***
With a giggle, Tèile dunked her head into the wine, slurping at the fruity liquid. Not bad. She swiped a hand across her mouth and grinned. Not like fae wine but very nice indeed. She sighed as the pleasing sensation of slowly loosening limbs pervaded. Taking one last glug, she slumped against the goblet and eyed the stepmother. What a vile woman. Even the faeries who liked to play tricks on humans were more pleasant. A deep seated evil lingered in that woman, one that could not be explained. An inbred nastiness, Tèile concluded.
She shook her head and peered out the door at Alana’s silhouette. What was the lass doing? Kissing him hopefully. She rubbed at her temples. How had the kiss not worked? She had been so sure that but one kiss be would be all it would take. Anyone could see they were meant to be together. Even Margot, manipulative woman that she was. She dare not risk Alana getting close to Morgann in case he told her the truth and she actually believed him. In fact, Morgann’s stepmother wanted Alana gone. Yet more for Tèile to worry about.
What a mess.
Alana wavered sideways and the faery rolled her eyes. The lass surely knew better than to be affected by Margot’s lies. Both Morgann and Alana’s hearts screamed for one another. How she could ever doubt him, Tèile didn’t know.
Though the foolish man did hide much from her. Somehow she needed to get them to open up to each other. A feat easier said than done. Tèile looked longingly at the wine and then at Alana and released a slow breath. This job was going to take much longer than she expected
She tottered as she stood and fluttered her wings experimentally. Aye, she’d fly in a straight line enough. It was not like she had much distance to fly. She scowled as Alana shifted out of her vision, a sense of unease trickling through her.
With a flutter of her wings, she flew unsteadily across the hall, resisting the urge to give Margot a sharp poke or play a trick on her. She wasn’t meant to let Alana out of her sight.
As she sailed out of the door, she adjusted her wings to combat the slight breeze and pivoted around to the spot where Alana had disappeared from her view.
Oh by the stars.
***
That pain stabbed at Morgann and he watched in horror as her feet gave way and she slid sideways down the wall, her skirts catching on the rough stone as she slipped. At the last moment, he dropped to his knees and hooked a hand under her head, barely preventing her from hitting the ground. She crumpled completely, hands limp by her side, eyes shut. Nausea burned his throat as he tucked her into his hold and studied her ashen complexion. Already pale skin looked deathly white and as he followed the line of her throat, he realised her breaths were shallow. Too shallow.
"Hell's teeth!" he shouted.
Finn and several other men had gathered around and Morgann glanced over at his friend. "Where is that damned witch?" Rage made his voice shake. "Get me Margot."
"Morgann..." Finn placed a hand to his shoulder.
Morgann shucked the hand away and stood, cradling Alana carefully. "Just get her," he pressed through his teeth.
"Aye, laird. But ye cannae accuse her of witchery. Alana may just be suffering from a malady."
Swallowing unsteadily, Morgann skimmed his gaze over her still features. "'Tis no malady. 'Tis poison. I know it."
With a sigh, Finn stepped aside to let him past. "I'll send for the healer."
Morgann didn't even acknowledge his words. He was too intent on getting Alana to his room. Servants stared as he carried her in through the hall but Margot was nowhere to be seen. He bit back a snarl of frustration. Damnation, this was all his fault. He had been aware he was putting Alana in danger by bringing her here. She was the one person who could reveal Margot for what she was and there was no way Margot would allow her to be used to force the truth from Laird Dougall's lips.
Kicking the door to his chambers open, he eased her onto the bed. She made no sound, her breaths barely audible even when he placed his ear near her lips. He brushed a finger down her nose and lips, soft flesh now cool. Ach, to think he'd been kissing those beautiful lips not long ago and they had been so full of heat and life. What he would not give to have her awake, shouting at him for capturing her, demanding to be released.
He sat beside her and twined his fingers with her limp ones. Morgann brought the back of her hand to his mouth and his chest ached as he skimmed his mouth over her clammy skin. He almost expected her eyes to spring open and for her to smack him around the face for kissing her but she remained motionless.
"Alana," he tried, his voice scratchy. "Wake up, m'eudail. Pray, wake up." His eyes felt hot and he clenched a fist. Damn that Margot to hell. And damn him for not taking steps to protect Alana. If she died...
If she died it changed everything. If she lived it changed everything too.
The realisation of how important she was to him flooded through him, making his heart thud erratically. Alana had always been part of his life and even in the eight years they'd been separated, she remained in his thoughts. Seeing her once more... Well, the attraction was undeniably powerful. But he also realised how much he missed that lass he'd shared everything with.
Almost everything.
He never told her that he expected to marry her one day.
A hard knot formed in his throat as he swept his lips over her hand again and again. How could he let her go again? If he returned her to her father, he would never see her again.
If she lived.
"Forgive me, m'eudail, I shouldnae have been so blind. Yer more important than revenge. More important than the clan even. Wake up so I dinnae have to let ye go."
The door creaked but Morgann couldn't drag his gaze away from Alana. Heavy footsteps came up behind him.
"Margot's gone.”
Jaw tight, Morgann swivelled his head around, fixing his glare on Finn. "Ach, damn that witch to hell.”
"If she wasn’t guilty, then she’s certainly made herself look it.”
“She poisoned Alana, Finn. I know it. She couldnae afford for the truth to come out and Father would never believe me without proof. Alana was supposed to bring me that proof. I should never have put her in danger.”
“Ye did what ye needed to do.”
“I should have found another way. Should have gone against my father and had Margot banished anyway.”
“If Margot has done everything ye say she’s done, then she’ll no’ be driven away so easily.”
“I dinnae know all Margot’s plans but she’s determined to see my father and the clan destroyed.”
Finn sighed and glanced over at Alana, scrubbing a hand across his chin. “The healer is on her way. She’s gathering up some herbs. I’ll start the search for Margot. She cannae have got far.”
Morgann turned his attention to Alana as Finn retreated, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. Only the faintest movement of her chest reassured him she was still alive. For how much longer though?
"Forgive me, Alana," he whispered gruffly, squeezing her hand between both of his. "I swear I'll do all I can to make this right if ye just wake up."
He didn't know what he would do. He barely cared. The thoughts that had driven him ever since he'd discovered Margot's plot to kill his father and take their lands had all but left him. Rage had been replaced by desperation and devastation, leaving him weak, so very unlike a warrior. If Alana died he doubted he'd continue to be much of a man. Already she had him reduced to a begging fool, urging a dying woman back from the brink. If only he lay there instead, the poison working its deadly magic on him. Alana was not meant for such an end. Nay, she was meant to spend the rest of her days finding ways to aggravate him surely?
The rest of her days? Aye. If Alana awoke, he wasn’t sure he could let her go. But would she even have him? Somehow he would make a deal with her father and make Margot pay. If he could convince Laird Dougall that Margot intended to harm his daughter, he would have nothing to do with her. He needed to make sure his stepmother paid for what she'd done to Alana. Ach,
but he’d been so close to telling her all. Debating whether she could handle the truth anyway. But if his father didn’t believe him, why would Alana? And if she did, she’d realise how callous her father was.
He clenched his eyes shut and offered up a prayer. Alana had to wake. She had to. And he would cease being a fool and tell her just how vital she was to him. Soon enough he would have her vibrant and argumentative in his arms once more, revelling in her heated lips and silken skin. Aye, she would return to him.
A cold fist of dread clenched at his heart. She had to for he didn't know how he would continue on if she didn't.
Watching carefully, he willed her to open her eyes but the only response that greeted him was the slowing of her breaths, the faint rasps of Alana trying to cling to life. His throat ached in desperation as he battled his emotions, the realisation that she may never awaken thrusting through him, as sharp and as powerful as the steel of a sword.
Alana was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter Seven
Thrusting a tiny finger into Alana's chest, Tèile sighed and slumped onto the front of her gown. All was lost. The poison Margot put in that hair tonic was very powerful. Death awaited Alana as surely as a faery loved to drink. It had to be that evil woman that had done it. There was no poison in the wine. Tèile drank enough of it to know that but one sniff of the hair tonic and she knew it was hemlock.
Morgann hadn't noticed yet but his hands were red from the potion. Lucky for him, his hands were rough and coarse and he’d only touched the liquid briefly. Alana had spent several days with it slowly seeping into her skin. As soon as Tèile got the chance, she’d ensure the tonic disappeared.
Head in her hands, she released a wry laugh. Finally Morgann understood his feelings for Alana. What was it about humans that meant it usually took a disaster for them to see what was right in front of them?
If only she hadn't indulged in the wine. She should have been watching Alana more closely. From now on, she was never going to drink again. Or maybe only drink a glass every now and then. A glass a day perhaps. Now death awaited Alana and the sidhe council would not be happy. Tèile would probably be banished. No more parties and balls. It was enough to make a faery cry.
The rasps in Alana's chest told her the inevitable was just around the corner. A vow would go unfulfilled and the fighting between the clans promised to continue. Many men’s deaths would sit on Tèile’s shoulders.
She fingered one of Alana's golden locks as the rise and fall of her chest beneath her began to slow. She glanced up at the Highland warrior, devastation etched into his face. He knew as well as she did that Alana wouldn't come back from this. Tèile wracked her mind. Surely there was something she could do? If a faery could not save a human life every now and then, what was the point in being a sacred being? Nodding slowly to herself, she fluttered her wings, allowing them to lift her away from Alana. She stopped briefly by Morgann and pressed a gentle kiss to the man's cheek. He didn't feel it but she hoped he sensed the comfort she tried to offer. With one last look at the couple, she flew out of the window, a barely muffled roar of anguish making her shudder as she slipped into the night.
***
The silver goblet smashed against the wall with a clatter but the sound brought him little pleasure. He stumbled to pick it up and debated throwing it again but it would do little to calm his anger. Placing it on top of the wall, he stared out into the dark, lit only by a few torches dotted along the walls. Clouds filled the sky, blocking out the starlight and Morgann felt a grim satisfaction at the sight. A night like this shouldn’t be beautiful. Nay, this night he wanted the clouds as grey and as depressing as he felt.
High up on the ramparts, the wind buffeted at him. It left him chilled enough to almost dampen the warmth of the copious amount of mead he'd drunk. Silence surrounded him. Thank the Lord. Sympathetic looks and words of concern made his stomach churn. They had no idea how he felt. Hell, he'd only just discovered exactly how important Alana was to him. And he could do without their fears on his shoulders right now. Laird Dougall's wrath hardly concerned him. He'd offer himself up if needs be. Finn could take his place easily enough.
He dug his nails into the top of the stone wall as he stared down the length of the keep into the bailey. With Margot gone, he had no one to offer to the laird for punishment. That woman surely had the ear of the devil to have escaped them. She must have realised Morgann would never let her get away with poisoning Alana. It was a rash and foolish move on his stepmother's behalf. He ought to be relieved she was gone but until his stepmother was brought to justice, he wouldn't be happy. And the thought of her still out there... he doubted he'd seen the last of her.
Sucking in a long breath, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and sketched a finger over the cold stone. He and Alana came up here in more peaceful times and talk endlessly. His lips slanted into a wry grin. In the years since, he’d forgotten how to talk to people. He used to share almost everything with her. The one thing he had never told her was how he felt about her. At the time he considered it to be a strong affection but mayhap it had been love. Either way, he knew he would marry her someday. If only he’d taken the time to tell her. Who knew if she had even felt the same but he was certain she felt something for him.
He scuffed the ground with his boot, kicking up a loose stone. It was too late now.
Morgann swung the jug hanging from one hand up to his lips and took drink, frowning when only the smallest amount of sweet mead slid down his throat. Surely he'd not drunk the whole jugful? Ach, now he would have to go the kitchens and get some more. He twisted around, put a hand to the wall as the world tilted slightly.
Heart leaping into his throat, Morgann froze. The jug dropped from his fingers and the pottery smashed against the stone floor. He scrubbed a hand across his face and blinked, trying to shove aside his drunken haze. Good Lord, how much had he drunk?
He stumbled forward, arm outstretched. Was he going to be haunted by her for the rest of his days?
"Morgann?"
His knees threatened to buckle beneath him. "God's blood," he whispered. She had to be an illusion, but it didn't stop him from closing the gap and bundling her into his hold. He held her head between both hands and pressed a fervent kiss to her forehead. "Alana?" he muttered as his shifted his lips desperately down, seeking her mouth. "'Tis ye?"
"Aye," she mumbled before he took her mouth in a frantic kiss.
She was warm and soft and alive. Surely she was alive? A ghost should not feel so good. A sound of anguish bubbled in his throat as her tongue met his and he failed to hold it back. Was she truly alive? The pain of losing her still sat in his chest. The memory of her last breath still rang in his ears. How could it be?
Unwilling to release her for fear it was all some dream, he tangled his fingers into her hair. Mayhap he tugged too hard as she whimpered but he couldn't control the frantic movements of his hands as he clasped her to him, seeking a deep, firm kiss.
Feminine hands came around his back and worked under his shirt. Soft fingers stroked his skin, making his entire body tingle. He longed to do the same to her. Only disbelief prevented him from throwing her onto the ground and stripping her bare to repay the favour. He had to know she was real.
Hauling his mouth away, he dragged his lips across her cheek and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled so vibrant, so alive. What in God’s name had happened?
"Yer alive, aren't ye?" he muttered into her hair.
Alana laughed and withdrew her hands from his shirt, stroking them up and down his arms. "Aye, I'm alive. What is yer meaning, Morgann?"
He pulled back to look at her, seeing her scowl in the torchlight. By God, she was beautiful. That sweet chin remained thrust out as ever. Even in confusion, her eyes were enough to bring a man to his knees. And those lips… Puffy from his kisses, he knew in better light they would be red and rosy.
"Do ye remember naught?"
"I�
��" Her scowl deepened. "I swooned, did I not? It doesnae surprise me. I'd not eaten in a while."
"Alana, ye—" he gulped, "—ye died. Poisoned. I was there by yer side. I saw ye breathe yer last breath."
"Poisoned? Dinnae be daft. I know I swooned. I even remember... I remember ye talking. But I couldnae open my eyes for some reason."
"Did… did ye hear everything?"
A smile played on the corner of her lips. "I think so. I remember ye begging me to wake up. I tried but I couldn't. Ye sounded worried. Ye said," her smile expanded, "ye didnae want to let me go."
Morgann groaned and rubbed a thumb over her cheek. "I didnae think ye could hear me. But I dinnae understand. Ye died, lass."
Alana raised a brow at him. "I think ye've been indulging too much, Morgann. Yer wits are addled."
"The healer confirmed it. Finn saw ye. Ye were dead!"
Her smile slipped at his tone and her gaze locked onto his, searching his eyes. "Yer serious aren't ye?"
"Aye, I lost ye, Alana. I thought I'd never have ye back in my arms again."
She softened into him. “Morgann, we need to talk.”
“Aye, we do.”
“Margot—”
“That witch willnae be able to hurt ye. I’ll protect ye, I swear it. We need to leave Glencolum for a bit. 'Tis no' safe here."
She forced herself back in his hold. “Ye believe Margot poisoned me? Morgann, this is just silly. Ye cannae be accusing—”
“Ye dinnae believe me?” He dropped his hands from around her and stepped back. Of all people, he was sure Alana would believe him. After all, she’d been the only one to defend him when he was accused of theft.
“I’m no’ saying that, it’s just… ye must see ‘tis a tall tale indeed. Poisoned, dead, brought back to life. I think I’d know if I’d been poisoned!”
Despair drenched him. Even the person who knew him the best didn’t believe him. Teeth gritted, he widened his stance in an attempt to wrestle back some control. He’d already proved himself weak around Alana. He dare not allow his need for her to cloud his judgement and put her at risk again. In his gut, he knew Margot wasn’t finished with them. Desperation clearly drove her now, or else she would never have stooped so low. Mayhap she’d hoped to pass it off as an illness and indeed, they’d found no proof of poisoning. But Margot’s disappearance only served to prove her guilt.
To Steal a Highlander's Heart Page 9