by Amy Tolnitch
“Be at ease,” Iosobal told her. “Niamh, can you fetch Madeleine a cup of wine while I tend the babe?”
Niamh nodded. “Of course, my lady.” She pulled the woman into the chair once more. “Do not worry. Lady Iosobal shall make everything better.”
Iosobal gently laid the infant down on a table and unwrapped the cloth around her. She wailed and kicked her thin legs. Iosobal put a hand on her forehead and found it hot. “Has she been eating?”
“Not very much. She just cries, my lady.”
As Niamh delivered the wine, Iosobal put both hands on the babe’s hard belly. The crying abruptly ceased. She closed her eyes, and felt her hands begin to warm. She had never displayed her power in the presence of anyone but The MacKeir, and even though her eyes remained closed, she felt the intense stares of Niamh, Hemming, and child’s mother. So be it, she thought, and sent her healing light forth to bathe the child in its glow.
She heard the gasps but ignored them, focused on ridding the child of the fever, willing her warmth to spread through her small body, pushing out the infection that had taken hold. Her power seemed stronger, more potent than it ever had.
“Dear Lord,” Niamh whispered.
When Iosobal finally opened her eyes, the babe was smiling at her. She laughed as one of the child’s tiny hands caught her finger.
Niamh pushed Madeleine forward, and handed her a cup filled with milk. The woman just stared at Iosobal in wonder.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Iosobal nodded. “Keep watch that she does not ingest anything she should not.”
“I will.” Madeleine picked up her babe and tilted the cup to her mouth. The sounds of hungry slurping ensued. Madeleine beamed a smile at her. “I do not know how to thank you, my lady. I do not have much, but—”
Iosobal held up a hand. “A simple ‘thanks’ is all I require.”
The babe let out a loud burp.
“I shall take that as my thanks,” Iosobal said.
“Well done, my lady,” Hemming said. “Well done.”
Iosobal looked at him and knew he did not just mean her healing the babe. She nodded. “I am going to see Ailie. Where is The MacKeir?”
“Out with Branor swinging his sword like some kind of madman,” Hemming said.
“Well, then I shall leave him to it.” With a final smile toward the babe, Iosobal left the hall. Her heart felt a lightness she’d not felt for a very long time, filled with the rightness of what she had done. It was not the first time she’d intervened in the health of her villagers, but it was the first time she had done so openly. She found it was a fine thing to receive thanks for her efforts.
Maybe she should allow herself more contact with people, she mused as she made her way to Ailie’s chamber. Go to the village on occasion. Let a traveler land on the island once in a while.
Open your heart to the possibilities.
She stopped outside Ailie’s chamber and leaned her head against the wall. She’d not intentionally opened her heart, but The MacKeir had found it nonetheless. When he left, she knew it would leave a huge void in her life.
And he would take a good part of her heart with him.
LUGH DODGED BRANOR’S ATTACK, AND SWUNG HIS sword in a flashing arc. Branor grunted, and blocked the strike with his shield. At once, he jumped forward, swinging his blade. The crash of steel against steel rang through the air.
“You have gone soft, Laird,” Branor taunted. “You should have been able to take me down by now.”
“Soft?” Lugh roared as he swept his sword toward Branor’s knees.
Branor barely managed to jump out of the way. He grinned at Lugh. “Mayhap it is the influence of Lady Iosobal.”
With a growl, Lugh sprang forward and put all of his weight and strength behind the blow. Steel smashed steel, whined as the edges slid against each other, and Lugh watched with satisfaction as Branor’s sword flew out of his hand.
Branor leaned over, breathing heavily. “Or mayhap not.”
“I have been thinking about how to deal with Lachlann,” Lugh said.
“You mean how to separate his head from his shoulders?”
“Aye.” Lugh frowned. “As well as that scheming bitch, Maura.”
“Damn shame that a woman so lovely contains such a dark heart.”
“Perhaps death is too easy for her.”
Branor lifted a brow. “Give her to the Laird of the MacCaoighs. He is said to thoroughly enjoy his women.”
“A little too thoroughly, from what I have heard.” Lugh shook his head. “Nay, sending that viper, Maura, into the den of the MacCaoighs would no doubt worsen the hostilities between our clans.” He tapped his hand against his thigh, frowning.
“How do you propose we retake Tunvegan?”
Lugh smiled. “The same way that whoreson Lachlann took it.”
Understanding dawned in Branor’s eyes. “Ah, yes. Surely the Lady Iosobal can provide you with what you need.”
“I am sure her knowledge far exceeds Maura’s.” He fixed his gaze on Branor. “But someone will need to gain entry to the castle. Someone who can move about without untoward suspicion.”
Branor bared his teeth in a grim smile. “’Twill be my pleasure.”
“Fall in with Lachlann’s story. Tell him you realized I had gone mad when I refused to give up finding the island.” He blew out a breath. “I want you to tell him I have died.”
“He may have me searched.”
“You will not be carrying anything with you.”
“Then, how will I obtain it?” Branor asked, his expression doubtful.
Lugh grinned. “Lachlann is no true Laird of the Clan. I know of more ways in and out of my holding than he could ever discover.”
Branor nodded. “When do we leave?”
“Soon. Iosobal has finally made progress in healing Ailie.” Though he didn’t understand how, it was clear something happened the last time Iosobal touched Ailie. Pray God it would be enough.
“Good.” Branor gave him a sly look. “And what of the fair Iosobal? Will you take her with us? In case Ailie’s condition worsens, of course.”
Lugh opened his mouth to say no, but the words stuck in his throat. He knew very well what Branor meant—take her as his woman, as his wife. As the thoughts tumbled through his mind, he slowly realized that he’d never truly considered what leaving her would cost him.
He’d never thought to take another wife. Agatha had been the woman he’d chosen. Agatha, who might have been saved. He could not hold onto his angry blame toward Iosobal in light of his own child’s understanding and forgiveness. But still … He clenched his jaw. “I am no sure the lady would take to Tunvegan. She is verra fond of her life on this isle.”
Branor gave him a knowing look. “Aye, but I am thinking the lady has become verra fond of you as well.”
A life with Iosobal, Lugh thought. By the saints, the very idea sent a tingling through his body. But her words drowned out the beginnings of a plan to make it so.
I am not of your world.
He shook his head. “Check with Niamh to ensure we have sufficient provisions for travel. I need to see to Ailie.”
Branor just watched him go, the same knowing look on his face.
IOSOBAL LED AILIE BY THE HAND TO HER DOLPHIN chamber. The child was unusually quiet, as if she sensed that something very important was about to happen. Her other hand rested on Artemis, who padded along beside them, sticking close to Ailie.
It is time to finish this, Iosobal thought.
She closed the door behind them. Artemis walked to the center of the room and sat with a sigh that echoed Iosobal’s conflicted thoughts. Get it done, she told herself. He must return to his life, and you to yours.
“Can I sit with Artemis?” Ailie asked, her eyes big in her face.
“Aye.” Iosobal stopped and bent down to the child. “Do not be afraid.”
Ailie stuck up her chin. “I am not afraid. I am a MacKeir.”
Io
sobal smiled. She heard Lugh’s voice in Ailie’s words. “Good.” She let go of Ailie’s hand, and she sat on the floor next to Artemis, who laid her head on Ailie’s shoulder.
This will work, Iosobal told herself, pushing her doubts away. She lit a brazier, throwing bundles of laurel onto the fire when it caught.
“I wish I could take Artemis with us,” Ailie said as she stroked the dog.
For a moment, Iosobal considered it, but realized that she could not let Artemis go. For a long time, the dog had been Iosobal’s only real friend, her confidant, and her comfort. And when Lugh and Ailie left, she knew she would need Artemis’s understanding presence more than ever. “I am sorry, sweeting,” she said as she squatted in front of Ailie.
“I want you to come too. Please?”
The child was so earnest that Iosobal’s heart splintered. “I cannot,” she said, even as she found herself wondering.
“Why not? You would not be alone anymore. You would be with people who love you.”
Love. What would it be like to be loved? To love in return? She put her hands on Ailie’s chest. “I will miss you more than you can imagine.”
“I love you, Lady Iosobal.” Ailie flung her arms around Iosobal’s shoulders with a sob. “I do not want to lose you.”
Dear Brigid, what was she to do? Open your heart. “I love you too,” she finally said, pulling Ailie close.
And without Iosobal even thinking it, warm, healing power flowed from her into the child. She could see it, shimmering golden white, a thick mist wrapping Ailie in Iosobal’s power, in her love. They remained embraced, and Iosobal felt the last of Ailie’s illness fade under the force of what Iosobal’s magic and love had wrought.
In the end it had been so simple. Open your heart.
“I can see them swimming,” Ailie whispered.
Iosobal looked at the wall in amazement. The figures appeared to move, undulating through the waves all around them. “They approve,” she said.
Slowly, the white vapors receded. Iosobal gave Ailie a tight hug. Artemis bumped her head between them, and Ailie giggled.
“You are healed,” Iosobal told her. She drew Ailie up and turned to the door.
Lugh MacKeir stood in the doorway with tears running down his face.
“Father!” Ailie shouted. “I am cured!” She ran and threw herself into his outstretched arms.
He bent his head to his daughter’s and wept. “Thank God,” he said. Then he lifted his gaze and caught Iosobal’s. The expression in his eyes stole her breath, froze Iosobal in place. She wanted to stop time, to spend the rest of her days gazing at him in this moment.
Then, he walked toward her and knelt, placing his sword point down, his hand gripping the pommel. “I thank you, Lady Iosobal,” he said. “Upon my oath as the Laird of Tunvegan and,” he smiled, “the father of Ailie, I swear to you that if you ever have need of anything, anything, I am yours.”
Iosobal couldn’t think of a single thing to say. To see this proud warrior on his knees before her so shocked her that she couldn’t think, could barely remember to breathe.
“Anything,” he said as he stood. Then, he winked.
In a heartbeat, Iosobal’s body turned molten. Only Lugh MacKeir could make an oath of loyalty into a sensual promise, she thought.
Ailie clapped her hands, and Iosobal managed to look away, fighting to regain her composure. “We must celebrate!” Ailie cried.
“Aye,” Lugh said as he put an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t you find Niamh and tell her?”
Ailie skipped out of the room, Artemis following close behind.
And then it was only Lugh and Iosobal.
His gaze could have lit wet wood aflame. “How did you do it?” He took a step toward her.
Iosobal licked her lips. Open your heart. “I am not sure. Something happened, something … between Ailie and me.”
“Is that all?” Now, he was standing only inches from her.
“Yes.” Liar, her inner voice shouted.
He tilted his head, his ever perceptive gaze studying her. “I am no sure it was only that. Iosobal,” he whispered, just before he kissed her.
As his lips claimed hers, Iosobal sank into his strength, gripping his shoulders and glutting herself on him. Not enough, she thought. Never enough.
“My lady?” a voice intruded.
Iosobal wanted to groan in dismay. She opened her eyes to find Niamh standing in the doorway, a smile on her lips.
Lugh kept his arms wrapped around her waist and Iosobal had to peer around his shoulder. “Aye?”
“We are to have a celebration for the bairn?”
“Yes.”
Niamh rubbed her hands together. “Than, I’d best get to work.”
“I can help you,” Iosobal said, embarrassed to her toes to find her voice came out scarcely more than a squeak.
“Oh, I would not want to take you away from your other … duties,” Niamh said, utterly failing to keep the mirth from her expression.
“I need to speak with Piers,” Lugh said. Then, he pressed a hard kiss to Iosobal’s mouth right in front of Niamh and gave Iosobal a smoldering look. “Later,” he whispered.
Iosobal watched him walk away and wondered if she could remain standing for the time it took her to send Niamh away.
Niamh’s smile widened. “A braw man.”
“Indeed,” Iosobal managed to sputter.
Niamh laughed and left the chamber.
THE CELEBRATION SUPPER THAT EVENING WAS MORE difficult than Iosobal had imagined, and she’d thought she’d mentally prepared for the worst. Earlier, she had ended up helping Niamh in the kitchen, mainly because she needed something to take her mind off what loomed for the next day. Saraid and even Ailie had joined in, with Hemming performing his usual task as taster.
It had been strange and comforting at the same time. Though Niamh and Hemming still treated Iosobal with the respect of a servant, they included her in their often vigorous discussions over how to best prepare a certain dish, and even solicited her opinion.
But now, she sat at a big table in the hall, looking around at all the people who would be gone in the morning. Saraid looked so joyously happy with Gifford, Iosobal couldn’t blame her for leaving Parraba when it was obvious that Gifford was completely besotted by her and anxious to show her his home.
It was clear that they were all eager to return to their homes. She knew Hemming had earlier gone to the village and obtained adequate supplies for both boats. The only thing left for them to do was leave.
She’d once thought her only feeling when the day came would be profound relief that she would at last have her peaceful life back. Instead, a hollow ache had taken root in her chest that she was sure would never completely go away.
As she took a long drink of wine, Lugh laughed at something Branor said, and her gaze snapped to him. He looks so at home here, she thought. As if he is the lord. But Iosobal suspected that Lugh MacKeir would look such even if he lived in a peasant’s cottage.
He looked over the table at her and smiled. She tried to return it but her throat closed and the best she could do was a slight curve to her lips.
“Lady Iosobal,” Ailie said, tugging at her sleeve. Iosobal turned to her right. Ailie had demanded to sit next to “Princess Iosobal,” as she often called her.
“Can I say goodbye to Amphitrite and Poseidon before we leave?” she asked hopefully.
Get hold of yourself, Iosobal inwardly chided. You knew this day would come. “Aye. I shall make sure they come to bid you farewell.”
Saraid, on Iosobal’s other side, put a hand on her arm. “You will be all right here?” she asked softly.
Iosobal was proud that she managed to give a light laugh. “Of course. This is my home.”
Saraid looked like she wanted to say more, but Lugh stood and lifted his cup. “To Lady Iosobal,” he said, his gaze warm. “Who gave me something that neither coin nor my sword can obtain.”
Everyone
clinked cups.
He was acknowledging her taunt, Iosobal knew. She regretted it now, but she regretted many things these days. The one thing she could not seem to regret was giving herself to Lugh MacKeir. Clearly, she was her mother’s daughter after all.
Iosobal took up her cup and nodded to the gathering. “I shall see you all off in the morning.”
“Do not go yet,” Ailie implored. “’Tis not that late.”
Iosobal stroked her cheek. “Today has been a tiring one for me. Sleep well. You begin your journey home tomorrow.” As she turned to go, she couldn’t help but glance at Lugh. He was staring at her through narrowed eyes, and once more, Iosobal felt that he saw straight into the core of her. “Later,” he mouthed.
She started to make her way to her chambers, Artemis having stayed behind to beg for food. Partway across her fragrant courtyard, she changed her mind, and instead headed out of the palace and down to the beach.
She waded into the water without disrobing, much as she had done that day she asked God to send her a way to open her cave. Cool water soaked into her bliaut and she swished her hands through the soft sea. God had indeed sent her a way, though she could not have foreseen how it would so deeply invade her life, her very self.
The sea was quiet this eve, with no sign of Amphitrite and Poseidon. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh air, tasting the salt on her tongue. This is where I belong, she thought, mentally shedding her clothing. She dove deep, the waning sun filtering through the water overhead. The sea was as much a part of her as her magic. It was her legacy, her lover, and her haven.
She flipped onto her back and floated aimlessly, eyes half-closed, drawing in the warmth of the sun. For a long time, she stayed thus, arms outstretched embracing the water, and gradually peace settled into her soul. Out here in the sea it was quiet, her hearing muffled, the water cocooning her in the cool, soft womb of those who had come before her.
More time passed, until the golden ball of the sun touched the horizon. She flipped up in the water and her feet hit bottom.
“I always seem to find you in water,” Lugh said.
She looked at him standing on the sand, the sun burnishing him in copper. “I am at home here.”
