Fire calls for blood and blood for rebirth. The answer lies in the eyes of the one where the spheres of heaven touched earth.
Spheres of heaven touched the earth. The skies were blue and the earth was green…. Blue and Green. Who had eyes of blue and—? Angus launched out of his bed with a cold sensation running down his spine. Magdalene had eyes of blue and green! He had seen the flecks of blue in the depths of her eyes.
Then the first words Rhona had said made the cold sensation harden to ice. Fire calls for blood and blood for rebirth. Fire and blood. God’s teeth. Fire and Blood! He had to find Magdalene that day, using the knowledge from spies or not.
He woke into pure darkness but that was no deterrent. Walking blindly into peril paled in comparison to what he needed to do. He was going to get Magdalene and carry her home. Home, with him. He strapped his sword on and gathered the arms his fellow Lairds had given him to carry with on his way to Seabhag Crag.
Just as he added the gauntlets and weak rays of dawn were coming through, his door was banged on. Leaping to it, Angus yanked it open to see Malcolm there. The animated expression on his face told Angus what he had hoped for; the spies were back.
“Where are they?”
“The meeting room,” Malcolm said. “Where else would they be?”
Brushing past his brother Angus strode down the hall only to break into a jog. He ran into the meeting room and forwent the greetings, just to demand. “Forgive me for skippin’ the greetin’. What did ye find?”
“The place is an old home of Ildulb mac Causantín, son of Causantín mac Áeda, has two stories and fitting to his statue, is built like a minor castle, Laird Ratagan,” a bearded man said. “There are balustrades around the home and a good portion at the back to the west is hemmed in by bare rock. The only point of covert access in over the east wall.”
“The old spike pits and tar gutters are filled in with dirt so ye dinnae have to worry about accidentally being impaled,” a second man said.
“Have ye seen a young woman there?” Angus asked, trying to swallow over his racing heart.
“Aye,” the first said. “Fair lass with lovely golden hair. This Miss Magdalene that Laird Douglas told us to look for, aye?”
Relived Angus nodded, “And is she well?”
“As far as we could see,” a third added. “She is always outdoors, Laird Ratagan, working in the herb garden with an older woman, grey-haired, saggy skin, and looks frail. I ken this is the witch Aunt we were warned about.”
“Frail?” Angus asked askance. “Frail doesnae tie in with what we ken of this woman. How frail can a fire-thrower be?”
The first spy shrugged and his voice told of his weariness. “It’s either that or she’s a master in playing the part of old and helpless. She even walks with a limp.”
Angus’ lips flattened. That description the man gave did not paint an image of a heinous woman hell-bent on destroying all that came near her in his mind. Weak, frail and with a limp? A trail of doubt began to slither into his mind. Had he been wrong about this woman? He began to pace.
Then, then the image of burnt O’Hagan, Rodham, Bhaltair and the other five-and-thirty people she had killed stopped the growing doubt. She was the witch and he had to stop her.
“The east wall, you say?” Angus said.
“Aye, and the old woman’s bedroom is on the second story, last room to the end with a large horn covered window, that she usually leaves open,” the second spy added. “A trellis is on the wall too, ye can get in and out without any trouble.”
With all their descriptions Angus believed he had a good enough image in his head to work off. The worst thing was that though he would go to Seabhag Crag, he would have to wait for the night to stage his attack.
“Thank ye,” Angus nodded. “Get ye some food and ye can use the room yer Laird left to rest up.”
“Aye, Laird,” the bearded one nodded and stood with a heavy grunt. “Our thanks for yer hospitality.”
Nodding, Angus strode back to his room but on the way called for a squire to tell a stable hand to fit up his horse. God’s will, by this time tomorrow, Magdalene would be in his home, in his arms, and the witch would be dead.
Seabhag Crag
“Well,” Magdalene said, as she deposited the basket filled with herbs on the main table and dusted the lingering dirt off her hands. “That’s the last of them, Aunt.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Aunt Perse said as she came over to inspect the basket. “I would have done it myself but it would have taken twice as long as you did. Ah, the various glories of youth. Be glad that you still have it, Niece.”
“So,” Magdalene said, as she sat and watched at her aunt separating the stalks. “Are you ready to go back with me to the Williamson’s home and clear your name?”
It was the same question she kept asking her aunt the last three days she had been there but even with her insistence, her aunt kept defecting the question, saying, “Perhaps tomorrow, dear, or I’ll consider it.” Magdalene felt it was imperative if she wanted to live a peaceful life with Angus. It was the reason she had stolen away and gone to her aunt.
“I’ve thought about it, Magdalene,” Aunt Perse said as she formed the herbs into a pile. “And I will go with you in four days’ time.”
“Four days?” Magdalene was perplexed. “Why four days?”
“Perhaps five,” Aunt Perse added as she laid out the herbs to dry. “Tonight is the beginning of the new moon, dear, it is terribly bad luck at that time.”
Magdalene’s jaw tightened in frustration, and she felt sorely irritated. She knew Angus must have figured out where she was a long time ago. She was surprised that he had not come for her already and felt that she was working off borrowed time. Perhaps he was letting her come to him instead of him coming to her.
“Aunt, I understand your fear but I am sure nothing bad will happen to you or me there. The trip is not even that far and it would only take us an hour at most to get there,” Magdalene stressed. “As soon as they know you’re not the witch they think you are, you can rest and come back here with peace knowing they will not come after you in misguided retribution.”
Aunt Perse went still for a breath but then continued. “If it is that important, I will go with you tomorrow. I just pray we’ll be safe.”
“Truly?”
“Truly,” Aunt Perse said, as she finished her task and went to the pot of stew bubbling in the fireplace. “Let us eat and make the preparations.”
Appeased at her aunt’s decision, Magdalene went and took the two pewter bowls and carried them over to the fireplace. She held them as the fragrant stew was ladled in. As her aunt’s guest, Magdalene was grateful for what she ate but a part of her longed for the roasted venison, warm beef, buttered bread, and sweet pies back at the Williamson’s home.
Taking her place, she dug in and ate. Her mind, however, was picturing the look on Angus’ face when she came back with her aunt and she was declared innocent of all those heinous crimes he thought she committed. Angus would be sure to make it up to her, though, he was not the kind of man to deny his faults. His honesty was something she found so refreshing
“That’s a lovely smile, Magdalene,” Aunt Perse said while eating her food. “Any particular reason why?”
“Just that you are willing to come back with me,” Magdalene lied. She had to as she did not think admitting she was picturing the face of her lover would go down well with her aunt. As far as she knew, Aunt Perse still thought she was a virgin.
A soft breeze slithered through the room and induced small bumps to break out on her skin. She finished her food and seeing as her aunt was done, too, she went and took her bowl. Using a washbasin, she rinsed the vessels out.
“Aunt,” she asked while scrubbing, “May I ask, what caused your limp?”
The click of needles drew her attention and she looked to see her aunt was knitting. “Ah, my dear, I had a bad fall from my horse over ten years ago, back in Edinburgh. The phys
ician set the bone but I did not heal well.”
“Oh,” Magdalene said as she dried the bowls. “I am so sorry. That had to be painful.”
“It was,” Aunt Perse said as she looped her yarn. “But not as painful as my husband using my invalid state to have an affair and then cast blame on me for not being attractive enough for him.”
A bowl nearly dropped from Magdalene’s wet fingers. “That’s horrible!”
“Some men are monsters, Magdalene,” Aunt Perse sighed heavily. “If I hadn’t had my faith, I would have killed him instead of him dying from a disease she gave him. Divine retribution, my dear. God does not allow his servant’s pain to go too long without a fitting payment. Mine was watching the once robust Raibert wither away to nothing.”
Setting the bowls in place, Magdalene dried her hands and went over to her aunt. “Can you tell me more? How you came to England and why you stayed?”
Aunt Perse’s watery blue eyes lifted to her and she smiled. “Want to know my history, eh? My dear, I do hope you’ll take my words to heart and not make the same naïve mistakes I did.”
Settling in, Magdalene listened closely as her aunt told her tales of her life, starting with why she had come to Scotland. Her father had received marriage proposals from many men, most in England, but Perse had chosen the one from Scotland to get away from the strict rules of English culture. Magdalene listened to how Perse had begun to live a happy life until she has lost her first child and from there, her husband, Raibert, had started to drift.
“I thought a child would make things better,” Aunt Perse shook head as Magdalene added more coals to the hearth. “I was wrong.”
Her attentiveness began to wane as Aunt Perse’s voice had taken on a dull monotone and she began to drift to sleep. Her head tilted to the side and rested on the curved arm of the chair. The words got duller and slurred and soon she was asleep. It was when a hand touched her arm that she roused.
“Aunt?” She yawned. “What is it?”
“Here,” Aunt Perse said, half shadowed from the darkness and flickering fire, offering her a cup of steaming tea. “Drink this, you’ll sleep much better.”
Sitting up, Magdalene brushed sleep from her eyes and took the cup, “Thank you.”
Aunt Perse went off to putter about while Magdalene sipped the tea. It had a certain spicy taste that she didn’t recognize, but then again, she wasn’t versed in plant knowledge as her Aunt was. She did drink the whole cup, though, and held the still-warm cup in her cold hands.
Her mind felt a bit foggy which she attributed to tiredness. However, as she tried to stand, her legs were numb and she fell back to her seat. The cup crashed to the floor from her numb hand and she fell back gasping. Darkness was encroaching on her vision and the last thing she saw was Aunt Perse, smiling wickedly over her. Fingertips touched her eyes and slid her lids down.
“Go to sleep, my dear… I told you, I am so very glad you’re here. Your blood will do me well.”
The rocking motion made her sick. Magdalene tried to move her body but felt trapped. Under her back was rough wood and up above were the stars but no moon. What is happening?
She blinked the fog from her mind and as things came into focus, she became more attuned to what was around her. Her arms were bound with thick scratchy rope and so were her legs. She was in the back of a cart and was being carried off.
Is this a dream?
The cart ran over a stone and the lurch up and painful slam back down proved it was not a dream as she had wished. Her head was ringing and her eyes were clenched tightly. Her breath was coming tightly and her ropes were abrading her skin.
A faint memory came back of her aunt leaning over her and saying something about her blood. Instantly, her heart began racing. Blood. What did her aunt want with her blood? Her worry deepened and she began to struggle with her bonds, but the rope only rubbed her skin raw.
A thick piece of cloth was tied around her mouth and her words were muffled. Frantic to escape, she began struggling in earnest and the cart began to rock.
Suddenly, a gnarled hand grabbed the edge of the cart and it stopped. Aunt Perse glared over the rim and her usually placid face was hard. “Stop this now! Ye hear me?”
Magdalene’s eyes popped. Where was this Scottish accent coming from? Never had she heard her aunt speak like this. “Aunt Perse! What are you doing to me?” Sadly, it came out as, “Annph Phhmp, mmpa rrr mhm dmmmph mm?”
“Be silent!” Perse snapped. “Dae ye ken how long I’ve been waitin’ for ye to come here? I am so tired of livin’ this way, old and frail and so unappealing to those around me. Ye are going to be me salvation, ye with yer young virgin blood will revive me.”
Her eyes popped. “Mhpt?”
Cold blue eyes were malicious, “We’ll be at the cave soon, me dear. Just keep calm, yer death will be worth it.”
Chapter 27
He’d waited enough. Angus’ eyes had been acclimated to the darkness for hours now as he stared at the house. A single light was in a high window, coincidentally the same window one of Douglas’ spies had told him was perpetually open. It was time to act.
Crouching low, he ran over the level backyard and spotted the horse, Glynn, that he had given to Magdalene, tied up to a tree, more proof that Magdalene was there. He got to the section of the wall where the vine was and anchoring his metal-encased fingers in the roots of the thick vine, he began to climb. The gauntlets were heavy but thankfully the metal found purchase with the thick vines, the roots embedded into the stone for over a century.
Seeing his fist wrapped around the witch’s neck was so set in his mind he could already feel her flesh closing under his fists. He got to the window and looked in, cautiously. There was nothing inside, no bed or washbasin or even a chest that would indicate a bedroom. Instead, he only saw a wooden perch and straw scattered around the room.
Heaving himself in, his boot stepped on a dried black mass of bird filth and he realized this was where the woman kept her trained falcon, the one she used to talk with her sister in England.
The damned bird is probably out hunting.
A rustle of feathers and the clink of talons on wood came behind him and he spun. Speaking of the bird, it came to perch on the window, a large rat in its beak. He and the falcon started at each other, its devilish red eyes resting under white eyebrows met his blue. Angus inched his hand and slowly cocked his sword from its scabbard. The bird flew to its perch with its prey in its beak and proceeded to ignore him.
Turning, Angus left the room, an attic, he realized, and crept down the stone stairs to the lower levels, ears primed to listen for any movement. It was the dead of night and the two women should be asleep. He aimed to get to the witch first so she couldn’t disable him.
Creeping down the dark stone hallways, he checked the rooms he passed. Most were cold and barren, without any furniture or even a rush-mat. On the lower floor, he came across a room where a cauldron sat in the center and dangling from the ceiling were herbs tied with strings. Crystals rested on shelves and mortars with pestles rested on counters.
If this is where she does her deeds, I’ll burn it to ground after I dispose of her.
Jaw clenched he went on, checking room after room until he came into one where a gown he knew Magdalene had worn was resting on the arm of a chair. Briefly, he took it and pressed it to his nose—her soft wild honeysuckle scent was faded.
He dropped the gown and pressed a hand to the bed—it was cold. Not cool or even halfway warm but cold. Magdalene had not slept in this bed in a long while. His emotions leaped from concerned to frantic in a heartbeat. Where is she? It was the middle of the night. He forced his steps to be quiet as he searched down the halls. All were empty.
The last room, another bedroom, was just as empty as the rest he had searched. In this one, however, was a table with scattered crystals, dried herbs, and a mortar with specks of fine dust inside. A scroll was halfway unwound and had dark markings on it. Spinning on his he
el, Angus felt tight worry encase his chest. Something is wrong here.
He forwent subtlety and ran down to the last story and emerged into a large room with a fireplace, chairs, and table with pots and pans on it. It, too, was also empty. He circled a chair and then something crunched under his boot. Kneeling, he fingered the bent pewter cup and his thoughts grew grim.
Had someone come and taken Magdalene and the woman? Had he waited too long and some other vigilante had bested him? If so, why would they have taken Magdalene? She had no part in her Aunt’s wicked dealings.
What if it was not another revengeful person? What if it’s the witch herself? What if she was the one who took her?
The Highlander's Fiery Bride: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 23