Lady Miracle (25 page)

“I doubt it too,” Mungo said. “And I am loathe to leave her here alone. When you go back to Dunsheen and contact the king about this, as you must, I will stay here.”

Diarmid nodded. “I will not leave until I have learned more about where these English goods came from,” he said. “But I would appreciate it if you watch over Sorcha when I depart.”

“I would lay down my life for her,” Mungo said quietly.

“I know,” Diarmid said. “I have long thought that. I wish I had known it years ago, when Ranald offered for her hand.”

Mungo said nothing, looking down at his feet. After a moment, he turned and left the storage chamber, and Diarmid followed.

“Tell us another tale, Mungo,” Sorcha said. She reclined in her bed, propped on pillows, her body sunk deep in the feather mattress. Near the hearth, Diarmid and Mungo sat on stools, while Michael occupied a carved chair with a leather sling seat, a borrowed harp leaned against her left shoulder as she played.

The four of them had gathered again in Sorcha’s room for a light supper, a practice that had become a comfortable routine over several days. Often they stayed together for an hour or more, talking and laughing companionably. Mungo and Sorcha told legends and tales, or chatted with Diarmid about escapades in their shared childhoods. Sometimes Michael spoke about her childhood in the hills of Galloway, or about her experiences as a student and physician in Italy.

At other times, she played soft melodies on the old harp that Diarmid had taken down from its customary place on the wall in the great hall. She discovered that Diarmid had a rich, deep singing voice, soothing and sensual, and she listened with dreamy pleasure as she plucked tunes that her mother had taught her.

Sometimes Diarmid smiled at her so kindly, so intimately, that her fingers stumbled on the strings until she focused carefully on the music. She had come to treasure their evening circle, but knew that the peace and joy was temporary. She would leave Glas Eilean and leave Dunsheen and its laird. The thought made her mood melancholic as she played the harp.

Mungo spoke and startled Michael from her thoughts. “I am not as good at telling tales as Gilchrist,” he said to Sorcha.

Sorcha smiled, her eyes dancing with silvery lights. “Ah, but I like your stories best of all. Gilchrist is a fine harper and has a feel for a tragic or a brave story, but he lacks your sense of humor. You always make me laugh.”

“Then I am honored,” Mungo said quietly. “I liked to make you laugh even when you were a pesky little girl in long orange braids following after your brothers and me.” He grinned. “But I still like your best. Tell us one now, if you will.”

Michael, strumming the harp strings in a soft rhythm, looked from Sorcha to Mungo with a sense of astonishment. She watched Sorcha blush, saw Mungo’s brown eyes linger fondly on her face. And then she knew what she had not seen until now: a well of love existed between them. Unexpressed, unfulfilled, their feelings had settled into a warm friendship.

Michael glanced at Diarmid, and saw him watch them keenly; he knew it, too. Then he looked at Michael, and she smiled slightly, sadly, as if to tell him she understood. But he looked away again without changing his somber expression.

Sorcha began a tale of the selkies, the enchanted seals that roamed the seas and came ashore to wed human spouses. Michael began a soft, lilting melody on the harpstrings to complement Sorcha’s sweet voice. She could not help but glance often at Diarmid, almost hungrily, as if devouring his handsome appearance could satisfy her lonely heart.

He turned and looked at her again, his eyes piercing, almost demanding, as if his hunger excelled hers. She blushed and turned back to the harp. When Sorcha ended her story, Michael rang off the strings, letting the sound resonate.

Mungo watched Sorcha, his dark eyes deep with longing, his craggy face softened and vulnerable. “That is a beautiful story,” Mungo said. “I had not heard it before.”

“I would like Gilchrist to make a song of it,” Sorcha said. “Will you tell him the tale for me, and ask him to do that?”

“I will,” Mungo said. “Though I cannot tell it as you did.”

“You must come to Dunsheen yourself,” Diarmid said.

Sorcha began to answer, than looked up with a startled expression on her face. The door opened and Ranald stepped into the room, his cloak glistening with moisture. He pulled off his leather gloves as he came toward the hearth.

“What a cosy group,” he said, and turned to face them. “I am gone a few weeks, and I return to find my wife enthroned in bed like a queen, with her court around her.”

“Ranald!” Sorcha said. “I did not expect you home—”

“I see that,” he said. “There was no supper waiting for me. I have spent the past quarter hour harrying the cook for hot food. There was not even a fire in the hearth below stairs, for the cook said you have been taking your meals in your chamber. And not alone, I see. A man likes his home in order when he returns from the sea, with no unpleasant surprises.”

He strode across the room as he spoke. Sorcha smiled nervously. “We are all in here because I needed some rest before the babe comes,” she said. “They were keeping me amused.”

“You have few tasks as lady of Glas Eilean, and no children to chase after,” Ranald said. “You suffer from boredom. I do not like to think that you are too fragile to fulfill what God intends for every woman. I want to see you you up and about on the morrow, and no more talk of weakness. We need your hand in the managing of Glas Eilean.” He patted her hand. Sorcha looked away, her cheeks pale, and said nothing.

Mungo and Diarmid rose to their feet. “She requires rest,” Mungo said. “Leave her be.”

“You are a bold ghillie, man,” Ranald said with contempt. “I am the master of this place, and my wife’s well-being.”

“Master her no more in this matter,” Diarmid said. “You risk her life to ask her to supervise this household now.”

“She has been cossetted her entire life,” Ranald said as he removed his cloak. “Giorsal feels that childbearing is not an illness. Sorcha must toughen herself. She loses the babes because of a female tendency to hysteria. She can conquer that. Can you not, my dear?”

Michael stood abruptly, stepping toward Ranald. “I ordered your lady to take to her bed,” she said. “She should stay there for the rest of her confinement.”

Ranald looked down at her. “I wanted you to consult with her, but I thought you would speak some sense to her.”

“I want her counsel,” Sorcha said. “She can help me birth a healthy child, I know it.”

“She is right,” Diarmid snapped. “We cannot risk another child being born too soon.”

“Of course not,” Ranald said. He sighed. “But a woman physician cannot possibly know as much as a male physician, and therefore Lady Michael differs little from any good midwife. She is welcome here, but her meddling will have to stop.”

Michael opened her mouth to sputter an indignant reply, but Diarmid stepped beside her and laid a cautioning hand on her arm.

“As a surgeon myself, I strongly suggest that you take Michael’s advice in this,” he said.

Ranald scowled. “Very well. I am too weary to argue this with all of you. Sorcha, do what you will. I have other matters of importance just now. Dunsheen, why are you here? You do not normally grace my halls.”

“I am concerned for my sister’s welfare, just as you are,” Diarmid said in a clipped, cool voice.

Ranald grunted. “No other business brought you here?” He looked suspiciously at Michael. “Did you ask him to bring you here? Have you an issue you wish to pursue with me?” His threatening tone dared her to confront him.

“You and I have little to discuss,” Michael snapped.

“And what of your champion?” Ranald asked, gesturing at Diarmid. “Is he here to undermine my walls?”

“If you were not kin to me, your walls would come down fast enough,” Diarmid growled. He nodded to his sister and strode toward the door, yanking it open without a backward glance. Mungo walked out behind him.

“Ranald, what is this about?” Sorcha asked.

“I am too tired to explain. I am going to my bed. Good night.” He moved toward the door.

“Ranald, Lady Michael has your bed.”

He spun. “I occupy that room.”

Sorcha flushed. “You were not home. I thought it would be an acceptable arrangement.”

“It is not acceptable to me.”

“But it is inhospitable to ask a lady to change her guest bed. You have a bed here if you wish it,” Sorcha said, her cheeks pink. “Or you can sleep in the great hall on pallets beside Diarmid and Mungo and their rowing crew.”

Ranald swore under his breath. “Excuse your physician from my bedchamber, lady,” he growled. “I want my rest.” He began to unbuckle his belt.

“As your wife’s physician, I insist that she be undisturbed,” Michael said pointedly. Sorcha looked relieved.

Ranald shot her a narrow glance. “You have disrupted much in my home and my life, Lady Michael,” he said. “Consider your advice heard. Now leave my chamber.”

Late that night, Michael awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep to blink at the dark curtains that surrounded her bed. She tried to determine what had stirred her from sleep, but could not, and could not summon sleep again.

She sat up, remembering that when she had gone to bed, the peatfire in the hearth had filled the chamber with a deep orange glow. Now all was dark. The bedcurtains were closed, although she had left them open. Leaning forward, she parted the heavy woolen cloth carefully and peered out.

Diarmid stood between the stone benches, silhouetted against the moonlight that poured in from the open window. Hands on his hips, shoulders wide, he truly looked like the king of the
daoine sìth
, as in Brigit’s imagination.

Her breath quickened, and she wondered vaguely if she were dreaming. Shifting on the bed, sliding her feet to the floor, she knew she was awake when she felt cool, matted rushes beneath her toes. She moved toward him like a slight shadow in silk and firelight. He glanced at her, and looked out the window again.

“Go back to bed,” he said.

Diarmid,” she whispered, coming nearer. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting,” he said. “Just waiting. Go back to sleep. I did not mean to disturb you.” He kept his back turned to her, and spoke over his shoulder. “Go on, now,” he said sternly. “You should not be awake, and I should not be here. Sorcha would have my head on a pike for this impropriety.”

“I decide what is proper for me. I not a maiden.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“I know that,” he snapped. “Go on, now.”

“But why are you here? Are you troubled with insomnia? Did you eat too much of the spiced meat at supper? Let me make you a hot drink with herbs to cool your blood and settle your stomach.”

“Always the physician. And if you stand there longer, my blood will need cooling,” he muttered.

She was uncertain if he meant she roused his passion or provoked his temper. She wanted the former, but expected he meant the latter. “Tell me what is wrong. Do you long for a view of the sea at night? I will not go back to bed,” she said firmly, when he raised his hand to point.

He sighed, gazing out the traceried window, leaning a hand on the stone frame. A cool breeze blew back the linen of his shirt, ruffled through his hair, and made Michael shiver as she waited. “At least cover yourself better than that if you mean to stand there,” he said.

She turned and grabbed her black cloak, swirling its folds over her dark blue silk chemise. Diarmid shifted aside in the small space to allow her to stand in front of him.

They stood silently, her shoulder brushing his chest as they shared the view. The dark sea gleamed beneath a velvet swath of night sky, pierced by sparkling stars and a white moon. Taking in the magnificence, listening to the steady rhythm of Diarmid’s breath just behind her, she felt a sense of peace. Finally she tipped her head to look up at him.

“Night air is good for insomnia, and this soothing view will help cure it as well,” she murmured. “It must be crowded and noisy in the great hall where you have been sleeping. Did you come here to get away from that?” A cool wind whistled past, and she shivered slightly.

“I came here to wait.”

“For what?” she asked, puzzled. “For the dawn?”

He shook his head. “I want to see what Ranald sees from this window.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Ranald?”

“When Mungo and I went down to the hall again this evening, the cook mentioned that Ranald was eager to have his supper and get to his bed. He normally sleeps in this chamber, but she said he was greatly displeased to find he had guests.”

“He was annoyed with Sorcha when he found out that I had this room,” Michael said. “He was adamant about being here, but Sorcha was quite firm about it. But a man must be forgiven for wanting his own bed after a long voyage.”

“A man that tired will sleep anywhere and not have a temper fit like a child. He wanted to be here for other reasons. If I am right, we will see why from this window.”

Michael looked out, wrapping her arms around herself. “I see only the sea, the stars, the moonlight. I doubt he is an admirer of those.”

Diarmid rested his hand on her shoulder, warmth sliding through her. His fingers touched her hair briefly, sending lingering tremors through her.

“Moonlight,” he whispered, his voice close at her ear.

“Moonlight? Ranald?” She looked up at him.

Diarmid chuckled softly. The sound stirred her somehow. She allowed herself to lean slightly against him, as she had on the deck of the birlinn.

“Michael,” he said gently. “Go back to bed.”

“I want to know why you are here.”
And I am glad of it,
she thought.

“If I had known you would wake up, I would not have come into your room,” he said, and put his hands on her shoulders to steer her away. “Go on, now.”

She jerked suddenly, spinning. “I am not a child, to be ordered about by you,” she burst out. “Clearly your visit here has nothing to do with me, since you only want me gone. I know that you do not want me—” she faltered, blushing. “I know you do not want me here, but—”