“The MacKays and the MacNicols were in the midst of a long-standing feud when ye kidnapped me, but ye didn’t harm me.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I’m not a MacLeod.”
Fiona rolled her eyes at him.
“Besides we don’t even know if they have her. We can only wait and see if they make a demand.” He never imagined he would pray to receive a ransom request from Dougal MacLeod.
~ * ~
Late in the afternoon on the third day after she was captured, the lass’s fever still raged. Andrew stood by the hearth watching as Isla bathed her face and arms with cool water. He remembered a similar night several years ago when he sat by his wife’s bed watching helplessly as death claimed her. He believed he was to blame then as well. Joan had just delivered their second son, but the bairn came too early and never drew a breath. Joan had lost so much blood during the ordeal it was as if she simply faded away.
Dougal stepped quietly into the room, nodded a greeting to his son and asked Isla, “Will she live?”
“I don’t know, Laird. She grows weaker. I can’t seem to get her fever to break.”
“Sweet mother of God,” he swore and sank into one of the chairs in the room. “She saved my grandson’s life and I called her a whore, struck her and threw her in my dungeon.”
“Da, this isn’t yer fault. I saw her on the shore stripping Davy out of his wet clothes, wrapping him in her dry ones and still believed she was trying to hurt him. None of us could believe that a MacKay would do that for a MacLeod.”
Isla frowned, “With all due respect, Laird, Andrew, stop it. I don’t need ye licking yer wounds while I am trying to keep the waif alive. This didn’t happen only because of the errors in judgment each of ye made. It happened because of the decades of hate both clans bred. Now this lass, who risked her own life to save our Davy, is paying the price for that hate.”
Andrew glanced at his father and saw the shame he felt mirrored on Dougal’s face. With a disgusted huff, Isla turned back to tend her charge.
After a moment, Dougal asked, “How is Davy today?”
Andrew shrugged. “He’s fine. He didn’t get so much as a sniffle and apparently talks incessantly about his angel. I dismissed Nessa and sent her back to her parent’s croft. I can’t lay eyes on her without my blood boiling. Cora will care for him for the time being.” Andrew sat brooding for a few minutes. Finally he asked, “Have ye sent a message to Laird MacKay?”
“To tell him what? ‘I have a MacKay seamstress named Eve. I’ll send ye a ransom demand if she lives?’ He isn’t likely to pay a ransom for a fatherless seamstress anyway. Nothing good can come from telling him now.”
They continued to sit in vigil as Isla worked, but by evening when the lass’s fever still burned, Isla asked them to fetch Father Ninian.
“Isla, is there nothing ye can do?” Laird MacLeod asked.
“Laird, she’s only a wee thing to begin with. I’m doing everything I can, but she was half frozen and now she’s very weak. Would ye deny her Extreme Unction?”
“Nay, of course not. I prayed it wouldn’t be necessary.”
Andrew rose to leave. “I’ll go, Da.”
“Nay, son, stay here. I’ll fetch him.”
Isla continued to gently bathe the lass’s face and arms, still trying to bring her fever down.
~ * ~
Anna became vaguely aware of the people who stood around her praying. Someone intoned “Adjútorium nostrum in nómine Dómini,” Our help is in the Name of the Lord.
Then the others in the room murmured the response, “Qui fecit caelum et terram,” Who made Heaven and Earth.
I must not be in hell yet. The prayers continued. She wanted to join them but she was very tired. She heard the Latin words asking for the protection of angels, “Hear us, holy Lord, almighty Father, eternal God: and be pleased to send Thy holy angel from Heaven to guard, cherish, protect, visit and defend all that dwell in this house. Through Christ our Lord.”
Yes, God, I think I need an angel. She whispered, “Amen,” before slipping away again.
The murmuring continued, drawing her back. The prayers were familiar but in her groggy state, it took her a few moments to realize what they were. Oh how sad, someone’s dying. I should pray too. It was just so terribly hard for her to concentrate.
Then from somewhere very close to her, a gentle voice said, “Eve, daughter, are ye awake?”
Is he talking to me? She blinked several times and tried to focus.
An elderly priest smiled kindly at her and said in Latin, “Receive, sister, the Viaticum of the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ; and may He keep you from the malignant foe, and bring you to life everlasting. Amen.” He placed a tiny piece of the Blessed Sacrament in her mouth.
She whispered “Amen,” and struggled to swallow it. Her foggy brain cleared enough for her to understand what was happening. The prayers of the Last Rites were being said for her. But why did he call me Eve? It occurred to her that she should probably pay attention, but the people sounded so far away. She could no longer hear them properly, so she would rest instead.
She was on the bluff again. Thank God, she could go home. If she got home soon Eoin wouldn’t know she had left. She walked and walked and yet she didn’t seem to get closer. The sun was hot and she was growing tired but she kept walking. She saw Fiona on the bluff ahead of her and waved. Fiona called to her “Go back, pet, he needs ye.”
“Nay, he doesn’t Fiona. The lad’s fine now. I’m hot and I’m tired. I want to go home.”
Fiona drew closer; at least she thought it was Fiona. “Not yet. Go back, he needs ye.”
Anna was getting angry now. “Nay, he doesn’t, Fiona. I don’t want to go back. I’m sorry I made Eoin mad, but I want to come home.”
The woman drew closer. It wasn’t Fiona after all. She was just as beautiful but taller and her hair was a lighter brown. “I’m sorry,” Anna told the stranger. “I thought ye were someone else. I need to go home now.”
“Walk with me for a bit first.” The woman took her by the elbow, walking away from Naomh-dùn.
“But my home is the other way. I don’t belong here.”
“Of course ye do. Don’t leave just yet. He needs ye.”
“He doesn’t. I already saved him.” As if in direct response to what she had just said, she heard the lad screaming.
Nay, it couldn’t be. She had already pulled him from the loch and she needed to go home. She heard his terrified cries again. She couldn’t let him drown. Just like the first time, she picked up her skirt and ran towards him. She ran as fast as she could, but she was so hot and tired. How could he have fallen through the ice again? It was much too hot for there to be ice on the loch. The water would feel good now, if only she could find it.
~ * ~
The next time Anna woke she was still terribly hot only now she was drenched in sweat. She pushed at the covers; why were they so heavy? She thought she would suffocate if she didn’t get out from under them. The old woman was at her side immediately. Her hands felt blessedly cool on Anna’s face. “Saints be praised, her fever is breaking.”
Soon there were other women there too. They bathed the perspiration from her and changed the linens. The old woman put a cup to her lips, “Drink some for me, pet.” Anna tried—the cool water tasted good—but it hurt to swallow and she was so tired.
~ * ~
Anna opened her eyes to late morning sun filling the room. She didn’t suffer the stabbing headache she had before and she no longer felt the flames of hell licking at her. However, everything still hurt. She felt too weak to lift her hand from the bed. The strong but gentle older woman she had seen before touched her face and smiled. “I think ye’ve fought off the fever, lass. My name is Isla, I’ve been taking care of ye. For a while I was worried we’d lose ye. We even called Father Ninian, but thanks be to God, the fever seems to be gone. Now we need to make ye stronger. If I hold ye up, c
an ye take a few sips of broth for me?”
Anna closed her eyes and turned her head away. She was in hell after all. She was still at Curacridhe in the hands of the MacLeods who planned to kill her, or worse, for something she didn’t do.
“Nay lass, don’t slip away from me.”
The woman slid her arm under Anna’s shoulders, lifting her into a semi sitting position before putting a cup to her lips.
“Here, ye must drink this.”
“Please leave me be,” Anna whispered.
“I can’t do that, Eve. Be a good lass now and drink this.”
Who is Eve? Then she remembered the lie she’d told to the MacLeod. She had never been in such a desperate situation. Even if the MacLeod didn’t kill her, she would only have to face her brother and at the moment she wasn’t sure which would be worse. Again she turned her head away.
The woman holding her gave her a little shake and said in a firmer voice, “Nay, lass. Ye must drink this. Don’t make me force it down ye.” She put the cup to Anna’s lips again and tipped it into her mouth. Having no other option, Anna swallowed.
“That’s not so hard now, is it?” The woman’s voice was gentle again. “Have a bit more.”
Anna didn’t have the energy to fight so she swallowed the warm liquid a little at a time. When the woman was satisfied that she had had enough, she lowered Anna back onto the pillows. The tears welled in her eyes and she couldn’t keep them from spilling down her cheeks.
“Oh, little lamb,” the old woman crooned as she brushed the tears away. “Don’t cry. Ye’ll be all right.”
Anna clenched her eyes shut and turned her head away from the woman’s touch. She wanted to tell Isla that she knew very well she wouldn’t be “all right” but she just didn’t have the strength.
~ * ~
The lass’s fever had raged for over three days before breaking but even then, things didn’t get much better. Two days later, after the evening meal, Andrew and Dougal spoke with an anxious Isla outside of Eve’s room. “After the fever broke, I was optimistic that she would recover, but she fights me at every turn. I try to get her to take some broth every time she wakes but I have to force her to drink it. And then when I’ve managed to get some into her, the lamb turns her head and cries. It tears at my heart to see her so frail and frightened, but nothing I say seems to console her.”
“I suppose that’s understandable after the way we treated her,” admitted Laird MacLeod. “Is there anything else ye can do?”
“I just need to keep trying. She’s not getting any worse and in truth she may be marginally stronger.”
“Isla, ye can’t keep this up around the clock. Ye look ready to drop under the strain yerself,” observed Dougal.
“I won’t leave her, Laird. She saved Davy and she isn’t nearly out of the woods.”
“But ye need to rest, Isla,” said Andrew. “We can have a pallet put in there for ye and have others sit with her while ye sleep.”
“Nay. I don’t want just anyone with her. It takes a firm hand to get her to drink every time she wakes. Otherwise she just closes her eyes and turns her head.”
“Then I’ll sit with her tonight,” offered Andrew.
Exhausted, Isla conceded and Andrew watched over his son’s “angel” while Isla lay sleeping on her pallet.
As he watched the lass sleeping he thought again of his wife. Joan was a Sinclair and their fathers arranged their marriage to put an end to a feud the Sinclairs had started years ago. Nevertheless, it was a good marriage and Andrew grew to love her. She was tall and slender with dark chestnut hair, rosy cheeks and blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed. David was her miniature in every way, so much so that it hurt to look at him.
Davy’s angel, lying motionless in the bed, did not remotely resemble his Joan. She was a wisp of a lass and her red hair glinted like copper in the firelight. A smattering of freckles stood out in relief on her unnaturally pale skin, and the only thing he had ever seen reflected in her green eyes was abject terror.
Almost as if she heard his thoughts, her eyes fluttered open and he saw her fear yet again.
“I’m still in hell,” she whispered and turned her head away, closing her eyes.
“Nay, ye’re in Curacridhe.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close.” He chuckled. “Now, lass, Isla wants ye to drink this broth and she’s asleep at the moment, so I’ll help ye.”
Andrew started to slide his arm under her shoulders but she feebly tried to pull away from him. “Don’t touch me!”
He arched a brow at her. “Bossy bit of goods, aren’t ye to be such a wee thing? I can help ye up or ye can sit up on yer own, but either way, ye’ll drink this broth.”
“Why are ye doing this?” She blinked as if she was holding back tears.
“I want ye to get better.”
“So yer father can kill me? Has he decided whether it will be fast or slow yet?” Even though her question was bold, several tears slipped down her cheeks.
Andrew shook his head. He had forgotten that threat and now it made his heart ache. He brushed away her tears. “No one’s going to kill ye, Eve.”
“But the only good MacKay is a dead Mackay.” She bitterly echoed more of his father’s harsh words.
“We made a terrible mistake, lass, and I am sorry. I know no one abducted my son and that ye risked yer own life to save his. Please, let me help ye now.”
“Even if the MacLeod won’t kill me, the MacKay might,” she muttered. “Just leave me be.”
Andrew frowned, “Nay, lass, I won’t let the MacKay kill ye either. Now, ye need to drink this.” He lifted her to a sitting position before putting the cup to her lips. She had no choice but to swallow the broth that he tipped into her mouth.
~ * ~
Anna was tired of having no control over even the smallest detail of her life and she was particularly tired of bending to the will of these MacLeods. She realized the only way out of this was to get her strength back so that she could return to Naomh-dùn and face her angry brother. She stopped fighting Isla and did what the old healer told her to do, which was mostly eat and sleep.
Anna had never slept so much in her life. She completely lost track of the days, but as she began to feel stronger, her thoughts turned to what she needed to do to get away. As long as they thought she was just an unimportant MacKay clanswoman, maybe they would simply let her leave. She didn’t even know how long she had been gone.
While Isla helped bathe her one day Anna asked, “How long have I been here? What day is it?”
“Ye have been here over a sennight lass. ‘Tis the third Friday of Lent, the last day of February.”
“I didn’t realize it’d been so long.” What must her family think happened to her?
“Ye had a fever for well over three days and then ye slept the biggest part of four more.”
“I want to go home now.”
“Aye lass, I’m sure ye do, but ye’ve been gravely ill. Ye need to rest here a few more days.”
“I can rest at home.”
Isla leveled a stare at her. “Eve, ye aren’t leaving this room, much less this keep, until I am sure ye’re well enough.” At Anna’s crushed expression Isla added, “Everything will be all right, lamb. Ye’ll be right as nails soon.”
Now that Anna was on her way to recovery, Isla left her for short periods, but more often than not, some other MacLeod stayed with her. The laird and both of his sons visited frequently. Anna knew she was a coward, but she feigned sleep anytime they appeared. She hated the MacLeods and, if she was truly honest with herself, she feared them.
However, one visitor that Anna enjoyed was Mairi, the laird’s youngest child. A blond-haired, blue-eyed, charming lass of four and ten, Mairi was cheerful and entertaining. On her very first visit, she rushed into the room, kissed Anna on both cheeks and declared her lifelong gratitude for saving Davy. Anna had trouble hating this MacLeod.
As it turned out there was a
nother MacLeod she also had trouble hating. Late in the afternoon, the same day on which she had met Mairi, the rosy-cheeked, dark-haired little lad she’d pulled from the loch, tiptoed into her room.
Awestruck, his eyes were as big as saucers. “Ye’re the angel. Ye saved me.”
“Ye must be David,” Anna said gently.
“Aye. Can I see yer wings?”
“Ye can come here and sit with me, lad, but I’m sorry, I don’t have wings.”
He climbed up on the bed beside her. “But ye’re my angel.”
“I’m not an angel, sweetling.”
“But ye must be, ye came from nowhere and saved me.”
“Well not exactly, I saw ye from the bluff.” He looked disappointed so she added, “I think sometimes God makes sure people are where they need to be to help, when angels can’t be there.”
“So God put ye there instead of an angel?”
“Something like that.”
“And ye saved me?”
“I pulled ye out of the loch, aye.”
He leaned forward and put his arms around her, laying his head on her chest. She returned the embrace and stroked his hair. David whispered, “I was scared and so cold.”
“I was too.”
“I wasn’t scared anymore when I saw ye.”
“I’m glad. I don’t like feeling scared either.”
“I’m sorry ye got sick.”
“I’ll be all right, sweetling.”
“Can I stay here with ye for a while?”
“If ye wish.”
David snuggled against her and closed his eyes. His breathing grew deep and regular as he fell asleep in her arms. While holding him she realized that regardless of the price she now paid for her actions, this little life was worth it. She smiled wryly to herself, thinking her family would probably be appalled if they knew she was cuddling Laird MacLeod's grandson while the lad napped.
~ * ~
Several hours later, when everyone was in a panic because they couldn’t locate David yet again, Andrew found his son held securely in his angel’s arms, both of them sound asleep.
Eve woke as Andrew lifted the sleeping child away from her.
“I hope he didn’t bother ye,” he said softly.
Highland Angels Page 3