Mary Reed McCall (14 page)

Duncan swung his leonine head, peering at her through tendrils of lank golden hair. His mouth was tight with pain.

“Stay away, Aileana. I’ll not have you falling sick again.” He grimaced. “Don’t make me move to stop you.”

Ignoring him, she leaned over and reached out to help him up. As her fingers grazed against the iron-hard muscles of his arm, he stiffened.

“Nay, I said!”

His command reverberated off the walls of the courtyard, making her jump back. A flare of anger shot through her, and she planted her hands on her hips. “Dragon’s breath, Duncan MacRae, stop pretending to be so noble, and let me help. I’m not like to die from what ails you.”

Her breath caught as he lifted his head in a slow, deliberate motion. His silver stare pinned her to the wall as he ground out, “And how would you be knowing that?”

Her cheeks heated and she looked away, stomping over to the well to draw a cool bucket of water. She didn’t trust herself to meet his gaze. “I know enough of healing illnesses to be sure that it is nothing too serious. Even if I did take sick, it would be over in a day. Your discomfort will fade as quickly if you heed my advice.”

She knew that he stared at her, until, from the side of
her vision, she watched another pain wrack him. Seeing it, Aileana rushed forward and tipped a ladle full of water to his lips. “Drink, but just sips. It will help what’s in you to be flushed out.”

Duncan grunted in response, but he drank. When he’d had enough, he waved her away. “Send Kinnon to me. I’m going to my chamber, and I don’t want you helping me to get there.”

“Nay. I’m here. I’ll do it.”

He took a deep breath, his hand clenching his belly. “Do as I ask, Aileana. I’ll need his strength to help in dragging me up the steps.” When she bristled, Duncan tipped his head back and groaned again. “Christ, lass, don’t make me beg.” His skin took on a greenish color, and his lips tightened.

Another lance of conscience stabbed her. She took two steps backward, driven away by the unfamiliar tone of pleading coming from this strong, unyielding man. There he sat, the giant felled by little David’s slingshot. Yet somehow, she didn’t think that God was on her side as He’d been on David’s. He wouldn’t support the kind of trickery she’d used last night.

Duncan’s eyes opened, and Aileana’s breath caught, so strong was the entreaty in his iron gaze. She could resist no longer. Without another word, she dropped the ladle into the bucket and ran to the kitchen, holding her hand to her breast as if that would help to still the pounding of her heart.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to feel guilty. Duncan deserved it. He’d disregarded her feelings; he’d led her down a merry path, kissing her when she was ill, then denying it later. He and Nora deserved every pang they felt until the herb’s effects wore away.

Then why did she feel as if she’d driven Duncan’s claymore straight into her own heart?

The question reverberated through her mind with the incessant clang of a kirk bell. But before she would allow herself to consider the inevitable answer, Aileana threw a baleful look at the herb pantry and hurried into the great hall in search of Kinnon.

A soft tittering from the left side of the table drew Duncan’s attention. Two of the MacKenzie women sat, heads together, whispering behind their hands. Every now and then one of them glanced at him and fluttered her lashes before falling into a fit of giggling. It was beginning to rake his hard-won calm like the sting of nails down his back.

Shoving his broth away with disgust, he pushed himself to his feet. He knew the root of their laughter; it had been building since he fell ill yesterday. Everyone believed that Nora MacKenzie had finally enticed him to her bed…and that she’d given him a dose of sickness in return.

But he knew better. He knew the real culprit.

Duncan pushed himself to his feet and stalked to the hearth, his gaze narrowed on the object of his thoughts. He watched her fiery head tilt forward, her teeth flashing as she laughed at some bit of witticism one of the others offered. She was entirely too jovial. A complete change from the solemn, somber Aileana he’d come to know after the plague.

And he could think of only one possible reason for her sudden transformation.

She’d been the cause of his and Nora’s illness. Yet the idea that Aileana would stoop to such foul practices seemed at odds with what he thought he’d learned about
her. The contradictory images warred in his mind. Aileana mixing a brew to prevent the plague, Aileana bent over his kin, nursing them until she fell ill herself…Aileana standing over him in the yard, her guilt-stricken expression making him feel far more ill than the rolling of his stomach.

The truth couldn’t be denied. The facts led to no other alternative. And there was more than just his sudden sickness to make him certain he was right. Though it hadn’t been him, Nora
had
bedded someone this week. Young Gil had taken her to his pallet, and she’d gone gladly, stung as she was by Duncan’s frequent rebuffs and thinking to make him jealous with a more willing bedmate. Only Gil hadn’t taken sick. Just himself and Nora.

And he himself had shared a trencher of stew with her at supper two nights ago. A well-seasoned dish, if he recalled, steeped with an odd taste he’d struggled to place at the time.

Aye, it seemed more than likely that Aileana had brought on his bout of misery. But why?

The answer he’d been resisting as heartily as he could spilled over him now like a shower of ice, making his teeth grate and his fists clench. He’d known it all along but just refused to believe, holding on instead to false comfort. But the truth was that Aileana hated him, enough, it seemed, to incite her to poison him.
But had she wanted him to die?

She’d wanted him to suffer, that much was clear. Nora was just an unintended victim, stricken because she’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Had Aileana planned to kill him, then?
His throat constricted and his head throbbed, the dark brooding of his own thoughts
beginning to bring on a headache. The uncertainties went round and round, torturing him in away that rivaled the unholy skill of his guards in the Tower.

He knew that Aileana had used her herbs to make himill. But he also knew her to be very skilled with her remedies and knowledge of healing; her abilities were such that if she’d intended for him to die, he’d wager Eilean Donan that he’d not be standing here debating it right now. Relief swept through him with the thought. Aye, she’d dosed him to make him sick, but that was all. It wasn’t an attempt on his life.

And yet he’d suffered mightily, curse her brews. But his body wasn’t the only thing paining him; something unseen inside of him ached with the wound of her actions as well. Ruthlessly, he stamped down the hurt beneath his anger. Aye, he told himself, the only thing preventing him from throwing her out of the castle gates right now was his knowledge that she continued to hide the
Ealach
from him. And he couldn’t—he wouldn’t let her go until he had it in his possession again.

“Matters of the heart rarely run smooth, cousin,” Kinnon murmured, apparently noticing his black expression from where he stood off to Duncan’s side.

“It’s not my heart that I’m concerned with. It’s my health—or apparent lack of it these days.”

Kinnon raised his brows. “You’re feeling ill again, then?”

“Nay,” Duncan snapped. “But it’s no thanks to that hex over there.” He nodded toward Aileana. “I want her removed from the kitchens and the brewery. She’s to have no more access to the food preparation areas. And in future, she’ll be sharing my trencher with me, whether she likes it or no.”

Kinnon let out a whistle. “You’re thinking she brought the sickness upon you, then.” Duncan nodded, and Kinnon cocked his head. “But why was Nora afflicted too? Surely your leman is skilled enough to curse those she chooses, without mistake?”

Duncan could have sworn he saw a twinkle in Kinnon’s eye.

Deciding his imagination tricked him, he stared into the fire. “I don’t know. Perhaps she decided it was worth a risk to others to lay me low,” he mumbled, kicking at a sputtering log that had fallen too close to the hearth. “It’s clear how she feels about me. It’s been so from the moment she laid eyes on me on the field beyond her family’s holding.”

Kinnon folded his arms across his chest, remaining silent for so long that Duncan finally pulled his gaze up to look at him again. His cousin appeared to be in deep thought.

“You might be wrong, you know.”

Kinnon spoke so low that Duncan wasn’t certain, at first, that he’d said anything. But then Kinnon stopped rocking and looked him straight in the eye. Duncan felt the strength of their friendship in his gaze, a bond that reached deeper than ties of blood ever would.

Duncan shook his head. “Nay, I don’t think I’m wrong about her, Kinnon, though God knows I wish it otherwise. It’s the only reasonable explanation for what happened.”

“I’m not talking about her giving you something to make you feel sick,” Kinnon said. “That might well be true. I’m talking about
why
she’d be wanting to do something like that.”

Duncan scowled. “What other reason could there be?
She despises me. I’ll concede that I don’t think she intended to harm me mortally, but you cannot deny she intended for me to suffer.”

“Why not let her go home, then?”

“I can’t release her until she tells me where she’s hidden the
Ealach
.”

Kinnon shrugged. “But if you fear for your life…?” His voice drifted off, and Duncan saw a flash of the twinkle again. “Still, I have to say that the food around here has been much improved since Aileana began helping with the cooking.”

Duncan glared at Kinnon and pushed himself away from the mantel. “You seem quite at ease with knowing that my leman may have poisoned me. Have you something else that needs saying? Anything I should know before I continue to trust my life next to you on the battlefield?”

Kinnon leaned forward, his serious expression wiping away all traces of joviality. “Aye, cousin, I do have something to say. I think you ought to reconsider the workings of the female heart. It is not so cut and dry as you paint it, I think.” He pulled back, then, and cuffed Duncan on the arm. “But now I’m finished giving advice. Think on what I’ve said, if you like.”

With a smile, he sauntered into a group of MacKenzie women and set them all to fawning over him. Duncan watched his cousin’s broad back, ire filling him up once more. He frowned, brooding about Aileana and what Kinnon had just said. The workings of Aileana’s heart? What
heart
? His leman had dosed him to make him sick and then had been gleeful about it. It was an act of pure spite, bred from her hatred of him. What in bloody blazes was Kinnon getting at with all of his talk about hearts?

Duncan slammed his fist atop the mantel with a growl of frustration. Then, stalking to the table, he grabbed a full pitcher of ale and a cup, and sank into a chair before the fire. Damn it all to hell. He was done thinking about it—or her—this night.

Hearts, sweet, merciful heaven.

Hearts
.

A
ileana glanced to the door again, breathing a silent prayer for a few more seconds of solitude. Another snip here, a tug there, and her task would be complete. She worried her lower lip with her teeth as she cut tiny holes in the last of Duncan’s clean tunics. A noise outside the door made her stiffen, setting her heart to a thundering gallop. But soon all was quiet again.

Rolling her gaze skyward, she murmured thanks and slipped the scissors into her sleeve. Then she thrust the rolled tunic into a basket and skittered over to her sewing by the fire. She smoothed her skirt, forcing herself to hum softly, her feet tapping to the rhythm.

In the distance she heard Duncan call for his breakfast to be readied. Moments later he entered the chamber, stamping and dripping water. He moved to stand before the fire as a shudder rippled over him, and he shook his wet hair from his eyes with a hearty growl.

Aileana’s heart skipped a beat. His body glistened,
shining like wet gold in the morning light. Aside from his plaid, it was clear that he was naked.

“It is getting a bit cold to be bathing outside now, is it not?” she murmured.

“Nay. It is never too cold to be clean.” He watched her for a moment, gray eyes inscrutable. Then he began to unwind the plaid from his torso. “In truth, you might find the practice a welcome change from your heated baths.”

“Nay.” Aileana kept her gaze trained to the floor, studying the pattern of the thick woolen rug beneath her feet. She tried to look submissive, but her lips kept twitching upward of their own accord. “Such sport is not for me. I prefer to stay indoors like all of the other wee creatures who know when it is time to hide against winter’s breath.” She glanced up and bit her treacherous lips. “Why just yesterday, I found some of my kin curled in the corner of the hall downstairs.”

Duncan’s gaze snapped to meet hers, and he ceased rubbing a linen towel over his arms and chest. She added smoothly, “It was a nest of puir, wee mousies. Pitiful they were, though clever enough to nip me with their teeth when I squeezed them too hard.”

Duncan stiffened, and she was glad to have reminded him of his earlier insult, comparing her to a tiny mouse caught in the great cavern of his keep. Aileana twisted a bit of yarn round her finger till the tip turned white, trying to keep her thoughts trained on revenge, rather than the expanse of Duncan’s naked chest. Scarred as he was, it was still a magnificent sight.

Finally he commented, “I hope you got rid of them all.” His gaze flickered. “We’ve no room for creatures either weak or cunning within these walls.”

“Don’t fear,” Aileana murmured. “I remedied the sit
uation.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Quite satisfactorily, I think.”

Standing, she flapped the skirt she was pretending to mend and folded it atop the ruined tunics in the basket. “Now it is time for me to wash up before breaking my fast. Since you are going to be using this chamber at the moment, do I have your permission to go into the kitchen for the basin there?” She gritted her teeth, forcing the words out in a tone of sweet subservience.

Duncan impaled her with his gaze, making her feel both hot and cold at the same time, before turning his back to her. “Aye, I suppose it will be all right this time.” He grabbed a fresh square of linen from the warming rack before the fire and rubbed it over his wet hair.

Aileana felt an unexpected twisting in her belly. He bore scars on his back as well, but the muscles beneath the scarred flesh undulated with every movement in a dance of sheer perfection. She closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to feel that warmth and strength under her palms.

“Do not linger too long in the kitchens or try to help in serving the meal,” he said, jerking her from her reverie. He stiffened when he commanded, “And meet me at the table in time to break your fast with me.”

The suspicion in his voice stifled the heat burgeoning through Aileana. She murmured her assent and turned to go, focusing again on her plots and plans, and silently counting the minutes it would take until the seeds of her little surprise blossomed into the sweet fruit of vengeance.

Before many minutes had passed, Bridgid puffed to her side at the table. “Ach, Duncan’s coming, missy, and
he is looking for you.” She shook her head, adding, “Sure he’s bringing the storms of hell with him. I haven’t seen him so angry since the day he brought you home to live with us.” Bridgid colored hearty red. “Not that I think poorly on your living here, mind you.”

Aileana concentrated on tearing her bread into chunks. “There’s no need to explain. I know how Duncan feels about me, and it does not hurt me to voice it aloud.”

Bridgid’s face relaxed a little. “Aye, well, be that as it may, he’s in a fine fettle. He’s got cracks of lightning behind his eyes, so you’d best watch yourself.”

Nodding, Aileana picked up her mug of ale and took a big swallow. Heaven help her, but she’d pulled the lion’s tail this time. She only hoped she hadn’t gone too far. Over the rim of her mug she saw Duncan approach from across the hall, and a shiver swept up her spine. When he stopped right in front of her at the table, she gained the full measure of his appearance, and a choking cough escaped her.

“Is something amiss?” he thundered. More than just lightning flashed in his silvery eyes; it was a full-blown tempest.

“The ale,” she choked. “I must have swallowed wrong.”

He stood before her, legs planted in a wide stance. Many of the hall’s other occupants stopped to stare at the odd figure cut by their fierce leader. The only normal thing about him was the plaid draped across his torso and thighs. His long-sleeved tunic and his leggings gaped from scores of holes. A few large spots were stitched together to wrinkle in bunched folds. He looked ridiculous.

Exactly as she’d intended.

Only she hadn’t thought he’d have the gall to wear the ruined garments so boldly into the hall.

“I’m waiting. Have you nothing to say?” His voice echoed quiet and deadly, spreading hot tingles over her.

Blinking up at him, she tried to school her face into impassive lines. “Nay, other than to wonder why you’re dressed so strangely this morn.” She blinked again.

“I was thinking you would enlighten me on that count.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he leaned forward. “Now.”

Aileana swallowed. After a long pause, she shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. “The wee mousies had a hand in it, perhaps?” Her gaze brushed over his ruined garments. “The mites
were
making a nest with scraps of just that color, now that I think on it.”

His jaw clenched again, and she saw him suck in his breath. But then suddenly something in his expression altered. The tightness around his mouth relaxed, so much so that for a moment, Aileana thought he was going to laugh.

“From the look of me, woman, we’re housing a ravenous pack of she-wolves.”

Relief flooded Aileana. That he could jest boded well. “Aye,” she murmured, her expression as grave as she could make it. “It is possible.”

“Possible,” he echoed, his lips twitching as he sat down next to her, “yet unlikely.” Pouring himself a full mug of ale, he took a long drink, then pushed it aside to look at her again. “But wolves or mice, the creatures had better possess skill with a needle and thread to mend the damage they’ve done.”

“And if they refuse to comply?”

Duncan’s brows arched at her boldness. He shook his head as he took another drink of his ale. “If the beasties
refuse, their own garments will meet a worse fate. Then they will find themselves roaming the castle naked to the skin for all to see.” He cast a sidelong glance at her, and her heart pulsed faster.

Aileana looked away, willing her voice to remain steady. “That would be an unkind measure to take considering the chill that’s set upon the land.” Taking a swallow of ale for strength, she added, “They might catch their death of cold, not to mention their modesty.”

“Ah, but what is lost in modesty is gained in pleasure for the rest of us.”

“Pleasure?” Her cheeks heated at his implication.

“The pleasure of winning the sport your wee creatures have begun, of course,” Duncan answered smoothly. “It’s a fine thing to best an adversary in battle.”

Aileana remained silent, glancing at him, unsure how to proceed with this new and somehow unsettling Duncan.

He fixed his quicksilver gaze on her. “I, for one, try never to overlook an enemy’s strengths,” he continued. “Or special skills.” He pushed his trencher of food toward her. “Care for a bit of breakfast?”

“Nay, I’ve eaten.”

“Oh, but I insist.”

Aileana clenched her jaw and took a finger full of the oat mash. Curse him. Being made to taste his food at every meal was almost as bad as being banned from the kitchens.

“It is fine,” she mumbled, standing up to leave.

“I’m relieved.”

She scowled and nodded to go. But before she took even three steps, Duncan’s voice rumbled behind her, laughter and warning mingling in a rich timbre. “Do not forget to instruct your wee friends on the task that lies ahead of them, now. If my clothing still bears holes by
the time the sun sets on the loch, the morning light will be illuminating a great deal more of the guilty ones than they ever thought to show.”

Aileana bit back her angry response and stalked on toward the curving stairway—and the room full of mending that awaited her—with Duncan’s hearty chuckle sounding in her ears as she went. She tightened her fists and compressed her lips, his amusement pushing her steps to haste and pricking her with the bitter gall of defeat.

Three men crouched in the wooded copse beyond the arched stonework bridge to Eilean Donan. Dusk had descended, and a cold rain trickled down, penetrating the thick plaids that covered their heads. A branch crackled behind them. Almost of accord, they twisted to face the intruder, poised and ready to attack. But in the next instant they sat back on their haunches again.

“It looks the same as the day I left it, thirteen years ago,” Colin said as he approached. His blond hair was streaked dark with the wet, and he pulled his plaid closer around his shoulders and squatted near the three. “What news?”

“It’s as you said. There’s been some repair to the rear. Over there,” one of the men said, as he pointed to an outer wall where new masonry was just visible.

Colin shook the damp hair from his good eye and walked past the men to the edge of the copse. He squinted in the misting rain. The castle’s position so far out onto the land jutting over the loch made it difficult to tell the quality of the work. “Aye. It’s not so long since the clan came back here. Work has just begun.” He stood. “What of the girl? Have you learned if she’s here?”

“She’s here all right,” the second man said, barking a laugh. “With all the MacKenzies milling around, it was easy to sneak into the yard and watch for a while this afternoon.” He laughed again, revealing, when he parted his lips, several black holes where teeth should have been. “Yet as sure as hellfire, when the girl walked out, I almost thought the mistress herself had come without telling us. The lass took my breath away. She’s the very image of Morgana, by the Rood.”

Colin raised his brows, a flare of interest lighting in his gut as he made a grunting sound. When he pulled his gaze away from the castle, it was to stare at his informer. “Did she wear the amulet?”

“Nay. At least not out in the open.”

“Then perhaps it is hidden, as Morgana’s vision foretold. She claims it is beyond any walls.” Colin tightened his hand around the handle of his claymore, rubbing his thumb along the smooth leather gripping. “And my dear brother?”

The man shook his head. “I didn’t see him. Though I know he’s inside by the way those around me were talking. Some of the women spoke of him.” He grinned. “Something about him catching sick from one of the MacKenzie wenches.”

Colin bit down hard and turned back to stare at the sturdy, square keep rising straight into the misty sky. “Aye, well,
legitimacy
doesn’t ensure good taste.” He spat the words like dirt from his mouth. “Apparently Duncan isn’t much changed by his stay with the English, if he’s still after tupping women all the time.” He made a clucking sound. “What’s the world coming to when you cannot count on the Tower to torture the itch out of a man?”

The three cackled their agreement, then fell suddenly
quiet as Colin faced them again. Thinking of his brother had set him on edge, as it always did, and he knew his black mood drifted off of him like a stench. He watched the men fidget beneath his stare. One man almost made the sign of the cross over himself for protection, but thought the better of it when Colin flicked his gaze to him.

“We’ve seen enough. Gather the supplies and meet me at the crossing. We’ll head back tonight.”

The toothless man opened his mouth to protest but the second man elbowed him, making him clamp it shut before uttering a word. The third man grumbled under his breath about a hot meal and shelter. Colin spared them nary another thought. He stalked toward the horses, his boots tramping with a dull sound on the sodden ground.

He’d learned what Morgana wanted to find out. Her sister was here and the MacRaes had settled into Eilean Donan once again. As for the amulet, he couldn’t tell, and he’d not risk discovery by prying further. Three years ago, when they’d first tried to steal back the
Ealach
at Dulhmeny, they’d all nearly been captured for their pains. Nay, Morgana would have to determine the rest of what she needed through her sorcery.

Swinging himself astride his horse, Colin aimed for the north. Wind whipped at his cheeks, making the flesh around his patched eye sting with cold. The ruined socket ached. Yet another reason to make Duncan pay. To make him keep paying. He’d lost his eye thanks to his brother’s parting blow, delivered right before Gavin MacDonell had knocked Duncan senseless and dragged him to the dungeon where Mairi awaited him.

Colin frowned. He hadn’t wanted that part of the plan. Not for Duncan’s sake, but for Mairi’s. She’d been a gentle soul, kind-hearted and innocent. She hadn’t de
served what happened to her. But Duncan had. In the end Duncan had suffered mightily, both in losing Mairi and in the Tower. But it would never be enough. Colin would never forgive him for taking his eye. Or the clan.
His clan
.