by Nicole Locke
With Hamish on the floor and needing care, she couldn’t keep an eye on Paiden as well. There was no possibility Hamish would allow the Lochmore to share his chamber so that she could care for them both. ‘We’ll have to sort our shifts. Is it possible you could sleep—?’
The door to the annexed room burst open. A few heavy footfalls and Rory strode into the bedroom. Ailsa didn’t know why she should be surprised—after all, she was here when she had promised she’d care for Paiden.
‘I’ll be done here soon enough,’ she informed him.
He peered at Hamish on the floor. ‘What is he doing there?’
‘We’re changing his mattress. Sometimes it gets wet despite our efforts and it isn’t good for his skin.’
Rory glanced from her to Hannah and returned to Hamish.
‘He still sleeps,’ he said.
‘When I’m done, I’ll help with Paiden.’
‘I’m not here for you.’
He was here for Hamish. Why? She could read nothing from his manners now. Fully clothed, his expression impenetrable, even his hair which curled was held back. Controlled. This wasn’t the man who had been in her bed. This was a man who grieved. She shouldn’t have avoided seeing Paiden just to avoid seeing Rory.
‘Is Paiden worse?’ she asked.
‘The same.’ He pointed to Hamish. ‘Can you wake him?’
‘No,’ she replied and that was troubling. Hamish’s breath was uneven, but he wasn’t restless or curled in pain. In truth, there wasn’t much she could do other than to observe him. ‘It’s better for him to sleep. Shouldn’t you be talking with my father?’
He frowned. ‘It’s early yet and I didn’t know whether he was about.’
‘He always wakes early to break his fast, you can find him in the hall.’
‘I didn’t see him there.’
It was her turn to frown. Her father was old and set in his ways. At this time of day he was always in the hall. Something...perhaps everything, wasn’t as it should be.
Turning to Hannah, she said, ‘Who else could we call upon to help with Paiden right now?’
‘Beth, perhaps,’ Hannah replied. ‘She won’t know all what we do, but she’s dependable and can fetch water and food if necessary.’
‘Go find her and get her to Paiden’s room.’ She turned to Rory. ‘Help me get him on the fresh mattress.’
‘Won’t that wake him?’
‘He didn’t wake when they moved him to the floor and hasn’t stirred since. I doubt we could wake him now.’
Rory looked to Hannah, who scrambled around the bed to the door. ‘I’ll find Beth.’ When the door closed behind her, he said. ‘What is wrong with him?’
‘It’s a sickness I’ve seen once before. There’s no remedy for it.’
‘Is the sleeping common?’
‘It’s not uncommon.’
She lied. Rory knew it. ‘I’ll help you with him.’
‘He’s tall.’
‘But half my weight. I can move him.’
‘If you wish,’ Ailsa said without looking at him.
Rory bent and laid Hamish on the newly made bed. Carefully he arranged him, all the while the Chief of the McCrieffs remaining silent.
Pulling the covers over Hamish, Ailsa gestured to Rory to follow her into the adjoining room. He did, watching as she partially closed the bedroom door. It was enough to give them privacy, but also enough to hear if Hamish woke. Feeling restless, Rory didn’t sit when she indicated for him to join her on one of the two chairs.
‘Why are you here, Lochmore?’ she said.
‘Rory,’ he said automatically. This room was too small to pace—with the barest stretch of his arm, he’d touch the ceilings and all the walls just by standing in the centre. ‘I need to talk to Hamish. We both do.’
‘You want to talk of who poisoned your friend.’
‘Talk is too light a word for what I want to do for my friend,’ he said. ‘Whoever did this needs to be found. Since we are married, it does no good if there is someone undermining it. This is a matter for McCrieff’s Chief.’
‘We’re not ma—’
Rory held up his hand and, after a stunned moment, Ailsa’s hand went to her belt. No doubt her shears were there. ‘You think to harm me?’
‘I should after last night. Do you think to shame me further by coming here today?’
‘Shame? I protected your reputation and have said nothing. Your honour is still intact.’ Unlike his own which felt frayed.
‘You’ll never claim me. And you’re a fool thinking I care for my reputation. I told you I’ve been around males. I’m a healer and have more freedom than many women in this clan.’
‘Then what is this about?’
‘So you ask questions of me. Do you know what marrying you cost me?’
‘It cost nothing. McCrieffs gained everything with our marriage.’
She pulled her shears and pointed them. ‘We. Are. Not. Married.’
Not married. It was the truth, but he wouldn’t say it out loud and it was best she didn’t either. Especially here. Hamish might appear to be asleep, and they kept their voices low, but who could truly tell?
‘Quiet, or you’ll sacrifice everything.’
‘Don’t talk of sacrifices, Lochmore. You aren’t the only one with conflicts or burdens.’
In the meantime, it was essential that everyone believed they were married, at least until the one who had poisoned Paiden was found. Until then, he had to remember they weren’t. If in the end it was her father who’d harmed Paiden, well... He’d address that if that time came.
For now, he knew Paiden was still alive and it appeared that Hamish was as well. He should leave to find Frederick, except Ailsa was here, and he found himself reluctant to leave her just yet. It didn’t sit well how he’d left her last night.
‘I should tell you my family received my message regarding our marriage,’ he said. ‘My mother sent her congratulations along with a trunk and I had it moved to our room. We could go open it if you wish. There would be gifts in there for you. I suspect something of great value, too.’
‘Gifts? Do you think me that simple?’
Simple, never, but what was between them warred with what must be. Conflicts. Betrayal. Treachery. He’d married her to gain control over his future, over his life—instead, he was even more powerless than before. He wouldn’t apologise for what he’d done because he’d done it out of loyalty and honour to his family and clan. However, this woman was his wife in name at least, she’d been working since his arrival and he knew she’d gotten little sleep.
‘Do you need food?’
‘I need to stay here.’
‘Won’t a servant return?’ When Ailsa shook her head, he asked, ‘What of your sisters? Do they not help?’
‘They’re young. Twins.’
‘I don’t remember seeing them at evening meal.’
‘They weren’t there,’ she said.
‘Because Lochmores were dining?’
‘What do you think?’
They could argue over many things, but protecting children when swords were drawn wouldn’t be one of them.
‘I’d do the same,’ he said. ‘If I were a father, I, too, would keep the young protected.’ Then he remembered the other red hair that had caught his eye. ‘But they were there at the wedding.’
The tension in her eased a bit. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something. ‘They were in the crowds.’
So they could see their sister being married, but also kept at a distance to be swept away if tempers flared. Trust. Mistrust. If the Lochmores felt uneasy, so must the McCrieffs. The question was, how much did his wife trust him?
He looked to the open door to Hamish’s room and then to the closed door behind him. He didn’t need to be here now. He ne
eded to be planning for every scenario with his men. At the very least, he needed to be at Paiden’s side, just as he knew that Paiden would have been there for him.
Instead, he was in the bedchambers of a dying man whom he had never met, but whom his father hated.
‘You don’t need to stay here with me,’ Ailsa said.
He whipped his head around. ‘We are married. Where else would I be?’
‘I can tell you wish to be elsewhere. You’re drumming with your fingers against your leg and staring at the doors.’
He stilled his left hand. ‘Is this what you do? Stay in this man’s room?’
‘I’m a healer and he is ill.’
‘We, too, have a healer,’ he said. ‘But she’s there for everyone, not cloistered away for one man.’
‘I was requested to be by Hamish’s side as much as possible.’
Except this was excessive. No healer would stay all day like this. It would be a waste of resources and certainly, in a clan this size, the healer would be needed elsewhere.
Hamish was the Chief, but her father ruled and it didn’t seem as if there were numerous visitors or clansmen worried about this dying man. In fact, the hallway was bare. Hamish was hated by Lochmores and it didn’t appear he was much loved by McCrieffs either. Yet she stayed by his side.
‘Who requested it.’
She jolted. ‘What does it matter? Our Chief is sick and needs someone.’
Trust. Mistrust, but he wanted an answer and wouldn’t let this go. ‘The Chief would be sick even if you tell me.’
‘Hamish,’ she said tersely. ‘He requested it of my father and so my father granted it.’
Requested, or ordered. It was Hamish’s right to make orders. A chief was Chief until he died. A Tanist was only heir apparent. But Hamish was dying and, from the time he’d been here, Hamish was bedridden, and Frederick had been making decisions. How much control did the Chief have?
‘Who is in charge of this clan?’ he said.
‘Hamish,’ she said too quickly.
‘Ailsa,’ he prodded.
‘Don’t think to reprimand or demand answers from me.’ She glanced at Hamish’s door. ‘My father is a great warrior and well respected. Hamish is our Chief. There is nothing else.’
A change of power wasn’t ‘nothing else’. He’d seen enough last night to know that Frederick had power here. Many McCrieffs raised their goblets at his announcement and there were no open denials or interruptions when he’d given his speech. If there was disagreement, Rory hadn’t noticed it.
It appeared the Chief did not have control. If Frederick and Hamish agreed on matters, the transfer of power would be unproblematic. If they held differing opinions, however... No, the results would be too disastrous to even think about, let alone be true.
‘You have a person who tried to murder a Lochmore,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she said more quietly than him.
Her honesty jarred him. Just a few hours before she’d prevaricated about Paiden’s poisoning. Had she thought about it some more or did she know something more?
He hid secrets, but there were some here as well. ‘Ailsa, your father invited me here. If he poisoned—’
‘He didn’t!’
When he raised his brow, she huffed. Her vehement response was an answer. So there were other factions here. Some who upheld the old story, who wanted to keep the hatred. Was it Hamish? He seemed too diminished to make such demands.
‘They could poison you, too,’ he said. ‘Because you’re married to me, a Lochmore, they could come after you. Did you think of that? Did you think I would tolerate it?’
She kept her quiet. He let her; it was a lot for him to think about, too.
‘Come. If Hamish sleeps, we will talk to your father.’
‘I can’t leave the room,’ she said.
Her father was Tanist, but Hamish was Chief. Where did that leave his wife? For as much as she was direct and seemed to have independence, it appeared she was kept as a prisoner.
‘Is it like this every day?’ he asked. ‘Are you here every day.’
She looked at the window. ‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ll wait until someone brings you food and make them tend Hamish while we talk to your father.’
‘My father brings me food.’
Frederick wasn’t in the hall, and might have missed the morning repast which meant Ailsa would as well. Where was he and why would a warrior cater to his daughter?
Rory stood. ‘I will bring you food.’
* * *
Ailsa released her shuddering breath the moment Rory strode out the door. He seemed angry that her father brought food.
Was it wrong for family to wait on each other? They’d all grown very close since her mother died. At first, she’d been surprised when her father brought her food, but after a while, she’d looked forward to it. It was a time when they could talk. Now, however, because Rory asked her about it, she questioned it as well.
Because ultimately, her father wouldn’t be waiting on her if Hamish didn’t demand her time. Just how much power did Hamish wield? Something was amiss. Other Chiefs had gotten ill, other Tanists gained the control of clans, her own observations could be skewed.
But she knew, absolutely knew, Hamish was undermining her father’s rule. She knew that Paiden’s poisoning wasn’t an accident. That it had been done just at that moment to ensure he died so there would be a battle, that there would be no peace.
Her father often whispered that he wanted her to have a future he and his father never had. Hamish had no issue and cared not for the future of the clan. He had blind pride and revered the past when McCrieffs were strong, wealthy, honourable. It was...possible for Hamish to have ordered Lochmore’s demise.
Except for her interference, Paiden would be dead. She wished she knew what ailed him, but his stomach contents had been too jumbled for her to guess correctly. Whatever the poison was, it was well hidden and, until she knew what, she feared any antidote.
In the meantime Paiden slept on, but for how much longer? Someone didn’t want her—a McCrieff, the Tanist’s daughter—marrying a Lochmore Chief’s son. They wanted war.
From Rory’s storm-ridden countenance, she feared he’d guessed that truth. Arrows pointed at him, he’d entered the McCrieff courtyard anyway. Paiden close to death, he’d married her anyway. He and his men had been threatened the moment they rode on McCrieff land. Yet, he was angry now.
Her heart wondered if his anger was from the fact that she now was threatened. He said he wouldn’t tolerate it. However, the way he said it... As if he wanted to say something stronger, more dangerous, and just held himself back.
Could Rory have feelings for her? Too soon. Not possible. Not given the history between McCrieffs and Lochmores. He’d said he’d married her for power.
Except they weren’t married and he seemed to think he was the only one to make sacrifices. She knew his, he didn’t know hers. Nor had he asked. And in truth, she wouldn’t even tell him of Magnus now. He didn’t deserve to know after what he’d done on their wedding night.
But now he meant to break her fast and last night he had preserved her honour.
Married or not, the real question was, in the light of day and knowing what happened afterwards, would she still have done it? She still believed some alliance with Lochmores would stop future battles. Lives would still be saved, maybe there was a chance at lasting peace.
Or maybe it was true, what Rory had said, and their marriage would expose how deep the hatred was between the clans. Paiden’s poisoning certainly revealed animosity; maybe someone would try to kill her for marrying Rory.
Marrying Rory. She wasn’t married. She hated that he held that control over her. More fool her if it did come to light. Despite her father’s leniency when it came to her being a healer, he would not
forgive if his only child’s marriage was false.
Everything about this circumstance was false. They were simply strangers. Except...was that true?
Neither had been held to sword point. Her father had alluded to Rory suffering consequences, but she knew her father would never harm anyone invited to dine. Her father was a great warrior who had survived many battles. Other men had looked up to him long before he became Tanist. He’d earned that respect because of his reasoning as well as his sword.
In the end, it was she who agreed to the marriage. And yet, why? She couldn’t lie to herself. She hadn’t married him solely because it would bring the clans closer to peace, or that it would make the King’s decree an easier transition for her clan. If Rory had been proved cruel, or showed no reason, she would have begged her father for alternatives. She would have denied it outright and not heeded his words to think.
No, she hadn’t married him simply for the clan’s sake. She’d married him because he...affected her. The moment he’d entered the courtyard alone and yet undeterred, the instant his eyes had caught hers and the distance between them hadn’t mattered, something of him had pierced her.
Oh, she’d been infuriated by his comment on the leeks and him being a Lochmore from the clan she’d hated all her life, she’d would have gladly shown him out the gates. But she could not avoid her curiosity, her fascination with him in the small room.
She couldn’t avoid her attraction to him in her bedroom.
Except now after a night spent together, she had to question what part of her decision was based on her meeting Rory, or on a secret told to her by Rhona the former healer.
On her deathbed, Rhona had been ill, half-coherent, but enough of her words Ailsa understood. Rhona had confessed a secret that affected the Great Feud between the clans about a baby, named Rory, given away in the dead of night.
That name. Rory. Could that baby be her husband?
His name was too significant. Too much of a coincidence and he lived near McCrieff land. Then there was also the fact he drummed with his left hand. That he arranged his food, touched her intimately with his left hand.
