Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (18 page)

That he recognized her guilty feeling surprised her. “Perhaps, but you saw it and I am grateful.”

“Rowan?” Jeanette said. “Is there aught Mum might eat?”

Rowan smiled, though she felt no happiness. “Thank you,” she said to Nicholas again, reluctantly letting her hand drop to her side. She went to the pony and dug in the bag she had slung behind the saddle.

She did not know what was coming over her. She had been unable to keep from touching Nicholas. Indeed, she’d really wished he would take her in his arms and comfort her. At the same time she was grateful that he had not. It was folly to wish for anything from him. It was only that she was worried over Elspet and her cousins that her mind wandered to Nicholas and his searing kisses. It was a physical attraction that could, and would, be ignored. There was far too much to be attended to at present that was more important than a fleeting infatuation with an intriguing stranger.

Rowan pulled a small bag of dried berries from the bag. “Do you remember the averin berries last fall, Auntie? I have the last of the dried berries right here.” She sat next to Elspet so that she and Jeanette braced her from each side, shoulder to shoulder. “Do you remember the first time you and my mum brought me up here to gather them with you?” Rowan had heard the story many times and knew Elspet liked to tell it.

Elspet reached for the offered fruit but did not eat it. Her aunt admired the berry, turning it this way and that in a ray of sunshine as if it were a jewel she regarded.

“I do.” The smile passed swiftly over her face like a wraith, here and gone. She took a deep wheezy breath. “You were only toddling about at that time and Jeanette was still a wee bairnie.” She leaned her head on Jeanette’s shoulder and patted her daughter’s hand where it rested on Elspet’s leg. “Rowan ate so many berries her hands and face were stained for days.” She took another long, labored
breath and patted Rowan’s leg. The sensation was like a leaf falling upon her skin. Her eyes welled up at the casual affection in that touch. “Your belly hurt so bad your mum dared not take you far from your bed for a good two days.”

“Will you not taste it, Mum?” Scotia asked from her perch atop a large rock.

“I am not hungry, but perhaps later, after I have slept a bit.”

Jeanette and Scotia both looked at Rowan, fear and sorrow in their countenances.

“Perhaps we should continue home?” Rowan rose, asking no one in particular.

“In a mo—” Elspet raised a hand to her forehead, gave a strangled sort of squeak and slid sideways like a rag doll, leaning heavily against Jeanette’s shoulder.

“Mum!” Jeanette grasped her, pushing her back up, but Elspet’s head lolled as if it weighed too much to lift even though her eyes were open and filled with confusion.

“Mummy!” Scotia screeched, leaping off her rock.

Rowan, Scotia, and Nicholas converged upon Elspet and Jeanette nearly instantly. Jeanette cradled her mum against her, speaking quietly and intently to her. Scotia was screeching, “Mummy! Mummy!” over and over again.

Rowan knelt in front of her aunt, grasping Elspet’s hands in her own. “Auntie, can you hear me?” she asked, giving a gentle squeeze to Elspet’s hands. Her left one squeezed back, lightly. The right one did not move.

Elspet’s mouth worked but nothing recognizable came out, only a croak. She looked at Rowan, fear glazing her eyes like a trapped animal, and tried again with the same result.

“Are you in pain, Mum?” Jeanette and the others waited for the answer but again, they could not understand the response.

Rowan shoved away the grief that sliced through her, leaving her nauseous and hollow. She sat back on her heels, knowing without looking that her cousins and her aunt were waiting for her to decide what to do. A strong hand settled on her shoulder, pressing
just enough to tell her Nicholas was there, supporting her while she supported her family. She glanced up at him, grateful that she was not alone with this responsibility.

“Do you ken what happened, Jeanette?”

“Nay,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes but not falling. She shook her head slowly. “I have seen naught like this before.”

“Then we must get her home immediately. We shall have to send for Morven. Surely she’s seen such before.”

“Perhaps, but Ro, Mum cannot ride like this,” Jeanette said. “We shall have to make a litter.”

“I will carry her.” Nicholas’s calm voice washed over Rowan. The warmth of his voice and the heat of his hand mixed together like an elixir, bringing a spark of life back to the hollow place inside her. Jeanette seemed to calm, but Scotia began to sob loudly.

Rowan looked at him over her shoulder, resisting the urge to lay her cheek against his hand and let him take over. “ ’Tis another mile or more down the ben.”

Nicholas urged her up with a hand under her elbow, then he stepped around her and gathered Elspet into his arms, lifting her gently and as easily as if she were a wee bairn. He gathered her close and Rowan saw him palm the ermine sack that hung from Elspet’s belt. He fumbled with it and she could not tell if he was examining the contents or was genuinely trying to get it out of his way. Regardless of why it ended up in his hand, the fumbling turned it upside down long enough for the Targe stone to fall out, landing with a thud at Nicholas’s feet.

Rowan heard Jeanette gasp even as Nicholas leaned over to look at what sat at his feet: a grey, rounded stone, about the size of a man’s fist, flattened on top and bottom with an irregular surface. Before he could get a closer look at it Jeanette scooped it up, untied the ermine sack from her mother’s belt, and slipped the stone inside, then tucked the sack into a fold of her own arisaid, keeping it well away from Nicholas.

“Nicholas,” Rowan said, drawing his attention away from the stone and Jeanette, “let me tuck this blanket around Auntie so you
don’t trip over it and she won’t get cold. Get the pony, Jeanette,” she said. “Scotia, stop that noise. It does not help your mother.”

Scotia hiccupped but managed to quiet her sobs.

Nicholas nodded as if he agreed with all her instructions and moved toward the path with sure but careful steps.

“Scotia, you can make better time down the ben than I can with your mum,” he said. “Hurry you to the castle and make ready for her. Summon the healer. Have Helen tend the fire in Lady Elspet’s chamber. Find your da. He will want to be there. And summon a priest.”

“No,” Jeanette gasped.

Nicholas looked down at Elspet, his eyes soft. A sad, sweet smile softened his face. “Prayers will not be amiss, will they, Lady Elspet?”

Elspet managed a slight shake of her head, then closed her eyes, her head cradled against his shoulder.

“Mum?” Scotia cried and Elspet’s eyes fluttered open again.

“Scotia, let her rest,” Rowan said, her voice tight. “Go and do as Nicholas says. We will be along as fast as possible and all must be ready for your mum’s comfort when we get home.”

Scotia sniffled, kissed her mum’s forehead, and raced down the trail. Rowan and the others followed as quickly as they dared with Nicholas’s precious cargo in his arms.

H
OURS PASSED AND
by the time Rowan made her way out of the tower into the unnaturally quiet bailey, the sun had set and risen again, casting the castle in the golden glow of early morn. She’d said she needed a few minutes to collect herself while there was a lull in the storm that Elspet’s collapse had produced, but if she was honest with herself, she wanted to see Nicholas, to thank him for his aid to Elspet, and to take comfort in his company. She rubbed at the throbbing in her forehead, then kneaded the tense muscles at the back of her neck.

Kenneth was livid that they had taken his wife to the wellspring. He’d raged against the foolishness, the lack of responsibility, the
unbelievable risk they had taken with Elspet’s life, and the three girls had had no choice but to stand stoically, even Scotia, and take his anger, knowing that he was right, but also that his anger masked a deep grief that weighed them all down. She needed to shore up her strength before she returned to that grief-filled chamber.

The trip down the ben had been blessedly uneventful and she was incredibly grateful that Nicholas had been there to carry her aunt home, but the hours since had been unthinkable. Elspet had yet to be able to speak. She fretted when she was awake, but slept equally as fitfully. Nothing Morven, the healer who had trained Jeanette, did seemed to make any difference save that she had finally given Elspet a sleeping draught, allowing the woman to rest. At least there appeared to be no pain.

Morven had seen this kind of affliction a few times. She would not say how long the souls had lingered in such a state, but Rowan sensed it was not long. It was as if her aunt was suspended between this world and the next and they could do nothing but wait for her to let go.

Kenneth hurtled back and forth between anger bordering on incoherent rage and inconsolable grief. Rowan did not know if he would ever forgive them for not only allowing Elspet to travel to the sacred wellspring, but for keeping that knowledge from him. She feared he blamed himself for not keeping his beloved wife safe. Indeed she feared they all blamed themselves for Elspet’s plight, except perhaps for Nicholas.

He was a hero today. Even though he was not supposed to have followed them, she was exceedingly thankful that he had.

She looked about for him, but did not see him anywhere. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pushing it past the ball of guilt-spiked grief that threatened to fill her chest.

“Rowan?” She opened her eyes to find Duncan crossing the bailey toward her. “Are you well?” he asked as he neared her.

“As well as can be, given the circumstances.”

“How fares the Lady?” She watched his throat work as he swallowed hard and she could imagine his grief was nearly as great as her own.

“She lives.” She shook her head and the ball in her chest grew. “No one kens if she will recover, or when.”

“Is there aught needed? Aught I can do for Lady Elspet or for the rest of you?”

The man really was kind. She shook her head, then stopped. “Do you ken where Nicholas is? I… I wish to thank him for yesterday. I cannot bear to think what would have happened if he hadn’t…” She blinked rapidly, refusing to let tears fall. Elspet was still alive. Tears could come later. “I wish to thank him.”

“He went down to the loch a little while ago. He said he needed to fetch the fishing gear Uilliam lent him yesterday. Would you like me to get him?”

The thought of the loch, of having a moment with Nicholas without the clan or her cousins looking on lifted her spirits a little. “Nay. I thank you, but the walk will be good for me. I need some fresh air before I return to Auntie’s chamber.” She thought of Uncle Kenneth pacing upstairs. “Perhaps you could send some
uisge beatha
up for my uncle? He is quite… I think the whiskey would do him good.”

“Of course. I will take it myself.”

Rowan gave him a quick hug, then made her way for the gate passage and the loch beyond.

N
ICHOLAS TRUDGED SLOWLY
, retracing his steps of yestermorn, though it seemed much longer than that. He scrubbed at his face as if he could remove the person he was and reveal someone better. He didn’t know what had come over him. One moment he had the sack in his hand. Literally in his hand, but he had not been able to bring himself to take it, fumbling it instead when he’d begun to imagine how Rowan would react to his betrayal of her trust. His long-dormant conscience had not allowed him to do something he’d done a thousand times over before he ever came here.

He could not betray her trust.

Damned weakness. He hadn’t been bothered by a conscience in a long time, only doing what was best for himself, and the king, which was, after all, in Nicholas’s best interest. Even in this assignment he let the king dictate his conscience, or the withered thing that might have once been his conscience.

The truth was a dismal story. Nicholas was not a good man, not a man worthy of the feelings that were growing between Rowan and himself. And yet he had not taken the ermine sack yesterday even though it would have been a simple task, and quite possibly the end of the mission if that lump of stone had anything to do with the Highland Targe. The knot in his chest twisted tighter at that thought. The end of the mission meant leaving Dunlairig, leaving Rowan and the people he respected much more than he’d deemed possible, much more than anyone he’d known before he came here.