“My lady wife is a healer,” Murdoch retorted. “She oft cares more for her art than her safety.”
“But what of you?” Orson asked. “What do you care most about?”
Murdoch did not reply, but merely averted his gaze from Orson and spoke to Isabella. Annelise noted his choice and feared its import. Why would Murdoch be unwilling to offend Orson?
Unless she and Garrett had guessed Orson’s mission correctly.
And Murdoch knew it was intended to succeed. Anger flooded through Annelise, for Alexander had promised his three younger sisters their choice in marriage.
“Well?” Murdoch asked his lady wife.
“I believe he is poisoned,” Isabella said, then looked up at him. “We must aid him. Time will be of the greatest import.”
“Can you aid him without knowing the cause?”
Isabella winced. “Only in the most basic way. I assume he has ingested it…”
“So you will ensure that his innards are emptied,” Murdoch concluded. “Fair enough.” He raised his voice, shouting for Fionn and Helga, the two who most commonly aided Isabella.
Orson raised his voice slightly. “What great risks you take when such undesirable men are afoot. Perhaps he brings a malady to your gates, and his presence will see you all sickened.”
“Think of the plague,” Andrew agreed, his tone hard. “No soul knows how it arrives or why it leaves, but clearly some soul unwittingly carries it from city to city.”
“And thousands are left dead in its wake,” Orson agreed. He made a face and shuddered. “Have you heard tell of the pustules that form upon their bodies?”
“A horrific way to die,” Andrew agreed, looked over Garrett and took a step back.
“He shows no signs of plague,” Isabella said tightly. “That malady is said to begin with the swelling in the neck and groin, with the buboes. He has no such.”
“But seizures follow,” Orson insisted. He seemed to believe that the consumption of wine would protect him.
“And fever.” Andrew nodded, as if he were the healer.
“And death to all who have touched the victim,” Orson concluded with a flourish. “Why not cast this undesirable from the gates and see the health of all of us assured?”
“You are not being of assistance in this,” Isabella said sternly.
“He is not undesirable!” Annelise snapped.
Orson’s brows rose and he exchanged a meaningful glance with his fellow knight.
“Perhaps it would be best for you to return to the hall,” Murdoch said, his manner smooth, even as Fionn and Helga arrived.
Annelise could not believe how her hunter had changed, and how ill he looked.
“Garrett,” she whispered and knelt closer to him. His eyes flew open and his gaze locked upon her. He seized her hand so quickly that she was startled. Murdoch’s hand gripped his knife’s hilt, but Isabella stayed him with a touch. Annelise dared not release Garrett’s hand, for she saw some of the anguish leave his expression.
Instead, she folded both of her hands around his. His skin felt clammy, both sweaty and cold, and she could feel him trembling deep inside. Yet when his hand was fully within hers, he exhaled and his eyes closed once more.
This time he seemed to be relieved.
“Your touch consoles him,” Isabella said almost under her breath. “I cannot explain that either, for no poison I know responds to touch, but you must hold fast to him.”
Annelise nodded agreement, more than happy to do as much.
“I would take him to the hut behind the kitchens.” Isabella turned an appealing glance on Murdoch, whose lips tightened even as he nodded.
Orson waved a hand and drained his chalice, as if he would dismiss their folly, then turned to saunter back to the hall. His fellow knight began to discuss horses with him, and they apparently forgot Annelise, Garrett, and their fears of plague.
Annelise did not care about the knights’ view. There was only Garrett and his pain. He had saved her once; she would do all in her power to help him now.
*
His was a curious affliction, indeed.
Isabella watched the hunter as he slept. The violence of his reaction had passed before she could mix a potion to empty his belly, so she had chosen not to administer the emetic. Once his color had returned and he had been breathing normally, she had insisted that Annelise leave her alone with Helga and Fionn. Helga had healing skill of her own, and Fionn was both young and strong. She knew she would have to have Fionn undress the hunter to seek clues to his ailment, and it was not fitting for Annelise to see his nudity.
It had not been easy to convince her sister to leave Garrett, nor to unlock his own convulsive grip upon her sister’s fingers. Isabella had been intrigued by the way he had swooned as soon as the connection was broken, as if he had been overcome by his illness again in her absence.
It seemed that Annelise’s touch had helped him to keep it at bay.
Or perhaps, he merely fought against it harder in her presence.
Either way, Isabella had never seen the like of his condition. Now he slept like an exhausted child, his skin cooling beneath her touch and his breathing becoming more even, and that with no intervention on her part. He might have endured a trial or a test, but Isabella could not imagine what it might have been. She could believe now that he was capable of killing a wolf, for he looked strong and healthy, if tired.
“The knight is right,” Helga said with her usual dour practicality.
“How so?”
“He must be mad, or a criminal. Why else would he choose to live in the forest?” Helga demanded.
“He would not be the first man who had good reason to shun the company of men.”
Helga snorted and rolled her eyes. “No one of sense chooses such a course.”
“Your laird did as much,” Isabella said tightly. “Would you call Murdoch a madman?”
“No, my lady.”
“A criminal?”
“No, my lady.”
“Yet he was an outcast all the same.” Isabella watched Garrett sleep, considering. She was aware of Helga’s frown, but was more interested in the hunter’s malady. What truly ailed him? Was he afflicted by the will of the Fae as Murdoch had been? Or was there a more mundane explanation?
“Why, my lady?”
Fionn’s question recalled Isabella to their conversation, though she did not understand the question. She met the boy’s gaze in confusion.
“Why was my laird Murdoch an outcast?”
“He was cursed by the Fae,” Isabella admitted. “He had ventured into their realm and earned his release, but the Elphine Queen did not wish to surrender him.”
“Cursed!” The young man crossed himself.
The serving woman rolled her eyes. “A fair excuse that is for a man to evade his duty,” she said, half under her breath and earned a hard look from Isabella for her trouble.
“There are more things on this earth than ever we will understand,” Isabella said firmly.
Helga dropped her gaze but the set of her lips did not change. “Yes, my lady.”
“Our concern is this man’s ailment. Another possibility is that he was bitten by some creature,” Isabella said. “A toxin in the blood could cause such a quick and devastating result.”
“Yet he appears hale enough now,” Helga noted. “How did he recover as quickly as he was felled?”
Isabella did not know, but she would rule out mundane causes first. “His body might have been able to overcome the toxin. His boots, Fionn, if you please. A snake would be most likely to bit his leg or ankle…”
“Not through that leather,” Helga contributed. “They are fine heavy boots, and cost him a fair bit of coin.”
She was right in that. Where would an outcast gain such fine boots? Either he was not an outcast in truth and the boots revealed his origins, or he had stolen them from a victim and was a criminal, after all.
“Or his hands,” Isabella continued
with impatience. She noticed that all of Garrett’s garb was fine and sturdy, if unembellished. Where was his home? What was his tale? How had he come to be in the woods of Seton Manor? What did he want? As much as Isabella had disliked the insinuations made by the knight, she could not deny that they made some sense. Garrett had entered Seton Manor under guise of illness and now that he was within the gates appeared to have recovered. That fed Isabella’s suspicions of his motives.
It did not reassure her that Annelise was prepared to argue his side at any cost.
Isabella had to learn the truth about this hunter and his attack. His body might tell her more than he was inclined to share by his own choice. She peeled off his gloves and pushed up his sleeves, peering at the flesh in search of a bite. She found none, either there or on his neck or his ankles.
“He might have ingested something,” she continued. “A fruit or root unfamiliar to him, which was poisonous.”
“Then he would have vomited,” Helga said. “Or worse.”
Fionn rolled his eyes.
“There is yet time for that,” Isabella told the younger man and he grimaced.
“I can manage all of it but that,” he muttered and Helga laughed at him.
“Then mind you do not become a father,” she teased. “Babes spew from one end or the other for most of their early years.”
Fionn looked appropriately horrified. His gaze fell to Isabella’s rounded belly and he took a breath to steady himself.
Meanwhile, Isabella stared down at Garrett. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. He might have been sleeping peacefully, but she had the definite sense that something had just quickened in him.
As if he had awakened, but pretended to be asleep still.
Listening.
What manner of man did not trust those who would assist him? The choice did little to reassure her concerns. She checked his pulse at his throat, but did not comment upon its slightly increased pace. It had settled but now leapt anew.
He had a secret, she would wager.
“I will make him a posset,” she said, watching him carefully. “The recipe will empty his innards quite quickly, which will ensure any poison has no chance to work more deeply.” She heaved a sigh. “I regret that it evokes such a violent reaction, but there is no other way to be sure he is safe.”
He gave no indication that he had heard her, but Isabella was not convinced.
“Fionn, you shall have to endure it.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Helga cleared her throat. “You should cast him from the gates instead, my lady, and bar them against him. He is a hunter; let him heal in the forest he knows so well.”
“It may not be safe to keep him here, my lady,” Fionn agreed.
Isabella could not dismiss her sense that he was listening to her every word. “I fear any chance of safety is behind us,” she said briskly. “Look about yourselves. Seton Manor is a small holding and one that gains its safety by isolation. It is not even fully fenced.”
“The forest provides defense,” Fionn said loyally. “It is not easy to pass through it on the back side of the holding.”
“Passing through forest is this man’s trade,” Helga said, her voice hard.
Isabella nodded. “If this man had wanted to gain entry to our hall, he could have done so before this day and not through the gates.”
“Similarly, if he wished to return,” Helga concluded, folding her arms across her chest.
“Better to know his desire first,” Isabella said and the older woman nodded.
“So, you mean to let him remain?” Murdoch asked from the doorway.
Isabella spun to face her husband, seeing an echo of her own curiosity on his face. He leaned in the doorway, his expression watchful. Isabella knew he would move with the speed of lightning to defend any of them, should the hunter attack unexpectedly.
“I want to know why he came,” she said. “I want to know what ails him. When he awakens, as he no doubt shall after my posset, we can ask him for the truth of it.”
Murdoch’s gaze lingered on the sleeping man. Isabella dispatched Helga to fetch the herbs she needed, and Fionn to his usual duties in the kitchen. With the knights’ arrival, there would be more at the board this evening and more food would need to be prepared.
“What ails him?” Murdoch asked quietly.
Isabella shrugged. “I am not fully certain of the cause or the cure, but he reminds me of you.”
Murdoch held Isabella’s gaze for a long moment, then crossed the small hut with quick strides. He unfastened the lace at the neck of Garrett’s shirt, and spread the cloth wide. Isabella knew he was looking for marks on the hunter’s flesh, the dark whorling marks like the ones that had graced his own skin and indicated the Fae’s possession of a mortal man. The flesh on the hunter’s chest was tanned, but otherwise normal. Murdoch glanced up, a question in his expression.
“His is not a normal illness, or at least not one I recognize,” Isabella said softly. She was aware that the hunter listened intently, even while he feigned sleep. “I believe he suffers from a curse of some kind, which is what reminds me of your situation. And somehow, Annelise is of aid to him.”
“Nay,” Murdoch said, straightening with vigor. “He cannot have come for Annelise. I forbid it.”
Isabella, though, had seen her sister’s expression when the hunter had been overcome. “There are things you cannot change, husband.”
“There are things I will not allow,” he replied, his tone resolute.
“She can be of aid to him, just as I was to you!”
“Nay, Isabella. Annelise is gentle and so shy that it is painful to watch her in society. She needs protection more than any maiden I have ever known.” He must have seen Isabella’s doubt for his voice rose. “I have made a pledge to Alexander!”
Isabella bit her lip. She knew very well how she had saved Murdoch when no other person, man or woman, would dare to even attempt to help him. Could Annelise do the same for this hunter?
Isabella was a healer. If Annelise could cure or even diminish the effects of Garrett’s malady, Isabella did not believe she could obstruct her sister’s choice.
Murdoch clearly saw the direction of her thoughts. He shook a finger before her. “Annelise is not you, Isabella. She has not your fortitude or your nature.”
“We are equally stubborn. Do not underestimate her in that regard.”
“I will not risk her future.”
“Not even if she wishes to take a chance herself?”
“Not even so. This man, be he cursed or no, is not a fitting match for her.” Murdoch’s eyes flashed and Isabella knew her husband’s thinking would not be easily changed. “The hunter leaves at dawn, if not before, never to return to this abode.” Without waiting for her acknowledgement, Murdoch left the hut, striding back toward the manor. Isabella lingered, watching the sickened man.
Who no longer appeared to be ill. He looked like a man asleep, but Isabella knew better.
She also knew her sister. Annelise was quiet and quick to accommodate others, but there was iron within her. It was not often that she set her sights upon some goal, but when she did, Annelise was more steadfast and determined than any soul Isabella had known. Her conviction, once won, was unshakable—and Isabella had noticed her concern for this hunter. She feared Annelise had decided, and Murdoch’s command would make no difference at all.
“Am I right?” she whispered.
Garrett’s eyes flew open, his gaze locking immediately with hers. He spoke quietly, so quietly that Isabella barely heard his words, and truly his lips did not even seem to move. “I would die defending her,” he said with a conviction that echoed Murdoch’s. “For you are more right than you can know.”
“Will you tell me of it?”
He shook his head. “The telling has a high price.” His gaze held hers and she believed him. “I can confess the truth to no one.”
Isabella nodded. It was a curse, then. Her han
d fell to the ripe curve of her belly as she considered her choices. She had much more to lose than once had been the case: a husband who adored her, a comfortable home, a babe on the way. She could not take a risk for Annelise as once she might have done, yet at the same time, she could not deny her favored sister a chance at happiness.
“Do you know the cure?” Isabella asked quietly.
He met her gaze. “I believe the maiden Annelise holds the key.”
“I will not stand in whatever path she chooses,” she vowed in a whisper. “But Annelise must choose for herself.”
Garrett nodded, his determination seeming to grow before her eyes.
Isabella touched his shoulder. “You should sleep while you can.”
Garrett smiled, the image of a man refining a plan. He closed his eyes then, as if to heed her counsel, but Isabella did not imagine that he truly slept.
At least not before she left him alone.
*
Garrett lay on the pallet in the small hut at Seton Manor and tried to put his body at ease. He could hear the thoughts of those people in the hall, but they were sufficiently distant that they did not disable him.
Or maybe it was the pool of serenity he sensed from Annelise that allowed him to endure the sound of those thoughts.
The one who despised him had quieted his or her thoughts, which also made the din easier to bear.
Garrett was exhausted beyond belief, but feared that rest in this place might be a foolish choice. He was exposed in this hall and unable to hide. He had spent weeks tracking the wolf, sleeping little as he pursued his prey, and now felt hunted himself. A lack of sleep encouraged such whimsy, but that stab of malice in his thoughts left Garrett unprepared to risk sleep within the walls of Seton Manor.
Instead, his thoughts flew. He had not dared to take the time to grieve for all he had lost months ago, and he had thought even less about the tidings and events that preceded that horrific morning.
He dared not indulge his memories yet, but he thought again of Mhairi’s tale.
How could he be the son of a laird?
How could a laird have denied his own son and never sought him out in twenty-five years? The tale defied belief, so Garrett had gone in search of the truth. Mhairi had named his father as Laird of Killairig, so Garrett had journeyed to that keep.
True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Page 7