by Mary McCall
A huge gulp moved through Megan's neck. “Will I be his like before?"
"You will always be his.” The child relaxed. Alera cast her gaze toward Duncan. “I shall not ask you why you are home early if you do not tell me you did the same daft thing I did, which was to come down here without a rope."
"I did better than a rope. I brought along two warriors to hold onto it and pull.” He dropped his gaze to Megan. “Will she let me take her up, or should I harness the two of you together?"
Megan said nothing but tightened her arms about Alera. She raised a sympathetic gaze to his. “As much as I would like to say otherwise, I believe ‘twould be best if you took us up together."
Duncan clenched his jaw and nodded. “Geddes, send down that tow."
Alera reached out a hand. He gripped her fingers, noting her scraped and bleeding flesh. “Give Megan time, Duncan. When you learn what Isobel put her through, mayhap you will understand.” She laced her fingers through his. “She wants to be yours. She just has to know in her heart that she will be safe."
Looking into her Alera's eyes, clouded with fatigue and pain, Duncan wondered if she spoke only of Megan or if her words applied to herself as well.
Megan was so tired and weak her legs wouldn't support her. Alera leaned heavily upon Duncan as he carried his daughter to his chamber and set her upon the chair by the hearth. Edeen quickly brought fresh milk, warm brown bread, and white cheese. Exhaustion sapped Alera's appetite, but she forced herself to eat a few bites. Megan drank about a third of her milk then said her tummy was too full and set the mug aside.
Alera removed Megan's clothes. With each bruise reveled, Duncan's scowl grew fiercer. He hovered over his daughter, the muscle in his cheek pulsating and his brows drawn with fury. Megan trembled.
Alera looked from father to daughter. “Megan, love, sit still for a moment while I speak with your father."
She took hold of Duncan's arm and tugged him toward the door. “Duncan, leave me alone with her for a while. You need to see her chamber and learn the extent of Isobel's treachery. Then I would speak further with you after Megan sleeps."
Indecision lingered in his eyes. She placed her palm against his chest. “All will be well. Give me a few hours."
Duncan stared at her a moment then turned to leave.
"Papa?"
He halted and faced his daughter. His features softened as she looked at him for the first time in so long without fear. “Aye, Megan?"
She turned away and sniffed, shaking her head.
Alera slipped her arms around Duncan and gave him a quick comforting squeeze. “She will be all right. Go see to justice."
After he left, Alera returned to the hearth, knelt in front of Megan, and took hold of her hands. “Megan, did you want something from your father?"
"I...want...to be his again."
"You are. His forever."
Megan shook her head, her face drawn with sorrow. “Nay. He called me Megan."
"Did he used to call you something else?"
"When I was his, he called me ‘faerie sprite.’”
"You are still his faerie sprite. Let's get you bathed. When your father comes back, we will ask him who his faerie sprite is."
"We cannot ask. He has to know on his own."
Alera caressed Megan's cheek. “Then we'll see if he remembers. All right?"
Megan nodded. Alera poured half a bottle of rose oil from Lessa's chest into the tub then tossed some dried rose petals into the water. The heavenly fragrance blossomed through the chamber, soothing both occupants. Alera picked up Megan and placed the child in the warm water. With a soft cloth, she gently stroked layers of filth from Megan's battered flesh.
Mats and tangles so enmeshed Megan's hair that Alera knew it must be cut. She kissed the child's cheek, crossed the chamber, and opened the door. The sight of a dozen clansmen lined up in the hall stunned her. “Geddes, why are so many here?"
"We're wanting word of the lass, milady,” Geddes replied.
"Megan is scared and tired. I need some shears. Most of her hair is beyond saving."
"I'll hunt some up, milady,” Kevin said. “I'll be back quick as I find some."
"Thank you."
When Kevin returned, Alera accepted the shears through a crack in the door.
She cut the mats away, leaving Megan's hair length just below her shoulders. Alera combed the rest of the tangles away while humming the old Norman lullaby that she had once heard from Megan's lips. The tune helped the lass relax.
Megan soon fell asleep. The strain of the day suddenly overwhelmed Alera. She couldn't lift the child again. She wiped a hand across her cheek, brushing away a stray curl, and winced. She would have one nice bruise there on the morrow along with quite a few others.
She shoved with her hands against the tub rim and stood. Then she shuffled on stiff legs across the chamber. Pressing a hand against a twinge in her back, she opened the door. Duncan stood alone, self-recriminating rage mixing with anguish shone clearly in his eyes, his facial expression, his posture. His whole being sent currents of torment rushing through Alera.
"Isobel is missing. The clansmen are out searching for her now."
The pain in his words nearly sent her composure out the window, but she couldn't give in to tears now. Duncan needed her strength. She opened her arms and welcomed him into her embrace. As she stroked his back, he squeezed her tighter than her freshly bruised body desired. She stifled a moan, not wanting him to blame himself for her pain as well. “One thing I know about Isobel, Duncan, she always lands on her feet. You said she's been here since Lessa died. She would have planned this day's treachery well. If the clan doesn't find her by morn, I'd wager she had help and someone protects her now."
He didn't respond—didn't seem capable of speaking. He just squeezed her tighter. A hot tear hit her neck, reminding her so much of Papa's reaction to Mama's death. At that telltale sign, she couldn't berate him for not seeing Megan's chamber before this night. He'd already judged himself guilty and wouldn't forgive himself for a long time. She wouldn't add to his current anguish. It would probably take him longer to heal over this failure to protect his daughter than for Megan to heal from her bruises.
After a long moment, a shudder wracked through him. Alera patted his back and pulled away. “Come, Duncan. I need help with Megan."
"Ah, Alera, I cannot forgive myself.” He held onto her as if she were his lifeline. “I didn't know."
"I know, but ‘tis over now.” She caressed his drawn brow. “Let's go to her. Megan fell asleep in the tub, and I am too tired to lift her."
Duncan noticed the purplish-blue marks coloring her cheeks, jaw, and neck. He tenderly brushed a finger along her jaw. “Megan did this?"
"She took a fright when I first joined her on the ledge. Come. I will tell you more once Megan is out of the bath."
She slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him to the tub side. Duncan stared at his battered daughter, his jaw strained.
"Megan has been afraid of storms since Lessa died. Every time the thunder clapped, I've gone to her no matter the day or the hour. Every time I allowed Isobel to turn me away.” He wiped a hand over his face then pulled Alera into his arms and buried his face in her curls. “Damn it, Alera! How could I not have known?"
Alera returned his embrace, fighting tears. “Isobel used cunning. The dirt hid Megan's fading bruises. Isobel probably kept her restrained when they were fresh, so no one would notice.” She pushed his head back and looked at him. “I am more at fault than you, Duncan. I recognized the signs of maltreatment the first time I saw Megan. I should have told you then. Please forgive me."
"Hold no guilt in your heart, Alera. I put no blame on you."
She stroked his jaw then pushed away and picked up a towel. “I will sit in the chair and dry her if you will hand her to me."
Megan didn't stir as Duncan lifted her from the bath and placed her on Alera's lap. He watched her tender ministrations of his
daughter in silence. Then he went to the hearth and built up the fire just so he could feel useful.
After drying Megan, Alera rubbed a soothing balm into the child's bruises. “Duncan, how did Lessa die?"
"A tree fell on her during a storm."
"Where was Megan?"
"At Struan's. Lessa was on her way to fetch Megan home when the accident happened.” He hesitated, feeling the need to unburden himself of past doubts he'd never shared with anyone that plagued his conscience. “I didn't hate Lessa, though I held no great affection for her. She was but fourteen when we wed. Terribly timid and cowering. Her best feature was her love for Megan. I don't think anyone or aught else made her happy."
"I never met Lessa,” she replied quietly. “I met her father at court when I was ten. He asked King Henry to marry his daughter to someone far away so she would be unreachable. I did not understand why at the time. You have a mark in your favor, Duncan. My godfather would never have sent Lessa here if he did not trust you to treat her well."
She looked up, surprising him with the degree of wrath glittering in her eyes. “Isobel told Megan that you blamed her for Lessa's death and ordered her beaten with every storm, so she wouldn't forget what she had
done."
Wrath rekindled firing his rage. “I'll kill the bitch."
"You need to tell Megan you love her often. Make her believe it again.” Alera fluffed Megan's curls. “Duncan, Edeen has looked after Megan. Made sure she got food. ‘Twould mean a lot to her if you told her how Megan fares."
"You are a blessing to me.” Duncan leaned down and tenderly kissed Alera's mouth. “Thank you for giving me back my daughter. I'll go talk to Edeen."
"While you are gone, try to remember Megan's special name."
"Faerie sprite?"
"Aye. Use it please."
"Alera?"
She looked at him. “Aye?"
"How did you know where to find Megan?"
Glancing down at Megan, Alera's features softened. “I've been trying to get close to her since you left, but she ran whenever I got near. Edeen tried to help me. After last night's storm, she didn't expect Megan to come. Said sometimes she stays away for weeks after a storm. Edeen mentioned Isobel had been riding out the Northern trail for the last few weeks.” Alera shrugged. “I can't explain it, Duncan. When I saw Megan's chamber empty, I just knew."
He gazed at her a moment. She looked so right holding his daughter as if her presence were preordained. “I'll be back soon."
When Duncan returned, Alera slept with Megan cuddled up in her lap. He carefully lifted Megan, carried her to the bed, and laid her upon the center of the mattress. As he pulled up the covers, her eyelids fluttered open.
"Papa?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
Joy rushed through his heart at her calling him Papa after so long. He caressed her cheek. “Aye, faerie sprite."
"You remembered."
A slight sparkle flickered in her eyes, and he knew Alera was right about Megan wanting to hear her special name. “I could never forget."
"God sent me an angel."
"Aye, He did.” Alera was indeed his guardian angel.
"She said I did not kill Mam and you do not hate me."
"She is right, Megan, and do not ever again forget you are mine."
"Do I smell pretty now?"
He kissed her nose and smiled. “Aye, faerie sprite, pretty as the first spring rose."
Megan's brow puckered. “Did my angel leave?"
"Nay. She fell asleep. Do you like her?"
Megan nodded.
"Good, because she is mine, too."
"So she will never leave?"
"I plan to keep her forever."
"I am glad.” Megan yawned. “Do you want to share our secret?"
"What secret?” He stroked her hair to feel its silky texture just because he could.
"I do not hurt cause my angel took my pain away."
He smiled and caressed a curl from her forehead. “She makes me feel better, too."
"I love her.” Megan's eyelids drifted shut, and a light snore blew through her lips.
"Aye, faerie sprite, so do I,” he whispered. Duncan kissed her cheek.
He went back for Alera and shook his head. He had never met a lass with such a knack for getting wet. Her shift was soaked through—first from her drench in the rain then from holding Megan.
He fumbled with the clasp at her neck and eased the gown from her shoulders down to her waist. He sucked in a breath and stared in horror. Teeth marks, scratches, and bruises marred her flesh. She looked almost as bad as when he first found her. Blessed Saint Andrew, what manner of woman possessed such strength and character that she would submit to such violence for a child she didn't know?
"Do not frown so, Duncan,” she whispered. “You are making me hurt worse."
He gazed into her sleepy lambent eyes, enthralled by her gaze. If he didn't know better he would have sworn he read love in those bonny blues.
Her lips curved. “If my Highland angel will help me to bed and rub some of that balm on me, I promise I'll not mistake him for Henry."
"I'll not allow any angels to touch my woman in such an intimate fashion. You will have to abide this mere mortal."
She put her arms around his neck. Her lips feather-brushed a kiss over his.” And here I thought there was nothing mere about you, Duncan Ranald."
He picked her up and headed toward the bed. “Aye, and ‘tis high time you realized that, wench."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Ten
Alera entered the hall and shook her head. Megan moped at the game table near the hearth. The child sat on her knees upon a bench, leaning her elbows on the table and her chin on her palms. A week had passed since Alera had found her on the cliff ledge. Duncan had spent most of his time with Megan, easing her fears, showering her with love. With food and care, she was turning into an amiable child.
Their evenings were companionable, like a family. Much like evenings at Arundrydge when Alera was a child. Except of course, she had never been so quiet or well behaved. Duncan was right. As the only child of Baron Robert of Arundrydge, she had been overly spoiled and constantly into mischief.
Part of the stable had fallen during the night when another forceful storm hit. Duncan was helping the clansmen repair the damage. Megan hated to be away from him and was miserable now if that petulant lower lip was any type of tell-tale sign.
Alera sat beside Megan and wrapped a maternal arm around her shoulders. “What has my little rose looking so sad?"
Megan blew out a forlorn sigh and shifted her chin on her hands. “I want to go outside and play, but I cannot cause it be raining."
Poor Megan hadn't played in so long. “Well,” Alera said brightly. “My mama always said you cannot judge a day by its weather, and one of my favorite games is twirl and splash."
"Nay!” Megan clutched Alera's arm in a desperate grip. “You cannot go outside. Rain kills people."
"Ah, Megan.” Alera pulled the girl onto her lap and cupped her cheeks. “There is good rain like we have today that is all right to play in, and there is dangerous rain like the storm last night that we must stay out of."
"How can you tell which?” Megan eyed her suspiciously.
"Well, when rain comes with the sun, ‘tis rain made for fun. And when rain comes with lightening and booms, ‘tis rain crying doom. At least that is what Mama told me. And just think, Almighty God is surely so happy to see smiles on your face that He is certain to send us another rainbow."
Megan cocked her head. “How do you play twirl and splash?"
Alera arched a mischievous brow. “Come and I shall show you."
Duncan arrived at the keep and found Alera and Megan on the front lawn. They were both soaked to the skin, with their heads thrown back, tongues out, and arms flung wide as they turned in circles in the spring rain.
He walked over to them, shaking his head, and stood arms akimbo. “What are
you two water nymphs supposed to be doing?"
"We are playing twirl and splash.” Megan teetered to one side. “I am getting dizzy."
Duncan caught her before she landed in the huge puddle by her feet.
"Papa, you ruined my game!” Megan scrunched her face in a disgruntled frown. “I was about to splash."
"Papas always ruin games, Megan.” Alera chuckled, halting her twirl. “They usually do it right at the best part, too."
Duncan's brows drew together in irritation. “You're soaked again, Alera. I'll not let you make yourselves ill."
"We are not so weak that a wee bit of rain can hurt us, are we, Megan?” Alera pulled the girl against her side.
"Right,” Megan agreed with a nod and smile for her father. “And ‘tis making my bruises ache less."
"Mine, too.” Alera arched a brow at Duncan.
"You want to play with us, Papa?” Megan invited.
Duncan rolled his eyes. “I want to get dry."
"Come, Megan.” Alera took the girl's hand and slipped an arm around Duncan's waist. “We will go with your papa."
"But I am not done playing yet.” Megan pushed out a belligerent lip and tried to tug her hand free.
"We will play again another time,” Alera assured her. “Besides, ‘tis an important lesson you are learning now."
"I don't want no lesson.” Megan drew her brows together warily. “What lesson?"
"How to placate a warrior.” Alera winked.
"What nonsense are you speaking to my daughter?"
Alera ignored Duncan's interruption. “You see, Megan. Warriors do not wish us to know, but they like us to snuggle with them in front of a cozy hearth during a chilly rain. It makes them feel manly if we let them comfort us in such a manner."
"How come?” Megan asked with a curious frown.
"Well, I think they want to play twirl and splash, too, but they believe ‘tis beneath the dignity of a warrior to let others see them having such fun. So they make us forego our pleasure and suffer with them."
Duncan wiped a hand over his dripping face. “That is the most ludicrous thing—"
"We'll not be telling nobody if you play with us, Papa.” Megan
