Highland Captive

by Mary McCall

  Alera fixed her gaze on his. This man was a cantankerous old goat. She would have to trick him into letting her help him. From what she saw, he didn't have much time. “I say three...maybe four months ago."

  "Saint Columba, the lass is right!” Geddes exclaimed. “'Twas about the beginning of the year."

  Struan grunted and glowered at Alera. “'Tis an ague I've had trouble shaking."

  "Nay, Struan,” Father Cunningham said. “Not after this much time."

  "You have a fire burning a hole inside your gut,” Alera said, holding his gaze captive. “No matter what you do, ‘tis getting worse and worse till you think your belly could burst with the torment. Your muscles draw and ache. Your chest feels empty, but you cannot get enough air inside. You are tired most days. And some days you have so much pain that you can do naught but lie abed and pray for death. Has the bleeding started yet?"

  "How do you know all this?” Wariness narrowed Struan's eyes.

  "No healer can offer you cure or relief,” Alera continued. “They have told you ‘tis age creeping up on you, but they are wrong. I have seen this before. Mama said, ‘Alera, there are three secrets to being a good healer, and they apply to the rest of life as well. Be nonjudgmental and treat all your ailing folks the same—no matter their station. Listen to them and observe them. And above all else, always search for the truth.’”

  A single tear rolled down Alera's cheek. “I could not save Mama, but I know more now. I can help you if you will let me."

  Struan seemed to wither and shook his head. “Nay, lassie. You cannot stop time, nor give me back my youth."

  "True. I cannot do those things, but I can cure your ailment.” She took hold of his hands and fixed her gaze on his. “I can lessen your pain if you will let me.” Alera clenched her jaw. His pain vibrated through her arms, leaving him, entering her. Struan's eyes widened. He jerked his hands away, gaping at her, but saying nothing.

  "What is his problem if not age?” Duncan asked.

  Saints above guard her from more impulsiveness. Hadn't she just cautioned herself in this regard? If she told the truth, one of the clansmen might say she blamed them. And from the look on Struan's face, she might be accused of witchery, too. If only she had held onto his hands tighter. She could have made him trust her as she drew his torment. Alera forced a guarded expression. “'Tis a disorder of the gullet that spreads through the body disrupting the humors. If Struan will give me a week doing as I say, he will be much better."

  "Just what is it you think I'm needing to do?” Struan asked cautiously.

  "Move into the keep. Eat only food and drink that I prepare for you.” Alera rubbed her forehead. Drawing pain always fatigued her. “I would like to make you a potion, but I have not my herbs and the earth is too dead."

  "Marcail probably has anything you need, milady,” Kevin suggested. “Tell me and I'll go ask her."

  "Do not be so hasty, lad,” Struan admonished. “I have not agreed and she is English, after all."

  "Aye, but the lady knocked out Isobel for us,” Geddes said and the other clansmen nodded. “I'm thinking we ought to trust the lass."

  Alera rolled her eyes. “I did not knock out Isobel for you. I knocked her out for my mother."

  "And we'll be sharing the favor and thanking you,” Kevin replied. The other clansmen grinned at her.

  "Alera, are you certain?” Duncan asked, getting back to the matter at hand.

  "Aye.” She nodded.

  Struan grunted. “I'll take your potion, but I see no reason to stay here. Likes my privacy."

  "'Tis your decision, Struan, but I ask you again to stay.” She snorted at his shake of the head. Calling him a cantankerous old goat was giving him a compliment. “At least stay until I visit your home and find the cause."

  "He will stay,” Duncan said in a hard tone. “Alera, tell Kevin what you need. He can get it while you put your things away. We'll eat when you both return."

  The man must be daft. “I cannot eat with you down here."

  The muscle flexed in his cheek. “You will not disobey me."

  The barbarian couldn't be mean enough to serve her such a cruel insult. Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked them back, determined not to show any more weakness before the man. “Is it not enough that you force me to stay and be your... You take out your vengeance on someone who never harmed you. Must you also shame me before a priest?"

  "You have no need to feel ashamed, child,” Father Cunningham said before turning a disapproving look on Duncan. “I've no doubt where the guilt lies."

  "But you cannot sit at the same table with me, Father,” Alera persisted. “I am a sinful woman."

  "Why not?” the priest asked. “I sit with sinful men every day. ‘Tis why the Good Lord saw fit to put me here."

  She couldn't get out of it. She had never felt such humiliation in her life. These men knew about her and Duncan.

  Alera bowed her head and told Kevin the ingredients she required. As he left, she took her pouch and headed upstairs.

  Geddes had carried Isobel away by the time Alera returned downstairs. Duncan sucked in his breath at the sight of her. She had left her curls unbound and they tumbled down her back in shimmering waves of spun golden brown. Damn, she was a bonnie lass.

  She ignored him, picked up two empty buckets from beside the rear hearth, and headed for the back door.

  "Alera, where do you think you are going?"

  "To find a cow.” She slammed the door behind her.

  Duncan rolled his eyes. She could go from subdued to belligerent quicker than his warriors could empty a keg. He caught up to her a few yards behind the keep and pulled the buckets from her hands. She whirled around and glared.

  "Why, Alera?"

  "Why what?” She settled her hands on her hips.

  Did she argue about everything? He cast his eyes to heaven, tempted to seek guidance from her poor angel guardian. “Why do you seek a cow?"

  "Struan needs a diet of milk and water for a week to purify his system."

  "We have fresh water at the keep and milk in the buttery."

  She crossed her arms in front of her and set her stubborn jaw. “I will give him none that I have not obtained from the stream and cow myself."

  Duncan sighed and set down the buckets. “Why?"

  "'Tis the only way I can be sure he will get better.” She raked him with her gaze, then snorted. “Since you are here, you may tell me where the cows are."

  "What is wrong with Struan, Alera?"

  She looked away and sucked in a breath. “Please do not ask me now. I have not finished searching."

  "For the truth?"

  She nodded.

  He placed his hands on her upper arms and softened his tone. “I know you do not trust me, lass, but I am laird here. Every man, woman, and child is my responsibility. ‘Tis my duty to protect them. Tell me what you expect to find at Struan's hut. Tell me how your mother died."

  He didn't think she was going to answer. She remained still so long. Then a fine trembling set into her limbs.

  "Poison,” she whispered, a wealth of anguish packed into the word. She stared off into the distance, her eyes glassy from unshed tears. “After Mama died, Papa developed the same symptoms. King Henry sent Papa to Arturia in the Roman Alps where...where there is one who knew the way to heal him. He was nearly dead by the time we arrived. This person saved his life and told me what to look for and what to do.” She turned a sad gaze upon him. “You have no reason to trust me, but I will not escape while Struan needs me."

  He snapped his brows together and tightened his grip on her arms. “You'll not be escaping later, either. There are beasts in the wilds that would feast on your flesh. Why did you not tell Struan?"

  "With all your clansmen about?” she scoffed. “They would have sworn I was accusing one of them. ‘Twould also signal whoever is after Struan. The scoundrel might flee or become more direct and kill him before I can discover his identity. I will tell Strua
n later, so he can keep up his guard."

  His Alera had more than her share of grit and a woman's heart, but she also had brains. He pulled her into a possessive embrace and kissed her hard. “You may heal him only because I allow you to take on the duty. Leave finding the culprit to me."

  "Will you allow me one more duty?” She pushed away from him and nervously coiled a strand of hair around her finger.

  He raised his brow.

  "I want to help Megan."

  Duncan sighed. “Megan is afeared of her own shadow. She'll not let you near her."

  "But if she does?"

  "If she does...” Duncan looked wistfully toward the hill, almost able to see Megan running toward him, arms outstretched so he could lift her into a twirl. “...then you have my permission to help my wee lassie."

  With the meal over, Alera raced up the stairs. Why hadn't she thought of contacting Chris before Duncan had questioned her about how she knew how to treat poison? Christina was the reigning Queen of Arturia and Alera's sister by royal decree. Alera guarded Chris's secret gifts more closely than her own. Christina possessed powers from the Holy Ghost that made her a formidable virago—a true warrior of God. One of her powers might provide the help Alera needed, for Chris had the gift of interlocution. She could hear Alera's call across the distance separating them and come to her aid. Heaven knew Chris had more troops at her disposal than both England and Scotland combined. With her skills at warfare, Duncan wouldn't stand a chance. Chris could have Alera out of here within moments of arrival.

  Closing the door to Duncan's chamber, Alera crossed the room and sat cross-legged on the floor by the window. She closed her eyes and shut out all sounds, focusing on sending her thoughts to her sister.

  "Christina, my sister, I need you."

  No response came. She frowned and tried again. "Chris, can you hear me? This is Alera. I need your help.

  "Ave, Alera. Christina cannot hear you," a male voice responded in her mind. "A minion of the beast attacked her. I have granted her rest so she

  may heal."

  "She will heal then?" she asked, anxiety for Chris overriding her dilemma.

  "Aye. She senses your call but cannot respond. She will contact you when she wakes."

  "Who are you?"

  "I am The Guardian of the Keeper of Wisdom."

  Alera frowned, remembering Chris's claim that her angelic guardian was the greatest of all the warrior archangels. "Saint Michael?"

  "Aye. And Alera, Henry wants you to know that he answered your prayer. Salve."

  "What prayer?" she asked, but no response came. The great archangel had apparently told her all he intended to say.

  Alera drew her knees up in front of her and raked her fingers through her hair in frustration. “What prayer, Henry?"

  She looked toward the door, expecting Duncan at any moment. He didn't occupy her mind long, though. She was safe and protected even if the location wasn't of her choosing. Someone else needed her prayers more than she did now.

  Making the Sign of the Cross, she bowed her head and closed her eyes. "Sweet Jesu, touch my sister Chris as she touches others. Heal her injuries and take away all her pain..."

  "I found it, Duncan!"

  "Where?” He turned around.

  Alera stood at the threshold of Struan's small-secluded hut high up in the mountain forest. A halo of sunbeams shimmered from the golden highlights in her hair. “'Tis in the well.” An impish flicker danced in her eyes, and she held a ladle toward him. “I brought you some water in case you are thirsty."

  Damn, he liked that smile on her face. The lass could be engaging when she chose. He couldn't help smiling back. “Vixen, you would miss me if I died."

  "Huh!” She lifted her dainty nose, but the curve didn't leave her lips. “I would visit your grave wearing bright colors and dance a jig while sprinkling manure on you."

  "I'll look forward to it. The heather will bloom sweeter above me and I'll be in the perfect position to look up your skirt."

  She snorted and pushed out her lower lip.

  Duncan chuckled. “Now don't get sulky on me, lass. My demise may happen sooner than later if the poison is truly in Struan's well. Are you sure?"

  "Aye.” She looked at the ladle then back at him. “'Tis the sharp pungent taste of which I was warned."

  "How long do you think the water has been tainted?"

  She shrugged. “From Struan's symptoms, I would guess between six or seven months."

  "Damn it all!” He wiped a hand over his face. “Do you know what this means?"

  "Struan should not drink the water from the well for a year. He will have farther to walk to the stream than anyone else. And you have a murderer in your midst."

  "Nay.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “'Tis worse than that. Struan is our brewster. We are going to have to toss every keg of ale and whisky he has stored for the last seven months. The clan will be in an uproar."

  "Can I have a few of them?"

  Why didn't he trust that note in her voice? Duncan raised a brow.

  She batted her lashes and favored him with a beguiling smile that almost stole his breath. “You have a few rats in the hall other than yourself that I wish gone if I am to be forced to spend time there. ‘Twill be easier to get them to drink ale than water and they can die happy and sotted."

  Duncan grunted. He, a good Highlander, had to destroy whisky and ale, someone was trying to kill one of his clansmen, yet there the daft lass stood worried about a few rats. “Let's go back. I want to talk to Struan. Then I'll get some men and go destroy his stash."

  "Wait, Duncan.” She tossed the ladle out the door and caught his arm. “Are you feuding anyone right now?"

  "Of course.” His expression told her that was a stupid question.

  Alera realized she held his arm and snatched back her hand. “Do any of the other clans hate the Ranalds enough to try to kill the entire lot of you?"

  His brows snapped together. “What are you suggesting—that the killer is not after Struan?"

  She shrugged. “Well, looking at this as an outsider, I have to wonder. If someone knew Struan used the well water to make your brews, then what better way to kill or weaken the entire clan? ‘Tis only speculation, so I will make a suggestion. Go alone to destroy the kegs, so word does not get out that you know of the danger, then let Struan die."

  "Damn it all, you are daft!"

  The lass was exasperating. She gave him her try-to-understand-me-you-simpleton look. “I do not mean die dead. I mean let people think he is dead. We can say ‘twas from an exhausted heart, because he has been sick so long. You can take him to a place where he can hide and remain safe. If your murderer is after only Struan, then he may gloat and give himself away."

  What the lass said made sense, but should he trust her? Did she want him to leave so she could try to escape again? “Why are you wanting to help?"

  "I am a healer.” Sadness crackled her words and her eyes appeared wounded. “I cannot stand to see people suffer and ‘tis a horrible death."

  Aye, he believed her. Though she tried to hide it from him, she had a gentle heart. “I'll take Logan, Geddes and Kevin into my confidence on this matter. I trust them not to talk. I suppose I could take Struan to the MacPhersons. He'll be safe enough there."

  She gasped. “Did you say MacPherson?"

  "Aye. Do you know—” He broke off and looked at her eyes as if seeing them for the first time. “Damn it all! You're the woman Leo went back to England to fetch."

  "You cannot be serious. I told him I would not marry him."

  Just how well did she know Leo, anyway? The muscle flexed in his cheek. “Why, because he is a Highlander?"

  Alera snorted and tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “You are the judgmental one, Duncan. ‘Tis my duty to marry so Arundrydge can have a just overlord. Leo did not want to stay in England and must one day assume his father's duties as laird. Otherwise, I would have wed him despite Papa's fit. Do you sup
pose he went back because he changed his mind?"

  Damn it all, she didn't belong with Leo. She was his. “He did not change his mind. He was going to use a Highland method and steal you."

  "Oh.” Alera sighed. “Well, it does not matter. I would have escaped him and gone home."

  "If you love your precious Leo enough to wed him, then you ought to love him enough to give up Arundrydge."

  "I would have tried to love him. Leo would have been good for Arundrydge and treated me well. I doubt if I can hope for that much now."

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Can we go back?” She sped through the door outside.

  Duncan caught up with her, grabbed her arms, and spun her around to face him. “Damn it, Alera, answer me!"

  She glared and her cheeks flushed scarlet. “I am not a virgin any longer. Arundrydge is a prosperous holding. I could not live with myself if I wed a man without telling him the truth of what has happened between us. If a man wanted Arundrydge but not me, then he might fool me into thinking he would treat me well and then demand a bedding ceremony on the wedding night."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "In England, if a lord can prove his bride came to him soiled, ‘tis permissible for him to beat her to death."

  Over his dead body! “And the English call us barbaric. Why would you want to return to such a place?"

  "Arundrydge is my home. ‘Tis my duty to provide for my people. And I must kill my uncle for all he has done to my family. I would expect you to at least understand the revenge part.” She shoved away from him and fisted her hands at her sides. “I am going back to the keep. Struan needs to remain at least five days before you take him, so I can stop the poison from working.” She turned and limped toward the forest path.

  "Damn it, Alera, get back here.” She ignored him. He went after her and lifted her in his arms.

  Alera gasped and began struggling. “Duncan, ‘tis daylight!"

  "Stop your squirming and pounding! I'm not taking you now, though I could change my mind. Your fighting is damned arousing.” And damn it all, she was his own. He set her feet on the ground with her back against the hut and placed his hands on either side of her to hold her in place. “You're mine, Alera. I'll not allow you to go back and have some bastard beat you to death."