The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Not that he intended to tell her that. And from the glares being sent his way by the servants, he had no intention of letting her know she was right.

  His head yet pounded from whatever had happened this morn. He remembered the feeling of it as it happened, but could not make it stop. When he even tried to think about last night, his head hurt.

  She said he had walked to the stables and looked for rope. It was like the other night when he woke to find her huddled in the corner and Broc at the door with the guards. And then again yesterday when he’d come to, holding Ailis’s screaming son.

  Robbie’s screaming son.

  Had the boy reminded him of something he could not or should not remember? Athdar rose and climbed the stairs, deciding to return to the last spot he remembered. Outside Isobel’s, looking for her. So, he walked to that place and looked over the wall, much as he did whenever she was below.

  Three women worked at the looms. He laughed roughly as he saw two spinning wheels there now. More changes brought by Isobel. When he leaned over to watch them work, he experienced...nothing. No dizziness. No blackness threatening to swallow him whole.

  Nothing.

  He walked a few paces to another vantage point and looked down again. Stared at the looms and the women and the other servants as they carried out their duties. One or two peered up at him and looked away when he nodded. One more time he moved, trying another view before accepting that he could not make it happen. It just did.

  The door to her chamber opened and Isobel stood there. He thought she would slam the door in his face, but she did not.

  ‘Do you need something, my lord husband?’

  He clenched his teeth against the hurt sarcasm in her voice. He had treated her abominably, no matter if he was right or wrong. He’d never heard Connor raise his voice to his wife as Athdar had. He would have to offer...

  ‘Isobel, I—’

  ‘I do not want to speak to you right now,’ she said. ‘I will see you at the noon meal.’

  Then she slammed the door in his face. As he turned to walk away and looked over the wall, this time he saw some of the women below smirking. They’d heard and approved.

  He had forgotten this part of marriage—the give and take of it. The bad with the good. And, in spite of being on the wrong end of it now, he liked it. They would have differences from time to time, but they would have to find their way through it all. Mairi had been strong-minded and never hesitated to speak her mind and make him see her side to disagreements. Mayhap he had let his fear of some curse, imagined or real, cause this aversion to marriage, which he’d used to avoid it for so many years. Had it been a mistake?

  It mattered not. They were married, by custom now and by formal ceremony as soon as her parents arrived and the arrangements could be worked out. He had claimed her, body and heart, as his and he would keep her. No matter what.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lairig Dubh

  ‘I will wait no longer, Connor.’

  He had never seen Rurik like this before. Not when he had brought Margriet back and was present at Isobel’s birth. Not when he faced war and death and destruction. Nothing had brought the man to his knees as this situation with his daughter had.

  ‘The report is that the snow is melting and the pass should be open in two more days.’ His commander loomed over him, standing across the table with his massive arms crossed over his chest. God help Athdar MacCallum for bringing down this man’s wrath!

  ‘I am going now. Duncan travelled that pass in the dead of winter when he needed to,’ Rurik said. ‘A few feet of snow will not stop me.’

  ‘And, friend, we were all so much younger then,’ he offered. ‘This is not the same situation now as then. Isobel is in no danger.’

  ‘Athdar is—’ Rurik searched for the right words, but Connor cut him off. Without the women here, he could be frank with him.

  ‘Athdar MacCallum has had an eye for Isobel for the past year. When he visits here, he watches her like a hawk does its prey. He wants her,’ Connor said boldly. When the expression on Rurik’s face spoke of death, Connor then eased his words. ‘And he is honourable and he answers to me. He would not disgrace or dishonour your daughter, or any woman, for that matter.’

  ‘He is not dependable and acts without thinking, Connor. You know that.’

  ‘And he was no more than a boy when you had your confrontation,’ he answered. ‘And he paid the price. He went home, he learned, he married. Athdar took his place as laird and has been a good one for his lands and people.’ He stood and walked around to his friend. Putting his hand on Rurik’s shoulder, he said, ‘And a marriage to your daughter, in spite of your personal feelings, would not be a bad thing, old friend.’

  Rurik wanted to argue; Connor could see it bubbling up from inside the warrior. In the end, he nodded in acceptance.

  ‘If they marry, you do not have to like him or even see him more than you do now.’ Connor laughed and then grew serious for a moment. ‘But, if you cause strife for him, it will also cause you problems with my wife. And that...’ He did not need to finish it.

  ‘Damn it, Connor! I cannot stand when you use Jocelyn against me.’

  ‘Her brother is blood, Rurik. You, although friend for decades, will not win in that battle. So, step carefully when you get there.’

  Rurik cursed again, something that crossed the lines between several different languages and was rude in all of them. ‘Are you saying I cannot make him pay if he has hurt my daughter?’

  Connor laughed then. Rurik’s forebears were true Viking raiders—bloodthirsty, brutal and ruthless—and at times like this he could see how the blood had been passed down through the generations between them and him.

  ‘I am simply saying that I support you completely, if you wait for two more days and try not to kill him.’ Rurik’s expression eased then. ‘Mayhap Duncan should come with you? He could work things out in a more civilised way.’

  ‘If he has hurt my daughter in any way, Athdar will need more than your peacemaker to get him out of my justice.’

  Rurik grunted then and left. As Connor watched the most loyal man he had ever known leave, he was certain of two things.

  First, Athdar was going to face a father’s wrath when Rurik arrived on MacCallum lands.

  And second, Rurik had a new son-by-marriage and did not know it yet.

  God help them both!

  * * *

  Isobel felt better after she had slammed the door in his face and even better once she had slept for a couple of hours undisturbed. Knowing that Athdar was working somewhere and with others, she knew he was safe. Not that she did not want to hit him with something hard herself...

  When she went downstairs, the hall was filled with people and it all felt good. The new brother arrived sooner than expected and Broc was showing him around. He would begin taking over clerking for the estate.

  The spinning wheels were now in place and the winter would be a productive and safe one for everyone who worked on spinning thread and weaving cloth.

  Broc walked back in without Brother...Angus and went into Athdar’s private chamber. This would be a perfect time to speak to him and in a perfect place. Retrieving an item she’d hidden deep in one of the trunks of threads and weights, she tucked it inside the small purse she wore on her gown and then followed him inside. He put a package on the table.

  ‘Lady Isobel,’ he said with a nod. ‘A packet came along with the good brother from the abbot for your husband.’

  Isobel pushed the door closed. She turned and faced the man who was loyal to her husband, all the while feeling guilty as though asking him to betray his laird.

  ‘I need your help, Broc.’ She sat down at the table and found a piece of parchment to use. The quill and ink sat on the shelf next to her so she opene
d the bottle, dipped the quill and stared at him.

  ‘I thought that Athdar has taken on a clerk now.’

  ‘I pray you to be serious. I know he counts you as his friend and I need your help.’

  The lively, womanising steward grew more serious than she’d ever seen and nodded. ‘Tell me what you need.’

  ‘Have you always lived here?’ she asked first. She needed to know if he would have been here when this terrible accident happened.

  ‘Aye, lady. From my birth.’

  ‘First,’ she said, lowering her voice so they were not overheard, ‘do you have any memories about the accident?’

  He frowned and shook his head. ‘Accident?’ He glanced across the chamber as though thinking about it. ‘Nay. When would this have been?’

  ‘Around the time Athdar and Robbie were seven years of age.’

  ‘Oh.’ He shook his head again and though he denied it once more, she saw something flash in his eyes that told otherwise. ‘He, they, are two years old than I. I would not have been old enough to remember events then.’

  He was lying. She did not know why or what, but he did not speak the truth. Dare she continue to ask questions or should she stop now and hope he would not reveal her interest to Athdar? Athdar needed her in this, so she went on.

  ‘How long had Athdar been married to Mairi when she died?’

  ‘Is that not something you should speak to him about, lady?’

  ‘Broc, I believe he is in danger. I need to know more about how many have died here and how.’ He studied her intently for more than a minute, then, just when she believed he would refuse, he answered.

  ‘They were married for more than a year. She died within days of giving birth to their son.’ Sadness at his friend’s loss weighed heavy in his voice.

  ‘Had she problems during her carrying? Bleeding? Pains?’ she asked. From what his sister had said, there had been no sign of trouble.

  ‘Nay, she was healthy and happy until the day she died. She bled to death. Laria could do nothing to stop it.’

  Isobel was about to write down the details until he mentioned Laria’s name. ‘Did she try?’

  ‘Oh, aye, she did. Stayed with Mairi for days at the end. Helping with the delivery. Tried to save both of them,’ he said, his voice now a whisper and filled with remembered grief.

  She scribbled some notes, in Norn, on the parchment. Something her grandmother had taught her long ago. A number of people here might read and write Gaelic, even English, Latin or French, but none would read or write the native language of her father and mother’s people. It was useful to know at times...especially when she wanted to keep something private.

  ‘And tell me of Seonag?’

  ‘Seonag and Athdar were married almost four years when she passed. A fever. It was a year when several villagers perished from it.’

  ‘Did anyone survive it?’ she asked.

  Broc stood and went to one of the shelves, searching through the record rolls until he found the one he wanted. He frowned and read further. ‘I thought that others had died. It was only Seonag.’

  ‘Athdar was with her?’ He nodded. ‘And did not catch it?’ He shook his head, his eyes wide as he perceived the line of her suspicions. Before he could ask her anything, she posed her question to him. ‘And Laria?’

  ‘Treated her for days without success.’ He narrowed his gaze and studied her own expression for a moment. ‘You think that Laria caused their deaths?’

  Did she reveal the rest of it to him? There was the matter of his earlier lie.

  ‘Why did you lie before? You know of the accident, do you not?’

  He let out a breath and looked away for a minute, as though deciding whether or not to trust her. His head nodded slowly before he met her gaze. For a moment, she saw the same desolation there that she’d witnessed in Athdar’s gaze when he was lost to himself.

  ‘Aye. But not about the accident as much as about what the laird did to make it all go away.’ She was right then and had not made incorrect assumptions based on what Muireall had told her.

  ‘I was younger than Athdar and his friend and they chased me away from following them that day. But I did,’ he said, staring off again as though seeing it all again. ‘I followed them far enough to know that they did not go anywhere near a bridge. They went in the direction of the old mill.’

  ‘The old mill?’ She’d been to the current one only and had no idea there had been another.

  ‘Aye. The river changed directions after some storms about ten-and-five years ago. The old mill ran dry and so the laird had the new one built farther downstream where the currents were still strong. But there was no bridge up on that part of the river that could have failed and killed those boys.’

  The sounds of scuffling footsteps outside the door gave them pause. It moved on, but Isobel wondered if someone had been listening. She still needed to know so many things.

  ‘Tell me, from that time on, what happened to the families of the boys. Duff and Kennan and Jamie and Robbie?’

  ‘Laria yet lives here. You know that. And Robbie so recently died.’

  ‘Her husband?’

  Broc shook his head. ‘Passed about the time that the other families left the village.’ Broc sat down once more and did not look comfortable as he thought about her questions. ‘Robbie. Ailis said his heart just gave out. He was complaining of chest pains for some days before it happened.’

  He leaned over and put his head in his hands. The colour had left his face and she knew he followed the path she was pointing out. Every death they spoke of could be caused by one or more of the decoctions, potions and medicaments that Laria produced or used. Broc then began to pull out certain rolls and check names and the years when other people died. By the time they finished, Isobel had a list of more than a dozen suspicious deaths, all of which involved Laria.

  ‘I still cannot believe that she did this all. All these deaths? What made you suspicious of her?’

  Isobel reached into the small purse and took out the green glass bottle and placed it on the table between them.

  ‘That is one of the bottles Laria uses. I ordered them for her from the glassmaker in the next village. She used different colours for different potions.’

  ‘How many of each does she have?’ Isobel asked, although from working with Laria, she knew exactly how many of the costly items there were.

  ‘Two of each.’

  ‘I will tell you that if you searched her workroom and her supplies, you will find only one green one there. This one—’ she picked it up ‘—I found in old Iain’s cottage when I discovered him dead. He had been talking to Athdar about his sleep disturbances. I went to ask him some questions and he was dead. And this sleeping elixir was full when last I saw it.’

  His shock was clear on his face and in the way his hands trembled. ‘Have you added him to your list?’

  Isobel nodded.

  ‘What should we do now?’

  She leaned back and it was her time to shrug. ‘There is still more to this than I know and I worry about Athdar’s reaction to any of it. He has been...having these spells. They are happening more frequently, more so now since Robbie’s death.’

  ‘They have happened before, too. With Mairi’s passing and Seonag’s, and a number of those on your list.’ He shook his head then, glancing at the list though he could not read it. ‘At each of those. Most times no one notices. Sometimes the bad dreams strike him. Other times, it’s what you witnessed in the stables.’

  ‘And you keep watch over him? Why?’ she asked.

  Broc stood and walked to the door before turning back for a moment and she witnessed the terrible sadness in his eyes.

  ‘Because, though he could not save the others, he saved me that day. In not taking me along, I survived w
hen all the others died.’ He lifted the latch, but she shook her head to stop him. A terrible thought entered her mind then and he needed to be warned.

  ‘Does anyone know what you just told me? That you were supposed to be with the boys? That you know which path they took?’

  ‘Nay. I have never spoken of it to anyone until this moment, until you.’

  ‘I would keep it that way, Broc. I think Laria is going to kill again and Athdar will be her target. Do not give her another one,’ she warned.

  ‘And you, lady. Have a care for your own safety while watching out for your husband’s.’

  He left first and she replaced the bottle in the purse—she would dispose of it when she could—and made certain all the rolls and records were placed back where they’d been. It was only when she reached for the latch that she noticed how badly her hands shook.

  She still had to work out how to prove any of this to Athdar. He would not or could not let himself find the truth of the past and until he did he was in danger. As she went to the kitchens, she finally pinpointed the one thing that yet bothered her—why? Why all these people and not Athdar himself?

  * * *

  The time is almost here.

  He’s fallen in love with her.

  It only matters if it causes him pain.

  The anguish of losing someone he loves.

  She thinks she knows the truth.

  I struggle not to laugh at her efforts.

  She loves him.

  Which should die first and which should watch?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  He slept alone and decided he did not like it. At least he thought he slept without her. He got up several times to see if she sat at her loom trying to sort him out, but always turned back at the last moment.

  Athdar let Isobel sleep in her own chamber because he could not figure out how to take the first step back towards her. He did not understand what was happening to him and her questions just reminded him that he had no answers or explanations.