Highland Fire (Guardians of the Stone) (27 page)

“Mayhap the one to follow me, Sorcha, will not be you.”

“Lìli? But she's Aidan’s—”

“Aye, but I had a husband once, too.”

They might have said more, but Lìli came hurrying through the door, mindful that she could not waste any time, even for eavesdropping where it might aid her. But she wondered what Una could have meant. As she prepared her herbs, she couldn’t help but consider the old woman with a husband and children and the image completely escaped her. Somehow, Una seemed as ancient as time itself. But that was a ridiculous notion, for she was clearly flesh and blood—why would the woman lie? If she said she’d once had a husband, then certainly she must have had a husband.

One thing was certain, however: If Keane died, Lìli would not be the only one to come under scrutiny. So whatever she could do to prevent it, she must. And as soon as she had a few moments to herself, she must find a place to better hide the ring until she had need of it. She didn’t dare consider the simple truth... that she would not use it. God’s truth, if she had wondered before tonight, she no longer did. She could no more murder Aidan—or any other human being—than she could allow this boy to die. What that meant for her own son she didn’t know, but as she stitched the cut on Keane’s forehead, she realized the truth.

There must be some other way.

When she had done everything she knew to do, save one last thing, she hesitated but a moment. She had recognized the strange gestures Una had made when she’d first come into the room, and knew the old woman would not question what she was about to do. But this was not a thing she risked doing before others—certainly not before her father or Rogan. And yet she trusted both Sorcha and Una to understand that she meant Keane no harm. It might be little more than ceremony, but where there were lives at stake, Lìli would employ all avenues available to her, even those of a more spiritual nature.

She sat down on the bed beside Keane, placing a small candle she’d found in Keane’s room on the right side of the boy’s bed. And then peering back to see that both Una and Sorcha were watching her closely, she nevertheless placed her hand, palm up, and closed her eyes to concentrate, visualizing bright white light forming within her hand—the light of healing—drawing out all pain, impurity and injury. Behind her lids, she concentrated hard, forming the brightest glowing. After a moment, Lìli’s hand began to tingle and she turned it upside down and covered the wound upon Keane’s head. And then concentrating again until she felt the light wane, she then closed her fist and placed it over the unlit candle, and whispered, “I consecrate this candle as a tool for healing.” Then she lit the candle and without daring to turn to look at the expressions upon the faces of her audience, she whispered, “Mend as the candle burns, sickness end and health return.” She took a pinch of rosemary from her sack, sprinkling it onto the candle flame. The flame popped, surging and burning black for an instant before burning true once more.

For a long moment, not even the sound of breathing breached the silence in the room, and then Una whispered at her back, “Lo... the child I once cursed has become a blessing. Well done, Lìli. Well done.”

Aidan discovered little evidence by the pool.

As best he could determine, it appeared to him that Keane had somehow fallen from the edge, just above the gully where the water flowed strongest. There was a bloodstain on a rock nearly fifty feet up, but hitting it would have placed Keane squarely in the water at Aidan’s feet. From there, Aidan searched the immediate bank and found a trail of blood leading from the edge of the pool to the spot where his brother’s body must have been recovered.

Lael had not been the one to find him. By the time she had rushed to the loch, Lachlann was already carrying him away, but she knew whereabouts Lachlann claimed he’d discovered him lying unconscious.

His sister had climbed to the cliff top to inspect that area as well. She peered down at him now, with one hand upon her hip, her lithe form silhouetted by the half moon. In her left hand, she held up a torch that illuminated one side of her face, wreaking havoc with her angry features. She was a hellion, his sister, and Aidan suspected she would never soften enough to wed. But if she ever did wed, poor soul the man who must deal with her. “D’ ye find anything?”

“Nay. Not even a scuffle. He must have gone straight down with nary a stumble.”

Aidan swept his own torch across his brother’s blood where it soaked the ground. The torch roared as it passed, casting spots before his eyes, but he saw well enough to note that there were no scuffles here either—naught save what appeared to be his brother’s struggles to reach higher ground. He must have been aware enough to get this far, and must have lost consciousness once he’d climbed safely out of the pool. That gave him hope.

“What now?” Lael shouted down at him.

Aidan shrugged. “Now we hold the bluidy Scots in their huts til Keane awakes.”

“If
he wakes!” Lael countered.

“Aye, he will,” Aidan reassured her, though he knew not why. For reasons he could not explain, he somehow sensed Lìli would see it done.

Or mayhap it was simply a brother’s hope.

For what remained of the night, Lìli watched over Keane. She, along with Una and Sorcha all sat waiting for him to reopen his eyes. Finally, Sorcha was brave enough to ask, “Will my brother live, Lìli?”

The worry in the little girl’s tone gave Lìli a pang of grief. She peered down at Keane’s face, wondering what it must be like to have brothers and sisters who loved you so much. She must believe it wasn’t much different from the way she felt about her son, but she could not find that same affection in her heart for her parents.

“I canna say,” she told Sorcha honestly, “but I think he will.”

Because of the bruising, it was difficult to determine whether a healthy color had returned to the boy’s face, though it seemed to her that his movements had increased since she’d come back into the room. He was wincing every so oft now, and twitching his brows as though in pain.

“When my brother awakes, he will tell us what happened,” Sorcha said with conviction.

For her part, Una merely grumbled, shifting in her chair as though she struggled with her private thoughts. She lay her staff across her lap. “Let us hope, for once, your brother was simply a clumsy dolt!”

Sorcha nodded, and Lìli nibbled her lip, praying to God the old woman was right, and that Rogan had naught to do with this.

God help them all if he did, for she knew Aidan would kill him... and for her part, after what they had shared, she could suddenly not bear the thought of him looking at her with anything less than the tenderness he had shown her tonight.

Fully dressed, Rogan sprawled upon the bed they had given him, staring out the chimney hole in the thatch ceiling. It was dark outside.

These people lived little better than peasants. Their homes could all be burned with little enough effort and without any loss. The trouble was, he would never leave the vale alive if he burned them down. There was only one way out of this vale, and their weapons and horses had been confiscated upon their arrival.

The dirty bastards had herded him here, as though he were little more than a dumb goat. All three men, along with the priest, had been shoved in behind him, and although they hadn’t locked the door, he could hear them standing guard outside. He had no idea how many there might be, for the only window in the hut faced the west, and it was shuttered with a man guarding it from the outside. But no news was good news, in truth.

It seemed the boy lived for the moment. He knew they had discovered his body, and knew they suspected foul play, but he also knew Aidan dún Scoti was smart enough not to execute guests in his home without evidence. It would hardly be much different from the atrocity Padruig had committed when he’d supped at their tables as friends, turning on them in the middle of celebration.

Besides, Rogan sensed Aidan dún Scoti’s honor was far too great to kill an unarmed man. If he found Rogan guilty, he might give him a sword, and even if they cut him down after, Rogan vowed to take a few of the bastards to hell with him first. He was as skilled a swordsman as any.

However, if he died, he stood to gain nothing, so he considered another plan.

The priest was asleep in the chair, snoring. The old fool had probably not slept since they’d arrived for he was a cowardly dolt who could scarcely bear the sight of his own shadow. The Pecht priestess—if that’s what she was—had given the prelate a knot upon his pate and a cut on his chin that made him look like a twelve year old lad fresh from a fight. If he was sleeping now, it was only because his energy was depleted. Nay, he could not cast blame there, for the man would reveal aught he knew with a simple threat. That he had not done so already was a miracle equal unto the birth of Christ.

Of the other three men, one was David’s spy in much the same way Aveline must be his once he was gone. He could lay the blame there, he supposed, but that man was no fool and Rogan would prefer not to match wits with anyone at a time such as this.

Of the remaining two, one was a bigger lout, and though he’d been with Rogan the longest, that might actually work in Rogan’s favor, for he would understand precisely what Rogan would do to him if he dared to challenge him. And the man had nowhere to go—though he might prefer to take his chances with Aidan.

That thought made him smirk, for he knew better. All three of his men thought Aidan dún Scoti the spawn of the devil himself, and with that settled, his mood lightened considerably, and he closed his eyes to wait.

I
t was near dawn when Aidan returned to Keane’s room.

All three women had fallen asleep, but his brother’s eyes were open—at least one. The other he could barely crack for the swelling. Nevertheless, a grin broke across Aidan’s face at the sight of him awake.

Keane moved his mouth to speak once he saw Aidan, but the gesture was wholly unfamiliar for the monstrous swelling. “Di’ we win?” he asked, in a weak attempt at humor.