Fingal’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he continued to introduce the giant. “Ye mustn’t tell anyone, but ye should be warned because once we get to Duncurra, ye are bound to notice,” said Fingal, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Turcuil is a changling.” Confused, Katherine cocked her head to one side.
“Oh, aye, he is,” Niall said dryly.
Deciding to play along, Katherine asked “What, pray tell, does he change into?”
“A lovesick swain,” answered Niall, and the men chuckled.
“Ye see,” said Fingal, “Turcuil is rather fond of Edna, who is in charge of the staff at the keep. Edna is a widow and most of us think she has a soft spot for Turcuil, too, although it’s hard to know why.” This elicited more chuckles. “The problem is whenever Turcuil is near Edna, he forgets how to form words, so he has never actually done more than grunt at her. It is no wonder she doesn’t know of his affection.”
The other men roared with laughter.
Katherine suspected the huge man could put the fear of God into anyone, but when she glanced at him, he blushed like a maid.
“Since I am going by age, I have to tell ye about Keith and Keavy together.”
“They are both the same age?” Katherine asked, glancing at the two men. Keith had pale blond hair and was shorter and slighter than the other guardsmen. He laughed a lot and looked youthful. On the other hand, tall and stocky with shaggy brown hair, Keavy appeared quiet, almost sullen.
“I guess technically Keith is older by a few minutes. They are twins, though ye have probably noticed they are not identical. They are, in fact, as different as the night is from the day, but they are as close as two brothers could possibly be.”
“That they are,” said Alan. “If Keith eats too much, Keavy gets the indigestion.”
The men laughed but Fingal explained, “Alan must have cleaned that joke up out of respect for ye, Lady Katherine. As I recall, it is normally a much bawdier comment.” The men laughed harder.
When the laughter died, Fingal went on, “Now we come to Rab.” Fingle indicated a tall slender man with a head of shocking red hair. “Most people refer to him as ‘Rab the Red.’ I trust I don’t have to explain why—that isn’t a fire burning on his head.”
Rab grinned and ruffled his own hair, saying “Fingal, ye know it makes me a fierce warrior.”
“It only makes ye easy to see from a distance,” Fingal countered to the amusement of the other men. “And finally, ye have me, the more charming and handsome of the MacIan brothers.”
“Brothers?” said Katherine.
“Brothers,” answered Niall. “And the one who is going to die young if he doesn’t watch himself,” he added. Although he appeared to be teasing, Katherine thought she heard a serious undertone that surprised her.
Niall rose, offering his hand to her. “Now that ye have been properly introduced, I think it is time ye rested. We have another long day ahead of us.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Katherine kissed Tomas’ cheek and slid his head off her lap before taking Niall’s hand. Moving away from the rest of the men, she lay down with him on a plaid. He wrapped it around them and she fell asleep within the safety of his arms, thinking she could get very used to this.
Four
Their third day of travel went much the same as the others. Niall changed the dressing on Katherine’s back again before they left. The lacerations still looked very angry. He knew no matter how he tried to cushion her as they rode, the constant motion was irritating them. Then, late in the afternoon, the skies grew dark and a wind whipped up, signaling a brewing summer storm. Well into the Highlands now, Niall knew they really needed to have shelter this evening.
If once again he pushed their pace, they might be able to reach the protection of some caves he knew of. As much as he hated to do it, he reasoned sleeping in the rain would be considerably worse on Katherine than a couple hours of hard riding. Niall wrapped his plaid around her as the storm hit, but it didn’t prevent her from getting drenched and cold before they reached the shelter of the caves. The previous evenings had not been cold, so Niall had chosen not to risk drawing unwanted attention by starting a fire. Tonight he would have welcomed the warmth of a fire, but there was nothing dry with which to build one.
Looking chilled to the bone and trembling, Katherine stepped deeper into the dark cave. When she returned, she had changed into dry garments. She still shivered slightly, holding a heavy mantle around her shoulders.
“Ye are still cold.”
“Not as cold as I was. Everything is still a bit damp, but I’m a little warmer.”
Niall pulled her close to him, wrapping her in his plaid, hoping that his heat would further banish the chill while they slept. He held her close throughout the night, but she slept fitfully, waking with dark circles under her eyes.
“Katherine, ye don’t look well,” he observed.
“I am just a bit tired and achy. I’m sure I’ll feel better soon.”
“Just a bit?” he asked skeptically. He hadn’t known her very long, but he suspected that if she was admitting to feeling “a bit tired and achy” she actually felt much worse than that. Still, there wasn’t much he could do so he didn’t push her. “Come, let me change your dressing.”
Katherine turned her back to him with no argument. Niall opened her kirtle to find her back was not healing and one particularly deep lash showed signs of festering. Following her directions, he cleansed it as best he could. Her clenched teeth and fisted hands told him that it caused her pain, but there was nothing else to be done. When he finished, she looked as pale and drawn as she had the evening before.
Once again they set out with Niall cradling Katherine on his lap. The storm had blown itself out during the night. The day grew fine and warm, but by midmorning she shivered in his arms. Closing her eyes against the bright sun, she snuggled closer to him, seeking his warmth. Her flushed face felt hot and dry to his touch. He realized, in spite of all his efforts, fever had set in—she was desperately ill. When they stopped at midday, he tried with little success to get her to eat or at least drink something. She curled up on a plaid and slept. He said to his men, “If we ride hard, we can reach Brathanead by this evening.”
Alan asked, “Do ye think she can tolerate traveling any faster?”
“I think if I don’t get her into the hands of a healer soon, I might lose her,” Niall answered, his voice unable to hide the anxiety he felt.
Niall pushed as hard as the horses could tolerate, Katherine burning up in his arms. They reached Laird Malcolm MacLennan’s keep, Brathanead, at dusk. The MacLennans had been staunch allies of the MacIans for as long as Niall could remember. Niall had trained under Malcolm’s father and he had enormous respect for the old laird.
Malcolm and Niall’s father, Alastair, had been good friends. Niall and Fingal thought of him as an uncle. Now, just as his father had, Niall considered him to be his most trusted ally. Malcolm met them in the courtyard. A flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw the limp, feverish lass in Niall’s arms. He issued orders to see to their comfort and sent for the clan’s healer. “Give her to me, lad.” Malcolm reached to lift Katherine off Niall’s lap. Niall hesitated. “Lad, I won’t break her. Ye have to get off that horse.” Niall lowered her into Malcolm’s waiting arms and dismounted. “God’s teeth, lad, where did ye find this waif and what in the hell happened to her?”
“She is my wife, Malcolm.” At his shocked expression, Niall added, “It’s a long story.” He took Katherine back in his arms, and they entered the keep. Fingal followed carrying a sleepy Tomas.
“Who is the other urchin?” Malcolm asked lightly as he led them up the stairs into one of the towers containing bedchambers.
“A clansman,” answered Fingal, without offering any further information.
Katherine mumbled feverishly. “I promised I wouldn’t hide anything from you.”
“Wheesht, lass.”
“Niall, I’m ill.”
“Aye, lass, I know, but ye will get better now,” Niall answered, willing it to be true.
Then, in a more panicked voice, she asked, “Where is Tomas?”
“Tomas is fine, he’s with Fingal,” Niall assured her.
She still seemed agitated, begging, “Niall, Tomas needs you. I need you, please don’t leave me.”
“I won’t,” he said. Katherine calmed, slipping back into the oblivion where she had been for hours.
Malcolm opened the door to one of the larger chambers on the second floor. Niall entered with Katherine and laid her on the bed. Two maid servants helped remove her garments. When the MacLennan healer arrived, she turned Katherine on her side, before removing the bandage. She sucked a breath in through her teeth and said, “Well, I have some work to do. Lairds, it will be best if ye leave so I can get to it.”
“I’ll stay,” said Niall. The healer gave an entreating look to her laird and said to Niall, “I know ye mean well, but there is nothing ye can do here but get in the way.”
Malcolm took the cue and said firmly, “Niall, ye need food and rest, and Agnes doesn’t need a worried husband under foot.”
“Malcolm, I promised her I wouldn’t leave.”
“Lad, she was delirious, but ye aren’t leaving her. She is unconscious now and ye will be just downstairs. Agnes will call if she needs ye.” Niall still hesitated.
Malcolm put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, gently pushing him towards the door. “Ye need food and rest, too. Lad, I must insist. Ye will make yourself ill, then what good can ye be to her? I promise ye, she is in good hands.”
Niall gave in and left the chamber, followed by Malcolm. Descending to the great hall, Malcolm motioned to a screened area behind which servants prepared a bath. “A meal will be served soon. I thought ye might want to have a bath in the meantime.” Niall ran his hand through his hair distractedly, glancing back at the stairs to the tower. “At the risk of sounding discourteous, lad, ye smell of sweat and horses. Stop worrying and bathe.”
Niall obliged, taking a quick bath before joining Malcolm and Duncan, Malcolm’s second in command, at the table. Gratefully he accepted the tankard of ale offered by a serving maid, taking a long drink of it.
“Now,” began Malcolm, “tell me how ye, of all people, find yourself married to a lass who looks as if she has been horsewhipped.”
“Malcom, ye know the MacIans have never been wealthy. I knew my father worried incessantly about money over the last year or so, but I didn’t know how little we had until after he died in the spring. We literally had nothing left. Even less than nothing. Eithne managed to rack up a huge debt while living at court.”
“Yes, your stepmother enjoys her comfort.”
“Her comfort? God’s teeth, Malcolm, her extravagance knows no bounds. She accrued more than half of the total debt in the last year alone. She owed something to practically everyone in Edinburgh. I had no way to cover the debt. To make matters worse, Matheson raided our western border several times just before Da died. I couldn’t afford to lose a chicken, much less cattle and sheep.”
“I am sorry to hear about your financial problems, Niall, but what has the lass got to do with them?”
“I went to Edinburgh to try to negotiate with my father’s creditors and to put a halt to Eithne’s spending, but nothing could be done. I finally appealed to King David for help.”
“He has financial woes of his own.”
“So I learned. He suggested I marry an heiress. I thought he jested, but he had one in mind. He needed to find someone who would be willing to forfeit her title and lands in exchange for a larger dowry, so he could give everything but her wealth to her uncle.”
“There must be plenty of men who would do that.”
“One would think, but the rumors about her discouraged most men.”
“What rumors?”
“They are lies not worth repeating. I suspect Ruthven started them himself.”
“Ruthven? Ambrose Ruthven?” asked Malcolm.
“Aye, Ambrose Ruthven,” spat Niall.
“That lass is Katherine Ruthven?” Duncan asked.
“That lass is Katherine MacIan now,” said Niall.
Malcolm looked shocked, “Her hand was sought by quite a few men who desired her wealth, but the rumors—”
“All lies,” Niall said irritably. “He clearly intended to avoid a betrothal, hoping to gain everything for himself. He is the bastard who beat her.”
“Perhaps she is willful,” suggested Malcolm.
“She did nothing to earn a beating but protect a lad who was equally innocent,” Niall snapped. “Ye haven’t lived at court for years, how is it ye know the rumors about her?”
Malcolm chuckled. “I haven’t lived there, but I still visit occasionally. There are many would-be matchmakers who would like to see me chained to a bride, but even they discouraged me from pursuing the Lady Ruthven. Ah, what folly it is to listen to rumors.”
“Ye are old enough to be her father,” Niall admonished. The thought of Katherine married to anyone else, much less a man as old as Malcolm, turned his mood even darker.
“Don’t get your hackles up, lad, I certainly wasn’t the oldest man considering her hand, nor would I be the first old man to take a young, wealthy bride.” Malcolm’s response didn’t sooth Niall’s temper.
Duncan asked, “The lad Fingal toted upstairs, is he the one she was protecting?” Glad that he changed the subject, Niall nodded, taking another long pull of ale from his tankard.
“Who is he to her?” Malcolm asked.
“The orphan of one of her clansmen,” Niall said simply. “Katherine is fond of him. She treats him like a little brother. He seems to have attached himself to Fingal.”
~ * ~
When the lairds finally exited the chamber, the old healer turned back to her charge. She knew she had to draw the poison out of the wounds on the lass’s back. She added some salt, a large handful of shredded wych elm root, and several other herbs to a kettle of water before putting it on the fire to bring it to boiling. She washed Katherine’s back with a solution of soapwort while the herbs stewed. Then she poured the boiling liquid into a bowl to cool briefly. Tearing strips of linen, she dipped them into the solution. When she could handle them without burning her hands, she wrung most of the liquid out and placed the linen strips on the purulent wounds crisscrossing the lass’s back.