Edana could hardly wait to get back to her tower room and consult her mirror-basin. On the way home from the MacStruan's village, she had changed back into her usual lovely form. She cast off the tattered clothes as soon as she could and sent for a servant to bring water from her special supply.
In the privacy of her chamber, she poured the water, scattered the precious powder. "Show me my love," she cooed and waited for Darach's image to appear. She smiled with delight as his face took shape in the settling water. How handsome he was, she thought. How utterly
She stiffened. What was that? Another image was superimposing itself on Darach's.
"It's her." Edana ground out the words through gritted teeth. That wretched woman was still in the house. There she was, sitting on a bed, brushing out her black hair and looking only a bit wan for her brush with death. How could her poison have failed?
"Tell me, Servant. Is this an image of a living person?"
"It iss e'en so, mistresss."
Edana trembled in her rage. "I ask you, Servant. Is my love's heart mine still?"
"Hisss heart belongss to another, mistresss."
She stifled the scream that rose in her throat. She would stay in control, she told herself. She would rid herself of this obstacle. It would require more drastic measures, she knew. And she would have to be more subtle. But this Julia woman would die.
Julia was sick for several days. The effects of the poison had been mitigated by Tommy's quick action, but she had still gotten a small dose of the deadly stuff in her system. Tommy stayed with her through that first day and night, along with Darach, then surrendered his post to Darach and went home to sleep the sleep of a champion.
The lairds had not been idle. Every path and deer track was searched for clues. Alasdair questioned Julia closely about the old woman, and she'd done her best to recall everything, but much of the morning was lost in a haze.
While she slept, Darach gathered the lairds in the great hall. He set up a rotation for all of them to act as guards over Julia, day and night.
"She willna like it," Niall said.
"Don't I know it," Darach replied. "That's why I'm chargin' each of ye wi' the task. And it's up to ye to think of an explanation ifhell, this is Julia we're talkin' aboutwhen she asks ye why ye're hangin' about." He nodded to Tommy. "Ye have the excuse of being her physician." He looked to Alasdair. "Ye live in this house, so ye can say ye're only bein' companionable. As for the rest of ye, do your best."
"Aye, Darach."
Darach crossed the burn at a narrow spot, his long legs straddling the distance with ease. He judged that this was the area where the men had been fishing the day Julia was attacked. He shaded his eyes against the sun as it emerged with sudden brilliance from behind a cloud. A short stretch of meadow led to the eaves of the forest.
Though he couldn't see them from here, he knew there were charred stumps and bare patches in that wood, bitter reminders of the fire set deliberately by the Morestons. While he was away in Edinburgh, living in luxury, his people had been at the mercy of their old enemies. The Morestons encircled the site where his father and his uncle were sleeping and had set the trees and bracken alight. The deadly circle of flames had wakened the pair, but it was the smoke that sealed their fate. In a matter of moments, they were lost in the thick, foul darkness.
A more evil trap could not have been laid. When the MacStruan chief and his brother stumbled out of the woods, choking and hacking at the burning brush around their legs, the Morestons had ambushed them. When Mairi MacStruan brought her complaint to the earl, the Morestons had stoutly claimed that the two men had come over their borders in the night, wielding swords. They'd only done what any citizen might, by law: They had defended their own lands and people against men who were known to be their sworn enemies.
Mairi had come home, broken with grief and frustrated rage. She'd sent for Darach right away, and then taken to her bed, ill and silent. It was months before she returned to normal life, and even then she was much diminished in health and vigor. She had rallied for Darach and Isobel's marriage and had stayed firm in her support of her son in his time of grief and of learning the ways of a clan chief. But she had gone willingly enough to the hills with the women when one of the maids of the village had been assaulted and savagely beaten one evening a year ago.
Darach began to cross the meadow, searching the grasses for any signs that might remain of the day Julia had been attacked. His heart roared in outrage at the mere thought of anyone threatening her. The fact that the villain had chosen the eaves of this haunted forest to commit his crime made it doubly heinous. If this, and the more recent attack on Julia, didn't show the fine, black hand of the Moreston, he'd climb to the top of Schiehallion and crow like a rooster. What was more, this time, he wouldn't let the villains get away with their crimes.
He squatted as he came under the shadow of the pine wood. He peered into the dim recesses, seeing gold bars of sunlight piercing through the branches here and there. Cocking his head, he listened. It was uncannily silent.
He glanced about, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. There should be bird song, he thought to himself, or the bleating of the deer to their young. Even the insects had halted their midday hum.
Slowly he put a hand to his knife. He rose and turned in a circle, half-crouched and ready for attack. Still he saw no one, heard no footsteps.
He kept up his guard, but continued his search. Slowly the sounds of the forest resumed and his feeling of apprehension passed. There had been no rain to speak of since the attack and there might still be prints to follow. He paused at a thick clump of bracken. He squatted once again, examining the lush ferns with a light hand. Dark drops marked the green fronds, small spatters that Darach recognized as dried blood. He broke off a leaf and sniffed it, then rubbed it between his fingers.
Someone or something had bled on this spot, and recently, too. Whether it was man or beast, there was no way to tell. But it corresponded with Julia's story of the bleeding stranger who'd stood in the eaves and beckoned to her for help.
He rose with a muffled growl. His Julia had too soft a heart. She'd minister to the devil himself if he but showed her a bruised thumb. And look where her tender heart had gotten her: choked and then poisoned.
He prowled about the spot where the blood had fallen, his heart and his conscience nagging at him to admit that it was not only Julia's kindness that had put her in danger. He was responsible himself. He had brought her into danger by loving her.
He smiled to himself in wonder. One moment he'd been determined to let her go and remove her disturbing presence from his life. The next moment he was hunting her down, bringing her back into the fold of his clan, bringing her into the realm of his heart. He had done what he'd told himself was unthinkable: He'd staked a claim on beautiful, mad, outlandish Julia. And he was prepared to defend that claim to the death.
Death. He stalked farther into the woods. He couldn't allow the Morestons to take her as they had taken Isobel. He knew with every sense and instinct in his nature that the Morestons were behind these attacks on Julia. They were trying to strike at him through her, all because he wouldn't sell his clan to the greedy bastards. He couldn't let her become a victim of his failure as a chief. This time he'd not make the same mistake as before.
He would bind sweet Julia to him, protect her, defend her, hide her away if need be. But she would be his and his alone, forever.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Darach came home from his search looking sober yet calm. Julia caught him watching her throughout the evening meal. When they gathered at the fireplace for stories, he asked to hear the story of Bogart and Bacall in Casablanca.
She told it willingly, since it was one of her favorites, but her concentration wasn't all it might have been, for those deep blue eyes were trained on her every moment, looking ready to devour her. She found herself warming, felt her heart beating a little faster as she spoke. There was no mistaking the message
in his eyes, she thought, but what had brought about such a change?
When she was finished, Liam stood and cleared his throat for attention. He folded his hands on his stomach and blinked solemnly at the group that ringed the fire.
''The other lairds and I have a proposal to put forth to ye, Darach," he said. "Will ye hear it?"
Darach looked a trifle annoyed, but he gave his assent. Liam nodded his thanks and cleared his throat once more.
"As ye know, the traditions o' our fathers and mothers go back generations, before the time of St. Columba, before the northern men in their longships, before the Stane of Scone was set in place for the crowning of"
"Will I live lang enough to hear the end o' this proposal?" Darach drawled. The men laughed and Liam smiled sheepishly.
"I shall get to the heart of the matter, and that is that our hearts have been won by the movee tales of our ain Julia. The adventures o' the Indiana Jones, the gruesome tale o' the Alien, the tragic love o' that laddie Romeo for his lady Julietthese are tales that shine wi' the best o' our auld tales." He turned to Julia. "Having said this, wee Julia, I would tell ye that we have a name for the likes of ye in the Highlands: seanachaidh, a teller of tales. From ancient times, the seanachaidh have sat before the hearths"
"The proposal," Niall prompted.
Liam shot him an irritated glance, then turned to Darach. "In brief"
"God, make it so," muttered Gordon.
"In brief," Liam continued, ignoring him, "I have been commissioned by my fellows to ask that Julia Addison of the New York be named as seanachaidh of Clan MacStruan." Darach looked at Julia, his eyes dancing. "What say ye, Julia Addison? Will ye agree to be chronicler of Clan MacStruan, relating its mighty deeds and its joys, its battles and its sorrows?"
"And will ye tell us that High Noon story again, Julia?" Tommy put in.
"II don't know what to say." She looked around at the group of men who were smiling and nodding their approval. In their weird and wonderful MacStruan way, she knew they were paying her a high compliment. "I'm honored," she said, looking at Darach. "I'll do my best to live up to the title, if you really want me."
"We do," Bruce said, beaming.
"Aye," added Dugan.
"Then stand, Julia Addison," Liam said. He lifted a basket from the floor and removed a short staff, the head a knob carved with a stylized design of interwoven knots and thistles.
Julia stood, mist edging her vision. She glanced at Darach. He nodded solemnly.
"Accept the slat-sgeulachd, the staff of tales," Liam said, holding it out to her. "And let all know that ye are the bard o' the MacStruans."
Julia took the staff and held it out in front of her. She looked around at the men who had chosen her to be the chronicler of their lives. "I accept the slat-sgeulachd with pride," she said solemnly. "And I will watch and listen and tell your stories and mine as best I can."
"Hear! Hear!" cried Bruce. The others took up the cry, stamping their feet and whistling. Julia beamed at them all. Tommy leaned out from his seat on the floor near the hearth. "Now, wee Julia? High Noon?"
Darach stood. "Let our new seanachaidh have her rest," he said before Julia could reply. He took her hand, lacing her fingers with his. He nodded to the men, who, for once, elected to be discreet and exit promptly, making their farewells as they passed through the door.
In the silence that followed their departure, Julia turned to Darach, feeling suddenly shy. He lifted her chin with one finger and placed a feather-light kiss on her lips.
"I'm sorry I quarreled wi' ye, lass," he murmured, his voice soft as the rabbit-fur slippers she wore.
"I'm sorry, too," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders. "I was being a nag. I know you'd never do anything that wasn't for the good of the clan. II think I get jealous of them sometimes."
He cocked a brow. "Jealous o' that gaggle o' lunkheads?"
She smiled. "Uh-huh. I get jealous when I see how much you love them and how they always come first with you, even if it's not the best for you. Even if you get a wee bit pigheaded about it."
He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her close. "Clan comes first, it's true, sweet. But my ain Julia is the bard of the MacStruans. She's the MacStruan's lady. She's clan."
She stared at him, her mouth slightly open with wonder. "Youyou mean that?" she whispered.
He took advantage of her, shamelessly, and kissed her breathless. "Aye, love, I mean it," he said, pressing his lips to her temple. "If ye'll have me."
She threw her arms about his neck and held on for dear life as he carried her off to the stairs.
Edana lifted the apple to the light. "Perfect," she murmured. "So rosy and plump. Who could resist you?"
She put the lid on the small black pot and fastened the cord that bound it. "Wouldn't do to have anyone getting into that, would it?" she asked the white cat who sat on the tabletop, watching her mistress. The cat gave a throaty yowl and jumped down, heading for the window.
Laughing softly, Edana uttered her last words of incantation over the poisoned fruit, swirled her cloak about her, and vanished into the shadows. The cat howled to the moon from the window ledge. As if in answer, the sound of laughter rippled through the night, twining with the mists above the trees.
"Tell me about Isobel."
They'd been lying on Darach's bed, fully clothed, necking like teenagers. Julia had the delicious sense that they were playing hooky. Darach had slipped up behind her in the garden that afternoon and swept her off to the bedroom, his eyes saying all she needed to know. For the first time in a long while, she felt as if they had all the time in the world.
In this sweet, almost innocent intimacy, she dared to ask the question that she'd been keeping in her heart ever since Rose had told her the story in the caves.
Darach closed his eyes. "That's all done, Julia. Let it rest."
"No. I can't." She inched closer to him. "I need to hear about her. What she was like. How you got engaged. How you felt about her."
"Isobel's dead," he said, his voice hollow.
"I know that. But"
He opened his eyes. "But what? What has Isobel to do wi' you and me?"
"You loved her, didn't you?"
He sat up. His silence grew long.
She gazed at him in wonder. "You didn't love her?" she asked softly. "But everyone said, you and sheI don't understand."
He put his head into his hands. "I know what everyone thought. They said it often enough, how Isobel and I were sae perfectly matched, how we were sae in love. But it was a sham. At least, it was for my part."
Julia sat up and put her hand on his shoulder. "If you didn't love her, why did you agree to marry her?"
He raised his head and stared at the wall. "It had been planned since we were bairns. And it was fine when we were young." He shrugged. "Then I went to Edinburgh. I met one or twa women there"
"One or twa?"
He shot her a sour glance. "All right. So there was more than one or twa. But I learned more about the world there, and that women are as different from one another as men."
"Very enlightened of you."
He ignored her sarcasm. "When Da was killed, and I was summoned home, Isobel was grown up. She was the same sweet, shy lass I'd left. More so. And as fresh as a violet frae the glen." He rose and began to pace. "There was nothin' about her that any man couldna love. Or learn to love."
"But you weren't any man."
He shook his head. "I couldna. I liked Isobel. I loved her as my kinswoman. But I never felt the love I knew she craved o' me. The love that should be between a man and a woman when they pledge their lives to one another."
"You were going to marry her anyway?"
"Aye. I gave my word, and to break faith wi' Isobel would have been to break faith wi' all. I'd be no chief to lead the MacStruans. So, aye, we made the marriage plans."
"And then she was . . . taken."
He stood looking into the fire. "She was stayin' in my ain house, c
arin' for my mother, who'd been ill. She was that good, always carin' for others."
Julia rose and went to him. She put her hand on his arm. "You can't keep beating yourself up for what happened to Isobel. It was out of your control."
He shook off her hand. "But it was in my control! Can ye no' see? I had the chance to bargain for her life but I wouldna. I let my pride lead me and I refused to strike a bargain wi' Craigen. Isobel perished while I was playin' the great chief who would never give in."
A lump formed in Julia's throat. He was in such pain, she thought. He'd been carrying it around for years.
"Darach," she said, touching his arm once more. "You couldn't have known that Craigen would kill Isobel. You don't have a crystal ball that can foretell the future. You did what you thought was best for the clan, as you always do. You couldn't give Craigen your lands and let him walk all over you." She peered up into his tortured face. "Too often," she said, the sadness trembling in her voice, ''people like Craigen kill their hostages anyway. Even if you had given him everything he asked for, Isobel would still be dead."
"Ye might be right. But the fact remains, I didna love her enough and I didna do all I could to save her. Her death will be on my soul for eternity."
"And what about me?"
He looked at her, his eyes stormy with pain. "I'm sorry, lass. I thought I was past Isobel's death, but it isna true. I'm no' a fit match for ye. I'll only bring ye sorrow. It's the curse of the MacStruan chiefs." He walked to the table and poured himself a cup of wine.
Julia went after him, her heart a chilly rock inside her chest. "That's it?" she asked. "You failed once and so it's all over?" She frowned, fighting against the tears that threatened to flood forth. "Do you feel about me the same way you felt about Isobel? Do you not love me either?"
He stared at her, astonished. "Nay. Do ye no' ken what ye are tome, Julia? Ye're my sun and moon, my soul and body. God, sayin' I love ye doesna tell it by half."
"Then why are you pushing me away?"
He gripped her shoulders, anguish in his eyes. "I fear too much for ye, love! I'm in trouble deep wi' the Morestons. I dunna know if I can protect ye or my clan. I'm no great champion at romancin', as ye know now. I bear the scars of too many bitter mistakes I've made. I have sae many memories of lives lost and I ken there will be more. I canna bear to see ye hurt, Julia!"
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