“Aye. Caught me as I was headed to the stable. She asked where ye were and, after ye asking me where she was nearly every morning since she arrived, I fear I nearly took to laughing. She probably thinks I am daft.”
“Ye are. What did she say she wanted?”
“She said she just wished to ask ye a question or two about something ye had discussed earlier.”
“Ah, my mother’s murder.”
“I suppose. She was blushing like fire though.” He returned David’s sudden grin. “Now, I willnae claim to ken much about the lasses, but it seems to me she wouldnae be so unsettled if that was truly the only reason she was looking for you.”
“Nay, it seems that way to me too.” David was unable to hide his satisfaction.
“Just what do ye plan to do with the lass?”
“Does it matter to ye?”
“Aye, there is the odd thing, but it does.”
“I have a suspicion it matters to others too.” David shook his head. “Aside from wishing to see her sprawled naked on my bed, I am nay sure. Dinnae frown. She is a weelborn lass under my protection. I ken what honor demands of me. I ken I’d best be prepared to offer her more than a tumble in the heather if I let my passions rule.”
“And ye dinnae ken if ye want to do that?”
David muttered a curse and dragged his fingers through his hair, deciding that, if he had to reveal his confusion to anyone, Leith was the safest choice. “She believes as my mother did, although she shows more common sense about it all, and doesnae wave the pennant of the old ways in everyone’s face and demand acceptance. She is also betrothed. Although her father sold her like cattle to that swine Sir Ranald, and Tatha makes it clear she doesnae want the marriage, it doesnae change the fact that she has already been promised to a mon. Those two things alone create quite a hedgerow to leap.”
“I think ye worry too much o’er her beliefs. She seems to mix the Church’s teachings with those of her aunt verra weel, yet only lets most people hear her speak of God’s will. And aye, she has been weel taught to respect fear and superstition. As for the betrothal, weel, once ye prove Sir Ranald killed your mother, that will be at an end.”
Staring at his cousin in surprise, David asked, “Do ye believe Sir Ranald was behind my mother’s murder?”
“Aye, always have.”
“Why?”
Leith blushed slightly, and there was a wary look in his dark gray eyes. “ ’Tis nay something a mon should tell another mon about his mother. She didnae do anything to encourage the fool, ne’er think that, but Sir Ranald wanted her. Aye, wanted her and had for years. My mother told me about it, for I was oftimes the one sent to ride guard on your mother, and she wanted me to keep a watch out for the mon. Several times he appeared where your mother was called to go and ’twas clear that he had tried to arrange it. I didnae go with her on the day she was beaten, but I ken it was another ploy by Sir Ranald.”
“Ye ne’er told me of this.”
“Your mother didnae want it told. It embarrassed her. I was made to swear myself to silence. Weel, she has been dead now for five long years and ye are finally questioning if ye have the whole truth, and”—he shrugged—“I think we are strong enough to fight the bastard now. We werenae then.”
For a moment David struggled with his anger over such secrets being held from him. Then he let reason rule. Leith, and probably everyone else who had known, had been sworn to secrecy by his mother. He had to respect the fact that such an oath was kept. And at the time, the cold truth was that a battle against Sir Ranald would have resulted only in the complete decimation of his people. They had been weak, the keep nearly in ruins due to battles with the English and raiders, and time had been needed to recover from several years of battle, hardship, and poor harvests. He had also been firm in his opinion that his mother’s beliefs had led to her death.
“I am nay sure I would have heeded the truth anyway,” he admitted quietly.
“Nay, ye had your own at the time and werenae to be swayed.”
“And for that blindness my mother’s killer has escaped justice for five years.”
“Weel, aye, but ye did quickly seek a reckoning from the ones who actually did the deed. Sir Ranald’s guilty of bringing it all about, I am fair sure of that, but he didnae actually bloody his hands.”
“He didnae actually strike my mother, but he is guilty, as guilty as the ones who did, and I will now work to prove that.”
A cry went up from the men who rode ahead of them. At first David thought it signaled the sighting of some game. The next cry, however, had him tense and drawing his sword. Even as he realized they were under attack, an arrow slammed into his shoulder, propelling him back off his horse. Leith was swiftly at his side, sword in hand and using both their mounts to help shelter him. Just as David gathered enough strength to reclaim his sword and stand up, he knew the brief, fierce attack had already come to an end. A groan of pain escaped him as he sat down on the hard ground.
Leith sheathed his sword and, breaking off the tip of the arrow that protruded out of David’s back, yanked the shaft out of his body. Grimly, David clung to consciousness as Leith bathed and bound his wound. It was not only strange that they had been attacked, but that the battle would be so swiftly ended. He needed answers.
“ ’Tisnae mortal,” Robert said as he walked over and studied David, the rest of the Ruthven men gathered behind him. “The wee lass will soon mend it.”
“Who was it?” demanded David, wondering which of the many treaties he had negotiated with the other clans had just been broken.
“Weel now, there is an odd thing. They obviously took pains to hide their clan identity. We killed two, but the wounded were taken away, so there is no one to question. Howbeit”—he held out an easily recognizable clan badge—“one of the dead clearly loved this sad bauble too much to leave it behind.”
“MacLeans.”
“Aye. Sir Ranald’s men. Methinks your sudden interest in your mother’s death isnae much appreciated.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Only ye, and the moment ye flew out of your saddle, the MacLeans retreated. That speaks clear, doesnae it?”
David nodded as Leith helped him stand. “I was the target. Weel, we had best return to Cnocanduin. I need to get this wound seen to. The sooner I am healed, the sooner we can take a reckoning that I now believe has been long overdue.”
Ignoring David’s complaints, Leith mounted behind him and let someone else lead his horse home. It was not long before David was grateful for the support, the loss of blood weakening him. He smiled crookedly as they rode through the gates of his keep. Now he would see for himself if Tatha’s growing reputation as a skilled healer was fully deserved.
Tatha stared down into the water of the well. With the sun high overhead it was one of the few times she could clearly see the water, even see her reflection in its cool depths. Aunt Mairi had once told her that gazing steadily into water could bring on visions, could show one the path one must take. She desperately needed some sign at the moment. The path she wished to run down led straight into Sir David Ruthven’s strong arms, but Tatha was not sure that was the right one.
She grasped the edge of the well. After staring into the water for nearly half an hour and forcing her mind clear of all thought, she was beginning to feel a little unsteady. She was determined to give this water-gazing trick her best try, however, for she desperately needed answers. Was it the well that had drawn her to Cnocanduin or the need to find the truth behind the brutal murder of a healer? Or had fate done its best to lead her to her true mate?
It was just as she began to think it was all foolishness, and the sun had moved enough to begin placing the water back into the shadows, that Tatha noticed something. She could still see her reflection, but it began to slowly change. Soon the newly forming image grew clearer, and Tatha gasped softly when she saw Sir David’s handsome face. She continued to stare, deaf and blind to all around her, as if by the sh
eer force of her will she could make the well show her more.
Another gasp escaped her when, a few moments later, she saw Leith’s narrow face off to the side of David’s. It was as if he was peering over David’s shoulder. Leith’s mouth moved and she leaned closer. Suddenly, a hand tightly grasped her by the shoulder and yanked her back, away from the edge of the well. Tatha stared at a scowling Leith, who stood by her side, and felt a little foolish. The only thing that kept her from thinking it was all a dream was that there was no sign of David.
“It looked as if ye were about to fall in,” Leith said quickly taking his hand from her shoulder.
“Nay, I thought I saw something and was just trying to get a closer look.” She suddenly noticed how grim the usually amiable Leith’s expression was. “Is something wrong?”
“David has been wounded,” he replied, watching with intent interest how her eyes widened in alarm and she grew very pale.
“How?” she demanded as she quickly filled a bucket with water from the well.
“An attack whilst we were hunting.” He hurried to keep pace with her as she strode off toward the keep.
Tatha belabored him with questions all the way to the keep. She dragged him into her herb room and ladened him with all the salves, brews, and bandages she thought she would need to treat David. When she burst into David’s bedchamber everyone moved out of her way as she hurried to the side of their laird’s huge bed. Tatha gave him one slightly frantic but thorough looking-over, then set to work. Her mind told her that he would be all right, that the wound need not be a severely troubling one if it was taken good care of, but her heart remained twisted with fear and concern. By the time she had him stripped, bathed, stitched, and bandaged, everyone had wandered away, feeling sure that their laird was in good hands.
After forcing a weak David to drink an herbal potion, Tatha sat in a chair Leith had set by the bed, and asked bluntly, “Who tried to kill you?”
“MacLean,” he replied, smiling grimly when she paled. “Do ye think your betrothed kens that ye are hiding here?”
“Nay. And if he learned I was here, he would either come and collect me, as is his right, or tell my father to do so.”
“Aye, so I thought.” Feeling too weak and sleepy to discuss the matter, he closed his eyes, using the last of his strength to issue a stern command. “Ye arenae to leave the keep, nay to step one wee foot outside these walls.”
Even as she opened her mouth to argue, she realized it was useless. He had gone to sleep. She felt a little bit like some carrion bird as she sat there watching him sleep, waiting, hunting constantly for some sign of fever. The arrow could have been tainted, or just filthy. Tatha had cleaned the wound as best she could, but it had been over an hour between when the wound had been inflicted and when she had been able to tend to it. Fever was a possibility, and she wanted to be right there to fight it from the start.
Several hours later, Tatha felt herself falling asleep, her eyes stinging from staring at David for so long. She rose from her chair, stretched, and went to the washbowl to scrub her face. As she held a cloth against her eyes, trying to soothe them, she wondered if she should get someone else to sit with David for a while, then shook her head. Time would be lost while they decided whether he even had a fever and then as they came to get her. A fever was best fought from the very beginning, before it could get too high.
As she prepared to sit down again, she suddenly tensed and leaned over David. A soft curse hissed past her lips as she touched his face and felt the warmth on his skin. Her whispered prayers were to go unanswered. The fever was on him, and now the battle would truly begin.
Chapter 6
David winced as he opened his eyes. He felt weak; his thoughts were unclear. Partial memories of cool water against his burning flesh, of a sharp, scolding voice telling him to drink, and of the same husky voice, soft and coaxing, urging him to fight, crowded his mind. Slowly, he became aware of the fact that he was not alone in the bed. He wondered why, when he had been so ill, he would have taken some willing lass into his bed. Then he recalled that he never bedded the lasses at the keep, and at the moment, there was only one he was truly interested in.
Cautiously, he turned his head, fully aware now of the wound in his left shoulder and not wishing to move that arm much at all. His eyes widened when he saw Tatha curled up at his side. Only for a moment was he concerned that he had attacked her while delirious with fever. She was still dressed and lay on top of the covers. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her hair was a bright, tangled mass around her face, but he found her beautiful. He also knew exactly who had taken care of him during his illness. As more memories rushed into his mind, he faintly recalled that his fever had broken during the night. Leith had been there helping Tatha wash him down and change the bed linen.
Slowly, so as not to cause himself pain or wake Tatha, he wriggled himself up into a partially seated position. His mouth felt as if someone had stuffed a dirty woolen rag into it and left it there for a few days. Using some of the wine set at his bedside, he rinsed out his mouth, gently rubbed his teeth clean with a scrap of the linen rags piled neatly on the heavy table, and then had a drink to ease the dryness in his throat. Although he still felt a bath and a good hair washing would be most welcome, and were decidedly needed, he felt more presentable.
As he made himself comfortable by Tatha’s side, she murmured and huddled closer. When she placed her small, long-fingered hand on his bare chest, he drew in a sharp breath. His body’s response to that light touch was startling. Despite the weakness left by his illness, he grew hard and warm with desire. The kiss they had shared had told him that he desired her; he just had not allowed himself to consider how much. Now there was no ignoring the fact that she was a fever in his blood.
He gave in to the need to touch her and brushed his lips over her forehead. Tatha murmured and shifted closer to him. The feel of her soft breasts pressed against his side had his heart pounding so hard and fast he was surprised it did not wake her up. He touched a light kiss to each of her eyes and felt her lids flutter beneath his lips. Watching her eyes open as he brushed his lips over her cheeks, his breath caught in his throat at the soft warmth visible in their rich blue depths.
“What are ye doing?” she whispered, trapped by the heat in his dark gaze.
“Kissing ye.” He touched his lips to hers.
“Your fever has truly passed, I see.”
“Has it? I am nay sure, for I am feeling verra heated.” Her husky giggle made him tremble. He thanked God that the woman seemed blissfully unaware of the power she held over him.
“This isnae good for your wound.”
“It feels verra good to me.”
“I think ye are a rogue.”
“Nay, lass. Although there is something about ye that makes me feel like one.”
Before Tatha could say anything he kissed her. She hesitated only a moment before slipping her arm around his waist and pressing closer to his hard body, eagerly parting her lips to welcome the invasion of his tongue. The way his hand pressed against her lower back, moving in small circles, warmed her, urging her even closer, until she was almost sprawled on top of him. She trembled and heard herself groan softly in delight when he slid his hand over her bottom, moving her groin gently against his leg. Tatha found herself aching to rip away the covers between them, almost frantic to get as close to him as possible.
“Ye shouldnae,” she mumbled in a weak protest as he began to kiss her throat. “Your wound.”
“I am barely moving that arm.” He slowly ran his tongue over the pulse point in her throat. “Ah, lass, ye taste so sweet. I fair ache to lick every soft, pale inch of ye.”
When she gasped softly in shock, he quickly kissed her again. His whole body trembled with the force of his need for her. The signs that she returned his passion, her rapid pulse, the soft noises she made, the faint tremor in her lithe body, all enhanced his own desire. He cursed his wound, his lingering weakn
ess, and all else that kept him from fully possessing her now while she was warm, willing, and in his arms.
“Weel, ’tis glad I am to see that ye have recovered, cousin,” drawled Leith.
That highly amused voice acted on Tatha like a dousing of icy cold water. She squeaked in dismay and pulled away from David so fast she tumbled off the bed. Tatha sprawled there on the sheepskin rug, almost afraid to move. She did not think she could add to the embarrassment she felt now, but she was not sure she wanted to risk it. Through her lashes she saw David leaning over the side of the bed to look at her and heard Leith walk to her side. She silently cursed, almost able to feel their amusement.
“Are ye all right, lass?” asked David, his voice strained as he struggled against the urge to laugh.
“Aye,” she replied. “I shall just keep my eyes shut for a wee while so that the two of ye are allowed the privacy to laugh.”
“Oh, lass, ye need not do that.”
“Nay?” She slowly opened her eyes to look at a widely grinning David.
“Nay, we dinnae mind having a good laugh right in front of ye.”
When he and Leith burst into hearty laughter, Tatha cursed and scrambled to her feet. Complaining loudly about men who had no respect for a lass’s sensitive feelings, she grabbed her shoes and marched out of the room. Even when she slammed the door behind her they did not stop laughing. Tatha cursed again and strode off to her bedchamber.
By the time she had washed, changed her clothes, and flopped down on her bed to rest for a while, her embarrassment and sense of ill usage had passed. Tatha then began to wonder what to do about Sir David and the fierce, blinding desire he stirred inside of her. He was pure temptation from his thick black hair to his long, muscular legs, and she was tired of fighting that.
And why should she fight it? she suddenly asked herself. She was nineteen, a spinster by many people’s reckoning. She was free of all bonds and vows. Her own father had sold her into a betrothal to a man she loathed, a man who might well have ordered the murder of David’s mother. She dared not hope that some miracle would free her of the obligation her father had thrust upon her. There was still the chance that she would be found and forced to honor the agreement he had made with Sir Ranald. Tatha knew she would never allow David to put himself at risk by placing himself between her and her father.
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