The Curse: Touch of Eternity (The Curse series) (17 page)

Nathaira glanced over her shoulder. Nobody was following her or paying any attention to her. Of course not, she thought—she was only a woman. Quickly, she dashed across
the courtyard and knocked at a door. It opened a crack, and she slipped in. Relieved, she pushed the bolt in place and leaned against the doorframe.

Then she looked closely at the man in front of her. Tall, strong, and attractive. Just like so many years ago, he still wore his blond hair at shoulder length, and a reddish beard covered his cheeks. Alasdair Buchanan seemed surprised by her presence.

“Nathaira, what are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to visit an old friend?”

Alasdair raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to one side. He didn’t believe a word the black-haired beauty in front of him was saying.

“No, really. What do you want here, what is the reason for your visit?”

Confidently, Nathaira took off her cloak and shook her long hair. She watched Alasdair carefully and saw his mistrust—but mixed in, something else. He still desired her, as he always had. She, though, hadn’t felt passion for him for a very, very long time. Still, like a cat, she crept around the man, her hand brushing softly over his shirt.

“But darling, don’t be so doubting. I am only here to ask you for a little favor.”

It took Alasdair a lot of effort to fight for composure. Nathaira drove him crazy, but he would not make the mistake of giving in to her again.

“I think you now have your fiancé to ask for small favors.”

He wriggled out of her fingers and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“No, I need a real man on this. Blair is only my brother’s lapdog!”

Alasdair laughed out loud. “So you would rather have a lapdog for a husband than me?”

“Oh, really, Alasdair, don’t be ridiculous. You know why I had to choose Blair back then: Cathal had not been chieftain for long and his position was more than endangered. He needed this alliance.”

“Yes, I know. But that didn’t make things easier, especially after the—”

“And you still can’t forgive me, can you?”

“No.”

Without a word, they glared at each other. Then Nathaira’s posture changed, and she shoved her chin forward.

“Fine. Then don’t forgive me. But you will nevertheless help me. You owe me!”

“I owe you? Ha! You killed my unborn child, and you think I owe you something? I loved you. I wanted the child just as much as I wanted you!” He turned his back on Nathaira.

“Yes, but my brother would have killed you if he had found out about us. You know that. And I almost died! You can’t imagine the pain I was in. You don’t know how close it was for me.”

“So what do you want?” Alasdair asked, without emotion.

“Follow Payton. I will give him an opportunity to disappear from here, and I am sure that he will go to the girl. Follow him.”

“And then? What will you do then?”

“Me? Nothing. But you will act. You will kill her. Before she undoes us all.”

“But Cathal said we should wait.”

“Cathal is stupid. Why wait? Don’t you see the danger we are in? I almost died for you once. This time, I don’t want things to go so far!”

Alasdair paced around the room, brooding. He felt uncomfortable killing a defenseless girl. After all, times had changed.

“Nathaira, I am sorry, but I can’t do that. I will respect what Cathal said.”

“You dog! You are making a huge mistake! You think you have a choice? Wrong! You will do what I tell you. Otherwise, I will tell my brother what you did to me.”

“Did to you? And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You raped me, took me against my will.”

“But that isn’t true!”

“Yes, but who will he believe? You or me? And think about it: thanks to this girl, you are now again capable of feeling pain. How must an eternity full of pain and torment feel?”

Nathaira scowled at him. Alasdair knew she was right. Cathal adored his little sister and would punish him with all his might if Nathaira were to incriminate him. Even if everything she said was a lie.

“I think you should go now,” he said, and he held the door open.

“Are you going to do it?” Nathaira had no intention of leaving until she got what she wanted.

Icy silence filled the room between them. They looked at each other with cold eyes, yet the wounds they had inflicted on each other such a long time ago were still clearly fresh.

Alasdair finally mumbled, “Yes. And now away with you!”

Content, Nathaira reached for her cloak and slid it on. At the door she stopped and looked at the man in front of her, and a sad smile stole its way across her face.

“Alasdair, if you can ever forgive me, then—”

“I will never do that,” he said, as cold as a rock. Not a spark of pity was visible in his green eyes.

Nathaira lifted her chin, looked to make sure no one was coming, and stepped back out into the courtyard. It was late, but the sun had yet to set. It cast an uneasy salmon-colored glow over everything, a washed-out light that had overstayed its welcome. She wasn’t ready to return to the closeness of the castle, so she walked to the fortified wall instead.

She sat down on a ledge to think: Why was her life so complicated? Before the curse, she had loved Alasdair Buchanan, her father’s handsome warrior with northern roots. His strength and his courage had impressed her when she sat opposite him at the table at a party in honor of her father. She remembered the way he had looked at her then: so full of admiration and passion.

After the meal, he had led her by the arm, and while everyone was talking and drinking, they left the room. In the half light of the stairwell, they didn’t waste a second but followed their feelings and kissed.

They had managed to keep their romance a secret for a long time, but then Nathaira’s father died and Alasdair couldn’t be near her during the mourning period. Then only a few days later, her brother, Cathal, in his new role as chieftain, had ordered Alasdair to go with the other warriors to stop the robberies on the borders. He left without knowing that she was carrying his baby under her heart.

Two months he had been away. Two months during which she had realized, to her shock, that she was with child.

She had feared Cathal’s reaction. At that time, her brother was new to his power. And she knew he wanted to arrange her marriage to his best friend and partner, Blair McLean. A thousand questions had raced through her head: What would he do to her if he found out she was pregnant? Would he banish her? Would he kill Alasdair? Cathal would never agree to a marriage between her and Alasdair. He would accuse her of soiling the family and of deceiving him.

Nathaira had done the only thing possible: she had crept away. She rode north for two days, hoping to find the Wise Woman who lived in the hills. She had almost given up hope when something strange happened.

There were no clouds in the sky—none at all—when blue flashes of lightning ripped through the sky, so bright they blinded her. When she could see again, a small woman, bent over and white-haired, was coming toward her. Nathaira was scared, shaking at the knees, but she followed the witch silently, deeper into the hills. Hours later, they arrived at a lonely hut.

“I am Brèagha-muir. You were looking for me. I know what you want of me, but I am telling you, it is dangerous. If you nevertheless want it, then follow me.” The old woman croaked with a voice that set Nathaira’s teeth on edge.

Without another word, the witch disappeared into her hut. Nathaira rubbed her arms, trying to chase the cold out of her limbs. If she were to think about it for much longer, she knew she would change her mind, so she took a last deep breath and followed the woman. The hut was dark, the wooden planks of the walls blackened from the soot of
the fireplace in the middle of the room. Herbs and sacks hung from the ceiling, giving off a tart smell. A boiling pot hung over the fire. Onions and a skinned rabbit lay next to a large knife.

“Sit down and drink this,” Brèagha-muir demanded. Nathaira hesitated only for a moment when she held the beaker with the murky liquid to her lips. The potion was bitter, and her tongue immediately went numb. Tears shot into her eyes, and she coughed, but she forced the last drop down her throat. Slowly, the old woman came around to her and put a gnarled, onion-scented hand on her forehead.

“Girl, getting rid of the fruit of the womb isn’t a child’s game. But you are strong. You may manage. Take off your clothes, and lie down over there.”

Nathaira swayed on her stool as the room started to spin. The straw-filled mattress that Brèagha-muir had pointed out was dirty and damp. It smelled like decay. But already, Nathaira’s limbs were no longer obeying her, so she glided helplessly over and undressed. A rough woolen blanket was spread over her. Then Brèagha-muir went back to the table, took up the knife, and with one strong blow, cut off the rabbit’s head.

Nathaira lay there feeling as if a poisonous snake were winding through her insides, digging its teeth into her flesh, oozing venom into her blood and her thoughts. As if from a distance, her own screams reached her ears. When the witch fed her more of the vile drink, Nathaira didn’t think she could tolerate it. She willed herself to spit it out, but her paralyzed muscles disobeyed. She felt as if she were burning—that no more air could get into her lungs—and she thought
she might throw up. Then she sank into a deep, merciful darkness.

Feverish dreams tormented her while the warm blood ran out between her legs.

Brèagha-muir would change the blood-soaked blankets, she thought, but she couldn’t do much else for the young woman. The treatment was working, but survival of the patient was less than sure. Many a woman in the same situation had died.

In the middle of the night, the old woman gave the girl some water and checked the bleeding. She furrowed her brow. She knew if the bleeding didn’t stop soon, the girl didn’t stand much of a chance. The metallic smell of warm blood filled the hut. Brèagha-muir sat down and prayed.

As she called her powers to stand by the young woman in danger, the wind picked up and rain drummed on the roof. Nodding contently, Brèagha-muir stood and lifted the body of her patient. With astonishing strength, she cradled the girl as she carried her out into the rain.

On a flat rock, almost like an altar, she lay her down, freed her from her bloody blanket, and stepped back. The icy rain fell onto the girl’s naked body. Like red paint, the blood was washed away.

Nathaira opened her eyes. She saw boiling skies above her, flashing lightning, and rain. Then the world around her went black again.

When she woke up four days later, she was lying in a woolen dress on a clean straw mat. Her hair had been combed and bound up tightly in a braid. She smelled of rose petals. Although the hut looked familiar, she still wasn’t sure where she was. The hut was empty. No pot was hanging over the cold, dusty fireplace. Not a single herbal sack was hanging from the ceiling. And from the dust on the table, it looked like no one had lived here for years.

Nathaira stood up, light-headed and weak. Everything around her was turning. She groped her way to the door unsteadily. Her lower abdomen was in great pain. After only a few steps, she was exhausted; she desperately needed help—and something to drink.

She pushed the door open, squinting when the bright sunlight hit her eyes. She felt as if she had died and had just returned from the kingdom of darkness. She fell to her knees and wept.

She was alive. Now she just needed to go home.

Her horse’s warm muzzle poked gently at her shoulder. The animal was well fed and already saddled. A full water bottle was in one of the saddlebags. Greedily and crying with relief, she downed the cool drink.

The day after next, she reached the safe grounds of her homeland. The tower of her family castle stood out against the horizon to greet her.

What exactly had happened in the hut, Nathaira couldn’t say in retrospect. She wasn’t even sure if Brèagha-muir was real or if it was all a dream.

But one thing she did know: Alasdair would come back from the borderlands, and she had killed his child.