by Amy Tolnitch
“Ailie,” Branor said.
PIERS HALF WALKED, HALF STAGGERED BACK TO THE palace. He felt like he’d been drinking all day, though he’d barely had a few swallows and had long sweated those away.
On his way to his chamber, he stopped in the kitchen long enough to find a jug of wine. Despite the strange thoughts spinning in his mind, he managed to affect a light smile for Niamh and Hemming, who were engrossed in some debate over the best spices for the fish stew Niamh was preparing.
When he reached his chamber, he shut the door and pushed a stool against it. Though Gifford was not about, the last think Piers wanted at the moment was Gifford bursting in with, hopefully, good news about his pursuit of Saraid.
He shot back a gulp of wine and wandered into the bathing room. While the water ran, he sat on the edge of the tiled tub and sipped wine.
He should never have touched that damned crystal. He should have heeded Iosobal’s instruction to stay out of the cave.
As soon as he’d regained consciousness, he’d known what a grave mistake he’d made. Something, someone had erupted from inside the crystal and stolen inside him. He could sense it, exploring its new home, reading his thoughts. No, not an it, he realized. A he.
As he turned off the water, stripped, and slipped into the tub, he had the mad thought that at least he hadn’t been possessed by a woman.
He groaned and leaned his head against the edge of the tub, drinking wine and letting the warm water soak into the aches that a night spent wenching and a day moving rocks had given him.
Wenching, a faint voice whispered in his mind. A fine sport indeed.
Well, at least we agree on that, Piers thought. “Who the hell are you?” he asked aloud, then immediately winced. If anyone could hear him, they would be convinced that his wits had gone. Perhaps they have, Piers thought morosely.
Laughter echoed in his mind. I am Eikki. And I have the feeling I am going to enjoy this very much.
“Go to the devil,” Piers said as he tipped wine into his mouth.
I am already there.
IOSOBAL RUSHED AFTER LUGH AND BRANOR TO THE palace. Saint Brigid, please not Ailie again. She’d been certain the child’s illness was gone.
They sped through the inner courtyard and up to Ailie’s chambers, where Niamh sat stroking the child’s hair, a silent group of Hemming, Saraid, and Gifford hovering nearby. “What happened?” Iosobal demanded as she walked to Ailie’s side.
The child gazed up at her through eyes dimmed by pain and fear. Deep coughs rattled her chest and her hand clung to Niamh’s.
Niamh shook her head. “I do not know, my lady. I found her like this when I came to bring her some honey cakes.”
Iosobal knelt down and put her hand on Ailie’s chest.
On the child’s other side, Lugh held Ailie’s hand, his face drawn into tight lines of concern.
“Keep her warm,” Iosobal said as she stood. “I shall return in a moment.” She brushed past Hemming, Gifford, and Saraid, each of whom gazed at her with hope that Iosobal could work a miracle.
The truth was she didn’t know what to do.
She hurried to the dolphin chamber, where she gathered an assortment of herbs and a vial of oil, then stopped in her chambers to retrieve Artemis. “Come, girl,” she called as she opened the door and found the dog sleeping in a patch of sunlight.
Artemis jumped up and stretched, her tail wagging. She put her head against Iosobal’s skirts and gazed up at her as if she sensed Iosobal’s uncertainty. “Aye,” Iosobal said as she bent to hug the dog. “I am worried.”
When they reached Ailie’s chambers, no one had moved. Lugh saw the bundle in her arms and his jaw stiffened. Though he said nothing, Iosobal knew he was thinking that Ailie needed more than herbs and salves. He was right.
“Niamh, fetch me some warmed wine,” she ordered and put her supplies down on a table. “And fat and mustard.”
Niamh gave Ailie a last pat and scurried out the door, shooting Iosobal an anxious glance as she passed.
“Lugh, can you light the brazier?” Iosobal asked as she tore leaves of angelica, coltsfoot, and mint. She glanced at Hemming. “I shall tend to the child. You may go.”
He nodded. “I shall be in the kitchen if you require anything.” Gifford and Saraid followed him, both of them wearing identical expressions of dread.
Within a few minutes, the burning herbs sent fragrant smoke spiraling through the room. Iosobal stripped off Ailie’s chemise, rubbed a mixture of animal fat and mustard on her chest, and covered her tightly with blankets. She added more herbs, including valerian, to the warmed wine that Niamh delivered. While she worked, Lugh knelt at his daughter’s side holding her hand, his expression so bleak it broke Iosobal’s heart. No, Iosobal swore to herself. I shall not lose Ailie.
“Try to drink a bit,” she said to the child, raising her head.
Ailie, brave child that she was, took several sips of the honeyed wine. She wrinkled her nose. “’Tis a strong taste.”
“I put in some special ingredients,” Iosobal told her. She brushed Ailie’s hair back from her forehead. Now that she remembered her vision of Agatha, she was struck by how much Ailie resembled her mother. And how similar their conditions were.
She looked over at Lugh. “Save her,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Do for her what you failed to do for her mother.”
Ailie furrowed her brow and took another sip of wine. “What do you mean, Father?” She gazed at Iosobal. “Did you know my mother?”
Lugh looked away.
“I … no, I did not.” Iosobal’s throat closed and she couldn’t find the words. It was bad enough to confess her weakness to Lugh, but to tell Ailie? To watch the adoration on the child’s face turn to revulsion? She tipped more wine into Ailie’s mouth. The combined smells of the burning herbs and mustard salve were making her lightheaded, she thought. She couldn’t seem to sort out her thoughts.
“Tell her,” Lugh suddenly said.
Ailie sent her a soft smile. “Aye. Tell me what you knew of my mother.”
Iosobal put the wine cup aside and placed her hand over Ailie’s chest. “One evening I had a dream, a vision of her. I did not know who she was. All I knew was that she was very ill.”
“Like me,” Ailie said.
“Aye.” Iosobal rubbed circles on Ailie’s chest.
Ailie frowned. “But you did not help her. Why?”
Dear Saint Brigid, how was she to explain? The truth, Iosobal, she told herself. Simply tell her the truth.
“Lady Iosobal?” Ailie asked.
“Because I was afraid. Afraid to go into your world. When I was but a bit older than you, I went to your lands. I healed a wounded boy.”
“And the people learned that you were magical,” Ailie said with a nod.
“Aye.” Smoke wound around them from the burning herbs, taking Iosobal back there, back to that village that had looked so comfortable and nice, back watching the villagers try to burn her alive. “They did not understand that I meant only to help.”
“Did they hurt you?” Ailie put her hand over Iosobal’s.
“They tried to kill me.”
Ailie’s eyes widened. “Filthy bastards,” she swore.
Iosobal blinked at her language and looked at Lugh who, amazingly, was clearly fighting a smile. She felt the pressure in her chest ease.
“I understand why you did not come to Tunvegan, my lady. ’Twas not your fault.” Ailie patted her hand.
The child’s innocent forgiveness blew through Iosobal with the force of a gale wind. No one, not even her own mother, had ever shown her such understanding acceptance. “I am sorry, Ailie.”
“You shall cure me, Lady Iosobal,” Ailie said with calm certainty. “That will make my mother most happy. She watches over me from Heaven.”
Such emotion welled up in Iosobal that she felt as if it would spill out and fill the chamber. Dear Lord, please aid me to help this child, she silently prayed. She is far too speci
al to me to let go.
“’Tis very warm,” Ailie said.
Iosobal’s mouth dropped open. It was indeed warm. She wanted to shout with glee, but instead she just smiled. The warmth came from their hands, one atop the other, still resting on Ailie’s chest.
Ailie drew in a deep breath without coughing.
Lugh stared at Iosobal, a question in his gaze.
She nodded.
His eyes closed, and then he mouthed a “thank you.”
Ailie yawned and blinked. “I am so tired.”
The valerian, Iosobal thought. She bent and pressed a kiss to Ailie’s forehead. “Rest. I shall be back to see you later.”
Through another big yawn, Ailie said, “Thank you, Princess. I love you.”
Iosobal slowly removed her hand from Ailie’s chest. By the time she did, Ailie’s eyes had closed. Ailie’s words spun through her mind. I love you. With those simple words, the child had punched a gaping hole in the shields around Iosobal’s heart. “I shall return, anon.”
“Iosobal—”
She halted him with a lifted hand. “No more. Not now.”
“I will not be leaving in the morn.”
“No. I suppose not.” She turned and left.
Chapter
XIX
Iosobal lit a fire in the center of her cave and settled onto a blanket. She fingered her moonstone necklace and stared at nothing. With this necklace, you shall be able to see a person’s true heart, her mother had told her.
It was a complicated gift. Yes, she’d seen kindness, caring, even love. But more often than she’d expected, she’d also seen avarice, jealousy, and deceit.
The moment Lugh put it into her hand she’d seen him. Strength. A will that burned bright. Loyalty. And steadfastness.
Her gaze lit upon the drawing he’d found, the one that revealed her deepest secret. He’d been right, the woman in the picture looked far from discontent. The story passed down from mother to daughter was that the first Lady of Parraba and her mystical lover had stayed together for a long, long time.
She dropped her head. “Oh, Mother, what shall I do? Why can I not simply heal the child?”
“Because you have not yet learned what you must,” a soft voice said.
Iosobal’s gaze shot up and she gasped. Before her floated a form, shadowed but with an inner light. The features were blurry, but Iosobal knew at once who it was. “Mother?”
Gentle laughter flowed over her. “Aye.”
“But … how?”
“You needed me.”
Iosobal’s eyes filled with tears. “I do need you. Everything has become so confusing.”
“The answer is simple. You must open your heart.”
“Open my heart? But Mother, you were the one to tell me to guard myself. You warned me not to let myself face the pain that you did.”
“I was wrong, my child. So wrong.”
“I … I do not understand. I must remain apart from the world. You taught me that.” Her mouth turned down. “My own villagers taught me that.”
“And so it has been for centuries. The Lady of Parraba walks alone.”
“You did not always. And it brought you naught but heartache and betrayal.”
“Aye. I did not choose wisely.” Her mother’s form faded slightly and the chamber filled with the sound of a long sigh. “Your father, well, he was such a beautiful man. When he landed here, I took one look into his blue eyes and forgot everything I’d been taught.”
“Then he left you. And me,” Iosobal added in a small voice.
“His looks, his attentions blinded me. I did not see that he was not the kind of man who could ever really accept me. To him, I was a strange and rare adventure. Not the great love I had envisioned. ’Tis why I gave you the necklace.”
Iosobal thought of what she’d sensed from Lugh, and felt her first tremor of doubt.
“You have the chance to change the path we have trodden for so long. A lonely path.”
“I do not know if I can, Mother. I have been too long alone.”
Her mother smiled faintly. “Even though your father wounded me by his leaving, I never regretted the time we had together. ’Twas true magic. And it gave me you, my precious child.”
But the facts remained the same, Iosobal thought. Her mother had given her heart to a man who threw it away. She had spent the rest of her days longing for what had been.
“The MacKeir is an intriguing man. He does not let you place yourself away from him.”
“Nay. The man has no sense of boundaries whatsoever.” Iosobal tried to sound disgruntled, but knew she failed when she made out her mother’s faint smile.
“The child loves you, Iosobal.”
Her mother was right about that. Even if Ailie had not told her, Iosobal would have known it by her necklace. The child radiated pure, innocent love. Saint Brigid, the power of it had nearly taken her to her knees. “What should I do?”
“Open your heart to possibilities.” Her mother began to fade away.
“Wait!” Iosobal sprang to her feet.
“If you do not, the child will die.”
PIERS FINALLY FOUND GIFFORD IN A REMOTE CORNER of the garden locked in a passionate kiss with Saraid. He coughed. The two ignored him. He coughed louder. No response. “Gifford!”
His uncle finally looked up, with such a dazed expression on his face that Piers had to laugh, though at the moment, it was absolutely the last thing he felt like doing. “Piers,” Gifford said, tamping down his rumpled white hair. “You may be the first to offer us your congratulations.”
Piers looked over at Saraid, who glowed with happiness. “I take it she said yes.”
Gifford tilted his head to the sky. “Aye, praise to God. She took pity on my poor self and my broken heart.”
Saraid laughed and gazed at Piers. “Your uncle is most persuasive.”
“Wonderful. You both have my best wishes. Now,” Piers clapped his hands together. “We can return to Falcon’s Craig, see you wed, and gather up men to aid The MacKeir in retaking Tunvegan.”
Gifford gave him an odd look. “Is aught amiss, Piers? You do not look like yourself.”
Yes, Piers wanted to howl. Everything is amiss. More and more, this creature steals into my thoughts. Instead, he forced a light smile to his face. “I grow bored here, ’tis all. We have cleared Lady Iosobal’s cave, and Ailie is on the mend. There is no reason for us to linger.”
Gifford stood and peered at him. “What is troubling you?”
Damn his uncle for his sharp eye, Piers swore silently. He contemplated telling him, but discarded the idea. It would only mar Gifford’s well-deserved delight in winning Saraid. “I am simply ready to leave. I have been away from Falcon’s Craig long enough.”
Saraid put a hand on Gifford’s arm. “’Twill not take long for me to gather up my things.”
His uncle puffed out his flat chest. “I shall help you, my dove.”
Piers rolled his eyes.
As Gifford led Saraid away, Piers heard his uncle saying, “You shall love Falcon’s Craig, love. I cannot wait to show you the bathing room Piers designed.” Saraid responded with a girlish giggle.
Piers sucked in a deep breath and made a fist. Get out of my head, he thought.
’Tis too late for that. I am part of you now.
Why? Why me?
Because you freed me, of course.
You should thank me by leaving me be.
Only the sound of eerie laughter answered him.
Piers swore under his breath and headed to his chamber to pack.
WHEN IOSOBAL RETURNED TO THE PALACE, HEMMING was waiting for her just inside the courtyard. His expression was so peculiar that she halted, fear stabbing into her belly.
“Ailie?”
“’Tis not her, my lady. Niamh just checked on her, and the child is sleeping peacefully.”
Relief flooded her. I still have time, she thought.
“A woman from the village is here.”
Iosobal stared at him in shock. “Here?”
Hemming shrugged. “She brings her babe, who is sickly, to seek your aid.”
“Here,” Iosobal said again, scarcely able to believe it. “Where is she?”
“I put her in the hall. Niamh is preparing some honeyed milk for the babe.”
Iosobal had to smile. Niamh’s answer to any ill was honey. “I shall see her now,” she told Hemming as she walked toward the hall.
He fell into step next to her. “My lady … is, I mean, are you all right? I do not mean to pry, but you appear somewhat … unsettled.”
“Thank you for your concern, Hemming, but I am fine.” On the way back from the cave, a strange sense of calm had overtaken her. She’d been a fortress under siege, a siege so subtle, so gradual, that she’d not even realized her curtain walls were crumbling. But crumble they had. Open your heart to possibilities, her mother had said.
Perhaps this was the first step, she thought as she walked into the hall. A young woman sat in a chair, cradling a young child in her arms. At Iosobal’s entrance, the woman jumped to her feet and the baby let out a shrill wail.
Even from a distance, Iosobal could see the babe was ill. Its skin was too pale, and its cry too weak. She stopped in front of the woman, who gazed at her with a pleading expression. Before Iosobal had the chance to speak, the woman dropped to her knees.
“My lady, I beg you to help my child.”
Iosobal gazed down at the woman and her child. I should have known, she thought. She had always known when one of the villagers required her healing. You have been distracted, she told herself as she put a hand out to the woman. “Please, rise.”
“My child is ill. I do not know what else to do for her.” Tears trickled down the woman’s face.
“Let me see her.”
The woman rose. “I am Madeleine, my lady. And this,” she said with a worried smile, “is Ciara.” She thrust the bundle into Iosobal’s arms.
The babe squalled and her tiny face turned red.
“Please, my lady. She is all I have. Please do not blame all of us for the actions of Culloch. Or Calum, that loathsome knave.” Madeleine’s eyes were pleading.
