‘It pleases me that you want to make things better here.’
‘I promise to move them back if this does not work out to your liking,’ she said against his mouth.
‘Very well.’ He leaned down and touched their mouths together, liking very much the way she melted into him as soon as he kissed her.
They sought the privacy of their chamber and if anyone noticed the change between them the next morning, the way his gaze softened when he looked at her or the easy way they touched whenever they met during the day, no one thought it awry. For the first time in a very long time, Athdar MacCallum was happy and content.
* * *
It took several days to move everyone into the keep and the decision that pleased Isobel the most was that Ailis agreed to stay and work as a weaver with the other widows. Isobel thought this might help the woman in her time of grief and it might help to have others around her who had gone through the same thing. Only one of the women was older—most had lost their husbands within the last several years. The best thing for Ailis was the opportunity to have her son raised in the keep.
With her days busy and her nights lost to the pleasure and passion she discovered in Athdar’s arms, November days passed quickly. Men constantly waited by the pass to send word of its opening to travel, but it never came. Now that she and Athdar were joined, the thought of being here, undisturbed and with him, felt like a boon rather than a hardship. By the time her parents could travel back here, well, it would be too late to do anything but wish them happy.
Isobel forgot about speaking to Laria or Broc about Athdar’s childhood to seek some answer to what plagued him, but decided instead to find the old man, the old laird’s cousin, who lived in the village and see if she could learn anything more from him. On the next clear day, she made her way to the cottage where he lived.
When knocking brought no reply, she lifted the latch and pushed the door open slowly. ‘Iain?’ she said quietly. Stepping inside, she looked around at the small cottage. Two rooms, this main one and one behind a closed door. With no sign of anyone at home, she opened the door and called out again, ‘Iain?’
A powerful odour struck her as she eased the door open wider, one she recognised. It was the smell of death. Peering into the shadows, she saw him, sitting in a chair next to a now-cold hearth. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst in her chest. The best course of action would be to call Broc or one of the men to come, so she turned prepared to do so.
As she left the cottage, a young woman approached, carrying a wee bairn on her hip. This must be Iain’s granddaughter. Oh God, did she not know, then?
‘Lady,’ the girl said, nodding to her. ‘Did you want to speak to my grandda then?’ She shifted the babe and reached for the door latch. ‘Did the laird have more questions for him?’
‘Nay, I came to speak with him. Pardon, but I do not know your name,’ Isobel said, positioning herself in front of the door. The girl needed to be warned before she entered.
‘Jessie, lady,’ she said. Smiling, she kissed the bairn’s head. ‘And this is Iain, named for my grandda.’
‘And your husband? Is he nearby?’
‘Oh, nay, lady,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He works in the fields, but for now he is stationed at the pass, waiting for signs that it is clearing.’
‘Jessie,’ she said softly. ‘I went in to speak to Iain already.’ She could not think of how to ease the blow, so she touched the girl’s shoulder and told her. ‘Your grandda has passed.’
‘He...is he inside?’ Jessie asked.
‘Aye. Here, let me hold the bairn for you,’ Isobel said. She reached out for the little boy and waited for Jessie to go inside. A few minutes later, the young woman came back out, dabbing her eyes.
‘I stayed with my aunt these last two nights. He seemed fine when I left.’ She took her son back and cuddled him closely. ‘He has lived a long and full life,’ she added with a sigh.
‘Should we open the shutters? Let some fresh air in before you try to have him moved?’ Isobel asked.
‘Would you mind if I went for my uncle, lady? Could you wait here? It’s just down the path a short way.’
‘Go.’ Isobel watched as Jessie went to fetch her uncle.
She opened the door wider and then went to open the front shutters. As she did that, the light pouring in struck the green glass object on the table near the small room. Walking over to it, she picked it up, realised what it was and pulling the stopper out and sniffing it only confirmed it for her.
This was the bottle of sleeping elixir that Laria had left in her bedchamber the first night of her courses.
Isobel had searched for it the next day. Athdar remembered putting it on the table next to the bed and then no one had seen it. She’d questioned all those with access to her chambers and all had denied knowing about it.
Now here it was.
And Iain was dead.
Three drops to sleep the night, Laria had directed. No more or you may not wake.
Isobel held it up in the sunlight and peered through the thick glass.
Half the bottle was gone...and Iain was dead.
Chapter Twenty
They laid old Iain to rest near his long-dead wife and everyone came back to the keep to eat and drink to his memory. Isobel kept a close watch on Athdar, fearing a repeat of his desperate behaviour that happened after Robbie’s death. Iain had lived a long life and, though not recently ill, certainly suffered the various indispositions of the aged. No one, not even his beloved granddaughter, thought anything was amiss in his passing. No one.
Except her.
Another toast, the last one, was made in his honour and the villagers went back to their cottages and their chores and duties. Jessie’s husband Micheil had been summoned home for the burial and would travel back to the pass once more.
‘Does that dark expression foretell of trouble?’ Athdar crept up behind her and slid his hands around her, pulling her to lean against him. When she shook her head and nodded at Jessie and the bairn, he said, ‘He was a good man who lived a long life.’
‘That is what everyone said.’
‘Did you speak to Micheil?’ he asked. ‘He said the weather has been clear in the pass for these past two days. A good sign then.’
‘Only if you are ready to face my parents.’
She had not thought about much else than the matter that bothered her now—her suspicions that someone had intentionally killed off an old man.
‘Tell me what has you so preoccupied, love.’ He kissed her neck and held her tight. ‘Something has kept you up these last two nights.’
Unable to sleep, she’d sought comfort first with Athdar and then, after he slept, she sought the loom and its ability to soothe her. Usually, once she found the rhythm and pace to her work, her mind could sort out problems. She practiced entire chess games in her thoughts that way, trying and perfecting moves before she ever used them on opponents. Something about the way the threads moved on the loom and the way the shuttle separated and then combined the warp and weft made her see other patterns around her.
But it had not helped her this time. Too much was unknown to her and she did not who to ask. And now with her suspicions, it could be dangerous to do so. She had almost convinced herself she was seeing connections where there were none when Ailis walked through with her son.
Athdar froze behind her, becoming like a statue, motionless, not even breathing, as the boy passed them by. He drew in a ragged breath and she stepped from his embrace to aid him if he needed it. His face was as white as her chemise and his eyes stared at the boy and every step he took. Ailis had not noticed, but the boy did, staring back until his mother tugged on his hand and they made their way back to the looms.
‘Athdar,’ she whispered to him. Once again the frighten
ing empty gaze now met hers. She reached up and touched his face, trying to get him to look at her. ‘Athdar, please look at me.’
She tapped against his cheek, but he did not respond. The hollow stare, bordering on desolation, terrified her.
Just as she was going to call Nessa or Jean over, he blinked over and over again and then continued speaking to her as though he had not stopped reacting for several, long, tortuous moments.
‘So what is it?’ he asked, putting his hand over hers. ‘Do you miss your family, then?’ He smiled then as though nothing had happened. ‘I will speak to your father and work this out.’
Someone called his name and he kissed her and went off, leaving her stunned and unable to figure out what had happened and what had caused it.
Some of the children ran by and Isobel realised Ailis’s son had caused this reaction. Since she did not remember meeting Robbie before he died, she walked over to Muireall.
‘How many years does young Morvin have?’ she asked as the boy came into sight again. Glancing over, she saw Athdar leaving the hall so she did not worry that he would see Morvin again.
‘The little lad is nigh on seven now, lady.’
‘He seems a pleasant boy,’ she said. ‘I did not meet his father—does he favour him at all, do you think?’
Muireall squinted, watching Morvin scamper by on his way to Ailis. ‘Oh, he has the verra look of his da, especially at that age.’ She smiled. ‘He has his height, as well.’
She noticed Laria enter the hall and wanted to speak to her about the sleeping elixir. Muireall saw her watching and nodded at the healer. ‘They were all about the boy’s age.’
‘They?’ Isobel faced Muireall. ‘What boy?’
‘That terrible summer. They...’ Muireall stared at the window above them for a moment and then shook her head. ‘’Tis no wonder she is as bitter as she is.’
‘Lady,’ Laria called out to her. Isobel wanted to ask Muireall about what she’d said, but Laria approached, her speed belying her age at that moment.
Isobel wanted to stay and learn more from Muireall, but Laria took her by the arm and led her away. Just as well, for she wanted to ask about how much of the elixir she’d made and if, by chance, she’d taken some to old Iain. The old man could have followed her instructions incorrectly and her suspicions would be completely unfounded.
The other women began returning to the looms and their work as she walked away with Laria to the healer’s workroom. They’d almost reached it when Laria remembered someone in need of her care and she excused herself from Isobel.
Not willing to waste the opportunity, she sought out Jean to see if the woman knew anything about this new information that Muireall had shared. But Jean and Ceard were both in the midst of preparing for the evening meal, so Isobel left disheartened.
There would be time and chance again, so Isobel went about her duties, with ever a watchful eye on Athdar whenever he was in the hall.
* * *
She had done it again.
Isobel had convinced him to make another change in his household. As he sat in the abbot’s chamber, speaking with not one but two holy brothers, Athdar did not know whether to curse her and praise God for sending her to him.
Nay, that was not true. She was a gift to him, one that he treasured deeply in spite of the short time they’d actually been together. Although only weeks had passed since she had arrived with his sister to visit, he felt as though they’d been together for years. They’d fallen into a routine for their days...and their nights, though thinking about those nights was not something he should be doing now or here. So he concentrated on the task before him—choosing one of the brothers to come and be his clerk.
The idea came up one night as they lay together, talking about plans and dreams. Although older than her by years, her enthusiasm invigorated him. Of all the hopes she mentioned, the one she kept coming back to was that she wanted him to name the keep. Her dowry would help to make it grand enough to bear a name, she’d said. It was the first time they’d spoken of what she would bring to their marriage.
He laughed aloud then, remembering the expression on her face when he asked what she thought her father would do first upon arriving here. Athdar said if she were his daughter, he would kill the man who’d taken her without permission. She predicted her father would be ready to discuss the matter civilly. Rurik Erengislsson never met a fight he didn’t like and, even at his age, rarely found himself the loser in challenges. His fists and sword skills spoke first for him and for the MacLerie for whom he stood. If you were left with enough pieces intact to live after facing Rurik, then they talked to you afterwards.
Athdar realised he wanted to get back to her now, so he glanced at the two, picked the one who looked the most studious and invited him to come to...his estate. Mayhap they did need a name for it?
* * *
Finally, hours later he was home and went looking for his wife to share the news of her success. Although he expected to find her with Laria or in the kitchens, she was not there. He checked their chamber and there was no sign of her. Leaving their room, he looked down over the weavers’ corner, as she liked to call it, and could not see her. He did see Ailis so he called out to her. Both she and her son looked up at him at the sound of her name.
The boy.
The boy was down there.
Down there.
The boys.
The next thing Athdar knew he was holding the crying boy in his arms and Ailis was trying to take her son from him. Looking around, everyone in the hall stood staring at him. He let go of the boy and let his mother take him.
What had happened?
Why was he holding Ailis’s son?
When had he left his bedchamber and walked here?
Worse, as he glanced around reading both surprise and confusion on the faces of his people, he had no idea of what had happened in those moments, few or many, before just now.
‘Go back to your duties,’ he called out. ‘My apologies for frightening your son, Ailis.’
What else could he say? He had acted like a madman and so many had seen it. Then he remembered the last time it had happened—in his chambers when he came back to himself and Isobel stared at him in terror. Rubbing his forehead, he tried to remember that incident and could not.
Nor this one. Sweat poured down his back and he rubbed at his face. Was he losing his mind? Was madness taking control over him?
Isobel walked in just then and met his gaze. She would hear about it—they, her people now, would tell her and she would wonder about the sanity of the man she married. Just as he was doing.
Something was wrong here. Something was wrong with him.
He needed to think about this before facing Isobel and her inevitable questions. He nodded to her and left the keep. Athdar walked to the stables and got his horse, not yet tended from his recent arrival, and headed out of the gates. Though he heard Padruig call to him, he ignored him and rode off into the forest. Without intention or destination in mind, somehow he ended up at the mill.
* * *
He had stood watching the water flow through the mill for hours without being able to sort through things. There were blank areas in his memory, places where nothing but blackness existed. Sunset came and went before he made his way back to the keep.
With no answers.
As though sensing his inability to address the myriad of questions she would ask, Isobel said nothing about it. She carried on a stream of conversation through supper with everyone at the table, making his brooding silence almost unnoticeable. He left the table as soon as it was seemly to do so and she let him go to their chambers alone. He was sitting at the table, staring at the chess pieces, trying to sort things through in his mind when she walked in.
Athdar’s frustration over this began to boil
within him. With his parents gone and his sister not there, there was no one he could ask to help him sort out the tumultuous confusion. With no words to say to her, flooded with embarrassment over these lapses in memory and strange behaviours happening more and more, he just opened his arms to her and she stepped into him.
The only thing, the only person he could count on was Isobel. She centred everything she did on him and his needs. Though she’d not said the words, he knew she loved him. This night, he needed to hear them. He needed...her.
He said not a word to her, but she understood the turmoil within him.
Witnesses had described the scene in the hall that happened just before she’d arrived—Athdar screaming from the balcony at Ailis’s son, calling him by his father’s name and running down the stairs at breakneck speed and falling to his knees in front of the boy. Then Athdar stared for several minutes before grabbing the boy in a fierce hug until the boy’s screams seemed to rouse him from the stupor he’d fallen into.
She suspected he had no memory of this time, like the others, and that he had done this in front of his people was probably tearing him apart.
She wanted—nay, needed—to help him, but now she could see that he needed something basic from her. Something that would reconnect him with her. Something to show her love to him and let him know that she was there for him. The bleak expression in his eyes invited her to act.
Isobel stepped from his embrace, removed her clothing and then pulled him to stand before her. Circling him, she undressed him slowly, peeling away each of his garments until he stood naked before her. His arousal did not surprise her now—he became so at her slightest touch or glance, making her feel powerful in their relationship.
He needed comfort first, so she guided him to sit on the bed and she climbed up behind him. She removed the ties around the ends of the small braids he wore at his temples and then ran her fingers through the length of his hair, massaging his head and then his neck. Then she moved his hair aside and kissed down his spine.
Somehow she knew he needed more than just her touch this night. In the face of his doubts and questions, he needed to know that she was there for him. And she needed to tell him the truth that had lived in her heart for so long.
The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation Page 19