by Lora Andrews
Crap.
“He needs CPR.” And a blood test and a freaking MRI to figure out what the hell was going on beneath the hood. Caitlin cut in between the two women and bent over Callum’s body. “He needs help breathing.”
Lifting Callum’s chin with her good hand, Caitlin pushed down on his forehead with the other to establish an airway. She pinched his nose and jutted her elbow in the air to keep the stiff bandages around her wrist from scratching his face. Breathing into his mouth, she held the breath for one second while watching the rise and fall of his chest.
Mari’s startled expression penetrated Caitlin’s peripheral vision. In hindsight, she should have explained the process before starting mouth-to-mouth. To their fifteenth century eyes, this had to look wholly inappropriate. God, the blacksmith could easily yank her by the hair and throw her across the room. And Ian? As the man in charge, he would be forced to report this whole ordeal to Donald.
And Ewen.
Oh, great. Way to make an impression, Reed.
At least, this time, Ewen wouldn’t be able to accuse her of anything magical. Artificial respiration would seem strange, yes, but every healer had his or her own bag of tricks, didn’t they?
Refocusing her attention on the young boy, Caitlin blew another breath. After a three second count, she repeated the procedure. Breathe, count, breathe, count. Once. Twice. Three times. She lost track. Behind her, no one moved. No one hurled her across the room. Eventually, her heartbeat slowed, and when the boy’s chest started rising and falling in a normal pattern, Caitlin breathed a huge sigh of relief. She placed two fingers under his jaw. The little guy’s pulse still raced. They weren’t out of the woods, not by a longshot.
Pressure punched against her chest, an unexpected attack on her senses that took her breath away. She sank under the weight of Callum’s pain and squeezed her eyes. The link to his mind was right there. She could reach out and…
If she exposed herself to these people, there would be no turning back. Word would get out. Nothing out of the norm ever stayed secret for long. Not only would she be endangering herself, but she’d be jeopardizing her plan to find the MacEwen’s and save her friends.
But she didn’t have a choice. She wasn’t about to let this boy suffer, not when she had the ability to see into his mind and discover what had happened to him. Consequences be damned.
Caitlin lowered her shields completely. She found herself inside a dark room. Valoria had told her every seer experiences his or her visions differently. Some received postcard-like images. Others waded through an assortment of symbols and patterns, finding meaning when the pieces came together like a jigsaw puzzle. Of course, she had to be the oddball. Her visions hid behind ominous doors in pitch-black rooms. She sighed. One of these days, she’d figure out how to splash some color onto these depressing walls.
Turning around, she eyed the door to her right. A wave of nausea hit. She eased a breath through her teeth and walked to the familiar arches. Faded light filtered in from between the hinges of the first two doors. She could barely distinguish the gold or silver streaming around Valoria and Fionn’s links. Touching the door lightly, she tried to ignore the ball of worry their faded appearance caused. She wasn’t ready to lose her last link to the couple. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
To the left of Valoria’s link, bright blue light blazed around the third door.
Ewen.
Like the man, the door was imposing. Gorgeous dark oak was inscribed with intricate designs around the oval inset. Caitlin smiled. Everything about Ewen MacLean was big, bold, and bigger than life. The urge to open the door—to feel his essence—grabbed hold of her. She raised her hand to clasp the antique handle, but then curled her fingers into her palm and backed away. Sighing, she glanced to the left and caught sight of a fourth door several feet past Ewen’s.
That had to be Callum.
She rushed down the hall and grasped the knob in her hand, then froze. What if this wasn’t Callum’s mind? The first time she’d stood in this very space, Bres had attempted to trap her in this room, and when she’d escaped, he killed MacInnes. If she opened the door, would she find Bres on the other side?
Was that even a possibility?
The only reason she was still linked to Ewen, or Valoria and Fionn for that matter, was because of the binding ritual they’d voluntarily performed together. She had no link to Bres, none that she knew of, but somehow he had managed to steamroll into her head.
Through MacInnes.
Did it matter?
Dammit. She didn’t have time to waste arguing with herself. Caitlin pushed through her fear and opened the door. White light temporarily blinded her. She shielded her face. A little boy stood on the other side of the door, his small hands clasped together like he’d been waiting for her. Auburn curls stuck to the side of his face.
Thank you, Jesus.
“Callum?”
Big, gray slanted eyes looked up to her expectantly. Behind him, bare trees lined a stream or river. Smoke billowed from the chimney of a structure about ten yards down. Caitlin could hear the sound of clanging metal in the wind.
“Hey.” She crouched down to his eye level. “I’m Caitlin. Don’t be scared. I’m here to help you.”
Callum threw his arms around her neck with a loud grunt. Laughing, Caitlin hugged him back, unable to stop the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes. Those little arms, the loud grunt, the way he squeezed her with his whole body reminded her of Jadiel, the boy she’d been planning to adopt before her life had gone to hell.
Gently, Caitlin broke the hug, but held onto Callum’s small hands. Despite the nausea and the pressure on his chest, he returned her smile with the innocence of a five year old who’d been sheltered from the ugliness of the world. She sensed no fear in his heart. No mistrust. Faolan was proving to be a great dad—despite his scary appearance.
“It hurts here, huh?” Caitlin touched Callum’s sternum. “Can you tell me what you were doing before you started to feel sick? Can you do that for me?”
Callum’s expression crumbled. He jerked his head down.
Poor guy. “I promise you won’t get in trouble. If you tell me what happened, your da, and the chief’s wife, Mari, will know what to do to make the hurt go away.” With her forefinger, she tipped his chin until she met his sad eyes. “No one will get mad. Honest.”
Callum didn’t speak. He tugged her hand and led her to a grassy area about ten feet before the riverbank. From where she stood, Caitlin could see heaps of stones shoved into a small mound on the river’s shore. A dike had been dug with the discarded piece of wood lying near the stones.
“Did you hurt yourself on those rocks?”
He shook his head.
“Ah. But you were playing there before you got sick.”
Callum nodded.
She pointed to the larger pile of rocks. The circle of stones surrounding the mound simulated a castle wall, and he’d filled water into the embankment like a moat.
“Is that a castle?”
His gray eyes beamed with pride.
“Wow. Nice job. That’s a fantastic castle, Callum. Did something bite you? Maybe something in the river?”
Without giving her an answer, Callum let go of her hand and wandered deeper into the grassy area.
“Callum,” she called. “I need you to show me everything you did, okay? You played with the stones. Then what did you do next?”
He bit his thumb, guilt tugging the corners of his eyes.
She sighed and followed him into the grass. At least she didn’t have to worry about ticks. “Is there something here you want me to see?” Peering between the tall blades of grass, Caitlin didn’t see anything harmful, but then again, she couldn’t tell wild grass from wheat or something more sinister.
Callum stooped and picked something off the ground. The guilty look was plastered all over his face again. In his hand, he held a flower with blue petals and thick, fibrous roots.
“Is
that something you’re not supposed to touch?”
His eyes watered.
Oh no.
“Don’t cry.” Caitlin pulled the blue flower from his hand, dropped it to the ground, and gave him a tight hug. “It’s okay, little man. We’re going to figure this out and make you all better. Did you eat it?”
His whole body shook in a side-to-side movement.
Whew. “Okay, I’ll take that as a no. So you just held it.”
He nodded vigorously.
“Got it.” Caitlin leaned back and ruffled his hair. “Callum, I have to leave, but I promise you, when you open your eyes, I’ll be there waiting for you on the other side, right near your da.”
Callum gave her a shy smile.
She couldn’t resist another hug. She kissed his cheek, said goodbye, and then raced to the door, breaking the link to his mind as she crossed the threshold into the darkened room. She came to with a gasp and snapped her eyes open.
Deidre sat on the floor beside her with her lips parted like she’d seen a ghost. Mari’s expression was completely unreadable. Ian had left his post by the door and was standing at the foot of the bed, tense as a board. Meanwhile, Faolan towered over the ladies, eyeing Caitlin like she was a new specimen of cockroach he’d discovered scuttling between the floorboards.
Oy vey. This will be fun.
Caitlin swallowed and released Callum’s hand. “Well, I guess by now you probably figured out I have…special abilities.”
No one spoke.
Oh, yeah. Special abilities that would get her killed.
She bit her lip. “Look, I had a vision when I touched Callum. I saw him handle a flower he knew he shouldn’t have touched. By the river near a grassy area.”
Faolan’s body went rigid.
Deidre snapped from her daze. “What type of flower? Quickly, describe it.”
“Large green leaves. Blue, maybe bluish-purple flowers that looked like wrinkled buttercups, if that makes any sense. About this tall.” Caitlin spread her hands two feet apart. What else could she tell them? “Oh, and the stem felt stiff. I only saw the one specimen so I don’t know if it grows in singles or in groups. And it had a weird root. Thick and fibrous like horseradish.”
Mari turned to Faolan. “Did Laoghaire grow monkshood?”
Faolan scrubbed a hand over his face. “Aye, and I’ve no’ burned the fields yet this year.”
Deidre quickly re-examined the irritated area on Callum’s palm. “Did he touch the root, Caitlin? Do you know if he touched the root?”
“I—” Callum had held the plant by the stem, but she hadn’t asked him that specific question. “I don’t know. I saw him hold the plant at the center of the stem. I know he didn’t ingest any of it, but I don’t know if he touched the root. I’m sorry.”
“How long ago?” Deidre asked.
“It felt recent, like within the hour,” Caitlin answered. “The sun was pretty high in the sky.”
“He was out of my sight for no less than a quarter of an hour.” Guilt was etched across Faolan’s scarred face.
“You did well to come straight here.” Mari stood. “No more than an hours’ time then,” she said to Deidre.
“Aye.” Deidre’s face pinched. Her gaze darted about Callum’s body, then she launched to her feet and ran to the table. “Caitlin, rewash his hands in the herbal solution. Quickly,” she ordered, rummaging through jars and containers on the table.
Caitlin drew the wooden bowl closer to the cot and washed Callum’s palms, squeezing water from the rag directly onto his hand. She felt the weight of both Ian and Faolan’s stares on her back.
“But folksglove, Deidre?” Mari was at the table, eyeing the ingredients laid out on the surface. “Are ye sure?”
Folksglove?
Wait. Did she mean foxglove? She couldn’t mean foxglove. According to the guy at Home Depot, who’d gone out of his way to ensure Caitlin had neither kids nor pets when she’d loaded her cart with pots of the plant, foxglove was toxic if eaten.
“Aye, ’tis a risk, yes.” Deidre chewed the corner of her mouth. “Tis the only antidote I know of for monkshood. We’ll start with a highly diluted tincture of folksglove juice given over the course of several hours. With careful observation, we can adjust the dosage.”
From Caitlin’s vantage point, Mari didn’t seem fully onboard with the plan, and Caitlin had no clue what a modern doctor would do in this situation. Pump Callum’s stomach just in case? Start an IV?
“I’ll fetch heated water from the kitchen.” Glancing at Callum as she passed, Mari hurried out of the room.
Deidre centered another wooden bowl before her. She thumbed through several more corked jars lined against the wall. Reaching for the one farthest to her left, she pulled out the cork and measured several drops of the dark liquid into the bowl.
Caitlin dried Callum’s hand. Deidre seemed competent. Clearly, Mari trusted her. But what if she was wrong about the antidote, and why wasn’t Faolan objecting to the potion?
The door opened. Mari entered carrying a handled pot in one hand and a jug in the other. She set both on the edge of the table.
Gripping the damp rag in her hand, Caitlin asked, “Are you two sure about using foxglove?”
“I am,” Deidre replied. “The difficulty will be in determining the right dose for the boy without knowing how much of the poison invaded his body.”
Sneaking a peek at Faolan, Caitlin’s breath hitched. Callum’s dad stood still as stone with his jaw clenched and every vein in his forehead bulging. To his left, Ian faced the blacksmith, poised and ready to tackle him to the ground should the need arise.
Oblivious to the mounting tension behind them, the women added water and a small amount of whatever was in the pitcher—something dark red, maybe wine?—to the bowl. After mixing thoroughly, Deidre dipped her finger into the solution and tasted her concoction. She held a wide, wooden cup in her hands and prompted Mari to pour the mixture. Then she knelt beside Callum with the cup in one hand and a spoon in the other.
“I will feed him the potion,” she told Faolan.
Oh boy…here we go.
Caitlin pushed the basin of wash water as far away from the bed as possible, ready to shield Callum in the event Ian flew across the room to subdue the boy’s burly father. Her fear was unwarranted. Faolan nodded in agreement, but there was no missing the apprehension in the man’s eyes. He was trusting Deidre—all of them—to save his son.
Mari moved to the front of the cot and lifted Callum until he was in a sitting position, his small body pressed against her protruding belly.
“Tell him not to fight us, Caitlin.” Deidre kept her focus on the boy. “The potion will be bitter. Tell him to swallow.”
It was one thing to access a person’s mind when no one was aware of her psychic invasion, but quite another to force a link with all eyes tunneling into her back, especially when a little boy’s life was on the line. She blew out a breath and closed her eyes, willing her jumpy heart to slow as she waited for the dark room to appear. But all she could see was the flash of fear in Faolan’s eyes, the tight lines across Mari’s brow as she stroked Callum’s little face. The sound of Ian’s feet shuffling against the stone floor to her left thundered in her ears.
Breathe.
Caitlin’s mind raced with what-ifs. Was feeding one poison to counteract another the right thing to do? After her Home Depot incident, she’d done a bit of research. Foxglove was used in the development of heart medications currently used in the States, so it wasn’t all bad, but was it the right herb in this situation? Why couldn’t she have been born with a photographic memory instead? And where the hell was Callum’s link? She couldn’t see a bloody thing in the darkness.
Gah. Concentrate.
Settling her mind, Caitlin imagined Deidre lifting the spoon to Callum’s mouth. The image bloomed, the colors rich and vibrant and clear. She could zoom in to see the strands of Deidre’s light brown hair that had fallen out of the ribbon sh
e wore around her head. Caitlin’s heart slowed, and she let her mind run with the vision.
If Callum awoke, having strangers hovering around him would be scary. Those innocent blue eyes would fill with fear and uncertainty. She’d smile and tell him, “It’s okay, sweetie. The medicine is bitter, but it will help you feel better. I want you to swallow, okay?” The picture was so clear in her mind. She saw Deidre empty the spoonful into his mouth. She saw herself squeeze Callum’s hand. Heard herself say, “Good job.”
Deidre’s voice cut through Caitlin’s daydream. “We’re almost done, Caitlin. Tell him to swallow one more spoonful for good measure.”
Caitlin snapped her eyes open in time to see Callum’s throat work. He was unconscious, yet somehow he’d swallowed the potion.
On his own.
She felt the blood drain from her face. He’d heard her? How was that even possible? She hadn’t established the link to his mind. Was this magic? Did she have some weird mind control power she hadn’t been aware of?
No, not magic. Controlling. That’s what Janet had labeled the ability to affect another person’s behavior. Oh, god.
“There. That should do.” Deidre set the spoon down as Mari gently laid Callum back onto the cot.
The silence in the room was deafening. Both Ian and Faolan looked as dazed as Caitlin felt. She lowered her eyes, her stomach knotting. Honestly, at this point, was there any sense in trying to hide who she was and all the weird stuff happening to her?
She unclenched her fists and caught Ian’s confused look as he assessed her splinted wrist.
This morning just gets better and better.
“Would you believe I’m a quick healer?” she said.
Deidre started to open her mouth then stopped.
Ian’s face darkened.
She’d take that as a big fat no. Caitlin eyed the door. If by some strange miracle she managed to wiggle herself out this colossal slipup without landing in the dungeon or worse, she was getting the hell out of Ardgour and heading straight to Kilfinan to find her grandmother’s family. Ewen and his clan had enough to contend with without her abilities adding another complication to the mix.