The Secret of Skye Isle

by Dillon, Marisa

  Chapter 34

  Gone.

  What would become of Alasdair? Ursula’s thoughts were as dark as the dungeon. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and began stomping her feet to get warm.

  While she marched about the cell, her mood lightened a bit until her stomach growled, reminding Ursula she hadn’t eaten since the banquet when they’d arrived.

  Would they starve her to death? Instead of pushing her off the wall, might Ian let her rot, then have the rats finish her off?

  Night and day were the same. It had been at least a day since Alasdair had been ripped away from her. He was the MacLeod’s clan chief. But the MacDonalds didn’t take kindly to the MacLeods, nor to the MacKenzies, and especially not to the Frasers.

  Unless Ethan had revealed her true identity, why would they want to hurt her? She carried no weapon. She was not a threat. She’d simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Her circumstances were beyond her control. If she’d been allowed to travel alone, she’d have been to Skye Isle and back to Fyvie with the guelder rose by now.

  She sighed, frustrated that she’d worked herself into a frenzy of worry. But thinking about the rose must have triggered a vision, for a fuzzy image of Roslyn began to form in her mind’s eye.

  Ursula took a deep breath and worked to push all other thoughts away, so she could focus on her sister of the heart. How she wanted to be by her side, soothing her forehead and helping calm the two babes inside her.

  There was Lachlan, sitting on a short stool and holding her hand. A shaky sigh made its way through Ursula. They were both at peace.

  But as Rosalyn lay on her side in the chamber bed, Ursula could tell the babies had grown even more since her last vision, and a flash of panic surged through her. She had to get out of this dungeon. Rosalyn was counting on her.

  The vision disappeared like a bubble bursting when a golden glow appeared outside the cell. It grew brighter as her heart beat faster.

  A soldier halted outside the gate and peered in at her through the old iron bars. “You are summoned,” he announced as a key cranked open the lock.

  In moments, she was led up the winding dungeon stairs to an alcove next to the entrance. She was directed to sit on a stone bench inside what appeared to be a sanctuary, then she was left alone.

  She studied its interior. Why was she here? Her gaze traveled around the nave. A basin protruded out of the stone wall across from her. On either side hung a cross—one Celtic, one Christian.

  For her, Celtic traditions ran deep. But she wasn’t ready for Christianity. Yet, this alcove, with a narrow loophole window, appeared to be ready to serve any faith. In her mind, one powerful God ruled overall, and she began to pray that today would not be her last.

  With eyes closed, Ursula started, “Dear holiest of the holy, Father of all fathers, hear my prayer. I ne’er ask for much, you know. A place for shelter. A kind word for a kind deed. A bit of stale bread when there’s not much to eat.”

  She opened her eyes for a moment and glanced about to make sure she was still alone, then squeezed them shut again.

  “Lord our Father, I pray for those I care about. Those I have made promises to.” She hesitated for a moment. God was all-knowing, but she was not ashamed of her actions. “You know who they are.”

  Her voice caught as she choked up with emotion. “Please protect Alasdair from harm. I pray he is still alive and that I may join him again one day. If not here in the beautiful Highlands, then at your pearly white gates.”

  She squeezed her hands tightly and stretched her neck. With eyes still closed, she gazed toward the heavens.

  “And Father, please help me help my sister of the heart, Rosalyn. I must travel to the faerie pools for the guelder rose, then return to help her twins come into this world with your grace. Amen.”

  “Faerie pools?”

  Her eyes flew open. “What?” Ursula exclaimed, startled to find the Laird MacDonald standing in the alcove alone with her.

  “Are you nae afraid of the faeries?” he asked.

  She stared at him, not knowing what to say.

  “One of my men tells me you saved his life.”

  What was he talking about? Moments ago, the last word from her lips to God’s ears had been ‘Amen.’ Why was the laird asking about faeries?

  She glanced heavenward for some reassurance, and finally she found the inspiration she sought. “Nay, the Fae are only to be feared if you are ignorant.”

  That had the laird busting his gut. “The ignorant do nae know that they are, so they are fearful.”

  She considered asking if he was fearful but then thought better of it.

  “But you must not be ignorant,” he concluded, “and you are also fearless, for most wouldn’t have answered my question.”

  Fearless? She was merely thankful she hadn’t been thrown over the seawall . . . yet.

  “You have healing skills?”

  She blinked hard and then remembered he’d mentioned she’d saved a life of one of his men. She’d been so distracted by the query on faeries, she’d let the comment go past her.

  “Aye, I dedicate my life to healing others.”

  “You said that with no hesitation and without being a braggart. It must be true.”

  She waited, wondering about this line of questioning and his interest in her after she’d been in the dungeon.

  “My brother, Edward, is gravely ill,” he said. “We have nae a healer on the grounds, nor within a day’s ride of this fortress.”

  She studied Laird MacDonald. On the surface he appeared genuinely concerned. She wanted her freedom but could not demand it. So she considered starting with the necessities.

  “I will volunteer, but I’m weak from the lack of food and drink.” Although at least she was free of the darkness. She welcomed the warmth of the sun on her shoulders through the loophole window and the fragrant breeze from the sea tantalizing her nostrils, but she would nae last long on those.

  The laird clapped his hands, and six servants hurried in, three on either side. “Take this healer to my brother’s room and make her comfortable,” MacDonald said. “Bring her whatever she wants but have a guard at the door.”

  He clapped his hands again, and two women servants rushed forward, each grabbing one of her elbows. Once she was on her feet, the laird was gone.

  Ursula teetered between the two women. The lack of food made her knees buckle now that she was upright. A servant wrapped one of Ursula’s arms around her neck, and the other woman followed suit. She was strung between the two as they assisted her through the castle archway and down a corridor, until finally they paused outside a massive wooden chamber door.

  After a male servant stopped to assist with an efficient rap on the ancient door, it opened and Ursula was unceremoniously dragged inside the bedchamber.

  The floor-to-ceiling dark plum and gold brocade drapes were drawn, shutting out any natural light. Instead, the room was illuminated by more tapered candles than she could count and the glow of the fire in the hearth.

  An ashen-faced man lay in the center of an elaborately carved canopy bed, propped up by too many pillows. He appeared lifeless, yet, the rich embroidered blankets covering his chest rose and fell with his breath.

  Although she’d needed some assistance walking at first, movement in general had Ursula feeling more like herself. She unwound herself from the servants and whispered her thanks.

  Stretching side to side with her arms above her head, Ursula stared at the laird’s ailing brother. She’d seen that color of skin before. Most likely he had smallpox.

  She spoke softly to the servants, explaining what she needed from the kitchen for a potion. Both of them appeared shocked at the ingredients. But she knew they could be found in the castle. Maybe not in the kitchen prop
er, but they could be found.

  When they asked what she wanted to eat, she told them any food would do. This wasn’t the time nor place to be treated as a guest.

  Once the women were off and the room quiet, she pushed open the depressing brocade draperies, letting in air and sunlight. Then methodically she walked about the chamber, snuffing out candles with the ornate goblet she found empty on the bed table. It didn’t take long to turn the room from looking like a mausoleum to an orderly bedchamber.

  “Blasted bitch. Why did you do that?”

  Ursula resisted the urge to scream. The ailing brother? Yet, the voice sounded strong . . . but he’d called her a bitch?

  Instead of letting her fury out, she put a cork in it. “I have a grumpy patient on my hands.”

  He snorted. “I’m not your patient. You can get out.”

  As much as she wanted to leave, she wasn’t going to let this MacDonald order her about. “If you want to die.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I can leave.”

  “Who are you?”

  “It doesnae matter, does it?”

  A grunt was his response. And luckily for Ursula, the two servants returned with food and supplies.

  Ursula briskly walked to a circular wooden table at the far end of the chamber. She assumed it was used for dealings of high importance. But it was uncluttered and the perfect spot for mixing her potion and nibbling on the tempting scones and cream the women carried in.

  After the servants placed the trays on the table, she surveyed the items. Thankfully, the breakfast food and potion supplies were on separate trays. The items needed to make the concoction for Edward were nasty in many ways.

  “Thank you, my ladies,” she said loudly, motioning them to her side. In a hushed tone, she said, “I shall do my best for this man, but he appears to be a few steps from crossing to the other side.”

  They nodded solemnly.

  “I’m charged with healing him, but it may be beyond my capabilities.”

  They appeared to understand.

  “I have someone who is near and dear to me who must be saved, and each day I’m here is one day more she could be closer to danger.”

  One of the servants put her hand over her mouth, the other let out a little gasp. Ursula was grateful to have an attentive audience.

  “Are you willing to stay here in this chamber for a few moments while I tend to Edward?”

  “Mi lady, we are prisoners here, too,” muttered the taller of the two women. “The MacDonalds are tyrants, and when the remaining MacKenzies knew the fight for their castle was for naught, the ones who could escape did.”

  The other servant leaned in even closer. “Some of the servants escaped, too, but most of us are here against our will.”

  Ursula grabbed each of their hands and gave them a squeeze. “I have a plan, but I need your help.”

  Chapter 35

  One might call it a miracle, another a fluke, but Alasdair considered his reuniting with Gavin good luck.

  Perhaps it was all of those together, for it really was a fluke that Alasdair and Gavin met at the Kyle of Lochalsh ferry. It was also a miracle they’d happened on the ship at the same time. And they considered it a stroke of good luck they’d both escaped from the MacDonalds and lived to talk about it.

  Because he’d traversed his homeland many times in peaceful and war times, Alasdair knew the best, quickest, and shortest paths from Eilean Donan to his castle on the cusp of the ocean. The two traveled the short distance to Dunvegan together and plotted their revenge the entire way.

  Now, Gavin sat with Alasdair and his captain, John, at the head of the table in Dunvegan’s armory. Here, he’d gathered his best men and was preparing his troops for a march on Eilean Donan to challenge the MacDonalds’ claim. Alasdair didn’t fear their wrath, or the danger of being the aggressor. What he feared was battling against time. The longer he was gone from Ursula, the less control he had over her fate.

  Something in his heart, however, told him she was still alive. There was a connection to her, telling Alasdair she was still bound to him. This was the intuition he needed to guide his words and rally his troops.

  “Men, I know we have nae had a skirmish with the MacDonalds since the Battle at Bloody Bay. We have kept them out of our clan territory, and we have stayed away from theirs. The land demarcations are known to us all, but as long as they are not challenged, we can abide by the laws of King James and to his success of maintaining freedom for all of Scotland.

  “As many of you know, I’ve returned from my journey to Inverness. My plan was successful, and I made a treaty with the clans the MacLeods of Lewis, Southerland, MacKenzies, and Ross. Before that, I had traveled to the Orkney Isles to visit the MacLeans and McNeils. I promised them our support if the Norse Vikings break their agreement with King James for the Isles of the Hebrides.

  “We now have agreements with all the clans but the MacDonalds and Mathesons. As you know, our MacLeod clan and associated armies are vital to Scotland’s independence from England. King James considers our stronghold here at Dunvegan, and the alliances I’ve made, the secret to his success of maintaining that freedom for all of Scotland.”

  The men at the table cheered, and Alasdair beamed with pride.

  “But what troubles me now are the MacDonalds. They’ve taken Eilean Donan from the MacKenzies, and they hold the future of Dunvegan hostage.”

  The men pounded their fists on the table and stomped their feet. As much as Alasdair wanted to explain Ursula, it would be easier for the men to assume any MacDonald advance outside their clan’s territory was a threat to Dunvegan. And it was.

  “Although I’ve just returned, I cannae rest until we right this injustice.” It was his turn to pound a fist on the table. “Who’s with me?”

  As he had hoped, every officer around the table, and their lieutenants, raised their fists in the air and shouted almost in unison, “I am!”

  Alasdair turned to his captain. “As we march toward Eilean Donan, we’ll send scouts ahead to rally.”

  His loyal captain, John, eyed him closely and asked, “Are we to bring the flag?”

  “Aye. We will use it only if we must.”

  The room went silent. His soldiers knew the importance and repercussions of unfurling the historic flag.

  That, too, was a secret to most outside the walls of Dunvegan. How Ursula had come to know of its existence he was not certain, nor had he interrogated her when they’d first met. Legends and myths abounded in Scotland, and he had not taken her interest seriously then.

  “We march,” Alasdair said with conviction. “Gather supplies, extra horses, and weapons. Most of the distance can be covered by nightfall. We’ll camp far enough away from Eilean Donan to plan our attack in the wee hours of the morning.”

  ~ ~ ~

  As much as Ursula wanted to eat the sumptuous scones with cream, she didn’t want to trigger the wrath of Edward, who could bark about her being a bitch and order her out of the bedchamber before she’d had her fill.

  She welcomed the assistance from the two serving women, Gladys and Eliza, MacKenzie supporters and haters of Clan MacDonald. She’d found out they were sisters when they had agreed to help her escape.

  Ursula would make the potion to the best of her ability with the limited resources and pray the three would be far from the castle before the remedy proved its worth.

  Smallpox was a disease that once it reached its advanced stages was hard to reverse. When she’d been called on occasions like this, it had been for comfort rather than cure.

  Thankfully, Eliza had procured the rat tail. It was the most important part of the potion. Without it, the concoction would be just a mild tea.

  Ursula only needed the skin of the tail, so with her dirk in hand, she carefully shaved off the scales i
nto the mortar that had been provided. While she prepared the potion, Eliza worked on Edward, fluffing his pillows and feeding him some of Ursula’s scones and cream. Eliza even flirted with him when he said something ribald to her.

  Men.

  She rarely preferred their company, but she’d gotten close to Lachlan and found him to be overly charming and quite tolerable.

  Alasdair, well, he was the exception. And she still needed to figure out how he had captured her heart and caused her emotions to riot. No matter how hard she’d tried to rationalize her feelings and get them under control, she could not keep from believing she and Alasdair were meant for one another. She had to hold onto hope. They had a bond, and her instincts told her he was alive.

  If only she could pick up his thoughts, get a vison, she could prove he was still alive. They’d connected before. Even though she’d not built a bond with him as strong as Rosalyn’s, she expected something to come through.

  Letting out a frustrated breath, she cleared her thoughts, digging deep into her heart for the feelings he’d stirred. She waited. And waited. But nothing happened.

  She huffed and her hands dropped, smacking the sides of her skirt. How frustrating. But when she recalled what her mother had said years ago—Men are more difficult to read, their thoughts and emotions more guarded—she stopped trying to force it.

  Instead, she pushed Alasdair out of her thoughts and began to concentrate on the potion. She measured carefully, adding the common Highland kitchen items, ginger, saffron, and cardamom. Then she reached under her skirt for her herbal pouch and the final ingredient she’d need. The Highland heather.

  Ursula glanced over her shoulder at Eliza, and the servant tossed her an exasperated look. Clearly, the lass needed rescuing from the lecherous lord, so she quickened her pace, taking note she’d assembled all she needed in the mortar.