The Witch and The Warrior (23 page)

“It was,” Cameron agreed sadly. “She begged to see the child. Perhaps after all those months of feeling it grow and move inside her, she could not believe it was truly dead. But Elspeth told her it was sinful for a mother to want to gape at her dead bairn—a child that had died for its mother's earthly sins.” His mouth tightened with contempt. “I was up at the keep with Alex and Brodick, waiting for news of the birth. Everyone advised me that this was best. 'Twas cowardly of me, I suppose, but I did not think I could bear to listen to my sweet Clarinda screaming in agony. Even Clarinda had asked me to stay well away until it was over. But the fact that I wasn't with her meant I couldn't tell Elspeth to shut her pious mouth and give the dead bairn to my wife to hold.” He stared grimly at the sky a moment, then shook his head. “Perhaps it was for the best. The sight of the poor thing might only have made it worse for Clarinda.”

Gwendolyn said nothing. Had she been Clarinda, she had no idea whether she would have had the courage to look upon her dead child or not.

“By the time I got there, they had taken the bairn away and Clarinda was crazed with grief. 'Twas impossible to know what was best for her. But for months afterward she wept about the fact that she had not been permitted to see or hold her little girl. She even gave her a name—Cathaleen. She said she needed a pretty name when she met all the unbaptized bairns who were not allowed to enter heaven, and she hoped her daughter wouldn't feel unloved because her mother hadn't kissed her good-bye.” He paused a moment to rub his eyes. “ 'Twas a difficult time for us, to be sure. Sometimes she would lie in my arms and weep all night—until I thought my heart would break. And even though I knew it was God's will that our little lass should die, I couldn't help but feel as if I had failed Clarinda by not being there when it happened.”

“It wasn't your fault, Cameron,” Gwendolyn quietly assured him. “Clarinda knows that.”

He studied the sky in silence. “This time it will be different,” he vowed, his voice gruff. “They say that birthing is women's business and that men are best left out of it. That may be, but this time, by God, I'll not leave her side.”

At that moment David suddenly opened his eyes.

“Gwendolyn,” he began, his voice small and trembling, “I feel sick—”

That was all the warning he could manage before the vomiting began.

         

You will not die.

Over and over she had repeated this pledge as she tended to the weak, exhausted child lying before her. She had begun it as she held his head while he retched into the grass on the hill, and had continued as she anxiously followed Cameron back to the castle, with the heaving David cradled in his arms. Through the courtyard, past the condemning stares of the MacDunns, into the great hall, past the horrified council elders and the smugly satisfied Elspeth and Robena. Up the stairs, along the corridor, and into David's chamber, where Cameron had gently laid the gasping child on the bed, then regarded Gwendolyn helplessly, wondering what should be done next.

At that moment the poor child's bowels erupted.

Once David's insides were finally empty, Gwendolyn sponged him clean, taking particular care as she skimmed the cloth over his hot, red-pocked face. With Clarinda's help she changed him into a fresh gown for sleeping, then covered his shivering form with several thick plaids. She built up the fire, then managed to get David to drink a little water, so concerned was she by all the fluid that had drained from him. And all the while Elspeth had stood in the corridor and ranted about how the child needed to be bled before the evil festering within his corrupted flesh killed him.

For one desperate moment Gwendolyn was almost ready to let her do it, so frantic was she to alleviate his suffering.

“Will he die?”

The voice was low and strangely detached. Still clasping David's hand, Gwendolyn rose from her chair to face MacDunn.

“No, MacDunn. I will not let him.”

He remained standing in the doorway, the handsome lines of his face frozen into harsh valleys. Finally he approached the bed, slowly, his great fists clenched at his sides, like a man forcing himself to look upon something he does not think he can endure. His stricken gaze swept over his son, taking in his chalky color, the ugly red marks blotting his face, the dark bruises around his eyes, the sunken hollows of his cheeks. David's breathing was faint and shallow, as if it pained him to draw in more air than absolutely necessary.

Alex studied his son a long, agonizing moment, somehow managing not to throw himself over the lad and weep. If he permitted despondency to overwhelm him, his mind would begin to splinter, and this time he would not be able to piece the fragments together again. He inhaled deeply, fighting to control his emotions, to focus on something other than the sickening fear clawing at his heart. And there, burning within his anguish, he found a core of rage. It was dark and bitter, but it gave him something to grasp, and he clung to it like a drowning man. His previous descent into the vortex of despair had taught him there was little solace to be found in directing rage at the intangible. But this was different. David had nearly died today because he was recklessly removed from the safety and warmth of his chamber and exposed to the harsh elements of the outdoors.

For that terrible crime, Gwendolyn would be punished.

“You will accompany me to my chamber,” he commanded harshly. “Now.”

“I—I cannot leave David,” Gwendolyn stammered, unnerved by the abrupt change in his manner.

“I believe you have done enough for my son today,” Alex observed, his tone coldly mocking. “As of this moment, you are relieved of your duties.”

Elspeth entered the chamber. A stained rag was draped carelessly over her arm, and her blackened dirk and basin flashed in her hands.

“No,” protested Gwendolyn, still holding fast to David's thin hand. “You must not bleed him, Elspeth. He has already lost every drop of fluid from his stomach and bowels. You will only further weaken him by draining his blood.”

“His body is struggling to purge itself of the evil poisons flowing through him,” Elspeth said. “I must cleanse him or he will die.” She marched purposefully toward the bed.

“No!” Gwendolyn looked desperately at MacDunn. “Please, MacDunn—I know you are angry, and I know you are afraid for your son. It was reckless of me to take him outside, and for that I am profoundly sorry. Punish me however you see fit, but I beg you, do not let Elspeth bleed him! It will only harm him!”

“She lies!” Elspeth snarled. “She says this so David will continue to suffer!”

“You cannot believe that, MacDunn,” Gwendolyn pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. “Whatever you and your clan may think of me, you cannot believe that I would purposely hurt this beautiful child.”

Alex hesitated. Once again he was in the hideous position of deciding what was best for his son's rapidly deteriorating health. He had been forced to make the same impossible decisions when Flora lay dying. And ultimately he had lost her. Would it have been different, he wondered, if he had insisted upon a different course of healing? If he had stopped those who knew more than him from constantly slashing open her veins, and forcing her to drink the most fetid potions imaginable, that only succeeded in making her curl into a tight spasm of nausea and pain, or sent her into a delirium where she no longer recognized her own child, or the man who loved her beyond reason?

He swallowed, suppressing the sob threatening to erupt from his throat.

Both Gwendolyn and Elspeth were staring at him, anxiously awaiting his decision. He closed his eyes, desperately wishing he could escape this moment, this chamber, this life, and this awesome, unbearable responsibility.

I don't know what to do. What would you do, Flora?

For a moment he felt as if he might stagger beneath the weight of his decision. But when he finally opened his eyes, the answer seemed remarkably clear.

“Elspeth,” he began slowly, “I am entrusting you to care for my son…”

Gwendolyn gave a small cry of alarm and moved closer to David. Elspeth shot her a triumphant smile.

“…but you will not bleed him until I have considered the matter further.”

Elspeth's expression melted into disbelief. “There is evil within him—”

“You will not bleed him,” Alex repeated, his voice firm. “That is my command.” He held out his hand.

Elspeth hesitated.

“Give it to me, Elspeth.”

Reluctantly, she stepped forward and laid her dirk in his palm. The metal felt cool against his skin. He wrapped his fingers around the heavily stained blade, trying not to think of the many times it had been used on both his wife and his son.

“Accompany me to my chamber,” he commanded Gwendolyn, moving toward the door. Without looking to see if she followed, he disappeared into the hall.

“Don't think you have won, witch,” Elspeth sneered, her face taut with loathing. “MacDunn has seen through your deception, and he has returned his son to my care. Now you will be punished for the evil you have wrought. Then MacDunn will send whatever is left of you back to your clan, where you will finally be committed to the fires of hell. And I will purge your evil from this lad's tiny soul,” she swore, “so he can enter heaven with a pure spirit.”

Cameron, Brodick, and Ned stood waiting in the corridor as she fled the chamber, their expressions grim. They were no doubt present to assist in punishing her, Gwendolyn realized. Although she understood that their loyalty to MacDunn demanded they obey his commands, their presence nevertheless wounded her. She held her head high as she followed MacDunn, unwilling to let them see her desolation.

“A word, Alex,” Cameron said, stepping forward. “I should like to explain—”

“Later,” Alex snapped. “After I have dealt with Gwendolyn.”

Cameron blocked his passage. “But I am responsible for taking David from the castle. I carried the lad myself. It is I who must be punished.”

“Without Cameron's assistance, Gwendolyn could never have removed him,” added Brodick, moving to Cameron's side. “She cannot be held responsible for what happened.”

Ned joined Brodick. “You must punish Cameron instead.”

Alex stared at his three warriors in shock. Were they actually trying to defend her?

“If you are so anxious to be punished, Cameron, I am sure I can accommodate you,” he said dryly. “But your actions do not absolve Gwendolyn of the risk she took with my son today. Now stand aside.”

All three cast an anxious look at Gwendolyn, then reluctantly moved out of their laird's way. Despite her agitation, she was moved by their unexpected support.

“I will be all right,” she whispered, trying to reassure them. “You needn't worry.”

Their somber expressions did little to ease her fear.

Alex heaved the door to his chamber open and hurled the stained dirk across the room. It struck the wall with such force it chipped a block of stone before clattering loudly onto the floor.

“Close the door,” he ordered tautly as Gwendolyn entered behind him.

He went to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He drank all of it, filled the cup once more, then quickly drained it again. Marginally in control of his reeling emotions, he filled the vessel a final time, then gripped the goblet tightly between his fingers and studied Gwendolyn.

“Why in the name of God did you take my dying son beyond the castle walls?” His voice lashed at her like a whip.

“I—I thought it would be good for him,” Gwendolyn stammered. “He looked quite well this morning. I thought a little fresh air and exertion might make him stronger.”

“You are well aware of how extraordinarily frail the lad is—how he may appear almost stable one minute and is vomiting and gasping for air the next. How could you possibly risk his life by exposing him to the outside?”

“He complained that he was weary of lying in his chamber all the time,” Gwendolyn explained, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “Having been forced to stay within these dark walls myself these past few days, I know how awful it feels to be deprived of the touch of sunlight against your cheek and the scent of earth and grass and flowers. You have these things every day, so you do not know what it is like to be denied them. And David truly did seem to be faring well—he only got sick after we ate.”

The realization made her pause. Had David's illness been instigated by consuming tainted food? She frowned, trying to recall what she had packed in her basket. As she went through the items, she realized that she and Cameron had eaten everything David had, and neither of them had become ill. Even so, the possibility of a connection between what David ate and the severe reaction he'd had was a troubling one.

“However innocent your intentions may have been, I cannot ignore the fact that my son came perilously close to dying today,” stated Alex bitterly. “My son, should he survive, is the next laird of this clan. I cannot permit you to endanger him again. You are hereby relieved of your duties as his healer.” He tilted his head back and drained his goblet.