The stench of mold and mildew assaulted Ann’s nostrils as she entered the dark room. It had obviously not been used in a long time and was in desperate need of a good cleaning and airing out—something she knew better than to expect or request. When James opened the shutters and Thomas lit a candle that sat in a holder on a small table beside a pallet on the floor, her suspicions were confirmed.
“As Lord Logan requested, I will have some clean pelts and plaid sent up for the pallet, and fetch a bowl of water you can use to wash the grime from your face and hands, but I canna promise a tub for bathing.” James placed her belongings on the table, then returned to the door and held it open so Thomas could leave. “You will be here for a while, so best you make yourself at home until the laird decides what to do with you.”
After the two men left her alone, Ann sat on an old wooden chair she found beside the brassier, cradling her face in her hands. When she awakened in her comfortable bed this morning, the last thing she’d expected was that when she retired for the night, it would be in a room such as this, the prisoner of her enemy.
The chamber was far from elegant, but she figured it had to be better than the pit. While not the cleanest place she had stayed, she’d seen no sign of rats or other vermin so far, and was grateful for small favors.
She noticed a pile of wood and some dried peat that she could use to start a fire, but was reluctant to do so—uncertain if the room would end up filled with smoke.
A rap on the door, interrupted her musing. She found it odd that someone would knock rather than just entering at will. James said he would send up some clean pelts and some water, so she could wash, but there was no reason for him to knock. The door was locked from the outside.
“Who is it?” she asked when the rap came again, only louder this time.
“Logan MacAllen.”
A Rose Among Thistles
B.J. Scott
Chapter Nine
Logan stood outside the door to Ann’s chamber with his hand resting on the latch. He was not sure why he was there, why his heart beat faster the closer he got to her room, or why he waited to enter. This was his castle and she was his prisoner, yet he felt the need to announce his presence before barging in.
He’d ordered James and Thomas to go to the great hall for something to eat and told them he would guard Ann until they returned. Once they’d trotted off, he knocked again. “Are you dressed?” He felt foolish asking, but it was the first thing that came to his mind.
“Aye,” she answered simply.
Logan entered and glanced around the sparsely furnished room. It was worse than he remembered, and his mother could hardly consider Ann’s confinement here as being treated like a guest. Moving her to a better chamber entered his thoughts, but he reminded himself of how fortunate she was to be where she was, and not in the pit where Brodie wanted her imprisoned.
“Have you everything you need?” He cursed beneath his breath. He was full of addlebrained questions, but he recalled the look of trepidation on her face when he instructed James and Thomas to put her in the tower with only a change of clothing and her cloak. The women of his clan had lost all in the attack and Ann had two trunks filled with gowns, so his kinswomen could put them to good use. Her jewels could be sold to buy food for the survivors. The spoils of war, he told himself, but he still felt sorry for her.
“I am fine. You need na have troubled yourself, m’lord.”
“Were you na brought food and drink, or some water to wash with as I instructed?” He wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. After what happened between them on the riverbank, he vowed to keep his distance. But something he couldn’t explain drew him to Ann, and he was powerless to resist. Again, he found himself overcome with desire. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, and if she’d have him make love to her. But she was the daughter of his enemy and not for him.
With downcast eyes, Ann wrapped her arms around her middle and took a step back, positioning herself out of his reach. “James said he would bring them when he had a chance. I have no reason to doubt him.”
She appeared uncomfortable in his presence. Until now, she had presented herself with confidence and bravery. “I am sure you are right. I sent them down to eat, and am guessing they will bring you something upon their return.”
“If that is why you came, I am sure you have other more important things to tend to, m’lord.”
The formal way she addressed him and the fact she refused to look at him bothered Logan more than it should. He wondered if there was some truth in what Brodie and his mother both said. Had he been so taken by the lass that he had forgotten she was the daughter of his enemy and why she was taken prisoner in the first place?
“I must again apologize for my behavior on the riverbank,” he blurted. “I had no right to take such liberties,” he lied. He wasn’t a bit sorry he’d kissed her and would again if he had the chance. He closed the gap between them and cupped her chin. “I wish things were different and we were na enemies. I—"
“Logan, you must come at once.” Moira burst into the room, gasping for breath.
“Calm yourself, lass.” Logan rushed to his sister’s side. “First tell me what the palaver is all about, and second tell me what are you doing here? This room is off limits to you and Catherine.”
“Mother has taken ill,” Moira said.
“What do you mean, she has taken ill?” Logan asked.
“Mother was tending to one of the crofters who was injured in the attack when she suddenly felt faint and collapsed,” Moira explained. “Her cheeks are flushed and warm. I fear she has a fever.”
“Where is she now?” He squatted beside the distraught lass and hugged her, hoping to offer some comfort.
“One of the warriors carried her to her chamber, bid me get a healer, and told me to find you,” Moira sobbed. “We have no healer, she was killed in the attack and I fear Mam might die.”
Logan dragged his hand across his beard-stubbled chin. His mother did not look well when he saw her last, but figured she was exhausted from tending the wounded and dealing with the death of his father. If he knew Helen, she’d worked tirelessly since the raid, seeing to everyone who needs, but her own.
“Perhaps I could be of some help,” Ann said. “I was trained in the healing arts by my nurse.”
“You are my prisoner and were na brought here to tend to my mother,” Logan said. After witnessing his mother’s reaction to Ann, he figured she was the last person Lady Helen would want to see. “I will send Thomas to Dunning Castle and request they send their healer at once.”
“Mother needs a healer now, and I see no harm in letting her try. Please, brother, I beg of you.” Moira fisted the sleeve of Logan’s tunic and peered up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Dunning Castle is two day’s ride and the healer might not get here in time.”
He could never stand to see any of his sisters cry and he was hard pressed to deny them anything they asked. If his mother was as ill as Moira claimed, Ann might be her only hope. He prayed it would not make things worse. “Verra well. You may look at her and see if there is anything you can suggest. But remember you are my prisoner and if you try anything that might do my mother harm, you will pay. In the meantime, I will send Thomas to fetch the Dunning’s healer.”
“I will do what I can to help her, m’lord. Please lead the way.”
****
Ann followed Logan and Moira down the tower steps to the second floor of the keep, then along a long dark corridor.
“This is my mother and father’s solar,” Logan explained upon reaching an ornately carved oak door at the end of the hallway. He shoved it open, then waited for Ann and Moira to enter ahead of him.
The room reminded Ann of her father’s chamber with its heavy furnishings and elaborate wall hangings. The shutters were closed, the room hot and stuffy, so she immediately went to the window and opened it, allowing in some much-needed fresh air.
Helen MacAllen was r
esting on a bed beside the hearth, propped up on several satin pillows, with her youngest daughter sitting at her side, holding her hand.
“What is she doing here?” Catherine asked her sister. “I thought you went for the healer.”
“I would like to know the same thing,” Helen said, her raspy voice hardly above a whisper. She narrowed her gaze and made a feeble attempt to sit up. “I want her out of my room, now. I would rather die than have a MacRyan touch me.” Short of breath, she began to cough and brought a hand to her brow, then flopped back on the pillows.
“You know our clan’s healer was killed in the raid. Lady Ann has some healing skills and offered to come,” Moira said, then rushed to her mother’s side, picked up her other hand, and brought it to her cheek. “Please, Mam, dinna send her away.”
Helen tried to speak again, but she couldn’t manage to do so, her head rolled to one side and her eyes closed.
“Mother,” Moira squealed, then her gaze darted to her brother. “Is she dead?”
Ann moved to Helen’s side and pressed a hand to her brow. “She isna dead, but she does have a fever.” She lifted her limp wrist. “And her pulse is weak and uneven. Has she been eating and sleeping properly since the attack? Are any of the other crofters ill?” She had seen this sort of thing once before. It was after a small village on her father’s holdings was plundered by a neighboring clan. A few days later, some of the crofters got ill from eating spoiled or undercooked food and drinking tainted water. A few even died.
“There were many wounded and a few people have been complaining of illness,” Moira said. “Mam has been busy seeing to them all, so had little time to rest. As for food, there wasna much left after the raid and mother gave what little there was to the bairns.”
“Has she ever had trouble with her heart?” Ann glanced up at Logan. Since she did not know Helen or what the exact cause of the illness was, she could leave nothing to chance.
“Na that I know of.” Logan stepped forward, his expression grim. “Can you help her?”
“I will do my best.” She turned to Moira. “Do you know if the clan healer had any of these herbs in her hut, burdock root or leaves, willow bark, comfrey, motherwort, belladonna, or henbane? Mayhap she acquired some garlic from a merchant selling spices from the orient. If you have any whisky, it would also be appreciated.” She looked to Logan for the latter.
“Some of those are poisonous,” Logan snapped. “Are you trying to kill my mother or save her?”
She frowned, insulted that he would suggest such a thing. But given the centuries old feud between their clans, she could understand his concerns.
“Aye, many of these can be dangerous or even deadly, but if given in the right amounts they can be most beneficial to the ill, and can prove more effective than leeches or blood letting,” Ann replied, then lifted her chin. “However, if you doubt my intent, send me back to my chamber to await my fate.”
After a moment’s pause, Logan shook his head. “Nay, I dinna doubt you wish to help.” He went to a chest at the foot of his parent’s bed and took out a clay jug. “One of the few things your treacherous kinsmen dinna take. Father was injured in a battle with the English, and always kept it in his room. He would have a dram of whisky before bed to help him sleep.” He handed Ann the container.
She again spoke to Moira. “Do you know if the clan healer has any of the herbs?”
“I dinna know for certs.” Moira lowered her gaze. “Beathag’s croft was burned in the raid and anything she might have had was likely lost. But I do know where to find some of these things.”
“With your brother’s permission, could you fetch me all you can carry, and also have the cook send up a pot, some water for boiling, something I can use to crush the leaves, a ladle, and a mug or small bowl.”
“May I go, Logan?” Moira asked, then waited for her brother’s approval. “Please. For mother.”
“Aye, but it is dark outside and I dinna want you to go alone. Take two of my warriors with you and dinna stray from their sight. It is na safe,” Logan cautioned. “I will send one of the servants to the kitchen for the supplies Lady Ann has requested. I will also have one of my men search Beathag’s croft to see if any of her herbs survived the fire.”
“Thank you. I will go as fast as I can.” Moira grabbed a canvas sack from a hook on the wall and darted out of the room.
Logan moved to the other side of the bed and cupped his youngest sister’s shoulder. “It is late, Catherine. You should have been asleep hours ago.”
“I want to stay with mother.” She brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn.
“No one has been sleeping or eating properly since the attack. It is a wonder the entire clan is na ailing.” He clasped his sister’s hand and helped her to her feet. “Mam would not want you to make yourself ill. Go to bed and I will let you know if anything changes.”
Catherine threw her arms around Logan’s waist and hugged him. “Do you promise?”
“Aye. Now off to bed.” He kissed the top of her head, then patted her behind.
The affection Logan showed his sisters touched Ann. In return, they obviously thought the world of him as well. She had often wondered what it would be like to have siblings, but was her parent’s only bairn, so never got the chance to find out. “They love you verra much.”
“And I them. I have five other sisters, but they are either married or in the convent. Now that our da is gone, the two youngest are my responsibility.”
Ann once again focused her attention on Helen, hoping Moira would return quickly with the herbs. The woman was quite ill and the sooner she was able to brew some medication for her, the better her chances were of surviving, however right now she had her doubts. For two young lasses to lose their father and then their mother so soon after, would be devastating. Even though Ann did not know them well, and she was being held prisoner, she prayed she could do something to prevent that from happening and intended to do everything in her power to keep Helen alive.
“Perhaps you should get some rest too,” she said to Logan. He looked tired and as if he were about to collapse on his feet. “You do have an injured arm and will be of no use to your sisters or your mother if you get ill.”
“I canna afford the luxury of sleep. I have some important things to tend to, but will have guards at the door, so dinna get any ideas about running. Send word if there is any change in my mother’s condition.” He leaned over and kissed Helen’s forehead, then crossed the room, but paused at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Ann settled in the chair by the bed. She dipped a linen rag into a bowl of cool water, then draped the cloth over Helen’s forehead, hoping to reduce her fever. Until she had the necessary herbs to make her potions, it was all she could do.
Exhausted from the ordeals of the day, Ann closed her eyes while awaiting Moira’s return. But when she managed to nod off, she dreamed about Logan, their encounter on the river bank, and what might have happened were they not enemies and free to explore their feelings for one another. She awakened feeling alone and uncertain of her future.
She never imagined she could experience such strong feelings for a man, especially since they had just met, and he was her father’s sworn enemy. She was certain that by acknowledging her attraction to Logan and expressing her desire to be with him—even if it was only to herself—that she was betraying her father and her clan. But she could not control her true feelings any more than she could force herself to love the man her father had chosen to be her husband. Now that she had experienced what it was like to be in the company of a man she found attractive on both a physical and emotional level, she shuddered at the thought of marrying Lord MacKenny. Should she ever return to her father’s castle, she was not sure she could go through with the union.
When Moira finally came back with the herbs, Ann sent her off to bed—much to the lass’s dismay. As promised, Logan had the supplies she needed send up from the kitchen, but his man h
ad found nothing of use left in Beathag’s croft. Once Moira was on her way to bed, Ann placed the pot of water over the fire to boil and began to crush the herbs she needed. It was going to be a long night.
A Rose Among Thistles
B.J. Scott
Chapter Ten
After checking on the members of his clan and arranging for the women and bairns to be hidden away until after the confrontation with the MacRyans, Logan went to his chamber. He was exhausted, and his shoulder ached, but sleep was the last thing on his agenda. There was still so much to do before the MacRyans arrived, but he also knew if he did not rest, he would be useless to those who needed him the most.
He opened the door to his solar, promising himself he would close his eyes for an hour at the most, and once refreshed would summon Brodie and go over their plans one more time.
The warrior he’d charged with seeing Rowena to the valley had taken it upon himself to follower her all the way back to MacRyan castle. Once he learned of the laird’s intent to rescue his daughter and when, he rode nonstop to MacAllen Castle to report his findings to Logan. If what the man said was true, Ann’s father had put together an army of warriors and were on their way to rescue her. Things were unfolding as he’d hoped, and he just had to wait patiently for his prey to enter the trap. If he was correct in his assumption, the MacRyans would arrive at daybreak.
With the impending confrontation, his mother’s illness, and the safety of his clan on his mind, Logan doubted he would be able to sleep, but to his surprise, he nodded off the minute his head hit the pillow. Despite falling into a deep sleep, he awakened with a start a short time later when he heard the door to his chamber close.
“I am sorry if I awakened you.” The soft lilt of a woman’s voice caught his attention.
Logan sat up and dragged his fist across his eyes, trying to focus on the woman standing beside the bed. Given the circumstances, he should have been resting with one eye open and his claymore at his side—ready to spring into action should the need arise. But he sensed this person posed no threat. Instead, there was a calmness and a sense of peace he had not felt in an exceptionally long time. If ever. He wondered if he was dreaming, or if the Almighty send an angel to guide him.
Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose Page 39