Mary Reed McCall (10 page)

Glancing at him from the side of her gaze, Aileana realized that Duncan was working a magic of his own on her. Though she’d meant to needle him, to plot against him and keep him at arm’s length with her newfound boldness, his calm prevented her from doing anything of the kind. In a strange way he even seemed to invite her confidence, along with something else she’d never experienced before from a man…

A request for honest discussion with her.

Warmth filled her, loosening her reserve and pressing her to tell Duncan MacRae the real reason she’d been driven to test her powers of persuasion on his clan. The tripping throb of her pulse beat in her throat, and her mouth felt dry as she waged the silent war inside her. It would be so easy to dissemble, to hide behind the same protective defenses she’d built over a lifetime of domination. But something was pushing her in the opposite direction, urging her to trust, though by all rights Duncan was the last man she should consider trustworthy at this point.

“I—I do not know where to start,” she murmured, buying time to think.

He motioned for her to sit on the second chair near the fire. “Make yourself comfortable and start anywhere you like, lass. I’ll keep up.” His quicksilver eyes warmed again, piercing her with that same vulnerable, sensual quality as he took her hand in his own gloved one and eased her to the seat.

At the touch of the warm leather, all thinking stopped. A strange sensation tingled up Aileana’s arm and deep into the core of her, even more startling and pleasurable than what she’d felt when he’d brushed by her earlier.
And then she knew that what had seemed impossible was about to happen.

She was going to tell Duncan the truth.

Moistening her lips, she let the words come. “You told me once that your clan disliked me for the harm my sister and my people had done to them, but that if I worked very hard, I might learn to change their view of me.” Aileana wrapped her arms around her middle where she sat facing him. “After you left to raid the MacLeods, I decided to do just that.”

The fire popped and crackled in the companionable silence. After a space, Aileana saw the corners of Duncan’s mouth twitch as if he wanted to smile. “Am I right in thinking your decision stemmed in part from a wish to spite me?”

A nervous laugh escaped her, and she nodded. “Aye. I admit that was one of my reasons.”

“And the others?”

The smile faded from Aileana’s lips, and she twisted her head to gaze into the fire. “The other reasons do not concern you.”

“Aye but they do, if they pushed you to act in matters of my clan without my knowledge. I demand the complete allegiance of every person living under my roof, Aileana, because I know too well what happens when a viper is allowed to dwell in secret among them. I will not let it happen again.”

Duncan sounded harsh, and Aileana glanced quickly at him. His expression had hardened, his jaw set in a rigid line that managed to condemn, convict, and sentence her in one fell swoop.

An answering hurt lanced into her heart, a wound that stemmed from constant lack of trust. Her own father had doubted her strength of character enough to lock her
away from human company at the tender age of eight. Bridgid had all but outright accused her of witchery.

And now Duncan. It was almost as if he expected her to leap up from the hearth and slit his throat with a concealed dagger. Was she forever cursed to be judged by the evil standards Morgana had set so many years ago?

Bitterness scorched her as she said, “My sister is
dead
. Wicked though she was, can everyone not leave her at rest? Must you and the rest of your kin fire her sins at me like arrows every time you suspect my loyalty?”

“Your sister ruined many lives, Aileana, and if there is any justice, her soul burns in hell this very moment,” Duncan answered. “But I was never fool enough to let your sister abide with me and my people. It wasn’t her I was thinking of when I spoke.”

“Who, then?” Aileana challenged.

“My own brother, Colin MacRae.”

A cold chill slid down Aileana’s back. Duncan had a
brother
? She’d never suspected such a thing—never even questioned the possibility in her mind. But what could one of Duncan’s own kin have done to earn his hatred on the same scale as Morgana?

“Where is this brother? Why haven’t I met him?”

“He’s dead.”

A horrible thought took hold of her, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Did you kill him?”

“Nay. Though I wish the pleasure had been mine.” Duncan pushed himself from his chair and paced over to the window. Night had crept across the moors, darkening the waters of the loch to murky gray. He splayed his fingers on the glass and leaned against it, letting its smooth expanse cool his forehead.

Colin
. It hurt Duncan to think of him almost as much as it did to remember Mairi. But he wouldn’t honor his
brother’s memory with silence. Better to reveal the whole sordid truth so that no one could deny that Colin was a bastard in action as well as birth.

Pasting a mocking grin on his face, Duncan twisted from the window. “Colin was my father’s son, born a year before me of an illicit union Da made with a woman from a village across the loch. Though he was of the wrong side of the sheets, we were raised together like true brothers, and he never gave me any cause to suspect that he resented my legitimacy. We knew our places: I was to become laird, while he would take a favored position on my council. In truth, I appointed him to lead the watch on the day I was wed to Mairi, the woman I loved…an honor he repaid by killing some of our guards—his own kin—to provide your sister and her minions unhindered access past the curtain wall of this castle. She and others of your clan slaughtered my bride and many of my people on the day that was to be the happiest of my life.”

He closed his eyes against the dark bitterness that still filled him whenever he allowed himself to think on it. “Colin stood next to me as I spoke my vows, aware that the enemy was breaching our walls at that very moment. When I finally managed to figure out what was happening—when I understood, finally, that my own brother had betrayed me—it was too late. We fought, and I wounded him before I was knocked senseless, but he escaped with Morgana. When it was all over, Mairi was dead and I’d been sold as a prisoner to the English.”

He stopped talking, and Aileana just stared at him, wide-eyed, from where she sat before the fire. Finally, she whispered, “Is there more?”

Leaning against the wall, Duncan crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his fists. “Not much. In the
end, Colin chose to follow your sister into banishment and die a miserable death in the mountains there with her.” Duncan lifted his gaze to Aileana, pinning her with intensity and trying to make her understand the consequences to be faced should she or anyone else betray him again. “My only regret is that I wasn’t there to choke the life from both of them myself.”

Aileana blanched and closed her eyes, breathing in, and for a moment, Duncan just stared at her, the sight of her sitting with the fire lighting her golden-red hair from behind numbing him, sending a horrible image spinning through his mind. He tried his best to resist its deadly pull on him, but it swept over him, its ferocity choking the air from his lungs and making his fists clench. Heaven help him, but at this moment she looked just like
her
. With her eyes closed Aileana looked an exact replica of the murderous bitch who had destroyed his life.

Raw animosity rose up in suffocating waves, and it was all he could do to ground out, “Aileana—please, do not sit like that. Look at me, lass.”

Her eyes snapped open then, fear stiffening her features at the leashed anger in his command. But the depths of her tawny gaze dispelled the nightmare from Duncan’s imagination. He felt the rage begin to flow out of him as she uncurled herself from the hearth to stand before him.

Her cheeks looked hollow, her expression that of a child who’s just learned of a loved one’s death. “No wonder you hate me so,” she whispered. Her lips trembled, and he could see the fluttering beat of her pulse in her neck.

“Nay, Aileana. I do not hate you. It’s just that when you were sitting there like that, I couldn’t stop think
ing…I couldn’t get it out of my mind that you looked just like—”

“Morgana.” Aileana breathed her sister’s name, and as Duncan watched, her jaw tightened and that terrible, stricken expression slid across her features. “I know,” she murmured. “I look much like my sister. I was never allowed to forget it. And I cannot blame you for hating me because of it, after hearing for the first time the full truth of what she did.”

She smoothed her hands in a repetitive motion over her skirt, her gaze distant, lost in a world of her own making. When she focused on him again, he saw in them the ache of old pain…pain that had taken years to accumulate, but to which he had just added, with his unthinking, gut reaction of moments ago.

It filled him with an inexpressible sadness that was as sudden and violent as his response to Aileana’s appearance had been. But before he could gather his composure enough to do anything, to say anything, she spoke again.

“I cannot promise you perfect obedience, Duncan MacRae. I
won’t
promise it to you.” A flash of the defiance he’d seen when he came home shown in her face. “I cannot go back to the frightened, sheltered woman I was forced to be these many years. But I swear to you that unlike my sister, I do not seek ill for your clan. You have my word on that.”

Duncan watched her, spellbound, as she walked with quiet grace to the door. “I’ve several tasks to finish before I retire for the night. I’ll return when they’re complete. Good night.”

And with that she disappeared through the open door. But not before Duncan caught sight of a single tear that had begun to trickle down her cheek.

It seemed as if he could hear his heart thundering in
his ears in the terrible silence she left behind. Swallowing hard, he blinked to rid himself of the dry, scratchy sensation that lodged behind his eyes. Then, wordlessly, he closed them and dropped his chin to his chest, feeling as empty as if someone had just driven a dagger through his heart.

A
ileana pounded the last of the dried marigolds into dust before carefully brushing the powder into the curved stone vessel that rested on the table. Bridgid handed her a flagon of good wine from the storehouse, and Aileana poured until only two finger widths of space remained at the top of the bowl. For the final ingredient she added a bottle of vinegar to the mix and stirred them all together. Word of the plague had spread up from the south, and this mixture was the only one Aileana knew of that might spare the inhabitants of Eilean Donan.

“Cover this and let it sit in a cool place for three days before straining it,” she told Bridgid. Wiping the back of her hand across her brow, she shook her head. “With luck, I think it’ll last until the threat of the plague passes.”

“I don’t think it’ll matter, missy. Some of the men are saying they’ll drink no more of your brew,” Bridgid
complained. Concern wrinkled her brow. “They’re claiming that nothing will be stopping the sickness if it means to take us in its clutches. They rejected my tonics for the same reason.”

Aileana’s lips tightened. The marigold formula couldn’t help anyone if they refused to swallow it.

She thought for a moment. “It is true we cannot make them drink anything outright, Bridgid…” She nodded toward the pot of oats bubbling on the kitchen fire. “But we can fix it so they’ll be getting some anyway if we don’t mind being a bit sly about it.”

Bridgid’s wiry curls bobbed as she nodded. “I ken your meaning missy, and I think it’s a good plan. I’ve always hoped to find another woman who’d be willing to stand up and help me keep the menfolk in order. Most times they don’t know what’s best for themselves anyway.”

Bridgid heaved the bowl into her arms, heading for the cellar, and Aileana allowed herself a brief smile. That was as close to a compliment as she’d received from Bridgid, but it gratified her to know that she’d made progress in the two weeks since Duncan returned from raiding the MacLeods. And she’d been true to her word with him, making only those changes that she thought would improve the lot of the clan.

He’d seemed tolerant of her decisions, if not appreciative. He’d even agreed to swallow some of the marigold tonic himself just a sennight ago, before he left on another raid against the neighboring MacLennans. She recalled the pleasant surprise she’d felt that morn when Duncan had insisted on viewing her herb collection; he’d listened to her describe each plant’s use with careful attention, then he’d complimented her on the variety she’d
managed to gather in so short a time. He’d left shortly after that, and she’d realized that she felt empty. Like the sun shone dimmer and the wind blew colder.

Almost as if, God help her, she missed him.

Her erratic emotions were due to the change of seasons, she decided. The skies rumbled with gray clouds more often than not this late part of September, and a chill had settled over the moors.

The early frosts were making forays to the wood and glen more difficult, and she’d been forced to accept that her store of herbs was as full as it was likely to be until the spring thaw. Still, after combining her fresh gatherings with Bridgid’s old ones, Aileana thought they’d have enough to get through the harsh winter season and the threat of plague. With a little extra industry, a rich bed of soil could be cultivated in the castle yard before the snow flew, making it ready for a spring planting.

But it wouldn’t wait long; more digging needed to be done, and the old bed, unused for many years, thirsted for a proper weeding and turning of soil. Letting her gaze drift over the kitchen, Aileana gathered a bucket and the small basin of live plants she’d gleaned from the forest floor. As she collected the items, she allowed herself a flicker of satisfaction. This room, at least, glistened with cleanliness and order—something it had sadly lacked when she arrived.

But the castle yard called her to more work. Tucking her braid more firmly beneath her head cloth, Aileana trudged outside. And as she dug her shovel into the ground, she promised herself that she’d tease some order from the tangled patch of earth before the sun set on Loch Duich or wear herself out in the trying.

Just two nights later, Aileana heard the cries she’d been dreading; they rose in a frightening crescendo throughout the castle keep, urging her from her pallet. Bridgid burst through the door to the bedchamber moments after she’d pulled her tunic over her head.

“The plague, missy—it’s upon us. Come with me if you will, for I can use your help in treating them that’s afflicted.”

A cold blade of fear pierced Aileana. It was confirmation of what she’d already suspected, but her hands trembled as she straightened her overskirt. “Aye, I’ll come. Who’s been struck with it?” she asked as she followed Bridgid through the door and down the hall.

“Inghin’s boy came down with fever yesterday, but now he’s shaking and out of his mind, and he’s got the swelling on his neck and below his stomach.”

Aileana bit her lip and nodded. It boded ill. She walked more quickly next to Bridgid, silent now in the chill of the yard. If it was as Bridgid described, the disease had progressed rapidly; little would be left for them to do to save the lad.

Worried faces peered out of shutters and doors as they made their way through the castle village, and the smoky scent of banked fires filled the air. Aileana ducked her head to follow Bridgid into a cottage near the far edge of the settlement. In the moment it took to get her bearings, she noticed several things. A low keening rose from the far end of the room, and she saw the laundress, Inghin, crouched there, rocking back and forth over a slender form on the pallet. A few other village women huddled in the dark corners of the hut. They sat peering into the smoky gloom, likely braving the contagion because one of their near kin had been stricken.

“William, laddie, wake up for your mum!” Inghin’s voice cracked with desperation. But the boy remained unresponsive except for a faint moan as he thrashed his head on the straw pallet.

Bridgid moved forward. “Let me see him, Inghin. We’ll try to help if we can.”

The woman twisted around, her eyes red-rimmed with fear and grief, lighting with wildness the moment she caught sight of Aileana standing behind Bridgid.

“You,” she rasped. The word rang with accusation. Her brows drew together in a sneer, and she spit a curse. “Why are you here, except to gloat over your work, witch? Damn your soul to the flames, MacDonell. Your cursed sister sent you to finish what she started—it’s
you
who’s killing my boy, and I’ll see you dead for it!” She lumbered up from her knees, trying to lunge at Aileana, but Bridgid darted forward to hold her back.

Bridgid eased the woman onto a stool and murmured to her in soft, soothing tones. At last Inghin bent over and began to sob, and Bridgid hugged her tight. After a few moments, the
bailie
lifted her head to direct Aileana toward the sick boy.

“See what you can do for him, missy, while I care for his mam,” she murmured. “Never mind what Inghin said. It is her worry speaking, nothing more. She’ll be glad for your help in the morning.”

Blindly, Aileana nodded. She tried to force the numbness from her limbs and the nausea from her throat, but it kept closing in on her, the woman’s words wounding to the bone with the hatred that filled them.

William moaned again, but this time his entire body stiffened and he started to convulse. Without further thought Aileana rushed forward. Foamy spittle flew from the boy’s lips as he jerked and twisted in her grasp;
her hands felt seared with heat where she touched him, and she knew that if they didn’t bring his fever down, William would die before dawn.

“You,” she called to an old woman huddled near the door, “bring me a bucket of cool water from the loch. Hurry!”

Wordlessly, the woman shuffled to her feet and scurried off, her eyes looking as though they might pop from their sockets. Aileana held onto William until the shaking stopped, then she leaned back on her heels and peered around the tiny room again. Her gaze met the dark eyes of a boy who seemed but a shade younger than the sick lad. But when she looked at him, he skittered farther into the shadows. Aileana gestured for him to come back into the light.

Reluctantly, he obeyed, standing on shifting feet in the smoky fire’s glow. His hands twisted behind his back, and he looked down, trying to avoid Aileana’s stare.

“What’s your name, lad?”

“Evan,” he mumbled, still looking down.

“A fine name, Evan,” she murmured. She paused before adding, “But mayhap not the name of the man who’d perform the kind of great deed I’ll be needing to help save young William here.”

At the mention of great deeds, Evan’s head snapped up. “I can do many things! Better’n most!” His eyes welled with tears. “And I’ll do anything to help my brother. On my word of honor!”

Aileana’s heart twisted. She hadn’t meant to make the boy feel guilty. But she had wanted to incite him to cooperate, and the quicker the better. Striving for a more understanding tone, she said, “I don’t need anything that is bad, Evan, only something necessary to help your
brother’s heart beat strong. Can you get it for me? It’s something you’ll be needing help to carry.”

Evan nodded, his eyes alight with the understanding that his would be a serious mission.

“Good, then.” She nodded back. “I want you to fetch one of the casks of wine stored in the castle. Get another lad and come back with it as soon as you can. Will you do that for me?”

“In a whistle-breath, I can!” Evan shouted, dashing to the door.

Aileana turned back to William after the boy left, biting her lip with concern. His breathing was labored, and when she felt his neck and near his groin, she noticed the hard swellings that Bridgid had warned of earlier. It was clear that the plague buboes caused him pain; he writhed and groaned louder when she touched the swollen places.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Tilting her head, she saw Bridgid standing next to her. The
bailie
had left Inghin in the competent hands of two of the other women who were trying to persuade her to lie on the pallet near the tiny room’s hearth.

“How is he?”

“Not good,” she answered quietly. “If the fever cannot be lessened, he will die before morn.”

Bridgid knelt down beside her. “I heard you tell Evan to bring wine.” Her glance drifted to Inghin, who appeared to be giving in to the women’s entreaties to rest. She looked to Aileana again, speaking more softly, even, than before. “But wouldn’t the tonic you prepared be better than plain wine for the lad?”

“Nay. The strength of the wine will not be dulled by vinegar and herbs as it is in the tonic.”

“You fear for his heart, then.”

Aileana nodded. “He needs the stimulation of the wine, but we will need to sponge him continually to cool any heat it might bring to his skin. That is why I’ve sent the old woman to the loch. It was faster to get and just as cool as the water from the well.”

Bridgid fell silent, and Aileana worked to loosen William’s clothing. She wanted to make him as comfortable as possible until the others returned. When she finished, she sat back to wait. He seemed at peace for the moment, and all was quiet, but she sensed a strangeness from Bridgid; the
bailie
hung back, wary and guarded, watching Aileana with a vigilance that unnerved her.

Assuming that she simply feared contagion, Aileana said, “Perhaps you should return to the castle now, Bridgid. There is no need for you to sit watch this night.”

Bridgid made a scoffing sound. “It is not your place to send me home like an errant child, missy. I’ve no dread of the plague, if that is what you’re thinking.”

“I was only trying to say that there is no need for us both to look the demon in the eye. It is only William, for now. One of us is enough to sit with him.”

“Then why don’t
you
go back to the castle and your bed?” When Aileana started to shake her head, Bridgid burst forth, “And why not? I know I asked for your help, but do you not worry for your own safety, toiling here, in the heart of the disease?”

That strange thought stilled Aileana for a moment, making her pause. It was true that illness floated thick around them. It hung like a deadly cloud over the entire chamber. But she felt little concern for herself. In truth she’d always felt a great satisfaction in helping to heal the sick at Dulhmeny. They’d been the only people other than her brothers that Father had freely allowed her to
talk to during the many years after Morgana’s banishment and death.

Being here was only a little different. MacRaes or nay, these people needed her, and she found that she was willing to risk contagion for the pleasure of that burden. It would be a chance to prove once and for all that she wasn’t like Morgana…that she didn’t thrive on spreading destruction as her sister had. Nay, just the opposite.

Finally, she met Bridgid’s gaze and answered, “I’ve treated many illnesses in my life and never taken sick because of it. It will be the same for this, I warrant—and if not, then I cannot change the hand of God.”

Bridgid shook her head and mumbled, “I do not know, lass. Perhaps Inghid was right—it might not be best for you to be here, though I asked you to come.”

Aileana bit the insides of her cheeks. So it came down to this again.
Trust
. Bridgid didn’t trust her. Hurt spread dark tendrils through her veins. How could she have been so daft as to let her guard down even for an instant? She’d come no farther down the road of acceptance than where she’d been the first day she walked into Eilean Donan’s castle yard.

“I am sorry,” Aileana said stiffly. “I did not realize my help was still suspect with you as well.” She rocked back on her heels, bracing her hands against her thighs to stand. “I will be leaving now. Send for me if there is anything you feel you can trust me to do.”

“Nay, missy, it is not that.” Bridgid reached up and pulled Aileana back down. “I’ve no fear of your honesty. Truth to tell, I know precious little about healing them that come down with the plague; I
need
your help if you’re willing to give it.”