by Willa Blair
“Of course, Laird MacKyrie.”
“Good. Then I’ll see ye at dinner. We’ll enjoy the bounty ye brought us today.”
****
“That’s it, laddie. Keep yer guard up. Watch yer opponent’s eyes and shoulders. Those will tell ye what he’s plannin’ to do next.” Donal walked among the younger MacKyries, looking for any with more advanced skills and instincts for the fight. The Lathans, with the exception of Jamie who was meeting with Ellie, were each paired with an older lad. Micheil, he noted with relief, sparred with Innis. Bram stood on the other side of the practice field, well out of reach. And the MacDuffs, he was glad to note, were nowhere to be seen. Still lounging about the hall, more than likely. Donal shook his head.
Aye, Micheil may have done the best he could with this lot, but his best had not been good enough. These lads needed months of instruction and years of practice to hone their muscles, their timing, and their skills, both with bladed weapons and their fists. Time he did not mean to spend here. But what else could he do? Walk away and leave them to the tender mercies of the likes of the MacDuff? Nay, he could not do that either, not to the lads, and especially not to Ellie. It had been one thing to hear about the other clans threatening her. It was quite another to put a face to the one most determined to undermine and conquer her. The thought of Ellie suffering that man’s attentions was enough to raise Donal’s ire to the breaking point. There had to be another answer.
“Duck, Robbie!” he yelled to a lad about to get whacked in the head by his sparring partner’s wooden sword. Aye, that would hurt. And Ellie wouldn’t appreciate it if her laddies were badly injured under his tutelage. Donal continued moving among the pairs, giving a word of encouragement here, a brief demonstration of a technique there. Finally, his circuit brought him to a lad whose face looked oddly familiar. Aye, it was one of the youngsters injured in the attack on the wagon. “Good lad,” he said as he stopped the pair. “Bide a wee and let me look at ye.”
Startled, the lads lowered their weapons.
“What are yer names?”
The lad he recognized spoke up. “I’m Davy, and this is Malcolm.”
“Davy, glad I am to see ye well enough, despite the snowy weather, to take part in the training.”
“Thank ye, sir. Ellie took good care of us who were hurt the day ye saved us.”
“Ellie does that? Have ye no healer in the clan?”
“Aye, sir. But Ellie doesna stray far when there’s anyone in the sick room. Fergus is still there and she watches him like a hawk.”
“Does she now?” That must be where she disappeared to during the daytime.
“Aye, sir. But he must be gettin’ better because he’s cranky when he’s awake.” Donal’s chuckle must have reassured the lad enough to continue. “He asks about ye Lathans and what’s happenin’ around the keep.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Would ye go to see him, sir? He’d like a visit, I’m certain he would.”
“I’ll do that. In fact, I’ll do it today.”
Davy rewarded Donal with a wide grin, but then he cocked an eyebrow as he glanced over Donal’s shoulder.
Donal turned to see Ellie watching from the steps leading into the keep. She captured his gaze and smiled at him. Aye, she kept a close eye on her charges. Or on him? An unaccustomed frisson of pleasure stole up Donal’s spine. There was no way to be certain, save for asking her, but Donal savored the thought for a moment before turning back to the lads. “Verra well, then, show me what ye’ve learned before Cook calls us all in for the midday meal.”
Donal stayed with his charges for a while longer, correcting their technique and giving encouragement. To keep them from getting hurt, he had to keep his attention on them, but he could sense Ellie’s eyes on him even when his back turned to her. Finally, he accepted that he was letting her presence distract him. He might as well ask her to take him to see Fergus. He headed for Bram and caught his gaze when he and his sparring partner finished their practice.
“Take over here,” Donal told him. “I’ve business in the keep.”
“Aye.” Bram turned to his young partner. “Come with me, lad. Let’s see how the rest are doin’.”
Donal went to Ellie. She watched his every step as he approached her, an eyebrow lifted in query even as a small smile played around her lips.
“They’re so much better!” she gushed as he reached her. “In a few short days, ye have improved their skills more than Micheil has done in years of trying.”
Donal chose to ignore the unintentional insult. Micheil’s half-trained attempts to pass on what he’d learned as a lad could not compare to Donal’s years of experience on the battlefield and training Lathan lads. She meant well. “That’s what ye wanted, aye?” He glanced at the practice field, then turned back to Ellie. “They’re a bright group. They learn fast, once they’re shown how.”
She nodded. “I’m grateful, nonetheless, for yer help.” Her obvious pleasure made her eyes sparkle as she regarded the activity going on behind him.
His body responded to her nearness as it always did, with heat and longing. He fought down the urge to reach out and tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Aye, I ken that.” He regretted his gruff tone even as he shrugged off her sentiment. It was time to change the subject. “I hear Fergus is still abed. One of the lads, Davy, asked me to visit him. Could ye show me the way?”
“Of course. It’s time for me to check on him, too. His fever is as stubborn as he is.”
Ellie led Donal through the great hall, where the MacDuff and his men were thankfully absent, and into a side corridor, then down a long hallway and up into another tower. No wonder she’d remained unseen these past few days. But with Ellie beside him, it seemed to take only moments to reach their objective.
It was a pleasant space, with wide windows to let in light and fresh air. Small fires burned in hearths at each end of the room, keeping it warm. Donal recognized the old man immediately, though it had been days since he’d seen him. He kicked himself for not stopping by sooner. The man’s bravery in what had been a hopeless situation before the Lathan’s arrival should have been acknowledged and celebrated by now. But perhaps Ellie’s presence here did that for the old warrior.
A lass sat with Fergus, her frown pulling her eyebrows together and framing the worried look in her eyes.
Fergus lay abed, tossing his head and muttering.
“How is he?” Donal asked, uneasy about the likely answer. Fergus’s condition was plain. The old man’s fever still raged.
“Not well, sir. If ye’ll sit and talk with him for a moment, it might do him good.” The lass shook her head as she stood to allow Donal to take her seat by Fergus.
“Mairi, has he had Nan’s decoction today?”
“Aye, Ellie. An hour ago.”
“Then he should begin to rest easier soon. I’ll leave ye here, Donal. Mairi, I’ll be back in an hour to see him again, unless ye need me sooner.”
Mairi sketched a shallow curtsy to her laird. “He’ll do for now.”
Ellie studied Fergus for a moment, then touched Donal’s shoulder on her way out of the room.
Donal’s blood heated, but he let Ellie go and turned back to the lass, Mairi.
“Are ye the healer?”
“Nay, Nan’s in the herbal making up another potion against his fever.”
She moved away to stir the fire in the hearth across the room. She kept the fire low, just enough to take the chill off without overheating the patient. No doubt Fergus’s malaise kept him more than warm enough.
Donal regarded the old man. His high color and almost translucent skin looked worrisome. “How are ye, man? I’m Donal MacNabb. We defended the wagons against the raiders together. Ye fought bravely that day.”
“Whisky...best...” Fergus opened his eyes and looked wildly around him. He lifted a trembling hand to point when he saw Donal. “Ye’re the one. She saw.” His eyes widened as he continued speaking
. “In the dream. Ye’re the one.” Then his eyes closed and his hand dropped onto his chest. He lapsed back into muttering. “Whisky...spare the lads...she saw. Trouble...her dream...save us.”
Puzzled, Donal raised an eyebrow, but the lass just shrugged.
“He’s been like this the past day. The healer is doing what she can, and Ellie is with him nearly every waking moment, which seems to calm him. I havena seen him rouse enough to speak as he just did for ye. That’s a good sign, I think.”
Donal gripped the old man’s shoulder as he stood, wishing there was something he could do. It was sad to see the old warrior brought low. “I hope it is. Fergus fought as braw as any man who ever faced a sword in battle. He deserves to live.”
Mairi laid a hand on Fergus’s forehead for a moment, then turned back to Donal with a sigh. “We think so, too.”
“Watch over him well, then, lass,” Donal said and took his leave. As he retraced his steps through the keep, he wondered what the old man had been trying to say. Donal was the one in what dream? One of Ellie’s? Did Fergus’s fevered memory of the battle at the wagons still haunt him? Did Fergus mean Ellie had foretold the MacKyrie lads’ rescue by the Lathans?
Donal grimaced as he left the keep. The sparring continued. Bram moved among the lads, stopping to correct a technique and speak a quiet word to an older pair, then moving on.
Donal leaned against the sun-warmed wall to watch and think. He crossed his arms over his chest. Aileana’s special talent was enough to accept in one lifetime. Look at the trouble it had caused. Yet here he was, facing another. A different type, but just as unsettling. Jamie’s near miss on the hunt seemed to confirm Ellie’s dream as a true Seeing. Donal gritted his teeth. If Ellie had been dreaming about him saving her clan, that would not be good for him. But Fergus said she’d Seen him. If the old man wasn’t simply raving from his fever, this could explain Ellie’s determination to seduce Donal into staying.
He’d challenged Aileana’s talent and nearly destroyed Toran’s happiness. Could his doubts do the same to Ellie? Did he dare risk questioning her talent and destroying her confidence in herself as a Seer if that would affect her confidence in herself as a laird?
Donal stalked back to the training ground. He had no idea how to solve the puzzle of Ellie MacKyrie. Best he occupy himself with something he understood before his musings drove him daft.
Chapter 9
The solar echoed with their footsteps, empty, when Donal and Jamie arrived to meet with Ellie after the midday meal. They exchanged a frown.
“She’s never late,” Jamie told him.
Just then, a maid entered from a side door. “Ah, gentlemen, I’m to tell ye the laird is detained in the sickroom. But she appreciates yer visit to Fergus.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow and turned to Donal with a quizzical glance, but Donal merely shrugged. “How is Fergus, then?”
“Worse at the moment, we fear. Ellie tends him, and the healer goes in and out with her potions. He’s been better, then worse, then better. Right now, he’s worse.”
“We hope he’s soon better, again,” Jamie offered. “Please pass along our regard and well wishes.”
“Aye, I’ll do that. The auld man is improving under the laird’s and the healer’s care, but it’s a takin’ longer than they hoped.” She left them.
“Ye’ve been visiting Fergus?”
“I did today. He seemed delirious with fever, but the maid sitting with him said he roused more at my voice than he had yet done.”
“That’s good, aye?”
“I hope that didna tire him. I’d no’ like to be the cause of more trouble for the auld warrior.”
Donal moved to a window and peered out. The snow had let up, but the clouds remained dense enough that only a few weak shafts of sunlight filtered through. He wondered if Fergus’s ravings weren’t much like that sunlight—glimmers escaping through the fever. What had the auld man meant?
Jamie joined him at the window. “The weather doesna look likely to clear today. The MacDuffs will spend another night under the MacKyrie roof and that worries the laird.”
“Aye?”
“She expects more trouble from them. As do we. The MacDuff has been her most persistent suitor. She fears he’s losing patience.”
Donal imagined he heard what Jamie was not saying. Aye, if Donal stayed, his presence might serve to dissuade, or at least delay, the MacDuff from rash action.
“The auld man spoke of trouble. He kept muttering about whisky and ‘spare the lads.’ I believe his fever brought him dreams of the attack on the wagons. But he said something else. Something strange.”
“Aye?”
“First he seemed to recognize me. Then he said I was the one ‘she saw. In her dream.’” Donal shook his head. “I’m afraid Ellie has dreamed about me, or one of us. He also said ‘save us.’ If she believes her dream to be a Seeing, that we will somehow save her clan...” Donal paused.
“It’s possible. What do ye think of that?” Jamie’s grin challenged him.
Donal grimaced at the uneasiness in his belly. He could have treated Aileana better in the beginning, but her ability had been too strange, too new, to trust right away. Donal pursed his lips and shrugged.
“Just my luck, aye. But I’ve learned my lesson. And her Sight could be the reason why I see fear in Ellie whenever the MacDuff approaches her, no’ just irritation or anger.”
“If she’s Seen some of what he plans in one of her dreams, aye, it would explain her urgency to keep ye here. To see her lads trained up. She needs protectin’, there canna be a question about that.”
“Nay, though that doesna take a Seer’s warnings to ken. But Fergus’s ravings may have been simply that—fever dreams. Perhaps he spoke of his own dreams, without realizin’ the fever was the cause.”
“But he said ‘her dream,’ aye?”
Donal made a fist and turned away from the window. “Aye. Her dream...she saw.” He shivered as a chill crept down his back. He rolled his shoulders and moved to the door. “I’m goin’ out for some air. I need to clear my head of all this fever talk before I start seeing kelpies down in the burn.”
“I’ll go with ye.”
Donal and Jamie paused at the bottom of the stairs. The MacDuffs sat near the fire in the great hall, deep in conversation.
“Mayhap they willna notice us,” Jamie muttered as they made their way toward the door to the bailey.
“What is that lot up to?” Donal wondered aloud, but kept his voice pitched low.
“Nothin’ good, I’ll wager,” Jamie answered as quietly.
Just then one of the MacDuff’s looked up and canted his head in their direction. The MacDuff laird turned from the fire to regard them.
“Ah, two of the Lathans. The ambassador and the arms master, aye? Peace and war. Come to join us at our fire?”
“Yer fire?” Donal bristled. Jamie gripped his shoulder to silence him. It didn’t work. “That’s the MacKyrie’s hearth.”
“For now,” MacDuff replied smoothly.
A shaft of sunlight broke through at that moment and lit the laird’s seat at the high table. “It appears the weather’s improvin’,” Jamie observed. “Perhaps it’s time for ye to take advantage of it and ride home. Unless ye’d care to go out hunting again?”
Donal’s eyebrows arced in surprise at Jamie’s unsubtle question. Had the MacDuff’s comment stung him? Unflappable Jamie?
The MacDuff bristled at the challenge in Jamie’s suggestion. “That’s no’ for ye to say. We’re here as guests of the MacKyrie.” He gestured with the cup in his hand. “Aye, we heard what happened during the hunt. Surely ye didna mean to imply we had anything to do with yer...accident?”
“Of course no’,” Jamie replied evenly. Donal kept his gaze on the MacDuff and his men, though he was torn, wanting to see if Jamie had been able to make that statement with a straight face.
Despite Jamie’s grip reminding him to keep an equally firm grip on his tempe
r—and his mouth, Donal could not hold his tongue. “I see no one about to care for ye. It appears ye’ve worn out yer welcome,” he interjected. His low tone belied the anger building inside of him. This lot acted as it they had already owned the keep.
“And ye Lathans? Are ye no’ overstayin’ yer welcome?” One of the MacDuffs rose as he spoke, but his laird gestured him back to his seat.
“There’s no need to make an issue of this now,” the MacDuff chided. “We’re here as long as needs be, as ye are.”
Jamie’s grip on Donal’s shoulder might have seemed casual, but was strong enough to keep Donal at his side. “Perhaps ye have the right of it,” Jamie conceded. “The weather will change, soon enough.” With that, he urged Donal smoothly to the door to the bailey. “Good day, gentlemen.” He opened the door, gesturing Donal out ahead of him.
As soon as the door closed behind them and they stood alone in the weak and wavering sunlight of the bailey, Jamie scolded him. “Ye angered Ellie by fighting in her hall once already. Do ye think to do so again? This battle wouldha been with blades, no’ fists. There wouldha been bloodshed in her hall, no’ a few bruises like the last time.”
“Nay. But I dinna like to see the MacDuff ensconced there as if at his own hearth. And as ye reminded me,” Donal continued, rubbing the shoulder Jamie had crushed in his grip, “I kept my mouth shut. For the most part.”
“As ye should.” At Donal’s frown, Jamie continued. “Ye ken ye must no’ provoke him. If Ellie needs our help removing him, I’ve no doubt she’ll ask.”
****
“Ah, ye’re awake.” Ellie laid a gentle hand on Fergus’ pale forehead. “Praise be, I think yer fever’s broken.”
“I’m well enough.” The old man glared up at her, but she didn’t let that fool her for a second.
“Ye may be now, but ye havena been for long, so dinna fash at me, Fergus. And dinna ye think to die on me either, ye old fool. Gettin’ in the way of a broadsword. Ye should have let the bandits take the whisky. Ye’re much more valuable to me than it will ever be.”
