by Erin Grace
Her chest ached with longing. How she wished her parents were here. She felt certain her father would have approved of Ewan, and her mother would have adored him.
"Lady Elspeth? Are you well?"
Awakened from her thoughts, she cleared her throat, wiped away the tears gathered upon her lashes, and smiled. "I'm fine Father Gregory, forgive me, what were you saying?"
"It falls upon me, ma Lady, to instruct you in the matters of your . . . your wifely duties." Good lord. He was going to give her 'the talk'. The poor soul looked as though he was about to faint. "In particular, your duty to con . . . conceive children."
Should she put him out of his misery?
"Thank you, Father, for your guidance. I understand what I have to do."
He floundered on his words and blinked repeatedly. "But I haven't . . . you do?"
She smiled and bent down to adjust her new shoes, when she noticed something in the corner of the room near the altar.
Three small sacks were piled together, sitting in a pool of greenish yellow liquid.
She rose to her feet. "Father Gregory, what is in those bags over there?"
The flustered man looked at her, then at the sacks, then back at her again, before putting down the book and standing.
"Oh, um, those belonged to dear Father Martin. I believe they contain medicinal herbs and tonics. Unfortunately, when Laird MacKinnon fell ill, all medicines were banned."
She approached the bags, crouched down and examined the puddle. "What are they doing here then?"
"Father Martin left earlier than he planned and asked me to dispose of his old stores."
She untied one of the bags, reached in, and produced several small leather pouches. Opening one of them, she sniffed the contents gingerly then tipped a little of the crushed herbs into her hand.
At the site of the dark green blend, a sudden chill rippled along her skin.
She must speak with Ewan.
"Father Gregory, I wish to examine the contents of all three bags please."
The young man scratched his head. "I'm nae certain that would be appropriate, ma Lady. This isn’t ma property."
She smiled sweetly. "I'm sure my husband would agree with me. Do I need to call him?"
Panic flickered in the boy priest’s eyes.
Guilt nudged her conscience. She didn't want to upset the man, but she needed to determine exactly what was in those pouches.
As she helped Father Gregory arrange the contents of the sacks on the floor, she smiled and recalled her mother's lessons. Not only had her mom been a dedicated doctor, she was also an expert herbalist who could create natural medicines almost anywhere in the world.
And Ellie had learned from her.
Ewan sat on one of the small prayer benches, his tall frame dwarfing everything inside the tiny chapel. His size aside, he never did feel comfortable in the place.
Father Martin had labeled his mother a witch, which had caused Ewan to rebel against the church. Now it angered him even more so to consider the blasted priest may have been right about his mother all along.
Burying his torment, he leaned forward and picked up an earthenware jar filled with a foul smelling black paste.
"I dinna understand, Ellie. If you are telling me you believe most of these herbs to be deadly, then why can we nae find what is killing ma father?"
Arms crossed, Ellie paced the floor.
"I don't know. But I'll need to see your father, Ewan. There are many plant extracts that could be given slowly and kill over time, making it appear the patient is ill for some other reason. But nothing of what I found in Father Martin's stores would kill in this fashion."
"I've long suspected the priest responsible, but other healers claim there is nae any poison causing ma Father's decline."
For his father to be poisoned in such a way, it would mean the murderer to be someone in his household—someone other than Father Martin, perhaps? But who?
"Well, I'm no expert, but with my—" She glanced at the young priest. "—experience in healing, I might be able to detect something not known in these parts. I would also like to speak with the servants here and in the village. I should investigate—"
"Nae."
His wife's eyes widened. "Nae?"
"You will nae be investigating anything without ma permission."
She crossed her arms, anger sparking in her eyes as she paced before him. Aye, but she was a feisty lass for an English. And it pleased him no end.
"I beg your pardon? But you are obviously forgetting my skills. I think I'm quite capable of handling simple inquiries."
He shook his head. "'Tis too dangerous. I have nae idea who could be a traitor, and I will not risk your safety. Therefore, you will remain within the keep until I return."
"Return? Where are you going so soon? Just when did you plan on telling me you were leaving?"
Angus appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat.
"Ewan, the Laird MacPherson is here as you commanded. He awaits you in the hall."
Ewan glanced up at his most trusted friend. "And, Liam?"
Angus smiled broadly and nodded.
"Oh, aye. He is here as well."
"Good. Father Gregory, you will keep ma betrothed here and continue to instruct her in the ways to be a good and obedient wife." Suppressing a smile, he stood and met Ellie's burning glare, but before she could scold him, he was on his way out the door.
As he strode ahead toward the hall, Angus chuckled behind him.
"I fear you will have quite a tongue lashing waiting for you when you return, Ewan."
"Aye. I believe I will have to show ma wife that there are much better uses for a tongue than talking."
Taking hold of a heavy iron handle, he pushed open a door and entered the great hall. As he'd expected, his uncle sat at the table surrounded by several men whom Ewan hadn't seen for many years.
In light of their tentative reunion, he'd felt it only fitting that he invite MacPherson to help him with the distribution of Munroe lands and chattels won during his clan's battle the previous week.
After the last visit from MacPherson, his father had been the liveliest he'd seen him in weeks. For the sake of his da, perhaps it was time to put the past behind him.
Though he hadn’t spoken directly to his uncle in years, nothing escaped the gossip that spread from clan to clan.
Besides, he wanted the opportunity to find out firsthand if his kin had anything to do with his father's illness. Though he still didn't trust his uncle completely, he felt it prudent to keep the man close.
Liam, on the other hand, was a different matter.
His hot-headed cousin had lived his life despising all those around him who had property and title. After the death of Collin, Liam had fully expected to be named heir to MacPherson's lands—until Rory came along.
Knowing the man's character, he suspected Liam had seen the birth of his usurper as a direct insult to him, but the whining man neither had the strength of character nor the fortitude to leave his uncle's keep and build a life for himself.
And if that wasn't enough to make Ewan repulsed to call the man kin, the bastard had gone and insulted Ellie.
For that, he demanded blood.
Liam stood near the hearth, talking to one of the MacPherson soldiers.
As Ewan passed his uncle, the old man rose from his seat. "Now, Ewan. Liam has come to apologize for his treatment of Lady Elspeth. He—we—dinna know she was your wife."
Liam glared at his uncle as though betrayed. "I have nae come to admit any wrong doing. The woman was on our land, and fair game."
Laird Macpherson slammed the table. "Shut your trap. You will apologize to Ewan for the slight on his wife."
"On your land or nae," Ewan interrupted. "She told you both the truth. But you chose nae to believe her." Without breaking his stride he approached his cousin, the MacPherson soldier retreating from his determined advance.
Smart lad.
Liam reach
ed for his sword, but never made it. Ewan's fist met with the man's chin in a punch that sent his cousin reeling back against the wall.
Damn, that felt good.
Before the man could recover, Ewan reached down, hauled him up, and punched him again for good measure. Hell. Every part of him of wanted to tear the pathetic bastard apart with his bare hands.
But would Ellie ever forgive him?
Christ. He really was becoming soft, and all for a woman. No, not just any woman—his wife. He raised his bleeding fist and slammed Liam one more time, this time breaking the man's nose nicely.
"Apology accepted."
Chapter 21
The next morning, Ellie sat in the great hall, a bowl of steaming mutton stew before her on the table. With a deep sigh, she picked up a spoon and poked the familiar smelling soup.
She wasn't hungry.
After the incident in the chapel, food was the last thing on her mind.
How could Ewan just leave her like that, dismissing her as though she was nothing more than a possession he could do with as he pleased? And for this, she'd left everything she'd known behind?
Oh, how she despised being in love!
Pushing her chair back, she rose from the table and wandered toward the heavy wooden doors. She needed some air.
As she stepped out into the bailey, she felt the shadow of someone following close behind. She turned sharply and caught one of Ewan's soldiers in tow.
Perfect. Now she was being followed. So much for trust.
She wasn't some naive young girl. In fact, since the day she'd been born, she'd travelled the world with her parents, living in some of the most remote and uncivilized villages in third-world countries.
She crossed her arms and glared at the man with scraggly brown hair and striking blue eyes. "And who are you?"
Okay, so her Gaelic was rough, but she could tell by the amusement glittering in his gaze, he knew what was being said.
"David, ma Lady."
"Well, David, there is no need to follow me so closely."
"'Tis ma job, ma Lady. I'm to provide your protection."
"I don't need protecting; I just need some breathing space." She turned and began walking toward the keep gates. The sun peeked out from behind a thick bank of grey cloud, and she longed to stretch her legs and explore the surrounding area. Ruins aside, she couldn't help be astounded at how very different the landscape was compared to her time. As for Ewan's home, all her notions of what the keep would have looked like had been completely wrong.
A smile crept to her lips as she envisaged Michael returning to the cottage, police and dig teams with him, only to find she had disappeared. What a scandal it would cause, especially as he'd been the last one to see her alive.
"Ma Lady." David called after her. "You can’t leave the keep. I have orders—"
What was the man going to do? Grab her? Hold her against her will?
"You'll just have to follow me then, won't you?"
She paused just outside the gate, her breath catching as she gazed upon the most stunning scenery imaginable. Incredible.
Strange, that in all her digs for archaeology, she'd rarely ever stopped to admire the sites purely for aesthetic pleasure. No. She'd always been far too interested in discovering what lay beneath the soil to care.
The mountain peaks glowed with muted hues of gold, blue, and green. Trails of mist meandered through the lower valleys and floated over lakes. Wild flowers carpeted the fields below, the heather setting a trail down to where a small cluster of stone and thatched roofed cottages lay nestled beneath the watchful eye of the keep.
No wonder Ewan had wanted to return home so badly. This was a place worth coming back to.
"So verra different from your England, isn't it?"
She jumped at the sudden voice beside her.
Liam.
She tugged on the plaid around her shoulders. "I didn't realize you were still here."
Oh, dear.
The poor man's handsome face was swollen, his nose obviously broken, and his lips split in several places. She'd heard about what happened in the hall last night. Lord, Ewan had really made a mess of his cousin.
Shit. Guilt nudged her conscience. Despite the 'misunderstanding', the man hadn't harmed her. She'd tried to explain that point to Ewan, but he'd made it clear he wasn't listening.
David hovered nearby, hand on the hilt of his sword, obviously concerned by Liam's proximity to her. Cripes. The last thing she needed were two men killing each other over a simple conversation.
She took a step back to put some space between them. "I'm sorry you got hurt, Liam. Ewan has a short temper with these kinds of matters, but you probably already knew that."
He smiled, then winced and touched a cut on his chin.
"There is nae need to apologize, ma Lady. Ewan had every right to seek retribution. It was ma fault for nae listening to you."
It was? Strange he would admit it so easily.
"I guess it took a beating to make me see the error of ma ways. Ewan is ma eldest cousin. I should have shown you more respect."
The sincere glint in his eyes made her relax a little, and she smiled. "Well, let's hope that is the end of the matter at least. I'd hate to think every time your family visits there will be bloodshed."
He laughed and nodded. "Nae, only on special occasions."
At least he still had a sense of humor.
"Will you be staying for dinner?"
He glanced at David then shook his head.
"Nae, I don't think your husband would appreciate me keeping you company, but I thank you for the kind invitation. I had only come to fetch ma uncle's horse. The poor animal twisted its leg, so ma uncle decided to take one of Ewan's for the journey to MacTavish Keep. I'll return with a fresh horse for him tomorrow."
A cold trickle ran down her spine. "MacTavish?"
"Aye. His lands border the other side of the Munroe's. He came to help the MacKinnon's battle. Ma uncle is to help Ewan mediate the dividing of the spoils. They left for the MacTavish Keep at first light this morning."
She reached up and clasped the plaid against her chest.
Ewan had been so aggressive to the MacTavish in her time, she thought he might have wanted to harm him. Hell. She'd almost forgotten. In the future, Ewan's land belonged to the MacTavish clan.
Something in the past—the present—must have gone horribly wrong.
She turned to Liam. "The Laird MacTavish himself fought in the battle?"
"Aye. And at least fifty of his men. He and Laird MacKinnon have been close friends and allies since they were lads."
Good friends?
Ewan was in danger; she could feel it. And without the aid of at least a telephone to get word to him, she felt all but helpless. Hell. What she wouldn’t do for just a few modern conveniences.
She moved a little closer to Liam and lowered her voice so David couldn't hear. "I know this is asking a lot of you, especially after what happened this morning, but would you be willing to deliver a message to Ewan for me?"
One of his eyebrows rose. "Why? Did you find a speck of me he missed?"
Warmth tingled her cheeks. "Oh, I am sorry. I should have been more considerate. He'd be the last person you'd want to face again so soon."
He smiled at her, revealing a dimple in a similar place to Ewan’s.
"Dinna fret, ma Lady. I owe you ma servitude as penance for ma foolishness. Aye, I will take Ewan a message for you."
Ignoring David's stare of disapproval, she reached out and hugged her 'cousin'. "Wonderful. Now, it may take me a few minutes to find some parchment and quill—do come inside and wait for me in the hall."
Liam stretched out his arm toward the bailey. "As you wish, ma lady."
"What in the name of all things holy were you doing sending Liam on an errand? In fact, you may start by telling me just what you were thinking by talking to ma cousin at all."
Waking with a start, Ellie opened her eyes and trie
d to focus on the source of the sonic boom echoing in her chamber. She didn't need her glasses to know it was Ewan; he was obviously angry about something.
The soft illumination cast from a candle and the hearth lit the room. Lord knew what time it was, but through the slit in the wall they called a window, the sky outside was still dark.
She propped up on her elbow and rubbed her tired eyes. For most of the night, she'd sat by Laird MacKinnon, observing him for any outward signs of poisoning. But his lips were normal, if but a little pale. There was no discoloration in his fingernails or cuticles, nor had his skin taken on an unusual hue.
If the aging Laird was being poisoned, the manner and substance defied her limited medical knowledge.
When she'd first slipped into the room, the Laird had called her Margot. Poor man; he was delusional. He must have really loved his wife. And she couldn't even tell him Margot was still alive.
Ewan had asked her to wait until he returned to be introduced to his father, but she couldn't see the harm in trying to figure out what was ailing the old man.
Unfortunately, apart from the speaking the odd word or two, Laird MacKinnon just stared off into space, all the while muttering to himself like he was reciting some kind of chant.
For the moment, she was just as confounded by his condition as Ewan was.
That news alone probably wasn't going to do much to save her from the wrath bearing down at her from across the room.
"Ewan! I'm so relieved you're here, but I didn't expect you back so soon." He stopped before the bed and began removing his belts. "Um . . . what are you doing?"
As she met his intense gaze, flames flickered within his amber eyes.
Oh, dear. She'd forgotten how dangerous her lion could be.
His plaid dropped to the floor. He grabbed hold of his shirt and began hoisting up and over his shoulders. The sheer magnificence of his bare chest in the firelight made her gasp, and sent tingles of nervous anticipation skipping along her skin.
"First, I intend to relieve some of this tension I've been riding with for the past four hours; then, I shall have great pleasure in tanning the behind of ma disobedient wife."