Mary Reed McCall (13 page)

“The watching over your sickbed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The laird himself watched over you the entire time you were sick, even when you were sleeping.” Bridgid rearranged the bolster behind Aileana’s back. Her kerchief flapped as she nodded. “The whole time Duncan kept the watch. He wanted to be tending you until your fever broke. After that he let me and Kinnon spell him every few hours.”

Peculiar warmth spread through Aileana’s belly, and she twisted her fingers in the blankets. “Where is he now?” Her voice gave out before she could add that she wanted to thank him for tending to her.

“I don’t know, missy. But if you’re feeling well enough for the moment, I’ll go find him. He’ll want to be told now that you’re awake.”

Aileana nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. Though her arms lacked any real strength, she soon sat up and tried to run her fingers through her tangled hair. If only she’d thought to ask Bridgid for a comb and a damp cloth to wash her face. She smoothed her fingers over her cheeks, hoping to bring up a little color, but as she lowered her hands to the coverlet, she saw that they were shaking.

Frowning, Aileana noticed that she could see the threading of her veins more than usual; her skin appeared almost translucent. It was clear that the plague had laid her low.

“I see you’re sitting up.”

Aileana looked toward the door; the low timbre of Duncan’s voice sent strange warmth flooding through her again. He leaned against the curved entrance to the chamber, a guarded expression on his face. She squinted
to see him in the shadows, but still he held back, as if hesitant to actually come into the room.

“I’m feeling much better,” she said quietly.

“I’ve sent Bridgid to fetch some broth for you.” He pushed away from the door frame and walked into the chamber. Still he kept his distance from her bed, moving instead to the fireplace. “You’ll need to rebuild your strength.”

He gazed at her then, a flicker of concern piercing the careful look he’d been wearing since he came into the room. “Bridgid told me about you trying to get your own water, and I’ll not have you behaving so foolishly again. You’re to stay in bed, on my order. Is that understood?”

Aileana closed her eyes again, weakness overcoming her. “I’m no babe to be coddled.” She would have said more, but a fit of dry coughing interrupted her.

“If you insist on being stubborn, I’ll resume my own watch of you until I’m convinced that you’re strong enough to be left alone.” Duncan leveled his gaze on her, his eyes compelling. “It was not so long ago that I feared losing you to the plague. I’ll not have you falling sick again for the sake of obstinacy.”

She paused, the memory of his kisses flickering through her mind. Her cheeks heated with the sudden rush of blood, making her feel dizzy, and she took another sip of water.

“I heard—” she whispered, “nay, I
remember
you caring for me.” She stared with marked intent at the square of stone flagging right in front of Duncan’s booted feet. “It was kind of you, and I thank you for it.”

Duncan remained silent, and Aileana felt tingles of unease dance across her skin. She didn’t dare look at him.
When she finally glanced up, she saw a stricken look in place of the pompous arrogance she’d expected. Yet in the blink of an eye he shuttered the expression in favor of a calm, level gaze.

“What I did was nothing I wouldn’t have done for anyone under my personal responsibility.”

Aileana’s stomach tightened and she resisted the urge to touch her swollen lips again. What he said couldn’t be true. She remembered, she’d
felt
his passionate tenderness after her fever broke.

Unless she’d been dreaming.

But then why did her lips feel as if they’d been kissed? Why did she recall the sweet, silken pressure of his mouth, the warmth of his breath against her cheek?

“I thought…” She swallowed and tried to focus her cloudy mind. “I thought that there was more. That it wasn’t just—”

“It was nothing.” Duncan’s face looked gray, and he turned his back on her to pace toward the windows while he continued talking. “Plague fevers are known for the delirium they can cause.” He spun on his heel to face her again, though he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Bridgid will be up soon. Eat and then rest. I’ll be checking on you later.”

Aileana forced herself to remain silent as he left the room. Hurt and confusion sliced deep, compounding the weariness she already felt. Ignoring the lump in her throat, she rolled to her side and pulled the coverlet over her shoulder. Something was wrong. The way Duncan acted just now didn’t fit. Not with what she remembered.

Her body shook with a shuddering sigh, weariness weighing her down too much to think on it more. When
she closed her eyes, welling tears spilled warm onto her cheeks, and she brushed them away quickly. But it wasn’t until many hours later that she finally fell into exhausted, troubled slumber.

K
innon tossed back the remainder of his ale and wiped his mouth. The sounds of the feasting going on around him in the great hall had risen until the din was almost deafening. Now that the outbreak of plague seemed to have died down, the need to celebrate life had burned strong. With that in mind, a contingent of MacKenzies had arrived three days ago, with a score of men and as many women, and the revelry had increased every night since.

Leaning back against the wall, he looked around the gathering before letting his gaze settle on Duncan. Though his cousin mingled with the company, he seemed none too pleased at the attentions Nora MacKenzie had been lavishing on him all night. The woman had survived her bout with plague, none the worse for wear. Now she seemed intent on luring Duncan back to her bed…something she’d been trying to accomplish ever since Aileana MacDonell had come to Eileen Donan. Un
fortunately for her, she hadn’t yet realized the futility of that effort.

Kinnon let his sights drift along the table, across the expansive stone floor to the corner near the massive fireplace. Aileana sat curled on a chair there, a length of plaid draped over her legs. Though she’d recovered from her own bout with the plague more than a fortnight ago, her face was pinched and wan. He followed the track of her stare; it led back to Duncan, who continued to resist Nora, all the while glancing furtively at Aileana as if he both wanted her near and wished himself far away from her at the same time.

Kinnon sighed. The two of them were like to kill each other with coolness if someone didn’t step in soon. They’d circled their shadows for days, and it was ruining them both. Kinnon had pondered approaching Duncan, but he knew from experience that trying to talk to him about this would be tantamount to engaging him in battle. Duncan resisted advice, especially about women. But Aileana might be willing to listen. She’d talked freely in the storage chamber several weeks ago. Perhaps she’d welcome his counsel now.

Smiling, Kinnon weaved his way through the revelers. Before he reached Aileana’s side he secured two cups of honeyed wine, bowing as he offered her one of the fragrant drinks.

“May I tempt you with some refreshment, lady?”

Aileana gave him a startled glance. “You’ve no need to serve me.” But after a pause, she nodded in thanks and took the cup from him to sip. Her faint smile dispelled the gloom of her expression a bit. “It’s delicious, thank you.”

Kinnon swung himself onto a bench near her chair. “Aye. A special brew to mark the arrival of our honored
guests.” He inclined his head toward the many MacKenzies who celebrated at the banquet table. When he sipped again, he glanced furtively at Aileana, hoping his comment encouraged her to notice the one MacKenzie in particular who was heaping attention on Duncan.

Aileana grimaced. Setting her cup aside, she leaned back again in her chair and pulled her plaid closer around her knees. “The festivities are quite too fervent for my tastes, I fear.”

“Perhaps you should retire for the evening what with being ill as you were,” Kinnon said shrewdly. “You might take sick again.”

“Nay.” Aileana shook her head, though her cheeks had paled. “I’m well enough.”

“It’s a different kind of ache, then, is it?” Kinnon murmured, casting her a sideways look.

Aileana threaded her fingers together, squeezing, he noticed, until the knuckles turned white. “I’ve never liked revelry.” She looked down at her lap to stare at the swath of plaid. “It is the consequence, I suppose, of spending so much time alone.”

“Ah, I see. It has nothing to do with Duncan over there, then.”

Aileana’s gaze snapped up. “Of course it doesn’t.”

Kinnon shrugged. “I only suggested as much since you seem more awkward with him than usual, of late.” He touched her hand. “It would be no crime to talk of your feelings, you know. They’d be safe with me; you’ve my word on it.”

Aileana stiffened and pulled her hand away under the guise of adjusting her plaid. “There’s no feeling about it, Kinnon MacRae. I’m Duncan’s leman. He’s the laird. It’s as simple as that.”

Her cheeks had heightened in color as she spoke, and
Kinnon ran his hand through his hair as he looked away.
Saints, but she was as stubborn as Duncan.

After a long silence, he murmured, “I am glad, then, for your peace of mind, lass. Would that I shared it.” Pushing himself from the bench, Kinnon bowed again. “I’ll be taking my leave now.” He looked up long enough to fix his gaze on her, ensuring that she caught the import of his next words. “But know that if you ever wish my advice or support, I’ll be more than willing to give it.”

After he left, Aileana sat stone still. Dragon’s breath, she must be as transparent as water. Kinnon had known her dilemma just by looking at her. The sorry truth was that ever since she’d recovered from the plague, she’d pined after Duncan, and jealousy had been gnawing at her with every additional moment she’d been forced to watch Nora MacKenzie fawn over him. It was enough to make her almost regret having nursed the woman through her illness. Worse still, the wretch was lapping up Nora’s attention like a kitten with a dish of milk.

Pulling her gaze from that disturbing scene across the hall, Aileana stared into the roiling flames on the hearthstone. Their twisting gyrations matched her emotions perfectly. Hot, angry, and uncontrolled. She couldn’t continue this way much longer, else before long her mood swings would reveal her feelings to every inhabitant of the castle.

She needed to distance herself from Duncan and this unexpected hold he seemed to have on her emotions. Now, before it got any worse.

But how?

Running away from Eilean Donan was out of the
question. Though that kind of separation was sure to ease her suffering in time, she couldn’t risk the damage she might cause to her clan or to Gavin if Duncan chose to retaliate for her breach of their bargain. She tipped her head to the side, leaning the weight of her chin onto her hand. She could try to force Duncan to admit he’d kissed her when she was sick. By using every feminine wile she possessed, she might be able to make him forget the existence of any other woman save her. She could tempt him and tease him until…

Aileana’s cheeks burned hotter than the flames on the hearth as she brushed the wild notion aside. Even if she wished it, she knew in her soul that she could never be so bold when it came to such things. She knew nothing about seduction. Those kinds of triumphs were reserved for a few select women. Women with more obvious physical charms, and the ability to carry on suggestive repartee and exchange flirtatious gestures.

Women like Nora MacKenzie
.

Branding her rival with a stare sharp enough to draw blood, Aileana sagged backward. She snuggled her plaid tighter around herself. Self-pity was useless. She’d learned that long ago in the bitter solitude of her bedchamber at Dulhmeny. When Father imposed especially harsh dictates on her, she’d avoided wailing and tears, instead waiting for Gavin or Robert to sneak to her window or door. Then she’d sprung into action.

Action
…

That was it. She needed to
do
something. Something she knew that she could do well.

She swept her gaze over Duncan once again, her eyes narrowing as she saw where his large, gloved hands rested. Something clicked inside her, then, propelling her
to her feet and across the hall. She spared barely a glance at the revelers, escaping under the wide, stone arch to climb the stairs to her bedchamber. Once there, she stretched out on her pallet, letting her mind drift toward the thoughts she’d had on her first night at Eilean Donan so many weeks ago.

Thoughts of revenge.

At first, dredging up those memories stung like a handful of salt on an open wound. But as each inspiration returned full force, a heady lightness filled her. She wasn’t powerless. She could do something to ease the suffering she endured thanks to Duncan MacRae and his insensitivity. And the first revenge she took against him would give balm to this most recent wound. Or to be exact, the wound he’d allowed Nora MacKenzie to help inflict on her.

In an instant Aileana leaped out of bed and splashed water on her face. There was no time to waste. Supper was almost over. With a last pat to tuck several unruly waves of hair into place, she raced down the stairs. No one saw her as she ducked into the kitchen; holding her breath in a prayer that her luck held, she slipped into the pantry.

Cool dark surrounded her, thick with the tangy scent of herbs she’d put up for the coming winter. Squinting to see the earthen jars, Aileana fumbled and stood on tiptoe, almost knocking the marjoram to the floor before she found the correct pot. Her hand closed around the vessel, exploring its cool contours, and she suffered a moment’s hesitation about using its contents. Never before had she called upon her knowledge of herbs for anything other than aiding the ill.

A woman’s laughter rose above the din in the great
hall, drifting to Aileana’s ears. She stepped into the light of the kitchen and peeked through the archway at the festivities still raging across the threshold. What she saw made her eyes sting, and her fingers tighten round the pot.

It was as she suspected. The owner of the irritating giggle sat perched on Duncan’s lap, tipping her head back to laugh and offering him a calculated view of her two greatest assets; the ones that wobbled only inches from his face. Aileana’s jaw clenched, and she darted back into the kitchen, uncorking the pot’s lid as she went. Though it wouldn’t hurt them, a good dose of this herb would ensure that Duncan and Nora wouldn’t soon forget this night—or the view from inside the confines of their privy chamber.

She quelled the tiny prickle of guilt that remained. This was war after all, she reminded herself, and everyone was entitled to use the weapons at her disposal. Nora might have cannons, but Aileana had artillery enough to fell an entire clan.

With a purposeful step, she marched to the trenchers, sprinkling a generous amount of the herb on a portion of stew that she would personally deliver to Duncan, for he and Nora to share when the meal was served in a few moments. Aye, Duncan MacRae was going to feel the sting of her weapons this night. It would be the first attack in her methodical assault against his manly arrogance and pride. The man was doomed to submit sooner or later. For no matter how long it took, she intended to make this a fight to the finish.

Dawn’s pink light pierced the window hangings in Duncan’s bedchamber, making Aileana sit up on her pal
let. He still hadn’t come to bed. Worry creased her brow, and her imagination took flight. Was he too sick to climb the stairs? Had she been so eager to dispense justice that she’d laid it on with too heavy a hand? Shaking her head against such nonsense, Aileana rose and dressed. She knew without a doubt that she’d been careful with the herb. Neither Nora nor Duncan would have gotten much sleep last night, but they certainly wouldn’t have suffered any danger. Just a bit of restorative purging.

A scratching at the door made her jump. Bridgid’s red face appeared in a splinter of light as she entered the chamber. The candle she held cast her features in an almost eerie glow, and Aileana’s stomach flopped. Something must be wrong.

“Missy, it’s the MacRae. You’d better come. I just found him out in the yard. He’s holding his stomach and looking awful gray.” Bridgid’s eyes rounded further as she whispered, “Heaven preserve us, do you think it could be the plague again?”

Relief bubbled so swiftly in Aileana that she almost laughed aloud. But she schooled her face into a somber expression. “I don’t think so, Bridgid. It would be unlikely, with symptoms such as those. Does he have the fever?”

Bridgid shook her head. “Not that I can tell, though it was hard to be sure, seeing as how he growled like something from a cave when I tried to touch him.”

Aileana wrapped her plaid round her shoulders and nodded. She followed Bridgid into the hall, asking innocently, “Are any others afflicted?”

The
bailie
nodded. “Aye, but only one. Nora MacKenzie has taken ill, though I’m not sure how bad. It’s what made me think it might be the plague again,
passed from one to the other, since she and Duncan have been spending a fair amount of time together, and—”

Bridgid clipped off her comment and glanced to Aileana. Embarrassment mottled her skin a more fierce crimson than usual. “I meant nothing by saying that, missy, and anyway, it’s no shame upon you if Duncan prefers—” She shook her head as she searched for the words, “—well if he wants to be spending his nights with another, then—” Bridgid clamped her mouth shut and made a strangled, coughing noise.

Aileana tightened her fists, savoring the knowledge of her revenge more fully. “It doesn’t matter, Bridgid. Where the MacRae chooses to sleep is his concern.” She lifted her chin and muttered, “But his illness is mine. I’m eager to examine him and ensure—I mean
check
his level of discomfort.”

Bridgid nodded and hurried along with her until they reached the door to the yard. “He’s out there, leaning against the wall.” She gestured in the direction and scurried off, murmuring something about looking in on Nora as she left.

Aileana barely paused before marching into the yard and around the corner. She searched the dusky, pink-tinted gloom, trying to find Duncan. A low groan drew her gaze to the spot. He sat on the ground, his back against the wall. Even in the low light, Aileana could see the gray cast to his skin and the sheen of sweat on his face. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed.

“Duncan?” She stepped closer to him. A tiny stab of shame pricked her. Swallowing, she said more loudly, “Duncan, can you hear me?”

“Aye, I hear you,” he growled under his breath. “But don’t come too near me, unless you want to share in
whatever’s gripping me in its jaws.” He groaned again, wincing as he bent forward. His arm clenched around his middle. “It’s got me in the gut.”

Aileana took another step toward him, ignoring his weak gesture warning her away. “Don’t worry; I’ll be fine.” Her lips pressed together with guilt she refused to voice. “Can you stand?”