by Willa Blair
Toran’s patience lasted longer than Aileana anticipated. Finally, he stepped back and the group broke apart.
“Thank ye, old friend,” he said, offering Jamie his free hand. “And thank ye both, Healer Senga and Elspie. Now if ye all would be so kind, my wife and I would like some time together.”
Elspie blushed, but Senga nodded sagely. Jamie grinned when Aileana forced Toran to raise their bound hands up for all to regard. “The first thing we have to do is to unwind all of this.”
****
“Laird Lathan!”
Toran glanced up from brushing out a knot in Banner’s mane. The stable boys didn’t yet have the strength yet to groom his stallion as Banner liked it, though they did the best they could.
After the handfasting ceremony had been completed, and after another very pleasant interlude with his new bride, Toran had reluctantly departed Aileana’s bed for the second time that day, reminded of Senga’s advice to let the poor lass rest when Aileana fell asleep in his arms. Rather than being spent after their lovemaking, Toran felt energized, restless, so he’d obeyed Senga’s advice and left to allow Aileana to get some much needed sleep.
He’d gone to alert Cook to concoct a celebration feast for that evening, and had been amused to find out that Cook knew, thanks to Elspie. Preparations were already underway. Then he wandered the keep, greeting his clan members and confirming the news.
Still restless, he had brought Banner out of his stall into the outer bailey so they could both enjoy the remaining sunshine while Toran worked. He finished brushing the knot loose as Donal strode toward him. No doubt about it, the day was about to become a good deal less pleasant.
But, of course, word of his and Aileana’s handfasting must have finally reached Donal, who had been out hunting fresh game with several of the men since before dawn. Elspie efficiently spread her gossip, indeed. And the look on Donal’s face was as thunderous as any Toran had ever seen.
“And how are ye this fine day?” Toran asked before Donal could speak, hoping to forestall the outburst that his expression foretold.
“What is this news I hear?” Donal demanded, ignoring Toran’s question.
“What news is that?” Toran replied mildly, determined not to rise to Donal’s bait.
“Ye ken what news, Toran. How could ye do it? Her, of all women?”
“Have a care, old friend.” Toran clamped down on his sudden spike of temper, but there was only so much he would allow, even from Donal.
“I do care, Lathan, and well ye ken it. It’s because I care that I question yer sense now. We’ve talked often enough, and ye know my objections as well as the concerns of many in the clan. So I’ll ask again, how could ye, Toran?”
Donal’s voice had gotten louder as he spoke, and Toran noticed several people passing had slowed, or even stopped to eavesdrop, so he kept his tone even and his voice low. “Aye, we’ve talked, Donal, but it’s been clear all along that ye dinna listen. Everything she’s done has been for the good of the people of this clan. Ye lack any basis for objecting to her presence here as a healer, or as my wife.”
“How can ye say that?” Donal made an effort to lower his voice. Toran could see that it cost him. “Her magic is basis enough for me, and for many others.”
Banner chose that moment to shift restlessly. Toran doubted the argument affected the great warhorse. More likely, he was reminding Toran that he enjoyed Toran’s hand at his grooming. Aye, Toran did, too. He found it soothing to brush down the big horse and see to him. Banner’s needs were much simpler and easier to deal with than any other of Toran’s charges. Such as Donal.
“The subject is closed, Donal. Let’s take Banner back to the stable and go inspect the guard.”
“And leave yer new bride for so long?”
A gasp from one of the onlookers distracted Toran into glancing toward them. Coira stood at the edge of the small group, eyes wide and mouth agape. Toran bit back an oath. So she had not yet heard the news. And she was exactly what he did not need to deal with at this moment. But she surprised him by staying back, her eyes narrowed, and continued listening intently as Donal challenged his laird.
Damn it all to hell, as determined as he was not to let Donal’s anger get out of hand, Donal seemed just as determined to push him past all control of his own. Toran’s tone, when he spoke again, was curt. “My new bride kens well my responsibilities to the clan, which I have never abandoned. And that as lady, she’ll also have responsibilities that go beyond her skills as a healer. She is prepared to take them up.”
“I’ll just bet she is.” Coira’s voice echoed angrily around the bailey. “She’s gone from worse than nothing to lady of the clan in his bed. I wonder if that was entirely the laird’s idea, or if she’s bewitched him into it.”
“Coira!” Both he and Donal shouted at the same time. “Don’t interfere,” Donal continued at the same moment that Toran barked, “Silence!”
Coira’s bravado fled at the combined attack and she blanched, then hurried away, to the snickers of several of the other onlookers. But Toran noted a few assessing glances following her retreat. Surely no one took her nonsense seriously?
“I am not bewitched,” Toran said, keeping his tone level and his voice low. “I am a happily married man. Aileana is not a witch. She’s a healer with an unusual talent, which has proven valuable to the Clan. We love each other. She is my bride. Be happy for me, Donal, can’t ye?”
“Nay, Toran, I canna. I’m…sorry. I care too much for ye and for this clan to lower my guard. I’ll have my eye on her, since ye canna do it, and I’ll be watching for any hint of trouble.”
“And ye’ll come to me if ye see any…trouble,” Toran said, deliberately using Donal’s term. Toran didn’t like the way Donal hesitated, but to be fair, Donal probably believed he’d done that already. Toran had to drive the message home. He would not tolerate any threats to Aileana, no matter how well intended. “Donal, ye’ll take no action without the laird’s permission, nor will ye allow anyone else to do so,” he commanded, finally raising his voice slightly. “I will not be disobeyed in this.” He left the consequences to Donal’s imagination. Toran would kill anyone who harmed Aileana, and Donal kenned it well.
“Aye, Laird Lathan,” Donal finally answered. “I’ll come to ye first.”
“Good. And send Coira back to her clan before first light—with an escort and enough supplies for the journey and the weather. She’s worn out her welcome. But let it never be said that Clan Lathan failed to safeguard one of its own, be they fostered, guested or newly married into the clan.”
“I hear ye, Lathan.”
“Then get to it.”
Banner chose that moment to toss his head and whinny for attention. Toran had delayed his grooming too long, it seemed, for Banner’s patience. Toran patted his mount’s nose in relief as Donal moved to obey and the onlookers went on their way. He agreed with Banner. Better to be doing something useful than standing around here arguing.
Chapter Fourteen
Colbridge had been cursing since the confrontation in the glen yesterday afternoon. His demands had been met by taunts flung down from the Aerie’s high walls, and his temper, judging by the fierce expression on his face as he stared into the fire, was still something to fear. He’d barely paused in his ranting to sleep during the night and had kept the entire camp on edge, waiting to see what he was going to do next. Now a full day had passed and the sun sank lower toward evening. He had to be planning something, not just nursing his anger at the insults traded with the Lathan laird.
Ranald stood by, quietly. Sudden moves, he judged, could be fatal. That Colbridge’s fury still burned hot after the shouted confrontation with the Lathan laird that had been barely audible from Colbridge’s lines told Ranald that Aileana would not be returning. Not soon, not easily.
“He dares to mock me,” Ranald heard Colbridge mutter under his breath. He turned from the fire to his two lieutenants who stood stiffly by, awaiting orders.
“Never again! I’m bloody tired of this siege. I’ll tear down his walls, stone by bloody stone, before winter arrives, and kill them all, including that witch. If he hasn’t ruined her already, she won’t live to help them or anyone else.”
Ranald’s breath froze in his throat. Kill Aileana?
“No!”
In the sudden silence, he realized with sick certainty that he’d spoken his objection aloud. Colbridge turned slowly to face him, placing his hand on his sword hilt.
“What did you say?” he demanded, advancing around the fire to where Ranald stood, unarmed, expecting death at any moment.
Damned fool! Think! Ranald bowed his head, attempting to appear as non-threatening as possible. “Sir, I spoke in error.”
Colbridge pulled his sword. “Damned right you did. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t run you through where you stand?”
Ranald grimaced at the thought, but called upon his years of training as a warrior, desperately searching for an idea, an explanation. “I can get her out,” he said, calmly, hoping to buy some time to think and to bring Colbridge’s ire down a notch or two. “I have a plan.”
“You have a plan, do you? For getting the Healer out of that…” He used the swordpoint to gesture at the steep tor, and the Aerie atop it.
Ranald couldn’t take his eyes off the swing of the blade as Colbridge brought it back around and leveled it at his chest. “Why don’t you tell me about this plan, then, cripple? What can you do, limping, that my army cannot?”
Ranald sucked in a breath, pulling his chest back a fraction away from the sharp tip. “Send me in,” he said, quickly, but quietly, trying by his own stillness to calm Colbridge down. “An envoy, with an offer to end the siege. An offer to ally with them,” he said, jerking back as Colbridge’s frown deepened, and the sword point lifted from his chest to his neck.
“Ally? Have you lost your reason?”
“Just a ruse…” Ranald continued quickly, all too aware of the cold steel at his throat. “Just a ruse. They won’t harm a cripple. Won’t think I can do anything but carry a message. But Aileana will see me. I’ll convince her to come out with me. Get her out, back here, where she can help you as she has these past two years.”
That was the last thing Ranald wanted to do to Aileana. As much as he missed her, he would let Colbridge cut his throat before he would condemn her to life under Colbridge’s rule. She was well rid of this camp and this mad man who had led them here. But he had to convince Colbridge that he meant every word.
Ranald could see Colbridge thinking, and breathed a sigh of relief when the sword left his throat. Then suddenly, it was back, just under his chin.
“Just a ruse, eh? A ruse to escape me and find what you think is safety with that Highland mob, isn’t that what you intend?”
Colbridge teased and taunted before he killed, Ranald knew, and he watched the point of the sword slipping from side to side, just under his chin, with dread. Colbridge’s jibe was too close to what had been in the back of his mind…escape from here, with Aileana.
“Nay, never. I’m the only one who can return her to you. The only one she will trust.”
Abruptly, Colbridge resheathed his blade, and stepped in closer to Ranald, hissing right into his face. “She trusts you? You must be special to her, then. Lovers, perhaps?”
Ranald felt the confrontation sliding out of control, and gulped. “No, no, nothing like that.”
“I think you were. You want her back. And I think the Healer will come back to save you.” Colbridge turned to two of his men. “Strip his shirt off him and tie him up between those two trees, where he can be seen by any who look this way from up there.” He gestured toward the Aerie.
Ranald had no choice but to submit or Colbridge would kill him where he stood. He remained stoic while his arms were tied above his head. Then, disbelieving, he watched Colbridge pull his dirk and brandish it in front of his face.
“Now…I think we need more incentive for the Healer—a job she knows how to do. She must be compelled to save you.”
Ranald shook his head, and despite the autumn chill, sweat broke out on his face and body. But he dared not speak. Colbridge was in a mean temper, and it would only be worse if he enraged him further.
“She must see blood,” Colbridge continued, circling him, fondling the knife. He stopped in front of Ranald. “At first, perhaps only a little,” he continued, and sliced Ranald’s face beside his ear.
A warm, wet rivulet ran down his neck. He felt no pain, not yet, but he knew that was coming. Colbridge had the scent of his blood now, the sight of it, and he would want more. Ranald kept his eyes on the high tor and willed himself to silence, as Colbridge sliced his arm, his chest. But his eyes clenched shut and a scream nearly escaped his lips when Colbridge plunged the knife into the thigh of his good leg.
****
Replete from her wedding dinner, Aileana heard the first sweet notes under the rumble of voices in the Great Hall. She looked quickly toward the sound. How wonderful! Music! She had not heard music in two years. One of the women had begun plucking a small harp, and gradually, the voices died down as more people stopped to listen. The tune started out softly, but soon picked up its pace and became a lively air. A few people began dancing, and as quickly as that, tables were pushed out of the way to make more floor space and others joined in. Aileana smiled at the cheerful scene they set. When the harpist was done, she set the instrument aside. As the appreciative calls and whistles subsided, one of the men began to sing, and others joined in. In moments, other instruments appeared and added to the happy din, spurring anyone not singing to take to the dance floor.
“Do ye like music?” Toran asked, leaning close to her ear.
“Aye, very much.” Aileana smiled at her husband, feeling relaxed and content for the first time in a very long time. “I haven’t heard any in years. I didn’t know until the harpist started playing that I’ve missed it very much.”
“Then we’ll have it more often,” Toran told her and sat back, smiling at her. “Do ye sing?”
“Me? Oh, no. Not at all. But I like to listen.”
Toran nodded and Aileana turned her attention back to the people in the hall. Everyone was either singing along, or smiling as they listened to the chorus of voices.
Suddenly a commotion in the back of the room where most of the clan’s children sat caught Aileana’s attention. A sharp cry broke the singers’ harmony, then a high-pitched scream that silenced them in mid-word. What was happening? She stood to better see what had caused the disturbance. Toran rose to his feet by her side.
“Ach, nay!” Toran exclaimed as she caught sight of Coira, holding a young girl in front of her and a knife at the girl’s throat. “What’s this?” Toran barked. “Coira, put the dirk down and let the lass go.”
Shocked silence filled the hall. The dancers quickly cleared out of the space between Coira and Toran.
“Nay, Toran. No’ until yer witch comes to me. We’ve unfinished business, we do.”
Aileana started to move but Toran grabbed her hand, keeping her next to him. “Nay, lass,” he hissed, “I dinna ken what’s she’s about, but I dinna want ye anywhere near her.”
“She’ll kill the girl.”
“No’ if I can help it,” Toran vowed and turned back to Coira. The other children had backed away from her, but some of the men were starting to edge closer. If Toran distracted her, that might give them a chance to stop her without harming the lass under her knife.
“What business is that?” Toran replied then to Coira, raising his voice.
“She kens it. She stole ye from me. Bewitched ye away from yer chosen mate, and yer duty to yer clan to ally with mine. Now ye plan to send me away, and my time is short. No one else here has had the wit to do it, so it falls to me to rid the clan of the witch.”
Toran stiffened beside Aileana. In contrast, her knees weakened with Coira’s words and she grasped Toran’s arm to steady herself. Had it come to this?
A witch hunt here in the midst of the Great Hall? On this day, of all days? But no, Senga had said Coira was more jealous of her than fearful of any witch, and angry that she had not been chosen lady. So what was Coira up to?
“Yer problem is with me, then, not the child,” Aileana said, speaking up for the first time. Toran squeezed her arm with one big hand, but she ignored him. “Let her go.”
“No’ until ye come to me,” Coira answered, tossing her head back. “Here. I’ll no’ risk marching into the midst of this lot.” She glanced around at the nearby adults and everyone froze, but Coira seemed not to notice that some had already moved closer to her. “I’ll deal with ye here.”
“Aileana, nay,” Toran commanded in a low voice, but she pulled her arm free and turned to face him.
“A child of the clan needs aid that only I can give,” she told him softly but firmly. “Let me be. I can handle her.”
“Nay, ye canna. She’s no’ in her right mind.”
“It doesn’t matter, Toran. I will do it.” To do so might mean exposing her most threatening secret to the entire clan, but with a child at risk, she had no choice. If Aileana could not talk Coira into releasing the girl, she’d have to use her Voice to subdue her. She knew doing so would merely confirm in Donal’s eyes that she was wildly dangerous, but if Coira would not listen to reason, there might be no other way. Aileana would cope with the consequences when the child was safe.
“I’m coming with ye,” Toran said as she stepped away from the table and began to walk toward Coira. Aileana ignored him, focusing instead on holding her head high, and locking her gaze with Coira’s. She couldn’t do anything until she was close enough to touch the madwoman, and she feared Coira would slash the girl’s throat in her fury before she could get that close. Toran’s presence was like a solid wall at her back, ensuring that she could face an attack head on without fear of being flanked by anyone who sympathized with Coira.
“So this is what it takes to get ye to come to me, Toran,” Coira snarled as she watched him follow Aileana. “Ye canna tell me yerself that ye banish me, but send yer minions to do it for ye. Did ye hope never to see me again, Lathan? Now that ye wed yer witch? I doubt ye expected to see me again, now did ye?”