by Amy Tolnitch
At his approach, the woman raised her head and gazed at him. Her expression softened at the sight of Ailie in his arms. “Mistress,” he said. “Is there aught I can do for you?”
She shook her head. “They took my husband in there,” she said, pointing at the palace. The way she said it sounded as if someone had kidnapped him.
He rubbed Ailie’s back. “Why are you sitting out here?”
“Waiting for him.”
Piers shook his head. Perhaps the woman had problems of the mind. He walked past her and through the palace gate. Halfway across the courtyard, he spotted Hemming. “Where is Lady Iosobal?” he called.
Hemming stopped and frowned at him. “Tending to one of the villagers. What is wrong?”
“Ailie needs her aid.”
“Follow me.” Hemming took off toward the far corner of the palace.
Ailie coughed and gasped for breath. Piers said a silent prayer and followed Hemming.
They entered a room close to the kitchen and found Lady Iosobal there with an unconscious man lying on a table and Lugh watching.
“Ailie!” Lugh shouted. His face paled as he took the child from Piers’s arms. “By the saints, what happened?”
“I am sorry, Father,” Ailie said, before succumbing to another bout of coughing.
“Iosobal,” Lugh said.
“Hemming, can you finish?” she asked. “I have already applied a poultice. Just wrap the leg with these cloths.” She held up a vial. “When he wakes, put two drops of this in wine and have him drink.”
Hemming took the vial. “Take care of the bairn, my lady. I shall see to Ranald.”
Iosobal laid a hand on Ailie’s forehead and frowned.
“She was swimming,” Piers told her.
“Ailie,” Lugh said. “What were you thinking?”
Her eyes watered as she gazed up at him. “I just wanted to see the dolphins. I am sorry.”
“Come,” Iosobal said.
“Piers, stay with Hemming,” Lugh called over his shoulder. “Make sure the man doesnae cause any trouble.”
As Iosobal led them across the courtyard, she mentally went through her list of herbs. She could only manage to keep Ailie alive, but not cure her. What should she do? Nothing like this had ever happened to her.
“Where are we going?” The MacKeir demanded.
“Down to the pool.”
He grunted and followed close behind her.
Iosobal led them into the steamy chamber, but paused at the doorway. “Take her into the warm water. ’Twill erase the chill.”
He gave her a long look. “Where are you going?”
“To fetch herbs.”
He gave a snort of disgust. “More herbs?”
“They should help.”
As he carried Ailie down into the water, he narrowed his gaze. “I saw what you did to the villager. You needed no herbs to aid him.”
Ailie coughed so hard Iosobal could see her body shake with it.
“Help her, damn you!” The MacKeir shouted. “You talk of herbs when my child can scarcely draw a breath?”
The worst of it was that he was right to be angry. She did not understand why, but she was failing with Ailie. The realization sickened her.
“Where is your magical white light now?” he demanded.
“Father, stop yelling at Lady Iosobal,” Ailie whispered.
Iosobal walked to the edge of the pool. “’Tis all right, Ailie.” She looked at The MacKeir. His jaw was clenched and his eyes burned like fire-lit emeralds.
“Heal. Her,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Iosobal stepped into the water and put her hand against Ailie’s chest. She closed her eyes, willing her power to flow from her fingertips, willing it to find whatever sickness invaded the child’s body and drive it out.
A flicker of warmth trickled through her fingers and Iosobal held her breath. Could this time work? As soon as she had the thought, the warmth died.
She opened her eyes. “I do not understand this,” she said.
The MacKeir let out a long breath. He dropped his head, and for a moment, he looked beaten. Then, he straightened his shoulders and gave her a hard look. “Gather your herbs.”
As Iosobal walked to her chambers, she kept thinking that she was missing something important. It was as if a wall existed between her powers and the child. There was no reason for it.
And when there seemed to be no rational explanation, that left magic. She frowned as she gathered up her pouches of herbs. Could it be? Was it possible that Ailie’s illness was not a natural one? But why? And from whom?
She quickly mixed a drink of wine, honey, and angelica, and returned to the steam chamber.
The MacKeir sat on the steps into the pool, Ailie cradled against his chest. He rocked back and forth in silence, holding one of Ailie’s hands in his.
The sight tore at Iosobal’s heart.
After lighting the brazier and tossing laurel onto the flames, she walked to the pool, hesitant to intrude on the intimate picture, but determined.
The MacKeir looked up at her approach.
Ailie smiled at her. “I am warm again,” she said.
“Good. Here is one of my drinks that you like.”
The child took the cup. “Thank you.”
Iosobal sat on the edge of the pool. “Tell me about when Ailie began to fall ill.”
Lugh’s expression turned bleak. “There is no much to tell. One morn she awoke not feeling well. I … we all thought ’twas a simple cold and that it would pass.”
“But it did not.”
“Nay.” He looked down at Ailie, anguish in his eyes. “It worsened, no matter what anyone did.”
Iosobal considered her next words carefully. “Were there any visitors to Tunvegan at the time?”
The MacKeir shook his head. “Tunvegan is a remote spot. We do not receive many visitors. Why do you ask?”
“I think she is wondering if a bad wizard cast a sickness spell on me,” Ailie said.
Iosobal swept a stray strand of hair from the Ailie’s forehead, and smiled at the child’s matter of fact announcement.
“Is she right?” The MacKeir asked, his tone incredulous.
“The idea has occurred to me, aye,” Iosobal said.
“That is impossible,” he said with a frown. “Isn’t it?”
Iosobal met his gaze and lifted a brow. “Is it?”
“More magic. By the saints, what next?”
“I did not say it was so.”
“Why would anyone wish to harm Ailie? She is an innocent bairn.”
“What of you? Have you enemies?”
The MacKeir laughed. “Of course. What man does not have at least an enemy or two? None of them are wizards, though.” He shook his head. “If such a being exists.”
“Can you do a spell to change me back?” Ailie asked hopefully.
“Good idea, Ailie,” The MacKeir said. “Iosobal?”
For a moment, Iosobal could only stare at him in astonishment. She had never had such a conversation with anyone, save her mother. Yet, here Lugh MacKeir sat, wreathed in steam, a Highland Laird grounded in the outside world, calmly asking her to perform a magical spell. “I am not sure,” she finally said. “We do not even know if that is the case. It is more likely that Ailie is simply ill.”
“Then why have you not cured her?” The MacKeir asked.
Iosobal stood and stretched, ignoring his question for which she had no answer. “I am going to think on this. Keep her here for a while. I shall send Niamh with blankets.”
After she left, Lugh gazed at nothing through the tendrils of mist over the water. Spells? A wizard? No, he would not believe it.
“Do you think the wizard put a spell on mama too?”
Lugh hugged Ailie tight. “Nay, sweeting. I do not think that is the case. ’Tis a sickness, naught more. And Lady Iosobal will find a way to cure it.”
“I hope so,” his child said, her voice so forlorn that it se
nt a shard of pain into Lugh’s chest.
“You are a verra brave lass,” he told her. “Every bit a MacKeir.”
She smiled.
Lugh made himself smile back although inside his heart was cracking into a thousand pieces. Dear Lord, aid me, he silently prayed. Do not make me lose my child too.
Chapter
XI
He does not look very dangerous,” Piers commented to Hemming.
The older man snorted. “Nay. Reckless, but hardly a threat.”
“I passed a woman outside the palace. She seemed quite distressed.”
Hemming snorted again. “His thick-witted wife.”
“What are they afraid of, Hemming?”
“Everything. Nothing.”
“But—”
“Piers,” his uncle called out as he swept into the room. He stopped and stared at the man lying on the table. “What is this?”
“One of the villagers was injured while hunting deer. Luckily for him, neither he nor his companion managed to get a deer, but this one caught the arrow instead.” Hemming poured a few drops from the vial into a cup.
Gifford leaned over and sniffed. “Henbane?”
Hemming shrugged. “I am no healer. I merely follow the Lady’s instructions.”
“Where is The MacKeir?” Gifford asked Piers. “I stopped in the hall and found Branor waiting for him. He’s anxious to get working on the Lady’s cave.”
Piers sighed. “Lugh is seeing to Ailie.” He glanced at Hemming. “I think you can handle Lady Iosobal’s patient, Hemming.”
“Aye. Go about your business. Ranald willnae be causing any trouble for some time.”
Piers put a hand on Gifford’s shoulder.
“What is this about Ailie?” Gifford asked as they left the chamber.
“’Twas a strange thing, Gifford. The child went out in the water searching for the dolphins.”
“And? That does not sound so terribly strange.”
“No, not that. By the time I found her she was lying atop one of the beasts in shallow water.”
Gifford skidded to a stop. “On top of it?”
Piers nodded. “Ailie claimed that the dolphins brought her to safety when she grew too weak to swim.”
“’Tis a wondrous place we find ourselves in,” Gifford said, shaking his head. “Is the child all right?”
“The swim did little for her condition.”
Gifford frowned as they entered the hall. “Losing Agatha was a harsh blow to Lugh. He is a man who feels things deeply. If poor Ailie perishes as well, I cannot imagine the depth of his sorrow.”
Piers exchanged a glance with his uncle. “Nor the depth of his rage.”
THE NEXT DAY, LUGH WAS HEFTING A ROCK CLOSE TO the cave entrance when he noticed a strange carving in the stone at the top of the cave entrance. He traced the pattern with his fingers, frowning.
“What is it?” Branor called over.
As Lugh’s fingers skimmed the carving, he realized that the symbol was familiar. “A pentagram,” he said, eyeing Branor.
Branor stilled.
“Aye. Similar to the one you have etched into your skin.”
“’Tis a common mark.”
“Is it?”
Branor shrugged. “Common enough.”
“’Tis a Templar symbol, is it not?”
“Aye. Sometimes.”
Lugh walked over to Branor, suspicion coiling in his gut. “Why would Lady Iosobal’s cave bear a Templar symbol?”
“The pentagram is not just a symbol of the Templars, Lugh. It has been used by many different peoples for a long time.”
“What does it mean?”
“Well, that depends on who you ask. To me, ’tis a symbol of Christ and the five wounds he received. To others, it symbolizes the balance of life.”
“You have never told me why you left the Templars.”
Branor stared at him. “I tired of the monastic life. And,” he added with a wry grin, “killing people lost its appeal.”
“I count it my good fortune that you ended up at Tunvegan.”
“I have a confession to make, Laird.”
Lugh cocked a brow. “I thought you might.”
Branor looked toward the entrance to the cave. “I have heard legends of this isle as well. ’Tis said to be a place out of time, a place of great mystery.”
Lugh cocked his head in sudden realization. “You hope to find something here.”
“Aye. That is part of the reason I came with you.”
“You believe this cave may hold something other than the lady’s necklace?”
“I am not sure.” Branor picked up a rock and threw it to the side. “But one of the stories tells of a treasure found long ago by the first Templars.” He squinted into the sun. “The story seems unbelievable, but some say that among the treasures found by those first nine knights lay the method for a man to travel back through time.”
Lugh sucked in a breath. “Nay. Such a thing is impossible.”
“Most likely ’tis just a tale.”
“Why would you seek such knowledge?”
“Is there nothing in your past you would not wish to change?”
“Agatha’s death, but no change of time would give me the means to save her.”
“Nothing else?” Branor’s mouth curved into a slight smile. “No mistakes to correct?”
Lugh shook his head. “Nay. I am at peace with the things I have done.”
“I envy you, Laird,” Branor said softly, and returned to working on the pile of rocks.
Lugh started to ask him to explain, but the stiff set of Branor’s shoulders stopped him. It was not the first time he’d sensed an undercurrent of sorrow in his friend. But it was Branor’s tale to tell, if he chose to do so. Lugh turned back to the cave and tackled another rock.
IOSOBAL CLOSED THE OLD BOOK AND GAZED OUT THE window at the sea. Even after the steam room and another one of her honeyed drinks, Ailie was little improved. Her skin was translucent now, her eyes too bright in her small face.
Iosobal knew she deserved the accusation in The MacKeir’s gaze. But why? she wondered for the countless time. Why had she so far been unable to cure the child? Could it be magic? Somehow, she didn’t think so, but something more was at work here, that much she felt certain of.
At least the book had given her an idea. A dangerous one, but she would try it, nonetheless.
It was an odd feeling to care so much for Ailie. Over the years, Iosobal had aided many of the villagers on Parraba, steered the women safely through childbirth, and soothed the men’s injuries. But it had never been more than duty, never really meant anything to her beyond the satisfaction of taking care of her people. She cared for them in a detached kind of way, never considering getting to know any one of them. Her mother had been the same, living in their palace sanctuary, content in remaining apart from the others.
Certainly, neither of them ever took their healing skills beyond Parraba. A flicker of a memory shifted through Iosobal’s mind, and she frowned, trying to remember. However she focused, the memory would not come, naught but a vague mixture of eyes glazed with resignation, the golden spikes of flames, and a lingering trace of regret.
Ailie was different. Iosobal’s chest ached at the thought of watching the poor child close her eyes for the last time. No, she would not allow it, she told herself.
Tonight she would heal Ailie.
LATER THAT EVENING, LUGH WAS SITTING IN THE HALL drinking ale and trying not to worry about Ailie when Gifford strolled in, followed by Piers. Gifford came to a stop in front of Lugh.
“Well, my boy, what are you sitting here for?”
“I am seriously considering getting drunk.”
Gifford snorted. “Save that for another night. Come on.”
“To where?”
Piers reached around him to pour ale into a cup. “To Lady Iosobal’s chambers, of course.”
“She told us at supper that our presence was forbidden.”
>
“Pah,” Gifford said. “She has Ailie in there. I want to see what is going on. Don’t you?”
Lugh hesitated. “Aye, but I am no sure spying on the lady is a good idea.”
“I think we should observe what the lady is up to. Make sure Ailie is all right,” Piers said, his eyes gleaming.
Curiosity won, and Lugh set his cup aside. “Very well.”
Within a few moments, the three were outside of Iosobal’s chambers. Before Lugh could say a word, Gifford pushed against the door. To Lugh’s surprise, it edged open.
His eyes widened at the sight. Iosobal and Ailie were within an oddly shaped pattern of burning candles. No, not that odd, Lugh realized. A pentagram, with Ailie lying in the center.
The sight of Iosobal turned his mouth dry and his rod to iron. She sat back on her heels, clad in naught but a thin chemise. Even in the candlelight, he could see the swell of her breasts and the flare of her hips. Her skin bore strange swirling patterns in purple and gold. As he stared at the design, he felt dizzy.
Gifford’s pinch of his arm brought him back. “She looks like a goddess,” he whispered.
“What is she saying?” Piers whispered.
“Be quiet,” Lugh told them. “Listen.”
Though he strained to understand Iosobal’s words, he couldn’t make them out. She put both hands on Ailie’s chest, who stared up at her with complete trust. Lugh fought back the urge to enter the room. The whole scene was too strange. The very air felt heavy, as if something unseen flowed through the chamber.
“Great Mother, I beseech you,” Iosobal said, her voice louder now. “I am strong, but the child is weak.” She bowed her head and murmured something in a low tone.
The candle’s flames shot up.
Lugh took a step forward, but Piers held him back. “Wait,” he said.
“Aid me, great Mother,” Iosobal said. She ran her hands over Ailie’s chest, and Lugh realized that his daughter had stopped coughing.
When Iosobal put her hand on Ailie’s forehead and tilted back her head, Lugh couldn’t quite stifle his gasp. Her eyes blazed, and her shoulders shook. She had one hand on Ailie and the other outstretched. “Send the illness to me,” she said.
By the saints, the woman was trying to draw Ailie’s sickness into her own body, Lugh realized in shock. He opened his mouth to order her to cease, then snapped it shut. Iosobal is powerful and strong, he told himself. She can withstand this. Ailie cannot.
