Rogue Highlander: Surrendered Love

by Sondra Grey

  She reached out and clasped Isla’s wrist. “That he married you was probably one of the more selfish things he’s done, and I’m sure he still feels a bit of guilt over that. But it looks as if you feel guilty too.” Maire shook her head. “No more guilt. What my brother needs is a bit of freedom. And you can be that for him, Isla. You can be his haven, you can make him smile again.”

  Maire smiled at her, and it was fond, but worried. “He wants to protect his clansmen and their families; he wants to be of service to the clan chief whom he feels he owes a deep debt of gratitude. And now he’s newly married with a babe on the way – no doubt he’s just feeling overwhelmed.”

  Isla knew that Maire meant to ease her feelings of guilt, but all this talk did was heighten them. Maire was wrong, Calum hadn’t wanted to marry her. He’d said as much in their study before he left: he’d married her to stop the Earl of Huntly from seizing his lands and his castle. And now he was trying to smooth over the problems she’d caused with his latest negotiations.

  Maire spent most of the day at Isla’s side, as if suspecting that, if she were on her own, Isla would close herself into her room and give in to melancholy.

  “It’s no good for the babe to be so sad,” Maire said. “It’s good to keep busy.” And so that day and the next, she kept Isla at her side as she went through her day-to-day running the castle. The mundanity of the chores made Isla want to weep with boredom. And after five days of shadowing Maire, Isla had forgone her melancholy for a slowly building murderous fury. Maire’s volume was grating, her constant stream of chatter seemed inane, and while Isla was perfectly aware that Maire was trying to subtly show her how to run her own castle (no doubt Mrs. Allan had said something to her!), Isla was beyond appreciating the effort.

  She felt trapped in the castle and trapped in her own body. The baby was moving constantly, especially at night when she was trying to sleep. Her ankles were beginning to swell and her back and pelvis ached unabatedly. She felt useless as well. It was clear that Maire had been raised to manage an estate such as this one. Whenever someone brought Maire a problem, she had a solution, an opinion, an answer. She would, occasionally, seek Isla’s input and Isla did her best to try and aid, but her instincts were usually contrary to Maire’s.

  When a boy was sick with fever, you provided him herbs, applied a cold compress. And waited for the fever to break. There was no waiting in running a household, no leaving people to their own devices, and hoping nature ran its course. Like healing, there were specific solutions to specific problems, but Isla had studied healing since she was a girl. Running a house meant understanding people – and Isla couldn’t understand what motivated kitchen maids to argue to the point of coming to blows, or why Maire didn’t intervene when one of the kennel boys showed up with bruises all over his arms and legs.

  By the sixth day, Isla was ready to strangle Lady Campbell, just to get a bit of quiet. To make matters worse, Greer and Fergus arrived.

  Maire didn’t seem to share her brother’s suspicion for the clansman and his wife. She greeted them as family and bid them enter.

  “I’m surprised Fergus, to see you here,” said Maire, her usual loud voice carrying down hall where Isla was just entering. “Is my brother at home then? I’d have thought he was still travelling with the Stewarts.”

  “He came back a few nights ago,” said Greer. Isla halted in her tracks. He was home then? The Stewarts were gone and he had not come to get her?

  “Curious,” said Maire. Isla could almost see her shrugging that piece of troubling information away. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “I want to go to Inverness and see Mrs. Allan,” said Greer. “Fergus said he’d take me. But we thought we might stop here and call on family first.”

  Isla walked quietly into the hall in time to see Greer send her husband an overly sappy smile. Fergus smiled back her, but his smile was small. His eyes had found Isla, and he’d nodded his head to her in greeting.

  “Isla,” said Maire, turning. “We’ve some company tonight. Can you get Margaret to set up some of the rooms, and tell her there will be two more for supper this evening?” She turned towards the stair and bellowed, “HUGH!” and waited a minute until Hugh came jogging down the stairs. The boy blinked, seeing Fergus standing there, but got over his momentary surprise and grasped the clansmen’s forearm in greeting, bowing his head to Greer.

  “Hugh, will you entertain our cousins while I see to a small matter?”

  Hugh nodded at his mother, and Maire turned swiftly on her heal and strode towards where Isla was just backing out of the hall.

  On her way past, Maire gripped Isla’s wrist firmly and dragged her towards the kitchens at an even swifter pace. “Lord knows I can’t stand that woman, and she knows it too. Why are they here? Inverness is but another two hours west…”

  She was muttering to herself, and as they got into the kitchens Maire placed her hands on her hips and stared at the kitchen staff, who cleared the place swiftly enough that Isla wondered how many times Maire came in here to speak to someone privately.

  “She’s up to no good, I tell you! Announcing that Calum had returned a few days ago! She wants to make trouble with you, is all. And don’t believe a word of it! The look on my cousin’s face! Did you see it? No?? He’s no idea why they’re here either. Well never you mind,” said Maire, flinging an exasperated hand up at Isla’s silence. “You just stay out of her way. Best way to thwart Greer is to not give her the pleasure of your attention. Be as deaf as you can around her, Isla, understand?”

  Isla nodded mutely, because she did understand. She understood exactly the information Greer had imparted. Calum had returned, and he’d not sent for her.

  Isla had no trouble doing as Maire bid. There was much to be done in the kitchens and Maire hated anything that required tedious, repetitive labor, whereas Isla found the simpler tasks the most pleasant. When Maire left and the servants came back to the kitchens, Isla took a seat and began de-feathering one of the ducks they’d be eating for dinner.

  She was nearly done with the bird when Greer came into the kitchens.

  “Maire Campbell is so cruel, sticking you in here like a servant,” said Greer, smiling sunnily at Isla and taking the chair across the table from her. The servants pretended as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and Isla bit down the defense that had come to her lips. She didn’t need to defend herself to this woman.

  “Although I suppose there must be a bit of peace to be had, plucking a bird – so much easier than running a castle.”

  Isla glanced up, but Greer was smiling at her innocently. Reaching for a basket of mushrooms, the pale, blond beauty began removing their stems.

  “Certainly less harrowing than healing the sick,” Greer continued, and her tone was so light she might indeed have been having a pleasant conversation. Since she’d not asked Isla a direct question, Isla merely shrugged.

  “Should be a bad winter for illness too.” Greer examined one of the mushrooms closely, and placed it to the side. “Half the village of Banchor is come down with something. We tried to cross through on our way here and were told to head around it.”

  “What sort of illness?” Isla couldn’t help herself, she looked up to where Greer was shrugging, examining a mushroom a bit more closely than the fungus warranted.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Something terrible, I’m sure. Aren’t some of the servants here from round those parts? You girl!” she called to a young red-headed woman who’d been cleaning dishes in the corner. “Are any of you from Banchor?”

  “I’m from Dulsie, ma’am,” said the woman. “But Berta is from Banchor.” She nodded to the slender woman kneading bread over at another table.

  “Are you from Banchor? What’s the sickness there? It’s not a plague, is it?”

  The servant named Berta frowned at Greer and shrugged. “Happens some winters. When the traders come through on their way to Inverness. But it’s bad this year. We’v
e had three of our young ones pass in the last three weeks.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Isla, her mind going back to the sickness that had come over Elleric. So many had died then, and a good half had been children. “What happens to them? Fever? Purging?”

  “Aye, the both. They claim to ache head to foot. They soil themselves. No marks, though. No pox or boils. Just hot and colds – and aches, and they can’t keep anything down. The ones who are hale, they’re bed ridden and then they get better. But the young and the old… they’re normally the worst afflicted.”

  Isla shook her head. She’d never found anything normal about sickness. Deirdre had always claimed that you could avoid getting ill by guarding the air you breathed – by keeping things clean and orderly, by taking certain herbs…

  “They must need help,” she said to Berta, noticing, from the corner of her eye that Greer had buried herself into her work again.

  “They’ve called in friars from Inverness, but only a few have answered. I fear many more will sicken before this is over.”

  Isla frowned. She could help, she knew, and if she was careful no harm would come to her or the baby.

  “Don’t bother yourself with it, Isla,” said Greer, lightly. “I suppose Calum wants you to stay with his sister, else he wouldn’t have sent you here. He’s doing brawly, by the way,” she said. “I think things have gone well with the Stewarts, for he seems much more at ease. I even heard him whistling the other morning. It’s why I felt it was all right for Fergus and me to visit Mrs. Allan. Calum has the castle well in hand. He needs for nothing!”

  Isla finished plucking the duck and stood, dusting her hands on her skirts and sweeping the features onto a waiting basket. “Here,” she said to Berta, placing the duck on the edge of the carving table. “I need to lie down for a bit.”

  Whistling? Calum had been whistling? Isla didn’t want to believe Greer. She knew that Maire was right, that the woman was trying to goad her. But she knew that she had been a burden on Calum since their wedding, and so Greer’s description seemed plausible. Had he really been whistling? Pain flooded through Isla, so sharp that it was physical, and Isla put a hand to her stomach as the baby somersaulted. “It’s okay,” she said to it, realizing it was the first time she’d spoken out loud to her child. “I know that you’re with me.” She rubbed her bulging stomach and frowned at it. You need to think of our child.

  She shook her head. The child was in the womb, and was perfectly safe. But there were other children who weren’t. Other children who were sick and who were not getting better.

  What would Calum care if she went and visited sick children? He didn’t even have to know.

  She tried to locate Maire, but was told that Fergus had borrowed the Lady Campbell’s ear, and the two were enclosed in Lord Campbell’s study.

  Isla pursed her lips. It was only just past midday and it wasn’t too far of a ride to Banchor, it was one of those small towns that straddled Grant and Campbell lands. Isla decided to go. She had a few supplies that she’d brought with her from Dundur, and she placed them in a basket and headed to the stables.

  It was only the work of moments to get the groom to saddle one of the horses. The groom kept looking around for Isla’s escort but didn’t ask Isla, outright, if she was riding with someone else.

  “You may want to try and get back before dark, my lady,” the groom said, anxiously.

  “I’ll be back well before then,” said Isla. It was getting dark earlier, but she might have at least three hours to spend in the village, dispensing herbs and maybe teaching some of the local villagers how to help themselves.

  On her ride to Banchor, her thoughts ranged. She was second guessing her decision to go help, wondering if she shouldn’t take the risk. What would Calum say when he found out she’d broken her promise? Would he even find out? Would he even send for her again, or was she now in exile at his sisters’ home?

  It was the work of an hour to reach Banchor. The village was small with a kirk in the very center, sitting behind the town well. There were a few people getting water as Isla approached, but while some looked up, nobody hailed her.

  She tied her horse to one of the posts in front of the kirk and removed her bag of medicinal herbs and salves. The kirk was similarly sized to the one in Elleric, and she couldn’t help it when her mind flashed back to the floor of the Elleric kirk, to the body of Andrew Stewart, whom she could not help. She shook her head. She’d be helpful here. She was meant to be a healer, not a lady, and she found herself standing taller as she opened the doors of the kirk.

  Inside, they had moved away any chairs and turned chapel into a hospital, with cots, and tables, and buckets. The place stank. Like in Elleric, they’d kept the doors and windows shut. Isla’s sense of smell had become more acute in her pregnancy and she wrapped her arasaid around her head and nose, to keep the worst of the smells at bay.

  “Excuse me,” she said, flagging down a monk who was moving between the aisles of patients, looking worried. “Brother, I heard there was a call for healers. I came to offer my services.”

  The monk stopped when she addressed him and he crossed himself, quickly. Isla cocked her head, and pulled down her araisaid. Perhaps he was nervous that he could not see her face.

  “I’ve come from Cawdor,” she said, naming the town where the Lord Campbell’s castle sat. “I can help for a few hours – I thought I might be needed.”

  The monk shook his head, straightening his spine. He was shorter than she, and kept his distance from her. “Thank you, but we don’t require your help. Please leave.”

  “Nonsense,” said Isla, waving her bag at him. “I’m a practiced healer, and I can help these people. Move aside.” She strode forward, and the monk backed away from her quickly.

  “You…you… will not! Be…be gone!” He sounded terrified. Isla stared at him. What sort of idiocy was this? Was it because she was a woman and he was sworn to chastity. Isla rolled her eyes and blew past him towards to where a young man of about Hugh’s age was vomiting into a bucket.

  Isla took up a sheath of linen from a stack on a nearby table and dipped it in water. “There, there,” she said, to the boy, helping him sit back. “Here, hold this to your head.” She placed the cool cloth there and the boy subsided. His skin was bloodless and his lips were cracked. He needed something to drink. Isla looked around to see if she could find anyone to grab water but, to her surprise, there was no one to be seen. The three monks she had noticed when she first walked into the kirk were gone.

  Idiots she fumed. No wonder people here were dying. She got up and tried to find water herself.

  The sickness here was bad, but not as bad as the one in Elleric. Most of the people here were weak with fluid loss from purging and defecating. Their bodies were dry from fighting fevers, and so Isla did her best to dispense her yarrow, white willow, and black elder, to get them all clean water to drink, and mint to chew so they might keep their nausea at bay.

  She’d finished seeing to her fourth patient when the doors of the kirk were thrown open with so much force that they bounced against the stone walls with a mighty crash.

  The sound startled Isla who gasped and stumbled to her feet. There were three men accompanying the three monks. Isla’s first thought was: thank goodness! They went and got help. But then she realized that the men walking with the monks were some of the biggest she’d seen. That the largest rivaled Calum for height and was a good two-stone heavier.

  As the party approached, the monks raised their crosses, as if to ward off evil. To ward off her.

  “Are you the Witch of the Hills?” The largest man asked. He was older than the other two, with streaks of grey in his black hair and beard.

  “No,” said Isla, heart hammering. “No. I’m the Lady Campbell’s sister-in-law. I’ve come from Cawdor Castle…”

  “She’s lying, MacLeish. Remember, that woman warned that the witch would try and lie to us.”

  What woman? Who had said?
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  “There must be a misunderstanding,” said Isla, striving for calm. “My husband is the Laird of Dundur.”

  “So, you are from the hills?” Said the man.

  “I’ve come here from Cawdor,” she said. “I came to help, and the lady Campbell will be expecting me back…” She took a placating step forward.

  “Come no closer!” barked the tall man.

  Fear, Isla saw. He was afraid too.

  “I mean no one any harm. I’m just… they’re ill. I can help. I’m a healer.”

  “You’ve been charged with witchcraft,” said the man. “And I am here to take you into custody until such time as you can be tried.”

  Isla’s heart leapt. “No!” she cried out before she could stop herself. The other two men were approaching now and Isla tried to back up, but there were patients in the floor, staring at her now with that same fear as the monks. “Who has charged me! I will face my accusers! I’m not a witch. I’m a guest of the lady Campbell!”

  The men were upon her now, grabbing her arms and forcing them behind her back. “No!” Isla screamed, struggled, and kicked.

  “Careful!” the man ordered. “She’s with child!”

  But they held her firmly all the same. One man’s arm came and banded about her chest, and it took two of them to drag her from the kirk.

  CHAPTER NINE

  T hey kept Isla in the town prison, not in the cell above ground, but in one of the cellar cells, where there was no light, and only a small bucket in which to see to her needs. The guard who hauled her in tried to ask her a series of ridiculous questions – about whether she personally knew the devil, and whether she performed acts of witchcraft on the holy days. Isla turned her back to him and stared at the wall, refusing to answer any more of his preposterous questions. She’d seen the way he turned her phrases on her in the kirk.