Aidan winced over how close they had come to wasting good barrels of uisge. And yet if he were honest with himself he would admit that he might have liked to see all four Scotsmen bolt out of that rigid stance they now held, as though they had claymores propped up their arses. All the while his kinsmen reveled around them, they looked like a crop of stone statues. But no matter that it had been intended as a jest, it might have led to far worse than four men diving for cover, and he shook his head over his brother’s stupidity, for he knew well how Keane’s mind worked.
Tomorrow, he would have another talk with the lad and impress upon him that this was not a game they were playing. The peace of their clan was now at stake. And with that reminder for himself, he started back toward Glenna’s hut.
Chapter Ten
Scrambling down the ladder, Sorcha called out for Una.
It always seemed so much colder down in Una’s grotto than anywhere else along the hill lands. Sorcha was quite certain winter itself was birthed here in this spot—at least her brother jested it was so.
“At last!” Una exclaimed. “Di’ ye bring my uisge, lass?”
“’Tis here,” Sorcha declared, raising her hand to show it, but she nearly fell before the last two rungs.
“Careful now,” Una admonished her, and then once Sorcha had her two feet planted upon the ground the old woman bade her to come in and sit down beside the brazier while she worked at her table with mortar and pestle.
Sorcha carried the pint of uisge over to Una’s table and set it down, then stood to watch, examining the brownish powder in the stone mortar. “What are ye doing?”
“Preparing sorcerer’s violet!” Una revealed, with her usual flare for the dramatic. “Picked from the Faerie Glen on the thirteenth day of the moon!”
The old woman’s excitement was contagious. “Ach! Ye went to the Faerie Glen?”
Una nodded. “I did! On the thirteenth day of the moon,” she reiterated, with a conspiratorial wink.
Only Una usually ever visited that place up on the ridge, but she had brought Sorcha along once this past spring, warning her that only those who were pure of heart should ever dare enter. Cailin and Keane said it was just a silly field full of flowers, but Una believed it was special and Sorcha tended to agree with whatever Una said. Despite that Una sometimes didn’t make much sense, Sorcha thought she was the wisest person she had ever known. “What will ye do wi' the sorcerer’s violet?”
Una’s one good eye twinkled mischievously. “Crush it fine, then serve it to Aidan and to Lìleas on a houseleek riddled with worms!”
Sorcha made a disgusted face. “Ewww. I dinna believe they will eat it.”
“They will if they wish to ha’ wedded bliss,” the old woman said with conviction.
Sorcha imagined the houseleek with wiggling worms, topped with the fine brown powder and decided she would rather have marital discord than stomach such a horrid fare. “Aye, though I dinna believe ye’ll convince Aidan to eat that,” she announced. “He doesna even like his Scoti bride!”
“He likes her well enough,” Una argued, “And yet, my dear child, that is precisely why I must ensure he eats it.”
Betimes the old woman confused her, but Sorcha enjoyed watching her work.
Grinning happily, Una continued to pound the mixture in her mortar, rendering it into a powder so fine that it looked like brown smoke billowing beneath the pestle in her hand. She took a pinch of something else, and tossed it into the mixture. “Your minny used to watch me work just so,” she disclosed.
Sorcha sank down to her knees, resting her chin upon the worktable. “Before she had wee ones?”
“Aye...” Una lifted a white brow. “Long before she wed that brute Da o’ yours... and then she lost all interest in an auld woman and her craft.”
Sorcha knew she wasn’t complaining, for Una often told stories about the old chieftain and her minny together... how they had loved each other so dearly, and every time she spoke of either there were wistful tears in her eyes. Una had loved her minny and her Da both, and she wept bitterly whenever she spoke of their deaths. Sorcha had even found her crying one time near Caoineag’s Pool. She’d followed the sound, thinking that finally she would spy the Weeper wailing in the falls, but she’d found no one there but Una.
Sorcha wished she had known her minny at least. Her Da had been murdered the year before her birth and her mother fled this world bringing Sorcha into it. Sometimes that made her feel very guilty.
While Una was distracted with chatter, Sorcha stood and leaned over the table to hold her nose over the concoction Una was crushing. “It smells like myrtle,” she said.
Una gave her a nod. “Ye have a verra good nose,” she complimented Sorcha. “It pleases me greatly ye have an interest and aptitude for these things, for despite what all may believe, I willna live forever, child. Mayhap some day ye will take my place?”
Sorcha sank back down to her knees. “I would, but I have no magic,” she protested. “How can I take your place if I have no magic, Una?”
“Ah, but ye do,” the old woman argued. “Ye simply dinna heed your truest nature, child.”
Sorcha’s confusion must have shown on her face, for Una went on to explain, “Ye ken Lìleas is good and kind, do ye not?”
Sorcha nodded.
“How do ye ken?”
Sorcha lifted a shoulder.
Una smiled patiently. “Aye, but ye do. You have the knowing, child, and I will teach you the rest... if ye are willing?”
Sorcha grinned. “Will ye also teach me to raise the corries?” she teased. Everyone knew what folks whispered about Una, most especially Una, but Una never admitted or denied a single whisper.
Una merely winked at her. “If ye are truly ready to learn, there is a wealth o’ knowledge to be gleaned. Lìleas knows this as well... I sense she is drawn to the auld ways.”
“How do ye know that?”
Una hitched her chin. “Mayhap because I am auld,” she suggested. “We auld folk have our ways. Or mayhap ’tis because I have the knowing as well. But if you must find a reason for every last thing under the sun, there are answers that will always elude you.”
Sorcha considered that bit of advice briefly, her thoughts immediately turning to her brother’s lovely new bride. “Do ye think Aidan will keep her?”
Una snorted so hard at the question she blew a cloud of myrtle dust into Sorcha’s face. “Ach, child, d’ ye think the lass a dog? Nay, the question isna will Aidan keep her, Sorcha.” She waited a moment, mayhap to see if Sorcha would provide the answer before she could, but Sorcha didn’t really know what she was supposed to say. Finally, Una said, “The question is will Lìleas stay?”
Sorcha considered that, too, and then thought about the curse. Despite that she liked Lìleas well enough already, she didn’t wish to lose her brother to any silly curse. Now that Cat had gone away, Aidan was the only one of her siblings she could truly talk to. Keane and Cailin liked to tease her far too much, and Lael was far too busy sharpening her many blades. “Aye, but, Una, if Aidan grows to love Lìleas, won’t he die too?”
Una’s head began to bobble, as it always did when she was considering a question. “Ach, well … as to that... I fear the words of the curse are verra, verra strong, forged in the fires of anger... but there is something far more powerful than hate, my child, and with a far greater magic than any this auld woman could conjure.”
“Love?” Sorcha provided, somehow knowing the answer.
Una considered her more closely yet, studying her, her head beginning to bobble again though somewhat less perceptibly, as though she were far deeper in thought. “Aye,” she said finally, “but it must be true love. Anything less will ne’er do.”
Sorcha thought about the old woman’s counsel for awhile, and then considered asking how they would know if love was true, but deep in her heart she believed she already knew the answer to that one too, even if she could never explain it. Besides, Una was certain to answ
er with more confusing riddles. “Una... ye said Lìleas is to be our savior... is that because of the sickness?” she wondered aloud.
She’d overheard Glenna’s fearful prayer that, “the terrible sweating sickness please not revisit their clan.” Once before, many years before Sorcha was born, had they suffered a similar plague that had swept like a blaze through their glen, killing full half their numbers... but it happened long even before Aidan’s birth, and long before anyone living had memory. Only Una seemed to recall.
Again the old woman seemed to lose herself in thought. She sighed deeply. “In truth,” she said after a long time, “I did not foresee that... but there is a far more dangerous plague in our midst... one for which Lìleas may in truth be the only cure. However, this plague I speak of is not one of the flesh, Sorcha. It is one of the heart and mind.”
“I see,” Sorcha said, and her head began to bobble too. Somehow, as she pondered the dilemma, she thought of Duncan, and sensed all would be well. It wasn’t a vision or a prophecy, just a feeling down deep in her gut, a sense of overwhelming peace when she saw his face in her mind.
The old woman grinned down at her suddenly with that knowing look she often had, and smiled and said, despite that Sorcha never spoke her thoughts aloud, “Indeed, he will be fine. Now, child, pour me two fingers, and go and grab my book from my chair and bring it to the table.”
“Yay!” Sorcha exclaimed, and she ran to seize the book in question. Made of sheepskin and bound with leather, it was never to be touched without Una’s permission, for it was old and delicate as a spider’s web. However, it didn’t mean much without Una’s stories to go along with it. Carefully opening the book, it fell upon the page it always seem to open to while in her hands, to the symbol of the wolf. “The companion to the forest God,” she said, remembering as she tapped the ancient symbol with a finger. Una had told her once that all the symbols in the book had been painted in blood. Her brothers and sisters—all of them—were born under the spirit of the wolf. Aidan often wore the howling wolf’s head painted boldly upon his chest.
The old woman nodded sagely. “Courageous and full of honor, but betimes blinded by his loyalties.”
Sorcha’s brow furrowed, distracted. “Una... Why are all my brothers and sisters wolfs, but I am a raven?”
Una’s lips thinned and she plied her pestle with renewed strength. “Alas, child, but that is a tale for another day.”
Contenting herself with that answer, because she knew Una well enough by now to know that any secrets the old woman harbored would be yielded only when she deemed it was time, Sorcha curled up next to the brazier with the book and listened to Una tell stories, until she fell asleep on the wolf-skin rug, wrapped in her woolen cloak.
This time, it was Glenna who was awake when Aidan returned to the cottage.
Duncan’s mother was sitting by Duncan’s bed, supping on a steaming bowl of stew.
Along with the lingering acrid scent of vin aigre, the cottage smelled of stewed cabbage and potatoes and he realized belatedly that he hadn’t a thing to eat or drink all day except for a few drams of uisge. His stomach grumbled in protest.
Taking her turn at sleep, Lìleas rested at Duncan’s side, a wet rag still clutched within her fist. Dark circles were forming beneath her eyes, visible even in slumber.
“Are ye hungry, Chief?” Glenna asked.
Aidan nodded, but he threw up a hand, urging her to remain where she was seated by her son’s side. “I can get it myself,” he assured.
But Glenna ignored him. Putting down her bowl, she came rushing to help. “Nay, Lìli has yet to eat as well. I will get you both a bite. Please sit,” she demanded of him.
Stunned by the familiarity with which she had addressed the woman sprawled upon her son’s bed, Aidan sat. “She doesna look quite in the way to eat,” he suggested, scratching curiously at his chin.
Glenna laughed softly and ladled another heaping spoonful into a bowl. “She only just fell asleep—Duncan’s fever has subsided!” she said, sounding far more cheery than he’d heard her be in quite some time—in truth, since her husband Ranald died. “He opened his eyes and drank a bit of broth!” She handed Aidan the steaming bowl with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. She peered down at the stew in his hand once he took the bowl. “I must have her recipe. There was little enough in my pantry, but this soup is quite good!”
Aidan’s spoon stopped halfway between the bowl and his mouth. He peered up in surprise. “Lìli made this?”
Clearly, she hadn’t poisoned it, for Glenna lived to tell the tale. And she was spooning another bowl for Lìli as well. Glenna nodded sheepishly, peering back at him. “I realize after all... she isna her Da,” she confessed, looking apologetic.
Damn, Aidan thought. So she had not only assumed the role of savior in this house, but cook as well. No wonder Glenna had softened toward the lass. Only one day she had been here. One single day and she had already won over Glenna and apparently Sorcha as well. Ach, she must be a witch indeed—or a saint. He wasn’t quite ready to decide which as yet. What he did know, however, was that she had earned herself a good night’s rest, and then a hearty breakfast come morning, and he fully intended to get her both once he finished his stew. And with that in mind, he hurriedly emptied his bowl, insisting that Glenna leave off with serving another, assuring her that he would see to Lìleas’ needs.
Setting his bowl down upon the table, he bid Glenna good night, insisting she report Duncan’s progress first thing in the morning. And then eyeing the arisaid that was puddled on the floor where Glenna had slept, he removed his own breacan, despite knowing the night air would be cold on his back, and he covered Lìleas with his own cloak, then scooped her up into his arms.
Too weary to protest, she mumbled sleepily and tossed her arms about his neck.
“Burn the other,” he ordered Glenna without a backward glance. “She won’t be needing it any longer.” By damn, he wasn’t about to stand by and allow his wife to wear another man’s plaid!
Chapter Eleven
The sound of lapping water was like a gentle nudge to Lìli’s waking thoughts. She opened her eyes, disoriented, for it was not a sound she was accustomed to hearing.
Dust motes danced upon the rays of light that slid in beneath the wooden shutters, and for a moment, she was uncertain how she had come to be in this room though she had the vaguest impression of being carried into the chilly night air in the middle of the night, and clinging to the warmth of the man who carried her.
Her face burned a little at the recollection.
She was alone for the moment, but a glance about revealed that her coffers had been delivered here sometime whilst she’d slept and she was not so naive she didn’t realize immediately in whose room she slept.
This was the laird’s chamber.
Aidan’s belongings were everywhere—woolen blankets with the rich reds and greens of his plaid, a collection of daggers along one wall and a tapestry with the depiction of a howling wolf at its center. Everything about the room reflected the man who inhabited it. There was nothing soft here, no adornment simply for the sake of it. Her coffers sat on the floor next to the bed, but otherwise the room was immaculate, though the walls and floors were made of wood, which gave it a sense of crudeness that couldn’t quite be dispelled, even by the large, ornate bed that was the focal point of the room. Like a dais, it sat in the center of the chamber, turned so it was positioned at odds with the walls and she had the impression it was positioned so he could more easily guard the door. She wondered if he slept with his claymore under the bed. Heaped with heavy blankets, and large enough to sleep four people, she wondered, too, with burning cheeks, whether the laird of Dubhtolargg had lain here with her last night. He very well may have, for the bed was enormous and they could have slept at opposite ends without ever touching.
That thought alone made her scramble from beneath the covers, for the last thing she wished to do was have Aidan find her still lying abed and mistake it
for an invitation—a bedding after the ceremony was soon enough!
Abandoning the warmth of the covers, she faced the morning chill, and was drawn at once to the window, where the promise of sunlight peeked in through every crack in the wood. She opened the shutters and peered out to discover that, as expected, she was somewhere in the dwelling out upon the water, and the sight that greeted her took her breath away.
It was strange, but lovely to look out over the loch so near her window, with the sun shining down over the glassy surface. In truth, it was not such a terrible sight to wake to... and she would not mind at all … save for one simple complication...
Aidan dún Scoti.
Her gaze returned to the bed, and she wandered back to the monstrous piece of furniture, inspecting the other side, running her hands over the blankets where he would have lain. The sheets were cold, giving her no clue as to whether he had slept here or nay... only that he would have been long gone.
Her emotions were conflicted, for he was her betrothed, a man feared by David of Scotia... the man whose life she must find a way to end... and yet, he had shown her gentleness last night, bringing her here instead of dumping her into that tiny bed with dirty Aveline. He had allowed her to rest in comfort and warmth … without touching her. Her clothes were still intact, only her shoes had been removed. Those were not the actions of a barbarian.
Highland Fire (Guardians of the Stone) Page 11
