"I promise I'll keep Mary safe," Karen said, giving the little boy a smile.
"Tell you what. I'll even leave an iron knife with Karen, too, to make sure she's ready to fight — and if we hear anything happening, we'll come straight back in, alright?"
Cameron seemed happy with that, and he got up to follow Connor out into the yard. Karen smiled at him as he went, nodding as he shot her a meaningful look — the plan was clear. She'd go up and try to talk to Mary while Connor kept her stalwart protector busy in the yard. It was a good idea… but part of her just wanted to go out and watch the knife-fighting lesson. There was something incredibly charming and sweet about watching her lover talk to the little boy…
But this was more important. She waited for them to go outside, then headed up the stairs, stepping carefully. Mary's door was shut, as she'd guessed — she knocked on it gently before letting herself in, glad that there didn't seem to be a lock on it.
The room was much worse than it had been when she'd last visited. The window was slammed shut, the curtains pulled tight over it, plunging the tiny space into darkness. It was clear that Mary wasn't taking good care of her lesions — from what Karen could make out of the slumped figure in the bed, her bandages hadn't been changed in several days, and there was an unpleasant, sour smell in the air that she knew came from unwashed bandages. In the corner, piles of plates and glasses lay in a haphazard mound — she could see that the food on the plates had barely been touched, and the room was at risk for attracting vermin. Mary was facing the wall, curled tight into a ball, and when Karen said her name she didn't respond.
"Mary," she tried again. "It's Karen. I'm here to talk."
Still nothing. Karen moved a little closer, reaching into the bag she carried. She might have been here for answers, but the sight of Mary had roused her medical instincts — those lesions were never going to heal if they weren't cared for. "Is it okay if I put some salve on your lesions? I bet they're troubling you…"
That earned her a response — a shrug of the shoulders, and when she reached for Mary, the girl didn't flinch away. Working carefully, sure to protect her hands from the lesions with a pair of gloves that Connor had brought for her, she took the bandages from the girl's arms and hands — the parts of her she could reach, that weren't covered in blankets. Carefully, she applied Maggie's soothing salve to the red, sore lesions, taking the soiled bandages away and leaving the lesions to get some air. No coverage was better than old, dirty coverings.
"Mary, I need to talk to you," she said again, hoping that the salve had brought the girl some measure of relief. "About what happened. About how you got these sores."
The girl sat up at that, and some life came into her dull eyes. Karen could barely see her in the dark of the room, but her eyes had adjusted enough to read fear and guilt into her expression. But still she didn't speak. Her face was puffy and swollen, and Karen knew she'd been crying… but her expression now was borderline catatonic.
"How about I talk instead?" she suggested softly. "I'm going to tell you all about what I think happened, and you don't even have to speak. You can nod or shake your head if you like… or you can just listen. It's up to you." Mary just stared at her, and she took a deep breath. "So, what I know is that the six men who died the night of the storm last week all had cowpox. They had it all over their bodies, not just on their hands, and they weren't working closely enough with cows to have caught it from the cows. I also know that they came here, Mary, and that they threatened you, and told you that you gave them the pox."
At that, Mary gave a deep, shuddering gasp, and Karen thought she was going to speak for a moment — but she stayed quiet, though tears began to roll down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the grime there. Karen kept talking, keeping her voice low and soothing, hoping to avoid upsetting the girl too severely.
"I saw those men's bodies, Mary. I know that the only way they could have gotten the pox was by coming into contact with someone with the lesions — all-over contact. I think they attacked someone who was sick, Mary. I think they attacked her, and hurt her very badly, and probably spread the lesions all over her body, too." She took a deep breath. "And I think those men are monsters for what they did, and I think they deserve what happened to them."
That seemed to get through to Mary. The girl took a deep breath — and then before she knew it words were tumbling out of her mouth even as tears flowed down her face. What she was saying wasn't especially coherent, but it wasn't long before Karen was able to assemble a pretty clear picture of what had happened… and it confirmed her worst fears. The six men had been bothering Mary for months, flirting with her despite her uneasiness, touching her without her permission, following her home, leering and yelling… behaviors that simply got written off as boys being boys. But then they'd taken it too far. They'd taken her out to the hillside late one night, when — unknown to them — she'd recently contracted the cowpox. She'd fought them, but what was one sixteen-year-old girl against a group of adult men?
"That shouldn't have happened to you," Karen kept saying, over and over again, like a prayer. Mary was barely listening, but she knew it was important to support her in the telling of this, to believe her unconditionally, to let her know that nothing was her fault. She was reeling with the revelation; with the monstrous thing those men had done. All six of them… even William, the married father of a small son? Even him? He seemed the worst of all — Mary haltingly mentioned that he'd left her his cloak when they'd abandoned her on the hillside, the only thing that had stopped her freezing to death out there. They'd raped her… then left her for dead, like a piece of fruit they'd finished with. Monsters, each and every one of them. She remembered the stricken expressions on their faces, how utterly horrified they'd looked, recalled how sad she'd felt at how terrified they'd clearly been in the moments before their death… but where before she'd felt sympathy, now all she felt was a grim satisfaction. It served them right, the misery that had been visited upon them. They deserved every single bit of it.
Chapter 47
“I only wanted them to kill them," Mary breathed now, her face streaked with tears and her eyes wild. This seemed to be a new topic, and Karen leaned forward to listen. "I only wanted the avenging angels to take them… I didn't want… I didn't want Malcolm to…" And then the sobs began to shake her body again.
Karen wanted to reach out, to hold her close and comfort her… but she knew physical contact was a bad idea right now for this poor girl.
"Mary, what did you tell them?"
"They won't go away," Mary breathed, and her face was a mask of despair. "They won't go … they won't stop, I begged them, I begged them to stop after Danny and the others, but they won't… they say they're hungry, they say they need to feed, that they'll take me if I try to stop them… and I don't want…" She collapsed into bed, uttering a high, desperate wailing that echoed through the house. Karen heard footsteps on the stairs and the door burst open. Cameron was standing there, his iron knife in his hand, looking every bit the fearsome protector as he rushed to his sister's side.
"You made her cry," he said accusingly, glaring daggers at Karen.
"It's okay," Mary breathed, reaching for her little brother. "We were just talking —"
Cameron was clearly thrilled to hear Mary speak — he turned to her, his eyes wide with shock, but then he turned back to Karen, his protective instincts clearly still flaring. "You should go," he said, a mix of defiance and worry in his voice. "She has to rest."
"That's a good idea, Cameron. I'll go. You're in safe hands with your little brother, Mary," Karen added, giving the girl a smile even though it felt like her heart was breaking. "I'm going to think about what you said and I'm going to come up with a way to make it all better, okay? I promise."
Cameron looked mystified — but Mary just nodded, her eyes full of tears and a desperate, broken hope. Karen shut the door to the little bedroom behind her, feeling her body trembling with the shock of what she'd just learned.
Connor was waiting for her on the landing, a look of acute concern on his face.
"Is everything okay? I was teaching Cameron how to use the knife and then we heard Mary crying out and he just came tearing inside to save her…"
"He's a good kid," Karen said absently. "Come on. We'd better go. I'll fill you in on the road."
They headed out the front gate, waving goodbye to Cameron and Mary's mother on their way. Did she know? Karen wondered. Was she aware of the terrible thing that had happened to her daughter a few weeks ago? Did she realize that it was Mary who was responsible for all the deaths, for the flocks of winged monsters that were preying on the town? It didn't seem like she did… Karen bit her lip, wondering how the woman would react if she found out. Would she be on Mary's side? Or would she blame her daughter for the death of Malcolm, an innocent child?
She filled Connor in as they rode, relying on her medical training to keep her emotions out of the story, though her voice still shook when she got to what had happened to Mary on that hillside a few weeks ago. He was utterly thunderstruck. Part of her had worried that he would downplay what had happened, that sexual assault wasn't as big a deal in medieval times as it was in her own… but to her relief, he seemed even more furious than she was. He stopped his horse, dismounted, paced back and forth with his fists clenched at his sides.
"I can't believe they could do such a horrific thing," he kept saying, his face white with anger and fear. "Some of them are distant clansmen. My whole clan will bear that shame for eternity —"
"It's not your fault," Karen said, shaking her head as she dismounted her horse, too, going to his side. "You aren't responsible for other men's evil —"
"Where was I," he wondered, frowning. "Where was I that night? If I'd ridden past the hillside, I might have seen them — might have stopped it —"
"You couldn't have stopped them," she said firmly, grabbing him by the shoulders. "It happened, Connor. Those monsters did what they did… and they were punished for it."
"They deserved worse," he snarled. "I'm not interested in getting justice for them. As far as I'm concerned, justice has already been done."
"What about Malcolm?" she said softly, and he stopped in his tracks, scrubbing his face with his hands, a picture of dejection.
"I forgot," he said softly. "Poor Malcolm. But —" He frowned. "If the Sluagh came to Mary in her despair… and she sent them after the men who victimized her… why would they have taken Malcolm?"
"I have a theory about that," Karen said, leaning against him as they stood by the side of the road. "From what she said, I don't think she knew the names of all six men. But she knew they'd fallen ill with the pox — the six of them visited her that day, the day the storm came. They threatened her, told her it was her fault they were all covered in pox. So, I think… I think that when the Sluagh came to her, she told them to pursue any male with cowpox."
His eyes widened. "But that means…"
"That means they're going to keep hunting," she said heavily. "And it means that cowpox is no longer a mild disease — not if you're a man, at any rate." She took a deep breath, looking out across the grassy field beside them to where some cattle were peacefully grazing. "What are we going to do?"
"The only thing we can do," Connor sighed. "We're going to kill all the Sluagh. Iron and fire, that's the solution. I just hope we can stop them from taking any more innocent lives."
"What about Mary?" Karen wanted to know. "What do we do about her? The Sluagh feed on despair… I've never seen a person in a worse state than her, and I've been at the bedsides of plenty of terminally ill patients…"
"I don't know," he said simply, looking at her with a look of dejection in his gray eyes. She moved toward him, put her arms around him instinctively, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her close as they stood by the road, gazing down into the little village below them. The day was bright, and the villagers were going about their business as though nothing was wrong… everything seemed fine from up here. It was hard to imagine the Sluagh coming back… hard to remember that the village was being stalked by murderous monsters who killed children and rapists with equal malice, equal disrespect for life. Their only hope was to keep the villagers safe until the Sluagh could be dealt with… and if that meant shooting every last one with an iron arrow, she supposed that was their only option.
"I'm glad I'm with you, Karen Frakes," Connor said unexpectedly.
She looked up at him with a smile, the serious expression on his face making her feel strangely safe even in the face of the uncertainty and horror that faced them.
"I'm glad I'm with you," she echoed him with a fond smile. "I honestly don't think I'd have gotten through any of this without you."
"Come on, then," he said with a smile, swinging back aboard his horse. "Lunch at the inn? We've a successful witch trial to celebrate, after all."
She didn't feel much like celebrating… and neither did Connor, to judge by the sad look on his face. But no matter how awful the situation was, she knew she could face it with Connor Grant at her side.
Chapter 48
The rest of the day seemed to pass slowly. They headed for the inn first to eat a warm meal — she felt a little shy stepping through the door, crowded as the inn was with townsfolk who had until recently wanted her exiled from this place for being a witch. But to her gratitude, it seemed word had spread that she was no witch, and she even received a few friendly smiles and greetings from the townsfolk.
Thomas, too, offered her a full apology for kicking her out of the inn, and made it clear that neither she nor Connor would be paying for their meals here for some time. He brought their food out himself and hovered a little anxiously, explaining that her room was still free, and she was more than welcome to move back in at any time she saw fit. She hesitated for a moment, exchanging glances with Connor, who looked a little worried that she was going to take Thomas up on his offer… but she just smiled back up at the innkeeper, shaking her head.
"I've made other arrangements," she said smoothly, winning a smile from Connor on the other side of the table. "But thank you, Thomas, for the kind offer. And no hard feelings, okay? You did what you had to do."
"I'm still annoyed with him," Connor told her in an undertone once the innkeeper had bustled off, and she giggled, for a moment forgetting the gravity of the situation.
But it wasn't long before the memory of what had happened to Mary came back, and they passed the rest of the day in a rather somber mood. Connor had work to do — the watch was maintaining their patrol routes around the village, which was their habit when a supernatural threat was active as it currently was, and he invited her to ride with him as a way of passing the time. Neither of them acknowledged it, but they were waiting for sundown… waiting to see if the Sluagh would return to attempt to claim more victims.
On patrol, they visited with a lot of villagers to check their defenses, and they were both delighted by how the town had responded to the threat. Every west-facing window was well boarded, with the recent deaths clearly moving everyone to action, and there were groups of villagers assisting the less able-bodied members of the community to board up their own windows and doors to be safe from the threat. The pox, it seemed, was still spreading — Karen was dismayed to discover a handful of new cases among the villagers, some of them men — well, not men. Boys — three young boys between the ages of five and ten, whose parents were able to trace the infection to Malcolm.
"It's not Rosemary's fault," one of the mothers said, shaking her head fiercely. "She kept Malcolm's sores dressed and covered ever so carefully… but you know what children are like, he was always fidgeting at the bandages, and boys are so rough with on another…"
"It's an easy disease to spread," Karen said comfortingly. "It's nobody's fault. Just make sure you keep him inside at night — we have reason to believe these creatures target the sick." She exchanged a brief glance with Connor, a shadow crossing both of their faces. They'd agreed over lunch tha
t it would be best to keep some of the situation to themselves… that while the villagers had a right to know that the threat of the Sluagh extended to people with pox, they wouldn't be well served by the full story. The last thing Mary needed was a tribe of angry villagers marching up to her door. So, they'd decided to spread the information that the Sluagh targeted the sick — after all, that was partially true, if not the full story, and made sense given their nature as predators on the miserable and despairing. The specific detail that the creatures were preying on male patients of the cowpox wasn't necessary… the worst that would happen would be that sick women would board their windows up, which they wanted everyone to do regardless.
Still, it felt a little uncomfortable to be withholding the truth from the villagers, especially when they were all finally being so friendly to her. It seemed her visit to the Church, her willing participation in the religious rituals of the place, had done the trick — not only had the villagers dropped all suspicions that she was a witch, they were actively interested in her medical knowledge now, asking for advice on avoiding the contagion, or on treating the ill who had come down with it. It was an unpleasant situation to be in, but for the first time she could see a future for herself here after the contagion. After all, it was clear the town needed a doctor. There would be other diseases, other plagues… not to mention the usual barrage of regular illness, injury, childbirth…
But for now, she reminded herself as they rode, they had one specific calamity to focus on. The village wouldn't be safe until the Sluagh had been dealt with… and from her understanding, the creatures were going to keep hunting until they'd taken every last person in the village and fed on their life forces, up there above the clouds. They couldn't be banished, couldn't be returned to whence they'd came — the only option was to kill each and every one of them.
Troubled By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 6) Page 19