wrapping the shawl around her, she smiled when she realised that it was huge . Gone were the days of the Scottish snow freezing her and her four brothers to the bone and their parents wrapping the large shawls over their shoulders by the fireplace before her father went to work in the name of the Queen and Country at Court as the 4th Laird of Creich. Her mother had her own place at Court, being Marie de Guise’s lady-in-waiting herself, it was how the Beatons could rise amongst the ranks and how Kenna’s place in Court, both Scottish and now French, could be.
“Oh, Mother,” she whispered into the air, “how I wish I could be home right now.”
Things between her and Bash were going well now, they worked together better and he promised to protect her, even if his heart would never lie with her. It was the best she could get, given her current relationship with Henry.
But she couldn’t deny she wished for the day she’d return home to Scotland and be embraced by her father and mother’s warm hugs and kisses.
It hurt when she didn’t receive word from Scotland upon her marriage. If their queen could not fix her situation, could not break her newfound marriage, how did she expect her father and mother to have a chance?
Swallowing hard, she retrieved some parchment and a pen before getting to write a ‘thank you’ letter in return for the memories her family sent her. She would be forever grateful for this little piece of Scotland in her and her husband’s rooms and she hoped she’d walk the fields of Scotland soon one day.
“With love, Kenna de Bethune, Baroness de Poitiers de France . ”
She signed it with a heavy heart. She would never not be a Beaton from Clan Betune. She was proud of her heritage, she even had links in France, being descended from French Beatons. She knew Bash probably had no knowledge of this, even with his extended education and well-learnedness. It was a piece of her she’d never reject, even as she now signed papers and official documents as a member of House de Poitiers.
She hoped she wouldn’t have melancholy now. That melancholy seldom killed women who longed for their home amongst other things. But she couldn’t help the sobs that escaped her lips after she’d pressed a kiss on the seal of her letter and placed it in the middle of the dining table to be collected with the rest of the mail tomorrow.
That is how Bash found her hours later, her eyes red and raw as she was wrapped in her tartan shawl with her eyes fixed on her parents’ letter.
“Kenna?” He called cautiously, stepping closer to place his sword down on the side and collect the letter. He scanned it and looked down at his wife who now stared off into space. “Clan Betune?”
Kenna blinked back to life and rose from her seat, dropping the shawl onto the chair. “Beaton,” she explained. “My family, the Beatons, we’re from Clan Betune.”
Bash slowly nodded and placed the letter down gently before collecting the shawl. “This is very fine.”
“And warm,” Kenna muttered, leaving his side to busy herself with removing her corset as it was now late.
He missed dinner.
She did too.
She heard the knocks, but never answered and now she wished she had as the little she had eaten was now empty and her stomach grumbled for food.
“My parents sent it,” she explained further. “The shawl. They wished us a happy marriage.”
Bash flinched at her flippant tone, watching as she removed her trinkets. “Did you thank them on my behalf? If you haven’t, we could write a letter together to send back-”
“I have already done that,” she said sharply. “Not that it needs to be done. It’s not like you care about my parents’ approval, is it? Nor does it matter if you have it or not, we’re married and we just had some wedding they weren’t even allowed to attend. So, there.”
Bash sighed, rubbing the shawl against his stubbled cheek. “Kenna…” He wanted to ask why she was so upset. Did his father meet her here? Did he hurt her? “Did my father-”
“No,” she cut him off, turning to face him. “I’m tired, Bash.”
“Of course,” he mumbled, carefully folding up the shawl and placing it down on the table. “Do you miss her?”
“Who?” Kenna questioned, removing her dress.
“Scotland.”
Kenna’s lip quirked upwards slightly. “What a strange way to ask that.”
“She’s your home,” he replied. “ Was your home.”
“Still is,” Kenna said, biting back tears.
Stepping closer to her, Bash offered her his help to help her undo the rest of her laces. “Maybe we can go sometime soon,” he suggested, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she stared at him in slight awe and surprise. “Not now, obviously. We’re needed here. But when we begin the process of finding our home, we could visit Scotland and hopefully return when our home is complete.”
Kenna leaned back into his touch, feeling one of his hands rest on her hip. “Alright,” she whispered.
With his mouth to her ear, he sighed. “I wish I could take you as far away as I could from Henry. I wish we could go to Scotland right now and you could show me everything I’ve never experienced before. The food, the culture, the language… The air.”
Kenna closed her eyes, drifting back into memories of her homeland once more. “She’s beautiful. You’ll love being there. You can feel her with every breath,” she said, opening her eyes and meeting his through the mirror once more. “But I can bear being here a little longer as long as I have you, a sheòid.”
Bash’s brows furrowed in curiosity as his ears ached to hear her say that once more. As if it culled him like a siren. “What does that mean? Say it again.”
Smiling, she whispered, “A sheòid.” Then she added, “It means my hero .”
Bash rested his forehead against the back of her head as he smiled in content. “I promise to always protect you then. I’ll be your a sheòid.”
Kenna giggled. “We’ll work on your accent, don’t worry.”
“And we’ll work on yours,” he replied teasingly. “Don’t think I didn’t know you were descended from the French Béthunes.”
She stared at him in shock, a blush settling on her cheeks.
Maybe her husband could be of some use after all.