Highland Magic (6 page)

As lightly and silently as she could, she
crept across the wood floor, praying all the while that one of the
boards wouldn’t creak. There was a small vial next to a cup on the
table next to the bed. She picked the cup up and sniffed. ‘Twas the
remainder of a sleeping draught. The physician must have given it
to Callum to help him sleep through the pain. She placed the cup
back in its place on the table. Then, lifting the taper that rested
beside it, she pulled aside the curtain and gazed down at the
handsome, tho’ clearly fever ravaged, countenance of the man who
both vexed and drew her to him at one and the same time.

Reaching out, she placed her palm first on
his hot brow and then over his flushed cheek. Still dry. She looked
over her shoulder at the still-slumbering physician and then toward
the wash basin a few paces away. With less trepidation than she’d
felt upon entering—now that she knew how hard the man slept—she
made her way over to the basin and doused a cloth in the cool
water. After ringing it free of excess moisture, she brought it
back to the bed and lightly ran the cloth over Callum’s face and
neck. If, by chance, he awakened, she felt sure he’d be in too
groggy a state from the draught to recognize her. And the dimness
of the chamber, as well as her lad’s attire would also help to keep
her identity hidden.

Since the ministering seemed to soothe him,
she repeated the exercise several more times. Thankfully, tho’ he
mumbled in his sleep, he never fully awakened or opened his eyes.
After awhile, her legs and back became pained and weary, so she
decided to settle next to her patient on the bed to continue the
task. His face contorted and he groaned when the indention of the
mattress rolled him onto his sore shoulder. She held her breath,
for if anything would awaken him, this would. He resettled on his
back, but his eyes never opened.

Curious to see how badly he’d injured himself
when he’d burst through the barrier in the cave opening, she took a
quick peek under the top edge of the woolen blanket. ‘Twas wrapped
tightly, so ‘twas hard to tell how much damage he’d caused himself.
She dared do no further investigation, however, as, from the look
of things, he wore naught else. After resettling the blanket snugly
over his chest, she bathed his face with the cool cloth and
dribbled very small amounts of water into his mouth that, even in
his stupor, he managed to swallow. She continued in this vein for
the next two hours.

At some point, the physician awakened and
moved toward the bed, but she managed to scoot over to the other
side and hide between the bed’s edge and the curtain while the man
checked on his patient. Afterward, he lay back down on his
makeshift bed and quickly fell into what seemed to be an untroubled
slumber once more.

Finally, a couple of hours before sunrise,
Callum’s fever broke. Unfortunately, his eyes opened then as well
and there was not one tittle of confusion in them when he saw her.
“Branwenn!” he croaked.

“Nay, ‘tis but a dream you are having!” she
whispered as she hastily descended from the bed. “And what, pray,
are you doing dreaming of me, you lewd-minded devil!” she said,
deciding ‘twas the kind of comment he would expect from her in
life—and in a dream.

“‘Tis no dream,” he said sleepily. Callum’s
eyelids drooped, then shut completely. “For, why would I dream of a
laddish bairn...such as”—He yawned loudly—“yowww?”

His harsh words caused a sharp pain in her
heart and Branwenn’s eyes misted. In the next instant, however,
fury overcame hurt and she drew her fist back and nearly punched
him in the arm before reason won out and, scrubbing the tears from
her eyes with the back of her hand, she took the opportunity to
escape before the rest of the household rose for the day.

* * *

The next time Callum awoke, ‘twas nearing
sext. Pulling back the bed curtain, he peered out, squinting when
the bright light coming from the window stabbed his bleary eyes. He
blinked a few times and rubbed them to ease the pain. How long had
he been asleep? Hours? Days?

He began to stretch, curving his back and
lifting his bent elbows up in the air. “Aargh! Oww! Holy—”

The door flew open and his mother barreled
forward, followed closely by his paternal grandmother, Lady
Maclean. “Callum, dear! Which of your injuries pains you? I will
call for new bindings forthwith.”

“I am well, Mother, fear not. I only meant to
stretch a bit and was instantly reminded of my sore shoulder,” he
said, flinging the sheet over his bare nether regions.

“That sluggard physician only just came down
to tell us that your fever broke early this morn,” Lady Maclean
said. “Here, let me feel your forehead.” Her gate was slow, and her
tall frame a bit stooped, but her unusual eyes—one blue, one
green—snapped with vitality as she walked over to stand at the side
of the bed and proceeded to do just that. “We should not have
listened to him when he told us to stay away from you while your
fever raged, else we would have known of your recovery much
sooner.” Her gray-sprigged black brows furrowed as her eyes scanned
his countenance. “A bad business, this. Your
uncle...er...
stepfather
—pardon, I’m still not used to
thinking of him thus—met with Laird Gordon for most of this day
past to negotiate a settlement for this insult.”

“Insult!” Callum yelled. “‘Twas attempted
murder
!”

“Now Callum,” his mother soothed, “‘twas not
as dark a deed as that, for ‘twas—”

“How can you say such! I—”

“Hush, and I will explain,” she chided
gently, her voice softer, more melodious than her mother’s. “‘Twas
the Laird’s young page—his nephew—who...well...he stirred your wine
with a finger he’d stuck in swine offal.”

“What!?” In the next second, he was gagging
and coughing as his innards roiled inside of him.

Lady Maclean placed her hand on her
grandson’s good shoulder. “Now, now. You didn’t partake of enough
to perish,” —she turned to her daughter and said, “Maggie, fetch
him some water, else he’ll surely retch more bile,”—before turning
back to Callum and continuing, “so you’ve no need to carry on in
such a manner.”

“And I suppose you would react with dignity,”
cough, cough, gag
, “not even raise an eyebrow, were you to
find out you’d been fed pig turd for supper?” He glared at her
through blood-shot, watery green eyes.

Lady Maclean caught her daughter’s eye and
gave her a look that said, ‘
Do
not
laugh!
’ “Nay, I’m
sure I would react in much the same rather excessive way.”

Laird MacGregor came in at that moment, for
which it was clear the two ladies were very grateful. “I see you’ve
recovered from your fever. Good, good.” A middle-aged dark-haired
man of great girth and height, his heavy footsteps caused the table
next to the bed to jump, making the water slosh out of the ewer and
onto the floor.

“Chalmers!” Callum’s mother sighed and shook
her head, but hurried to clean the mess with the cloth she found
next to the ewer.

Her husband gave her a sheepish look.
“Pardon, my beloved.”

Callum rolled his eyes. Why must the man
continually speak love words to her directly within her son’s
hearing? “What reason did my father-in-law give for his nephew’s
conduct?” he asked his stepfather, though his eyes never left his
lithely built dark-haired mother. Would she never stop flitting
about like a wee bird, lighting first here, then there? She needed
more meat on her bones, and this was no way to go about it.
“Mother, let the maids do that.”

“The older pages dared him to do the deed,”
Laird MacGregor answered.

Callum’s eyes swung to his stepfather and he
cocked a brow at him.

“They’ve evidently been teasing the bairn,”
Laird MacGregor continued, “calling him a coward, ever since his
first night sharing quarters with them when he refused to take part
in their secret guild’s ritual and walk the moor alone at
midnight.”

For the first time since realizing his drink
had been tampered with, Callum’s wrath lessened. He smiled before
he realized he’d done it and said, “Poor lad. I remember well the
insults to my own manhood I received—and gave back in turn—when I
first paged.” Callum shook his head, his eyes once again on his
mother, following her movements as she silently tidied the
bedchamber and found a stool for her aged mother to rest upon, but
his mind focused inward, on memories that, until this moment, had
been long forgot. “God’s truth, I do believe ‘twas the most
difficult twelvemonth of all my years of training.” He turned his
eye to his stepfather again. “They’ve formed a secret guild?” He
grinned. “I wish I’d thought of that when I was their age.”

Laird MacGregor’s countenance split into a
big-toothed grin. Stroking his fingers over his bearded chin, he
replied, “Aye, I thought the same thing when Laird Gordon told the
tale to me this eve past!”

“Maggie,” Lady Maclean said, half in jest,
“‘Tis at last clear to me what you meant when you said ‘twas as if
these two were cut from the same cloth. For, ‘tis truth, they do
seem to love mischief-making.”

Callum ignored the jibe. “What recompense did
you extract from my father-in-law then?” he asked his
stepfather.

“I insisted he send his nephew to me to
train. He agreed.”

Callum chuckled. “Aye,” he said with evil
glee, “I look forward to meeting my wee swine-loving poisoner.”

“Now, Callum, I can see the cogs in that
maniacal mind of yours turning,” his mother interjected, “and you
mustn’t do anything to upset the poor bairn any further. He’s no
father, he’s only Laird Gordon as guardian—and you know how
churlish that man can be. Why, I’m sure the lad’s been punished
enough.”

Feigning a sigh of disappointment, Callum
answered, “Aye, Mother.” But, in truth, he had no intention of
meting out any further punishment on the lad—especially now that he
knew of his parentless state. That thought reminded him of his
daughter and he sat up straight. Worry furrowed his brow as he
asked his mother, “Where is Laire? She was not exposed to my fever,
was she?”

“The babe is well, fear not,” Maggie hurried
to reassure him. With a quick glance at her mother and then back at
him, she continued, “‘Tis the main reason the physician gave for
keeping us as far from this sick room as possible.”

“Fetch me my shirt and braies; I want to see
her.”

“Chalmers, help me rise,” Lady Maclean said,
holding out her hand toward him. “‘Tis past time we allowed Callum
some privacy.”

As the two exited, Maggie retrieved the items
of clothing her son had requested from his clothing chest. “I’ll
send up a servant to help you wash and dress.”

“Nay, there’s no time. I haven’t seen my
daughter in three days. I’m anxious to know for myself how she
fares and I want to cradle her in my arms again.

“You’ll have a bit of trouble, with the
injury to your shoulder,” she reminded, her voice gentle.

“I know, but ‘tis worth the discomfort.”

“Be careful, else you could cause more damage
to it—or worse, drop the poor lass.”

“Aye, I’ll be careful.”

She departed then as well, leaving Callum
alone once more in his chamber.

Though ‘twas difficult, he managed to wash
and dress on his own. Within a half-hour, and with the aid of a
cane, he managed to get himself to his daughter’s nursery.

Now, as he gazed down at his sleeping bairn,
nestled snugly in her cradle, he was reminded once more of her
mother. She’d gotten Lara’s lovely, delicate features, as well as
her wavy chestnut hair and large blue eyes. But she had a much more
temperate nature. Where Lara had been extravagant in her
reactions—one moment gleeful, the next in angry tears—this lass was
calm, and had a sweet, cheerful disposition, for which Callum was
thankful every day.

The Gordons, specifically Laird Gordon, had
hounded him at first to give the babe into the care of their own
clan, but Callum could not do it. For, he suspected, ‘twas that
very upbringing that had made his wife both spoiled with the need
for luxuries and aggressive in her pursuit of male attention. And
there was something more as well...some vaguely unnerving something
in her manner, in her reactions to men, but especially to him the
one time they’d made love, that made him wonder if she’d not been
abused, mayhap even meddled with in a baser way, as a bairn. For
his tenderness toward her that night had seemed to offend her,
‘twas only when he’d at last done her bidding and taken her with
rough force—clearly causing her pain—that she’d finally found
pleasure.

But if he were right in his suspicions, he
knew ‘twas not Laird Gordon who’d done the deed. For everything in
that old warrior’s manner pointed to a moral, tho’ irascible,
nature. Nay, ‘twas not her father, but someone else—he knew not who
for sure, perhaps her stepbrother?—that may have committed such a
vile crime against her. ‘Twas the reason he’d remained patient with
her those first few moons of their marriage when she’d driven his
mother mad with her demands and incessant complaints. He knew his
mother had wondered why he would not take his wife in hand and
demand that she behave in a more civil manner toward the staff, but
he could never bring himself to reveal his dark suspicions to her.
It had seemed too...
privy
a thing to discuss with her. And,
without proof, it seemed wrong somehow, as if he’d begin some
terrible rumor if he gave voice to the notion.

Still asleep, his daughter took in a deep
breath and made the sweetest wee sigh before
smacking
her
rose-petal, slobbery lips together. He couldn’t help it, he just
had to see those two cherubic white teeth of hers, so he lightly
pressed down on her bottom lip a moment and gazed at the small red
gums with their two snowy crests pushing through. He lifted his
finger to her warm-as-sunshine, soft-as-down pink cheek and lightly
stroked the back of it over the soft, sleep-warmed mound.