by Fiona Faris
“I will check on the herbs ye left with the cook. She may nae have had time tae brew them yet,” Malcolm stated as he rushed past his brother and down the stairs to the kitchen.
Alana entered the laird’s room and went to his bedside. “Is there anythin’ ye can do?” Freya pleaded as she clung to the ashen hand of her dearly beloved husband.
Alana watched Andrew’s labored breathing and laid her head down upon his chest. She could make out the sounds of a wheeze. Lifting her head, she felt with her fingers around his neck and throat. “He has a fever and his throat is swollen. He is strugglin’ tae breathe.” Andrew coughed hard, causing his entire body to spasm. “I have brought herbs tae make a tea that should help. I will also mix a poultice tae place on his neck and chest. It should give him some relief afore the healer comes.”
As if on cue, Malcolm entered the room with the promised tea. “Here, Faither. Drink this.” Malcolm held the cup up to his father’s lips and helped him to swallow as much of the tea as he could manage before another coughing attack.
Alana went below to the kitchen and quickly ground a poultice, taking it back upstairs and covered the laird in it. “I will need tae go out and gather more herbs. We will need tae get as much tea in him as possible and reapply the poultice throughout the day and night. I need more ingredients.”
“I will get what ye need. Ye should nae be going about on that foot.” Malcolm pulled her aside to speak quietly.
“I will be fine. Ye dinnae need to fash o’er me,” Alana answered. “But if it will make ye feel better about it, ye can accompany me.”
“It would,” Malcolm replied. Turning to his mother, he informed her, “We will go and get what is needed, then return. We will nae be gone long.” Kissing his father’s forehead, Alana could just make out the words as he whispered, “Dinnae die on me, Faither. I cannae do this without ye.”
Chapter Six
Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland
“She has feelings for the bloody whelp,” Rory fumed at the most recent news his spies had brought him about his daughter at Blair Castle. “Ye send a lass tae seduce a man and she is the one seduced!”
“She is brave tae have been so honest in her message tae ye, Faither.” Ross attempted to soothe his father’s anger. “She is still loyal tae ye and the cause.”
“Is she? How can one be sure o’ anythin’ a lass will do when her mind is befuddled?” Rory asked. “We are goin’ tae need another plan. We cannae risk losin’ everythin’ if the lass turns on us for that son of a cur.”
“She will nae betray ye, Faither,” Ross argued.
“Better tae be safe,” Rory insisted giving, his son a glare that stated in no uncertain terms that it was time to agree with him or get out.
“Aye, Faither,” Ross answered, not wishing to be struck.
“We must rush the plan. I dinnae care if she has tae take the cur tae her bed, she will serve her purpose or she will nae return! Ross, go and tell that sister o’ yers that if she does nae get me the information I seek soon, then I will marry her off tae Laird Sutherland in the north,” Rory ordered.
“The man is a wife beater and a murderer! Ye would nae…” Ross protested, but was cut short by his father’s threatening glower.
“I will,” Rory promised.
Ross left his father and went to do as bid. He wasn’t sure how he would get the message to her, but he would do it even if he had to sneak inside the castle himself. He made his way down the mountain side into the glen below. Not wishing to be seen, he kept to the trees scanning the castle grounds looking for his sister. Why Faither could nae have sent one o’ his spies I dinnae ken, he grumbled to himself. Ross would be glad to see his sister, but he dreaded relaying their father’s words to her. What kind o’ a man farms his daughter out as a whore? I support our faither’s claim tae the lairdship, but this is goin’ tae far even for him.
Ross edged closer and closer, keeping alert for any sign of Alana. Tae my mind ‘twould be easier tae simply kill Andrew and Malcolm Murray and be done with it. If the spies are right, it does nae sound as if Andrew Murray is long for this world. I dinnae ken Faither’s need tae use Alana in such a way.
Ross was stopped short when he heard the familiar lilt of his sister’s voice moving through the trees. “We should be able tae find the herbs we need over there,” she was saying. He could not see her to tell whom she was speaking with or what direction she had pointed, but he knew without a doubt that she was near.
“’Tis good,” a deep masculine voice replied. He had heard that voice before when he had spied on Blair Castle for his father in the past. It was the voice of Malcolm Murray.
Ross drew his dirk from its sheath and moved forward stealthily through the forest toward the voices. He knew his sister had loved coming to the glen searching for medicinal herbs anytime their father had sent them to spy on the castle. He thought he remembered one of her favorite patches being close by. He crept through the growth, staying low so as not to be detected.
“I sincerely pray that yer potions help, lass,” Ross heard Malcolm say.
“They will nae cure yer faither, but they will help tae alleviate his suffering,” Alana replied.
The auld laird must have taken a turn for the worse. Why she does nae just allow him tae die without intervenin’ I dinnae ken. ‘Twould make things simpler. ‘Twould be nothin’ tae poison the auld man in his bed. Nae one would e’er ken the difference. Ross decided to discuss the idea with his father when he returned home. How am I goin’ tae get tae Alana without that cur, Malcolm, catchin’ me?
Ross peaked out from behind a tree and found Alana and Malcolm studying the ground at their feet. “Do ye see this plant?” Alana asked.
“Aye,” Malcolm answered, nodding his head in affirmation.
“Do ye think ye can find me more o’ this? Perhaps over there?” She gestured with her hand off to the left. “What is here is nae nearly enough. I will search this way.” She motioned in the opposite direction.
“Aye, but be careful, lass. Dinnae put any more weight on yer foot than ye must,” Malcolm ordered.
What is wrong with Alana’s foot? Ross wondered what had happened to his sister. He noted the way she limped off and grew angry that she had been harmed while in their care. He longed to slit Malcolm’s throat where the man stood, but knew if he altered his father’s plan in any way, it was he who would suffer.
Ross waited until Malcolm had moved far enough away from Alana not to overhear him, then threw a small stone on the ground at her feet to get her attention. When she looked up, he gestured for her to come to him. Alana looked back over her shoulder at Malcolm’s back, then limped over to Ross. “What are ye doin’ here?” she whispered, placing her hand on his arm in greeting.
“I have a message from Faither,” Ross answered. “Have ye hurt yerself?”
“I cut my foot while bathing in the river,” she answered. “’Tis nothin’. Dinnae fash yerself.”
“Take care, Alana. I will kill every last one o’ the blighters afore I will see ye harmed,” he threatened, glaring at the back of Malcolm’s head.
“What is Faither’s message?” she asked.
“He is nae pleased with yer progress and demands that ye get him the information he desires by any means necessary.” Ross paused and cleared his throat. His dislike for what he must now tell her angered him. “Faither commands ye tae take Malcolm Murray tae yer bed if that is what it takes.” Ross felt like punching a hole through Malcolm’s chest and ripping out his heart at the idea of the cur’s hands on his sister’s body. “I would just as soon kill him where he stands,” he admitted aloud, taking a menacing step towards Malcolm, dirk in hand.
He was stopped by his sister’s touch on his arm. “Dinnae fash yerself. I will get what Faither needs without takin’ the man tae my bed.”
“See that ye do. If I ken Malcolm has violated ye in any way, I will kill him and willingly suffer Faither’s wrath,” Ross promised. “Get what Faith
er wants and be quick about it. He is threatenin’ tae marry ye off tae Laird Sutherland if ye dinnae.”
“I will nae marry Laird Sutherland nae matter the cost,” Alana vehemently answered.
“Ye ken as well as I that ye will nae have a say in the matter,” Ross warned.
“I would rather die,” she argued.
Ross met her eyes. “If what I ken o’ Laird Sutherland, is true ye just might.”
* * *
Blair Castle, Scotland
Alana watched as her brother walked silently away, careful not to be seen. He is so angry and I cannae blame him. What Faither is askin’ is deplorable. Revenge has twisted his mind beyond sanity. She was loyal to her family, but she would not, could not do as her Faither asked. She would have to find another way into the treasury room and soon. Alana feared the consequences were she to fail. Laird Sutherland is a cruel sadistic man. I will nae wed him.
Alana moved back toward Malcolm and searched for more herbs. She needed time to gather her thoughts and get her emotions under control before they returned to the castle. She was afraid of and angry with her father, but he was right about one thing. The sooner she got him the information he desired, the better for her own future. By the time Malcolm came up behind her with both fists full of the herb she had pointed out to him, she had managed to hide her true feelings.
“Shall we?” he asked, placing the herbs in her basket and extending her his arm for support.
“Aye, we have enough tae return tae the castle and help yer faither,” Alana agreed. Taking Malcolm’s proffered arm, she limped back to the castle kitchen.
She gave instructions to the cook for the various teas and poultices that might be of help to the laird and went up to see if the village healer had arrived yet. Alana knew that the healer would not be able to do anything more than she was already doing, but it gave the family comfort to have the man who had cared for them for most of their lives present during times such as these. “It does nae look good, my laird,” the healer was saying as she entered the room. Malcolm had gone on ahead of her when they had returned to the castle and now stood listening to the prognosis. Alana wished she could reach up and smooth the furrows from his brow that ever deepened in concern. “I dinnae ken how much longer ye can last as ye are.” The healer laid a sympathetic hand on the laird’s shoulder. “There is nae anythin’ I can do for ye that ye are nae already doin’.”
A sob went up from the laird’s youngest daughters who had come to stand in the doorway. “Nae,” they cried out and Finlay walked over to hold them in consolation.
Another cough rattled through Andrew’s chest as he eyed his daughter’s response to the news. He appeared to think for a moment, then turned his gaze to Alana. “Alana, lass, come here tae me,” the laird instructed. Alana obeyed, sitting down upon the bed and taking his hand in hers. “Do ye believe me tae be on death’s door or do ye ken that yer potions will save me for a few days more,” he asked, smiling in spite of the obvious pain he was in.
“Aye, ye will nae be knockin’ on the pearly gates just yet,” she promised. She knew she had no actual say in whether the laird met his maker, but she also knew that hope was as good a medicine as any.
“Ye see,” Andrew jested with a wheeze to the healer. “I will still be around tae dance a merry jig on yer grave.”
“I stand corrected,” the healer replied with a smile and patted the laird’s shoulder once more. “I leave ye in good hands it would seem.” He praised Alana’s skill with medicinal herbs, then left to see to others in need of his care.
“Finlay, why don’t ye take the lassies down tae the kitchen and have the cook find them a wee sweet,” Freya asked. Finlay nodded and ushered the girls from the room.
When they were gone, Andrew spoke. “I thank ye Alana for goin’ along with me when I asked ye about dyin’. I ken well enough that ye can help, but beyond yer potions, ‘tis out o’ yer hands. I dinnae wish the wee lassies tae fash.”
“I kenned what ye wished,” Alana answered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “But ‘tis nae just for the lassies that I said what I did. Hope is a powerful medicine in and o’ itself.”
“Aye, that it is,” Andrew agreed, nodding his head. The motion caused him to go into another coughing fit.
“Ye need tae rest,” Freya admonished her husband, moving to curl up beside him on the bed.
Alana and the remaining Murray family exited the room to give the laird and his lady some privacy. Malcolm, still frowning, walked away without a word to anyone. “Ye had better rest as well,” Bruce advised Mary.
“Aye,” she agreed and the couple went on to their room.
The second eldest daughter, Iona, was the only one that remained standing in the hall with Alana. “Do ye want tae join me and watch the men spar in the trainin’ field?” she invited.
“Aye, that would be lovely,” Alana agreed. She could see the lass needed the company. “Why did ye nae join yer sisters in the kitchen for a sweet?”
“I dinnae wish tae leave Faither, but Maither is right. He needs his rest,” Iona answered.
Iona was quite a bit younger than Malcolm or Mary, but several years older than the two youngest daughters Caitriona and Brighid. Alana had seen her around the castle by herself reading or walking the grounds. The lass seemed a bit lost at times, stuck in the middle. Alana knew that Mary attempted to show her special attention, but with the bairn coming Mary had been forced to pay more attention to her own needs.
Alana followed Iona outside and sat down in the grass to watch the men engage in mock battle. She found Malcolm among them. It appeared he was venting his frustrations over his father’s illness out on the one named Fergus. Each man gave as good as he got. They are all quite skilled. ‘Twill nae be easy for Faither tae defeat them. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a group of young lads shouting obscenities at one another. One boy punched another in the face, while the other hit him hard with a wooden training sword. Malcolm stopped sparing and walked over to them.
“Here now. What is this?” he asked, kneeling down to their level. “Is that anyway tae treat yer fellow clansman?”
“He started it!” one of the lads yelled.
“Nae, I did nae,” the other lad challenged. “I beat ye square. Your sword is now mine as we agreed.”
“Nae, ye cheated, ye dirty…” Malcolm stopped the boy before he could say more.
“When we have a dispute amongst ourselves, what do we do?” Malcolm patiently asked.
“We fight it out like Duncan did at the gatherin’,” one lad answered.
Duncan, hearing his name, stopped sparring to listen to what was being said. Alana was surprised to see him there with his wound not fully healed, but she knew highland men were stubborn when it came to such things. Malcolm turned and beckoned Duncan to join him. “Now lads, ask Duncan what I just asked ye,” he instructed them.
The boys kicked around the dirt beneath their feet before obeying. “Duncan what do we do when there is a dispute among us?”
“If ‘tis just a disagreement, we talk it out and come to some kind o’ an arrangement. If there are irreconcilable differences betwixt us, we go afore the laird and have him hear our case,” Duncan answered.
“But we saw ye fight at the gatherin’,” one of the lads argued.
“Aye, ye did and fights do happen, but ‘twas foolish o’ me tae be fightin’ o’er a lass when all I had tae do was tell her how I felt. Honesty would have saved me from needlessly losin’ my blood,” Duncan admitted.
“When it comes tae trainin’ tae be warriors, ‘tis important to fight with honor. The man ye are fightin’ now will be the man that protects yer flank in the heat o’ battle. Ye want that man to respect ye enough tae do so. The battlefield is a lonely place for those who fight without honor. Now, lad,” Malcolm turned to the boy who had lost the fight, “did ye lose the fight?”
“Aye,” the lad mumbled, his head hung low.
“And did ye wager yer
trainin’ sword on the fight?” Malcolm asked.
“Aye,” the lad answered again.
“Are ye a man who keeps his word?” Malcolm inquired.
“Aye, I do,” the lad answered, standing taller as if to protect his reputation.
Malcolm smiled slightly at the lad’s reaction and continued, “What would be the honorable thing tae do when ye have lost a wager?”
“Tae honor it,” the boy replied. He looked down at his sword, then straitened his shoulders and boldly thrust the sword forward giving it to his opponent.
Malcolm turned to the winner of the bout who now clutched the sword in triumph. “Ye have defeated yer friend in battle and have taken his only sword.”
“Aye,” the boy beamed, giving the other lad a cocky look.
