by Nicole Locke
Rory was there standing over him. The sword he’d seized cut a wide vengeful swathe around him. The closest to him were the rest of the Lochmore clan. Her own clansmen were standing back, a few with weapons and more reaching for theirs.
McCrieffs and Lochmores in battle in her very home at her very hearth with children around them. She had to reason with them and quick. The collapsed man was prone, panting, his skin beginning to glisten.
Rotten food did not cause this. Poison did. Whatever was given to him was fast, and dangerous, and the small pouch around her waist held no roots to induce vomiting. There was only one way to help him now, but that meant she needed access to him. That meant she needed to argue with a madman.
Rory wasn’t the reasoning giant she’d verbally sparred with just moments before. He was a man, a beast. Thick of bone and looking not quite human. Not the man who had been watching her while her father proposed marriage. Nor the man who courteously escorted her to stand before their clans.
This man was feral and full of rage. She snapped her eyes away from him and surveyed the room. Her father was already issuing orders, demanding for his men to stand down. Half of the McCrieffs lowered their swords, but there were a few who kept theirs out and pointed. Those men did not follow her father’s orders, something that alarmed her, but she had no time for that now.
The man dying on the ground had no time for swords or politics. She had no more moments to waste, but grabbed a servant and demanded boiling water and salt to be brought immediately. By the time it reached her it would have cooled enough to pour down the man’s throat.
A few Lochmores had swords. She ignored them all and put herself between two Lochmores who stood shoulder to shoulder. ‘Let me through!’
No one was listening to her. She shoved the nearest one, but he stayed firm. That man would die without her. ‘Lochmore!’
Eyes flashed to hers. She’d seen animals caught in faulty traps that didn’t kill. Everything about this man reminded her of a tortured animal.
‘Never,’ he vowed.
‘He’ll die.’
‘You intended that, McCrieff. You invited us here. Lowered our guard with fake promises of peace. Fed us poison to destroy us.’
‘Nothing is false here,’ Frederick said. ‘Our truce is true.’
‘My friend at my feet proves your lies.’
The man groaned, clutching his stomach. She only had moments to spare him. She shoved herself forward and made it through the Lochmores, who were taken by surprise.
Rory lifted his sword and stared her straight in the eyes. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
‘You point a sword at a woman?’ Frederick roared.
‘I point at an enemy.’
Ailsa had enough. ‘While you point that sword, he’s dying. I’m not a woman or an enemy right now, Lochmore.’ She indicated the pouch around her waist and spied the water bearer enter the room. ‘I am a healer and his only chance.’
This was ridiculous. She’d been ordered around enough tonight. Keeping her eyes on him, she moved around the sword, knelt and froze again as she felt the prick of a sword at her neck. She ignored it. She didn’t care, it wasn’t what concerned her. Whether she lived or died was a matter of fear, whether this man lived or died was up to her.
Shoving with all her weight to move his body on to his side, she retorted, ‘You can stab me all you want, but I will save this man.’
‘You harm him further and I’ll kill you.’
Save her from men who did not think! ‘Kill me all you want, but help me now!’ Another shove, but he was too heavy. Damn them all. Another shove. Why wouldn’t they help?
A clatter of metal and Rory knelt at her side. ‘What do you need?’
She’d ask him later what changed his mind. For now, she’d take his help. ‘Turn him on his side, stick your fingers down his throat. We must rid him of the wine.’
There were complications when inducing vomiting, but those would have to wait. Rory shoved two fingers. It wasn’t enough. Grabbing the warmed water and salt, she forced it down the man’s throat. Waited, then pressed on his stomach.
Heaves of water, of wine, of food burst out. With a nod to Rory, she pressed again and he shoved his fingers deep. The man emptied his stomach again. Most of it was clear.
Pouring another goblet of hot water, she crushed and threw in mint and clove. Usually so careful with amounts, but now she went by instinct and haste. The man was losing consciousness.
‘Pull him up!’ she ordered Rory. ‘Drink this,’ she demanded and poured the contents down the man’s throat. A moment of relief when he swallowed. After vomiting, she needed to be alert for dehydration.
It would only take moments to know if what she’d done had worked. She glanced at Rory, whose considerable body was cradled around his friend, the look in his eyes and countenance too vulnerable for the crowd around them, and she drew herself taller to shield him. When that wasn’t enough, she gripped his arm tight until he looked at her and she showed him where to place his arms.
‘What is his name?’ she asked.
‘Paiden,’ he said and a wealth of information was in that said name. This wasn’t only a fellow comrade of Rory’s, this was his very dear friend.
Ailsa’s first fear was conquered, but there were more. Paiden not rousing being only one of them; Rory holding him and the men surrounding them was another. Here on the floor, her concentration on Paiden and Rory, she could believe there was no one else. But now...
‘He needs a bed.’
Rory shoved his arms under his friend and stopped. ‘Your gown.’
Ruined beyond any recognition. No matter, it wasn’t her best and the chemise was still good. ‘Cut it and secure it. I’ll look at the contents later.’
He drew a blade, and the cloth fell from her body. It was done.
Swiping the ruined cloth and standing on shaking legs, she ignored the murmurs and tense glares assaulting her and faced her father. He stood alone, his body ready to fight as he faced the room and not her.
‘Our guest needs a room,’ she announced. Chin raised, she waited until Rory and another man lifted Paiden from the floor, nodded to Hannah who now held the water, then walked slowly out the side doors and away from the crowd.
Chapter Six
Hours in this room passed as he watched the morning turn to late afternoon. Hours hearing his friend’s uneven breath, but nothing else. Even asleep Paiden usually talked, his limbs moving as though he was marching across Scotland.
Desperate to get some sleep, he’d been four years of age when he’d begged his mother to make Paiden sleep anywhere else but in his bed. It been a joke between them ever since. To see him still was unnatural.
As was being locked in a McCrieff bedroom with a healer sitting in the corner. The chair was giant with pillows and she pretended to be asleep. Her eyes were closed, her breath soft, but he felt her awake like him.
He’d been the one to lock the door after Frederick spouted words that justice would be done. Rory didn’t listen to anything except the healer and another woman called Hannah who seemed too young to be of any use. For himself, there were two Lochmores on the other side in rotating patterns. They wouldn’t be caught unawares again.
‘I know you’re awake,’ he said.
A creak of the chair. ‘I can’t sleep.’
It was late, she needed to, he needed to, but though the castle was quiet, the tension permeated the very air they breathed.
‘My men won’t attack tonight,’ he said. ‘I ordered them not to.’
’For how long?’ she said.
He wanted to growl. ‘I could say the same for your clan. Your father took our weapons.’
‘To keep the peace.’
‘That didn’t work did it? And here I am, tending my friend who may be dying.’
A louder creak of the chair as if she sat up properly, but he refused to turn around to confront her. He held on by a thread. He might have cocooned them in the room to help Paiden, but part of it was to protect everyone from him. There was a part of him that wanted to slaughter everyone in his path.
‘I’m here, too,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m here for your clansman. For you.’
‘Don’t,’ he snapped, but his words didn’t hold the heat they’d had just a moment ago. They couldn’t. She hadn’t yelled back at him, but stated a fact. He didn’t dare believe it was the truth. She wasn’t here for Paiden, whom she had never met, or for himself, though she’d agreed to marry him.
‘You’re the healer, isn’t it your requirement to be here?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then tell me, healer, will he live?’
A soft noise, but he couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or non-committal. In the end, all she said was, ‘There are hundreds of different tinctures and concoctions that could have been used.’
Her voice was strong, but he heard the strain behind it. He didn’t know this woman. Not at all, but he knew she had a spine and opinions. She’d been giving them since the moment they’d been introduced and now she didn’t give him one at all. ‘Tell me.’
‘I’m trying. If it is poison—’
‘It is,’ he growled.
‘It could have been his food.’
There it was. An opinion and wrong. ‘It hit too fast, it hurt only him. That isn’t food.’
Absolute silence behind him, but he didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes away from Paiden. When he woke, Rory wanted to be the first person his friend saw.
‘It could have been in the wine,’ she admitted. From her voice she was still in the corner. Sitting or standing, he didn’t care. ‘I don’t know how much he drank, what the properties were or how long it was in his stomach.’
‘We saw him drink,’ Rory said. ‘We saw him fall. And you know how long it was in his stomach because you were right there watching him die!’
A noise cut short. She wanted to say words and held herself back. Why now? ‘Say it.’
‘You want me to say it’s your fault because you held a sword to my neck and didn’t let me get to him quick enough?’
The truth burned him, but he wanted that. He could have been the one to kill his friend.
‘It’s not true,’ she quickly said. ‘I don’t know for certain if those moments counted. We emptied his stomach until it ran clear. That is what counts.’
‘Don’t,’ he spat out. ‘You think to soften me to you? You think I’ll forgive this. Ever?’
Did she think he’d forgive himself? What had this day brought him? He leaned his elbows against the bed and rubbed his face. Nothing. This day brought him nothing. No battle. No land. No wife. His friend at death’s door. He came here to prove himself. To prove his worth to his father. He’d started to hope and now he had less than he came with.
‘I don’t ask for forgiveness,’ she said. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
He remembered the moment she knocked the goblet out of his hand. She’d also worked tirelessly fingering and identifying his friend’s vomit while Lochmores and McCrieffs yelled and pointed fingers. Still, she was not without blame. ‘Your clan has done something wrong.’
She gasped. ‘We don’t know that.’
‘You think Lochmores could have poisoned one of their own?’ Rory looked over his shoulder. The woman was sitting cross-legged on the chair with a pillow in her lap.
Her hair had fallen loose when she tended Paiden in the hall, she’d discarded the cut gown when the woman, Hannah, brought in another. Though she had thrown the new gown over her head, she had never bound it and the brown fabric swirled around her.
With her red hair and her fine features she looked fey. As though a sprite had entered the room.
‘Are you saying Lochmores never harm Lochmores?’ She arched her brow. When he remained silent, she continued. ‘That’s what I thought. It’s certainly feasible that a Lochmore would harm a Lochmore to start a war between us.’
‘We are already enemies—throwing kindling on a roaring fire is futile.’ He turned a bit more so he could see her fully. ‘You can’t possibly believe a Lochmore harmed one of his own?’
When her lips tightened and she remained silent, he repeated her words, ‘That’s what I thought.’
He turned around. Paiden was still as silent as a grave. He wanted to beg for him not to die like this. Not here on McCrieff ground without a sword in his hand. But there was a McCrieff at his back and he wouldn’t give her the pleasure of seeing his grief or his anger.
He didn’t trust her though he allowed her to tend Paiden and he’d locked them in the room together. A risky move if he wanted to annul their betrothal later. He’d seen the calculation and cunning in Frederick’s eyes as he, too, recognised Rory’s actions, but Rory hadn’t cared at the time—his immediate concern was his friend.
He cared now as the hours went by and his friend didn’t wake. More and more he didn’t want to tie himself to this clan. To the falsity here. He had sensed a trap, he had sensed wrongness and still he’d agreed.
Now he was here. It was still day, but they had been alone for hours, the tension between them palpable. She’d warned him that there was nothing to do but wait, but he’d never had patience nor had he had to learn.
Ailsa, on the other hand, sat quietly in a chair. There were shadows under her eyes that weren’t there before. Had Paiden’s poisoning put those shadows there or did something else concern her and cause sleeplessness? He suspected both. There was...duplicity here.
After all, though she argued Lochmores could harm Lochmores, it was a feeble attempt. She, too, suspected McCrieffs would harm Lochmores despite inviting them to their table. More confusing yet, she seemed surprised by that.
Her father, too. Despite the betrayal in the Hall, her father still wanted them married. Right now, Rory wanted to bundle Paiden on a horse and get them out of here.
His only consolation was that he’d sent notice to his father of the illness and his agreement to marry. Maybe he would receive counsel back.
Because though he wanted to leave, he couldn’t. Paiden was far too ill to move. Marry a McCrieff? As if he would. As if he could now. Except the longer Paiden stayed quiet the more aware he was of her. She wasn’t resting now, her eyes no doubt on his turned back. Watching him breathe as he watched his friend breathe. He didn’t need to be told, but Paiden wasn’t waking soon. Rory could feel it. His friend was next to him, but he was somewhere far away. He wanted him back.
And though he didn’t trust her, there was no one else to confer with. ‘Who did this to him?’ Rory said.
‘I don’t know.’
‘It happened in your Hall, with your wine—don’t tell me you don’t know.’
‘I don’t—’ She sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter what I say, you won’t believe me anyway.’
Was that true? No. Because he had locked them in the room together. He trusted her enough to care for his friend. Some small bit inside him trusted her. ‘I do.’
‘That doesn’t make sense. There’s no reason for you to.’
She questioned his sanity. He did to.
‘You’re direct, aren’t you?’ he said instead of answering her question. The truth was he didn’t know the reasons. Not fully. He’d known this woman for mere hours, but he’d seen her in the shadows of the doorway, watched her pretend to descend the stairs for the first time to the hall. Since then they’d been in constant disagreement.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
He wanted to laugh—even that was blunt and to the point. ‘Headstrong. Stubborn. Determined.’ If they could talk about something, anything else, maybe he’d get through these first moments until Paiden woke. He needed his friend to wake.
‘Why are you talking to me?’ she asked. ‘Why did you leave me in here and order everyone else out?’
Why did she stay? Why did she tend his friend if McCrieffs hated Lochmores? ‘You’re the healer.’
‘Yes, but I’m a McCrieff. Why?’
Stubborn. He saw that when she fought her father on his proposal. Reasonable. He realised that when she made her argument on their marriage.
Could all of that been false? If so, he couldn’t believe in anything. This woman was...honest, for a McCrieff. He’d do the same.
‘You knocked the goblet out of my hand, out of your father’s hands.’
A stunned moment. ‘I didn’t think you noticed.’
‘Not then.’ It was all he thought about now. That and how Frederick looked at the time. His eyes not on his daughter tending a dying man, but on the rest of the Hall as if it would mutiny. As if the battle that should have been in the field would erupt between dining tables instead.
‘Why did you knock it out of your father’s hands? If this is merely a McCrieff against a Lochmore, why did you suspect the wine to be poisoned for him?’
She was silent again and he imagined the tightening of her lips. No McCrieff would have allowed Lochmores on their land or to dine at their table. The poison was more in keeping with what had gone on in the generation before them. He’d been blinded by the marriage proposal, by the false hopes of his own future. And that was the bitterest truth of it all.
Nothing would take him by surprise any more. The first matter that needed to be understood was why, after generations of hate between the clans, did the poisoning surprise Fredrick and Ailsa?
‘What is happening here, Ailsa?’
A pause. ‘I don’t know.’
Still mistrust. Still a McCrieff and his friend could be dying. Enough of this. Enough of indecision and nothing happening. Enough of not knowing what his past was. This day was to be his future. This morning he thought it would begin with bloodshed. In that room, he thought it would be done by marriage.
Bloodshed or marriage, he didn’t care. He merely wanted it to begin. He stood and faced her. Her complexion was pale and she clenched the pillow in her lap.