Highland Magic (4 page)

Afterward, she’d bought passage on a fish
merchant’s coracle that traversed the Dunbreton Fyrth between the
isle and the mainland each day. Once on the mainland, it had not
taken her long to attach herself to a band of pilgrims who were
traveling by land further north to a holy site along the coast.
When they’d reached their destination a fortnight later, Branwenn
had said her farewells to her traveling companions and purchased a
few of the more essential tools for survival and a bit of bread,
cheese, and bannocks in the village attached to the abbey before
continuing her journey northward on foot. She’d kept to the coast,
finding it the easiest means to travel, as there were many caves
for shelter and plenty of food sources that were left behind with
the tide each morn and eve. ‘Twas a blessing she daily gave thanks
for that she’d been trained so thoroughly to survive such harsh
conditions by her brother Bao this year past when they’d lived
undetected in one of the caves in the Maclean wood for so long. By
the time she’d come upon this idyllic, seemingly deserted place,
she’d been relieved to at last take a long, and much needed,
respite from her journey and quickly settled in one of the more
habitable of the caves this Highland shore offered.

‘Twas a craggy climb to the cave’s opening,
but her tender feet were slowly becoming accustomed to the rugged
terrain. The jagged gray sandstone rock-and-pebble coast abutted a
natural seawall of tumbled boulders above which lay the green grass
and shrub-covered red sandstone cliff that housed her cave. There
were several such caves, she’d discovered, along this rocky path.
But hers, she believed, was the least easily seen from shore,
making it the best candidate for her permanent abode. The opening
was low but wide and the ground sloped down sharply just inside it,
making it impossible to see its interior without actually entering
the cave.

The box holding the flint and striker was
under a small shrub to the left of the mouth of the cave. She was
just lighting the taper that she’d placed next to them when she
heard a loud commotion, as if something quite heavy had fallen
several feet, followed by a hoarse groan coming from deep within
the dark interior of her seaside home. After a moment of anxious
inner debate, she at last decided to face the intruder. She could
not afford to lose the few possessions she still owned, nor the
meager amount of foodstuffs she’d managed to cobble together on her
journey. Nervously reaching for the dirk that she kept strapped to
her upper thigh, she pulled it out of its leather sheath before
entering the ebon cavity. After sliding forward feet-first onto the
flat, stone-strewn sandy floor, she lifted the taper high above her
head, but the small flame could not illume further than a few feet
in front of her. Her eye was instantly drawn to the cave’s craggy
ceiling. There was now a bit of natural light shining down from up
above. A hole, she surmised, tho’ how she’d not discovered it
before was a puzzle she would need to solve after she’d ousted the
trespasser.

“
Who goes there?
” she thundered
boldly, tho’ her heart thrummed in her ears and her palms sweated
so profusely that she had difficulty maintaining the death-grip on
her weapon.

Silence.

After a moment, Branwenn forced her feet
forward, determined to face down her fear and find the origin of
the noise.

‘Twas not until she’d reached the furthest
end of the cave’s front chamber that she found a dark mass on the
floor next to the north wall. With some trepidation, she moved
toward it, not stopping until she stood over what she quickly
ascertained was a slumbering male form. He lay curled on his side
in a ball, the edge of his cloak masking his visage.

She stepped back and nudged him with her
foot. The man grumbled low in his throat, but remained unawakened.
She tried again, and then once more, each time using a bit more
force than the time previous. Was he sotted? She bent forward and
sniffed. Nay, he smelled not of spirits. More curious than afraid,
now that she realized the man was of little threat to her, she
crouched down and cautiously edged the cloak away from his
face.

Callum MacGregor!
“Blood of Christ,”
she whispered. Was she on the MacGregor holding, then? What strange
force was at work that would bring her to her foster brothers’ kin
when her deepest wish was to stay as far from those she loved and
might endanger with her presence, should her Norman betrothed
decide to search her out? And this man had been a particular thorn
in her side from the moment of their first meeting. He’d surely
cause her naught but more grief and misery, should he discover that
she’d sailed away from her nuptials and somehow landed on his
holding. And he’d no doubt immediately run to the Maclean holding
and tell both her foster brothers that she’d broken the contract
they’d each signed with Prince Llywelyn.

* * *

Callum slowly regained consciousness. His
head was pounding and his eyelids felt as heavy as a castle’s
cornerstone. Where was he? There was a distinct smell of the sea in
the air—was he on the shore, then? Nay, ‘twas too quiet. Mayhap, he
was in one of the sea caves. He tried to open his eyes once again,
but to no avail. Why was he in such a state? He truly could not ken
it. The last event he could recall with any certitude was taking a
swallow of that abominable wine his father-in-law, Laird Gordon,
had encouraged him to try. The two had come to an agreement about
the validity of the contract the MacGregors and Gordons had in
regard to the tract of land both clans claimed belonged to them.
Had the man poisoned him, then? Aye, that would attest to his sore
head and persistent stupor.

Callum tried once more to open his eyes, this
time with greater success. Peering through the narrow slit in his
eyelids, he saw what seemed to be a mystical creature standing
before him holding a lighted taper in its hand.

Dressed in a jagged-hemmed tunic of dark
woolen, the waist of which was cinched and draped with seashells,
the sea creature studied him as well. The brightness of the taper
the being held kept its features in darkness, but illuminated its
form enough for Callum to see what looked to be winged arms
attached to its hands. ‘Twas just as the tales had described. “Be
you water goddess...or selkie?” he croaked.

The cogs in Branwenn’s mind turned swiftly.
The arrogant man had just given her the perfect solution to her
dilemma. “I be selkie, sir. And you have invaded my dwelling, for
which my father, the king, will not be pleased. You’ve strayed too
close to our realm and must leave here forthwith, else you may be
carried away by my kinsmen, the
daoine sìth
, never to see
your home or family again.”

“I fear that my wound is too great for me to
rise from this place, fey creature. Tell me, how did I arrive at
this place? I’ve no recollection of it.”

“Know you not?” she asked in disbelief. She
pointed up and behind her a bit. “You fell, good sir, from yon hole
in the cave’s ceiling. Now, truly, you must leave in all
haste.”

Callum attempted to sit up, but his head
began to spin and he fell back into a fetal position once more.
“‘Struth, fey one,” he said groggily, “I am in no condition to rise
at this time. Will you not afford me a few more moments of
rest?”

For the first time, Branwenn began to worry
for Callum’s condition. Kneeling down by his side, she rested one
palm on his lower calf for support as she placed the other on his
forehead to check for fever.

“
Ow!
” Callum groaned, “my ankle...’tis
sore...do not press so heavily upon it, I beg you.”

“Pray, pardon me.” ‘Twas now clear to
Branwenn that Callum’s befuddled manner was not due to some manly
overindulgence in ardent spirits, as was her original belief. But
what ailed the man? His skin was hot, his usually vivid green eyes
were dull and void of spirit, and his face was drenched in sweat.
“Your skin is as hot as a blacksmith’s forge!”

“I fear I’ve been poisoned,” Callum said
weakly.

Poison!
A cold tremor of alarm shook
her to her core. “Callum,” Branwenn said his name without thinking,
“you must purge your stomach of its contents forthwith!” Not
waiting for a reply, she quickly pinched his nostrils closed with
one hand and forced two fingers down his throat with the other.
Tho’ he attempted to fight her off, he was so weakened by the
effects of whatever he’d ingested, that she was easily able to
overpower him, and in the next instant, he was gagging, heaving,
and expulsing his earlier meal.

“By the blood of Christ, fey one...leave me
be,” Callum pleaded afterward, his voice now thread-like, as he
rolled onto his back and turned his face away from her. His thick
auburn hair, that had come loose of its leather thong, fell across
his cheek and she brushed it away from his face.

“’Twas your wife who did this to you?” she
was impelled to ask, no matter the imprudence of the query.

“Nay, my wife is dead,” he rasped. “‘Twas my
faithless father-in-law who did the deed.”

Dead!
Lara was dead? What of her babe?
She dared not question him further, however, lest her true identity
be revealed.

He said naught more, and after another
moment, Branwenn realized he’d fallen into a slumber once more.
Leaning down, she rested her cheek against his chest and, feeling
the even rise-and-fall of his chest and hearing the tempered,
strong beat of his heart, expelled a sigh of relief.

She rose to her feet and retrieved a cloth
and a bucket of water. With slow, gentle strokes, she cooled his
brow and cheeks with the damp cloth. Afterward, she silently
cleaned up the results of his purging before positioning the rolled
blanket she’d been using for a pillow under his head. Leaving the
taper in its holder next to her reclining patient, she walked a bit
away and settled against the wall on the opposite side of the cave
to continue watching him. Over the next hour or so, she monitored
his recovery from a distance, but ‘twas not long before questions
began to spin madly about in her mind: Why would his father-in-law
have done this to him? What had Callum gotten himself into this
time? And, oh, God, what if he did not recover? With effort, she
forced her worries down deep, for she had no way of aiding him,
and, Lord knew, she had worries enough of her own without taking on
his burdens as well.

A strange
smack
ing sound came from the
area where Callum now rested, followed by a muffled groan. Branwenn
leapt to her feet and hurried over to him.

“Water,” Callum said, his voice a dry
whisper.

“Aye,” Branwenn answered anxiously as she
lifted the candle and turned first one way and then the other
looking for her leather flask. Spying it at last, she hurried to
retrieve it and, after removing the stopper, settled the opening to
his parched lips. “Drink slowly—and only a bit—else ‘twill no doubt
rise back up just as quickly,” she warned softly.

Callum, his eyes barely open, surprisingly
did as she bade, taking only two small swigs before rolling to his
back and resting his head on the make-shift pillow once more.

Branwenn ran the palm of her hand over his
forehead and cheek. His skin was still a bit too hot and much too
damp for her liking. She began to worry her lip as her conscience
did battle with her intellect. In the next moment, her decision
made, she said, “Your fever is not lessening, sir. We must get you
to your dwelling in all haste, for, ‘tis clear to me that you are
in need of more proper tending, else surely you will grow
worse.”

Callum opened his eyes and looked at her.
“What is your name?”

Branwenn thought quickly. “Mai,” she said
with a shrug. Why not? She’d always liked that name.

“Mai? So plain a name for one so
magical?”

Bristling, Branwenn replied, “I think it a
lovely name. And do not change the subject. Where is your
home?”

Callum, tho’ still a bit groggy, was revived
enough for the moment to get his bearings. He tried to sit up.

“Be careful!” Branwenn said.

He fell back with a groan. Well, mayhap he
wasn’t as recovered as he’d believed. “Aye.” His head throbbed and
his muscles were stiff and sore, but he was determined to rise. So,
with a loud grunt, he lifted up again and forced his body to hold
his weight this time. Dizzy from the exertion, he held his aching
skull in his hands for a moment.

“Have you a sore head?” Branwenn asked.

“Aye, a bit,” he said before looking around
the cave once more. The fey one was right, he must get home—and
quickly—for he must inform his stepfather of this latest outrage
against their clan. “Stand back, I must rise.”

Branwenn nodded and did as he bade, staying
close enough to catch him if he began to fall.

Using the damp wall of the cave as leverage,
Callum struggled to his feet.

Fighting the mental lethargy the poison and
headache were causing, he strained to focus on his
surroundings.

“Are you feeling dizzy?” Branwenn asked, her
concern mounting.

“Sshhh! I’m trying to think,” he snapped.

Branwenn stiffened her spine. “Pray, pardon
me, Your Highness.”

Callum ignored her. Somewhere in the back of
his mind, he knew that he should apologize for his rudeness, but
‘twas all he could do to stay on his feet and shake the shroud of
fog in his mind to think more clearly. After another moment, he
breathed a sigh of relief. Aye, he knew this cave. ‘Twas the one
his cuckolding wife had used to make her secret departure from
their fortress two moons past. If he traveled the meandering
passage that began at the back of this chamber, ‘twould eventually
lead him to a hidden entrance inside the west tower of the
fortress. He pushed himself away from the dank wall he’d propped
himself up against, picked up the taper, and set out in that
direction.