by Amy Tolnitch
Lugh grinned. “We of the Highlands believe in being prepared.”
“I see,” Hemming said faintly. One of the daggers dropped to the floor. Branor pulled a dirk from his boot and held it toward Hemming.
“Are there many more?” Hemming asked.
Branor shrugged. “A few.”
“Just put them here,” Hemming said as he thrust his pile onto a nearby table. “I’ll collect them later.”
Lugh gave him a sharp look. “Be sure you take very good care of them. I should not like it if my sword was damaged.”
“Of course, my lord. I understand.”
The way he said it sounded like an insult, but Lugh just shook his head. The man was clearly no warrior, reduced to caring for the household of a woman. Ailie put her hand in Lugh’s, and they followed Hemming up steps and down one of the long walkways. Lugh had never seen so many flowers in his life. They were everywhere, in pots, hanging down over the railings, filling the courtyard below. She has no defenses, but leagues of flowers, he thought in disgust.
And why would she need defenses? his inner voice asked. She has storms. No, he told himself. It was simply a strange act of nature, naught more. Then why is the island warm? his inner voice pressed. Nature made her own choices, he thought. In this case, a most pleasant one, and hopefully beneficial to Ailie.
Hemming stopped in front of a door and swung it open. “You should be comfortable here,” he said, gesturing them to go in.
Ailie skipped ahead, her eyes round and bright. Lugh followed, and was struck by the sheer lavishness of the place. He stood in a huge room, with big windows overlooking the sea. Thick rugs covered the wooden floor, and tapestries lined the walls. Three chairs sat in front of a fireplace, though it looked as if it had never been used.
Branor let out a low whistle.
“There are two bedchambers to the left,” Hemming said. “And another to the right.” He pointed to a door. “That is the bathing room.”
Lugh lifted a brow. “Bathing room?” What next? he wondered.
“I will fetch your bags from the boat,” Hemming continued.
Lugh started to tell him he was perfectly capable of fetching his own bags but stopped himself. Hemming was all politeness on the surface, but Lugh sensed he heartily disapproved of their presence and thought them beneath him. “Good,” he said, waving his hand. “You may go.”
Ailie sat on a window seat cross-legged. She tipped her face up toward the fading sun. “I like it here, Father.”
He walked to the window and stroked her cheek. “I am glad, sweet.”
Branor wandered around the rooms and returned to the main chamber shaking his head. “I have never seen anything like this place. ’Tis clear Lady Iosobal possesses great wealth.”
“Mayhap. I am beginning to think there is more than that. ’Tis a strange place we have come to. With a strange mistress.”
“Aye.” Branor shrugged. “But you reached the isle and the lady agreed to help.” He nodded toward Ailie. “It looks to be good for the bairn.”
Thank God, Lugh thought as he gazed down at Ailie’s pale face. Pray the lady had skills enough to bring back his daughter.
AFTER NIAMH LEFT, IOSOBAL PICKED UP THE TAPESTRY she was working on and sat in front of a window, but she couldn’t seem to make her fingers take a stitch. Suddenly, the air felt too close, too warm, the room too confining. Even Artemis had picked up her unsettled state, and paced back and forth.
Iosobal set aside the tapestry. With a wave of her hand, she changed into an old, worn gown and left her chamber.
As she passed the kitchen, she heard Niamh and Hemming talking.
“Did you see them?” Niamh asked.
“Aye.”
“What are they like?”
“Trouble,” Hemming answered. “I know the likes of these men. They’ll be naught but trouble for all of us.”
“If not for the bairn, Lady Iosobal would never have allowed them on Parraba.”
“Mayhap. I like not the way The MacKeir looks upon her.”
Niamh let out a sound of distress.
Iosobal quickened her pace. Soon, she scrambled down the path to the beach, and kicked off her shoes to walk in the soft sand. She drew off her gown as she walked toward the water, leaving only her chemise, and whistled.
Across the water, she spied the smooth, gray shapes of her friends, and dove into the water, swimming with easy strokes until she was in deeper water. She waited for them, taking simple pleasure in the soft water spilling over her hands. Below her, silver flashed as a school of fish swam by.
The first dolphin nudged her hand with his nose, clicking a greeting. Iosobal smiled and stroked his side. “And how is Poseidon today?”
He clicked again before diving under the water to erupt in a fluid leap, landing with a great splash that threw water into her face. She laughed as another dolphin joined him, gliding and leaping in circles around her. “Beautiful, Amphitrite,” she called to the female.
And then shrieked in surprise when Poseidon came up underneath her. For some reason, having her ride atop them was one of their favorite games, and hers as well. She hung on as Poseidon carried her across the sunlit sea, her tension and unease gone in the sheer pleasure of flying over the water.
LUGH LOOKED UP AS A WOMAN SUDDENLY BURST through the door. She stopped abruptly, her gaze taking in the three of them.
“Welcome to Parraba.” She carried a big tray laden with foodstuffs. “I am Niamh.”
“Thank you, mistress. I am The MacKeir,” Lugh said. “This is my daughter, Ailie, and our companion, Branor.”
The woman gave him a stiff nod, then smiled as her gaze lit upon Ailie. “Och, what a sweet little thing you are,” Niamh said to Ailie as she set down the tray. She glanced at Branor. “There are jugs and cups outside if you would not mind gathering them.”
“Ale?” Branor asked hopefully.
“Aye, and wine. And water for the child.”
Branor sped out the door.
Niamh put a deep blue plate down in front of Ailie holding some kind of round cakes. Ailie peered down at them. “What is that?”
“Something very special for you.” Niamh winked. “Honey cakes. I made them this very morning.”
Ailie took a big bite and grinned as a line of honey spilled down her chin. “’Tis good.”
“My thanks.” Niamh tilted her head to the side and studied Ailie, then turned to Lugh. “What ails the child?”
Ailie coughed, and Branor handed her a cup of water.
“I donna ken,” Lugh said and clenched a fist. “No one has been able to tell me. Or do anything to help her.”
“Lady Iosobal will heal her.”
“Who is she?” Lugh held her gaze, wondering if he should have asked “what” instead of “who.”
Niamh’s expression closed. “She is the Lady of Parraba.”
“Is she as good a healer as the stories say?”
“Finer.” With a last smile for Ailie, she turned and left before Lugh could ask more questions.
He poured himself a cup of wine, and took a long drink, then went over to stand beside Ailie. “How do you feel?”
She gave him a brave smile that twisted his heart in his chest. “Much better, Father.” The succeeding bout of coughing belied her claim.
“Drink some more water,” he said. As she sipped, Lugh stared out the window. “By the saints!” he shouted. Out in the sea, Lady Iosobal frolicked in the waves with two dolphins, laughing and hanging on to them as they towed her along. He had never seen the like.
Ailie looked out and gave a squeal of delight. “Look at her, Father. I want to do that. May I swim with them too?”
She sounded so hopeful that Lugh’s breath caught. He knew she had not the strength in her. He swallowed some wine. “Aye. When you are better, we both shall see if we can coax them into swimming with us.”
They watched as Lady Iosobal played with the two dolphins under the setting sun. She looks like a lovely mermaid
, Lugh thought. Like a mythical goddess that man cannot touch.
He was still staring out the window when Lady Iosobal emerged from the sea, wringing water from her long hair.
Branor let out a murmur of appreciation beside him. “A bonny woman,” he said, echoing Lugh’s thoughts.
Lugh’s mouth went as dry as sand. Lady Iosobal’s chemise clung to her body, outlining lush curves and skin kissed by the sun. She turned to wave goodbye to the dolphins, displaying a rounded bottom and long legs. His body’s response was immediate, and his fingers itched with the sudden desire to touch the woman’s lithe body now so suggestively revealed.
She turned and looked up toward the window, her gaze colliding with his. Her eyes widened, but for a moment she did not move.
His gaze drank her in and it was all he could do not to run from the chamber, his mind filled with images of laying her down on the sand, and stripping off her wet chemise to discover if under her remote exterior dwelled a real woman of flesh and blood.
His thoughts must have shown in his eyes, because she lunged for a gown, and ran from view.
Lugh drew in a deep breath and shot back a swallow of wine. He was a man of strong appetites, and had not gone without women since Agatha’s death, but they had all been simple physical encounters, one body pleasuring another.
He had a strong feeling that a man would not find the Lady Iosobal so easily forgettable.
IOSOBAL WAS APPALLED TO FIND THAT HER HANDS WERE shaking. She paused to toss on her gown; then she rushed up the path. Had the man no sense of shame whatsoever? He had stared at her as if he wanted to …? She could not get her mind around it. No man had ever looked at her that way. Hemming was the only man on the island brave enough to even look her in the eye.
And why do you not blur his view? her inner voice asked. Wrap yourself in thick fog? Her cheeks heated. No, she had just stood there in her wet chemise staring back at him.
She let out a breath. Hemming was right. The man was trouble.
THAT EVENING, LUGH HAD JUST DOZED OFF WHEN HE woke abruptly, struck by the sense that something was very wrong. He leapt from bed, and ran into Ailie’s chamber.
She thrashed about on the bed, and her breaths were short and shallow. When he reached down to touch her forehead, she felt cool. Too cool. He gathered her up in his arms and ran out the door.
“Iosobal,” he bellowed. “To me!”
His shout woke Ailie, and she stared at him with bleary eyes. Her shoulders rose with a long stretch of coughing.
“Iosobal,” he yelled again. “Iosobal! To me!” Where was the blasted woman? He had no idea in which direction her chamber lay.
“Iosobal!”
Hemming came running down the walkway. “What are you shouting about?”
“Get Lady Iosobal. Now,” Lugh ordered.
“But—”
“Now,” he shouted and advanced on the man. Hemming took off like a spooked horse.
“I do not feel very well,” Ailie whispered.
“Hang on,” he whispered back. “Lady Iosobal shall be here soon.”
It seemed like hours until he spotted the lady approach, the flicker of a candle illuminating her face. Even at a distance he could tell she was angry. “I heard your first bellow,” she said. “There was no need to keep shouting.”
“You did not answer.”
She stopped in front of him, looked down at Ailie coughing, and drew in a sharp breath. “Bring her.”
“Where?” he demanded.
“I will show you.” She turned and walked away. Lugh scowled at her back. Damned if the woman did not have an annoying tendency to walk away from him.
He followed her over another walkway; then down steps; then across an open storage chamber; then down still more steps. As they descended, the air grew damp and heavy. “Where are we going? Ailie needs help at once.”
“I know.” She kept walking and Lugh bit his tongue, reminding himself that this woman could be his last chance for Ailie.
His daughter gazed up at him with fearful eyes, clearly too strained by the effort to breathe to speak.
Eventually, they came to a large wooden door braced with iron. Iosobal pulled it open, and a rush of warm air wafted out. She entered and lit a brace of candles on the floor, saying, “Close the door behind you.”
Ailie coughed. Lugh slammed the door and walked into thick mist. He could make out a pool in the center. Vapor rose in fat ribbons from the surface, and filled the chamber with warmth.
As Iosobal lit a fire in a brazier, she said, “There are steps cut into the stone. Take her down into the water.”
“What is this place?” he asked as he stuck a foot into the water. By the saints, it was hot. He took another step.
She turned. “It is a steam room. It should loosen the sickness in her chest.”
“How deep is the water?”
“Not too deep. Maybe a couple of feet.” She rustled around with something as Lugh descended into the water. He could barely see though the dense vapors. Soon, a pungent, herbal scent filled the air.
“This feels nice,” Ailie said as he sat her on the lowest step.
“Aye. What is that smell?”
Iosobal answered as she climbed down the steps on the other side of Ailie. “Herbs.” She tossed more into the water and the aroma intensified.
“What kind?”
“There are many.” She pressed a cup into Ailie’s hand. “Drink this.”
“What is in it?” Lugh asked.
“More herbs.”
He had no knowledge of herbs, so he guessed it really didn’t matter which ones she used as long as they helped Ailie. His daughter took a sip of the drink. “It is sweet,” she said.
“Aye, with honey,” Iosobal answered. She smoothed hair back from Ailie’s forehead, studying her skin, touching her chest.
“How is this possible?” Lugh asked. “How did you create such a wondrous chamber? Or was it already here?”
She glanced up. “Would you please shut up so that I may concentrate?”
Lugh’s mouth dropped open.
Ailie whispered, “Nobody has ever told father to shut up.”
“Well, maybe they should have,” Iosobal whispered back.
Lugh couldn’t help but grin. He decided to just sit back and watch what transpired. After all, even The MacKeir was not above learning new things.
As the water bubbled and swirled around them, Lugh noticed with great relief that Ailie’s coughing had eased. He pulled in a deep breath of the fragrant steam. It reminded him of being in the depths of a great forest.
“I would come here every day if I had such a place,” Ailie told Iosobal.
“Are you feeling better?” Iosobal asked.
“Aye.” He heard Ailie take a deep breath, the kind of breath she’d not been able to draw for months.
The quiet was absolute, with nothing visible but the three of them surrounded by perfumed mist, barely illuminated by flickering candles.
Gradually, a slow sense of serenity overtook him, one he’d not felt in a long time. He looked down and saw that Iosobal was moving her hand in slow circles on Ailie’s small chest, speaking so quietly he could not understand her words. A prayer? he wondered.
As he strained to listen, he realized that he did not know the words she chanted. He looked at her intent face and she lifted her gaze to his.
Had he thought her eyes eerie? Aye, that they were, but beautiful nonetheless. Her hair curled in dark waves around her face from the steam, and her gown molded itself to her body. Understanding dawned in those eyes before she looked down.
Thank God Ailie was here or he would be tempted to do something truly reckless.
“Do not look at me that way,” Iosobal said.
“I am a man,” he said simply.
She looked up once more. “What do you mean?”
“How am I looking at you?”
“You know.”
He slowly smiled. “As if I am thinki
ng that if only you and I were here, and I reached for you, we would—”
“Stop. ’Tis not necessary.”
“All of the women at Tunvegan want to be in Father’s bedchamber,” Ailie piped in.
Lugh cocked a brow and his smile broadened. Iosobal looked as if she’d been trapped and wasn’t sure how to escape. What does she mean by “necessary”? he wondered. What is she talking about?
“There are many men on my island. None of them look at me such.”
“No?” Lugh laughed. “They must be blind, indeed.”
She continued to stare at him, and he realized she had no idea how sensual she was, how her beautiful reserve was such a powerful lure. If he stood up, she would surely know, he thought with an inner chuckle. His braies would do little to conceal his swollen rod.
He drew his brows together at a sudden thought. “Have you never—?”
“No. And this conversation is not seemly. Cease.”
By the saints, a virgin, he thought. The things he could teach her made his breath hitch in his chest. “Cease the conversation or cease looking at you?”
“Both.”
“I cannot. You are a beautiful woman, and I am a man who appreciates beauty.”
“I think she is beautiful too,” Ailie remarked. “Even with her strange eyes.”
For a moment, Iosobal’s expression lost its guard, and Lugh saw a flash of hurt and surprise before she composed herself.
Ailie, sweet-natured child that she was, immediately grasped the fact that she had overstepped a boundary. “I … I am sorry, my lady. I truly meant no offense. Your eyes are lovely. ’Tis just that they are most unusual.”
Iosobal’s face relaxed, although Lugh sensed her withdrawal. “’Tis no matter. I well know my eyes are different.”
“A bit reminiscent of a sunset over the hills surrounding Tunvegan,” Lugh said. “That moment just before night falls, when the sky softens. Mysterious and lovely.”
Iosobal looked at him as if he’d lost his wits. Does no one ever pay the lady a compliment? he wondered. Instead of thanking him for his well-composed flattery, she gathered Ailie up so that she lay in Iosobal’s lap, with only her face above the water. Iosobal stroked the sides of Ailie’s cheeks and began her unintelligible chanting once more.
