by Amy Jarecki
Friar Pat raced in beside Ian, a damp sheen over his face. “’Tis no’ Merrin’s doing.” He coughed. “Alexander was sick before they arrived. I can attest. He asked me for a tonic.”
Bethag’s hands flew to her hips. “And how can we trust your word?” She shook her finger. “If ye think I do no’ know ye’ve protected the witch all these years, Ye’re wrong. Niall told me everything.”
The friar shook his fist. “Merrin wouldn’t—”
“Stop this madness.” The ground shook as Sir Bran marched across the courtyard, his mammoth claymore secure in his hand.
“She’s brought the ague upon us all.” Bethag rushed toward him, ensuring she was heard first.
Merrin’s shaking breath burst in and out, heaving through the huge gap in her gown.
Bran glanced at Ian. “What proof?”
Bethag shook her finger. “Alexander, Lady Anne and half the clan—they’re all fevered.”
Friar Pat stepped forward, all color drained from his face, sweat beading at his temples. “’Tis no’ her, I swear it.”
The old woman whipped around. “There ye go, a man of God swearing an oath.”
Merrin glared at Bethag. She was the reason Niall visited Brochel so often? What on earth did her father see in that?
Bran ignored the old woman and focused on the friar. “How do ye ken?”
The friar smoothed his palms over his brown robe. “She’s no witch, never has been—but she can heal us.”
Ian kept his sword and eyes trained on the guard’s throat. “The friar’s right—she’s learned her father’s skill.”
Sir Bran stepped up to Merrin and focused his dark gaze on her face. “Can ye prove it?”
Trembling, Merrin looked to Ian. He raised his chin. She knew what he was asking—what she must do. “Take me to Fladda. I can make a tincture.”
Ian touched his razor-sharp sword to the guard’s neck. A line of blood trickled. “Release her now or Ye’re the first to die.”
Bran held up his weapon. “Do it or every man who defies Ian will feel the cold iron of me blade.”
“Let there be no bloodshed.” Pat coughed and held up his hands. “Go to Fladda. Niall taught ye well, lass. Ye ken what must be done.”
Bethag grabbed Bran’s arm. “Ye mustn’t let her slip away.”
He shoved the woman aside. “While the chieftain is ill, Ian is acting laird and I pledge me fealty to him, as stated in the chieftain’s charter. I will accompany Ian and Merrin to the healer’s workshop on Fladda.”
“Burn her,” a man shouted from the rear of the crowd.
“I said no,” Sir Bran roared, stepping up to the guard. Enormous, he towered over them all.
Ian reached in and grasped Merrin’s hand while holding his sword level. “I am chieftain and ye will never in your life touch me woman again, or I will cut ye down and show no mercy.” The blade in his hand trembled with the deep tenor of his voice.
As soon as the guard’s grasp eased, Merrin slipped under Ian’s protective arm. Never again would she doubt him. He clutched her tightly as he backed away and panned his sword across the crowd. “I am ashamed of your actions this day. Ye will tend the sick until we return with a remedy.”
Merrin clamped her teeth. God help her. Yes, she knew how to prepare a tincture for the ague, but even Niall didn’t know a surefire cure.
“Come,” Bran ordered, leading the way to the beach.
“Gar?” Merrin shouted. “Release me dog.”
Ian backed toward the gate, keeping Merrin behind him. When they cleared it, he turned to her. “Stay between us.” With a bark, Gar bounded through the portcullis and raced in beside them. Ian glanced to the sentry on the wall-walk above. “Close it. I do no’ want anyone coming after us.”
***
It didn’t take long to sail the galley around to Fladda. Merrin’s entire body still shook. “I never want to go there again.”
“Ye must.” Bran steered the rudder to the beach as Ian manned the sail. “They’ll fear ye forever if ye do no’ return.”
Merrin clutched her arms tight around her ribs. “But what if they try to burn me again?”
Ian removed his plaid. “As acting laird, I’ll grant ye sanctuary until this ague has passed. If anyone crosses me, they’ll receive the same treatment.”
Bran’s eyes turned dark as coal. “Ian will have me sword, and I shall cut any man down who stands against him or you.”
Merrin didn’t doubt he would do it. The man was more fearsome looking than Rewan, truth be told.
Ian glanced back. “I’m grateful to ye, Bran. At least someone has a clear head.” He draped the plaid across Merrin’s shoulders. “This will cover your gown until we return to Brochel.”
She glanced down to his feet. “Ye left without your boots.”
He chuckled. “’Tis a good thing ’tis summer.” He batted the air with his hand. “Do no’ worry about me, I’ll be right. Just focus on making the tincture.”
Merrin nodded, her gut squeezing. What would happen if it didn’t work? A cool blast of wind blew her hair back. She steeled her resolve. She’d apply herself to this task with everything she had, and, God willing, she’d prepare a remedy that would see them through to good health.
Bran pulled hard on the rudder and pointed the galley toward the caol. The two men moored the boat in no time and soon the trio headed up the hill to Niall’s workshop with Gar sticking close to Merrin’s heel.
She recounted the remedy in her head. She’d use a mixture of angelica and alder bark. She’d also add anise for the cough. If only Niall were here, she’d be sure of the measurements. But she couldn’t worry about that now. Her biggest concern was the bark. Niall traded with passing merchants for it, since it wasn’t prevalent nearby. She looked skyward and prayed there would be enough.
Once they reached the workshop, Ian placed his hand on her shoulders. “What do ye need us to do?”
Merrin turned full circle, looking at the herbs hanging from the beams above. “We’ll need a good-sized batch. Light a fire in the cottage hearth and put the large kettle onto the grate. We’ll need it half full with water.”
“We’ll see it done.”
“Aye,” Bran said. “And I want to have a look at the damage Rewan did. I have half a mind to make him pay for the repairs.”
Ian led the big man away, leaving Merrin alone in Niall’s workshop. After her ordeal in the courtyard, and now faced with a daunting task, her chest was so tight, she wanted to vomit. Everything under the lean-to reminded Merrin of her father—including the tinkling bells. She reached out a trembling hand and picked up his pestle. Father. I need ye with me now. Show me what to do. Please, please help me heal these people and prove to them I’m no’ evil.
She pulled Niall’s largest mortar into the center of the table and filed through the herbs hanging from the ceiling until she found the angelica. Grind the whole plant, roots and all—the fruit yields the strongest results. Merrin heard Niall’s voice clearly in her head, as if he’d only given the lesson yesterday.
She reached up and untied a clump from the line and inspected it. The angelica had impressive clusters of dried fruit pods. Methodically, she ground them to a fine powder and scraped it into a stoneware pot. Merrin found the alder bark piled on a shelf. As she suspected, there wasn’t as much as she’d like, but she rigorously ground it to a fine powder to ensure equal distribution through the mixture. Niall kept dried anise pods in a stoppered jar with others at the back of his table.
Merrin pulled off the cork and poured all of the pods into the mortar. She bit her lip. She could use more anise, but this would have to do as well. Once she had all of the medicinal ingredients she needed, Merrin took the shears to the garden and snipped some mint leaves for taste.
Ian slipped up from the cottage. “The water’s boiling.”
“Good, I’m nearly ready.” Merrin dropped the mint leaves into the mortar. “Where’s Bran?”
“Ten
ding the fire.” Ian kicked the dirt with his big toe. “I wanted to talk to ye alone.”
Merrin’s heart squeezed. “Ian—I’m sorry.”
He tugged her into his arms and cradled her head to his chest. “Nay, lass. ’Tis I who should be sorry. I never should have left ye alone last night.”
“But I told ye to go.”
“I shouldna listened.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “I kent it was dangerous for ye, but I just went back up to me chamber and paced half the night.”
“I was daft.” Merrin squeezed him tighter. “I was so angry when ye told me about Janet, I couldn’t think straight.”
“I do no’ want to talk about her anymore. I’m going to marry ye, Merrin. I love ye.”
She closed her eyes and savored the warmth of his strong arms. “I love ye so much, but what if me tincture doesn’t work?”
“It will. Ye can do it, and once everyone’s cured we’ll rebuild. We have the galley now—and me mother’s given me an inheritance. I’ve been so excited to tell ye about it. We can build upon your da’s herbal business—buy herbs from all across Europe at the market in Glasgow, and sell them at a marked-up price along the Hebrides.”
Ian’s eagerness helped her spirits. For the first time since she’d been abducted, Merrin felt an inkling of hope. “If only it could be.”
“It will. I will make it so. I promise.”
Tears burned Merrin’s eyes. She wanted to be a part of Ian’s dreams so much, but she must return to Brochel.
There was every chance she’d face her death.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The men moored the galley on Brochel beach. Bran handed the three ewers of tincture to Ian, who carefully steadied each one into the smooth stones without spilling a drop. Merrin stood on the deserted shore, wringing her hands, still wearing Lady Anne’s fancy gown. Of course it was all but ruined, having been sprayed by salt water and smudged with soot from the cottage. Thank heavens Ian had given her the plaid to wear over the stomacher-less bodice until she could change.
Sentries clad in steel helms watched from the bailey walls, but no one came down to greet them. She fingered the lace at her neck, ensuring it sufficiently covered her mark. Aside from a handful of gracious souls, the clan hated her—and worse, feared her. Merrin jumped when someone placed a hand on her shoulder. She whipped around, ready to defend herself.
Lady Enya snapped her hand away—of course, she lived in the cottage up the hill, not behind the castle walls. “Apologies.” Her gaze darted to her husband. “Three of our bairns are fevered and down.”
Merrin hefted one of the ewers. “Take me to them.”
Bran hopped over the galley rail. “Nay. Merrin must tend Alexander first.”
Merrin held the ewer out to Lady Enya. “Take this. Give each child a tot, and keep a pint for later, then bring the ewer to me. I’ll go check on them as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.” Lady Enya grasped the heavy vessel with both hands. “I’ll not forget this.”
Bran tapped his wife’s elbow. “Can ye handle the children on your own? There’s been a grave skirmish at the castle.”
Her brow furrowed, her eyes darting to Merrin. “Aye.”
“Godspeed.”
Merrin offered a shy smile and looked to Ian. He lifted the two other ewers and gave her a grim nod. “Come.”
Calling Gar, she walked between the two men as they climbed the steep zigzag path to the castle. Near the gate, Bran drew his sword.
Merrin stopped. “Do ye think there’ll be trouble?”
He balanced the hilt in a firm hand. “I’ll see to it there’s no’. Open the gate,” Ian bellowed.
Merrin held her breath as the chains above creaked, slowly revealing a busy courtyard.
The smithy’s shop clanged, the guard sparred, women chased children and people coughed. But when Merrin stepped into the light, silence cast an eerie pall over the scene. Everyone stared.
Lady Anne burst through the great hall doors, her eyes wide. “Thank heavens Ye’re back. Nearly fifty people are afflicted—the whole castle will fall if you cannot stop it.”
Ian grasped her shoulders. “Mother? They said ye were ill.”
“I was tending Alexander when the commotion broke out. I am yet unaffected.”
Lady Anne gave Sir Bran a firm nod. He moved to the center of the square and faced them all. “We’ll start with Alexander. Everyone will be seen.”
“I’ll no’ have me son touched by a witch,” Bethag crowed.
“Nor will I,” another said.
Bran slammed his sword against the side of the well. “Silence! The laird and lady will be tended first. Miss Merrin has been granted sanctuary until Alexander is well enough to hear her plea.” He glared at Bethag. “The rest of ye, bring your sick to the great hall and curses to any who refuse treatment because of stupidity and foolishness.”
The old hag spat.
Bran eyed her, then trained his claymore across the crowd. “If anyone lays a hand on Miss Merrin whilst she’s under me protection, they’ll answer to Ian. And no doubt their punishment will fit the crime. On that I give me oath.”
Ian stepped forward and made a show of slowly drawing his sword. “Anyone going against me degree of sanctuary will pay in blood, mark me.” He pointed his claymore toward the skies. “Any action toward Miss Merrin will be punished by Sir Bran and multiplied tenfold by me.”
Low grumbles dispersed throughout the crowd. Merrin hated the way they looked at her. She stepped closer to Ian. He wrapped his arm around her protectively. If nothing else, she prayed her tincture would cure them.
Ian and Bran shepherded Merrin up to the solar, where she quickly changed back into her kirtle. After collecting Ian’s boots, they proceeded to laird’s chamber. Lady Anne followed closely behind. Bran led them down a corridor and stopped outside a large door. “Ye go in. I’ll stand guard.”
Merrin glanced between the two men. “Is it not safe now that ye’ve declared sanctuary?”
Bran knit his thick brows. “We must take nothing for granted. Ye cannot be left alone—not until this ague has passed.”
Ian opened the door and Merrin clasped her hand over her mouth. “Mercy, ’tis so grand.”
Ian pulled her inside. Merrin’s gaze darted from the ornate tapestries and rich woolen rugs to the carved stone hearth, across from which was the biggest bed she’d ever seen. Ian tugged on her arm and she stumbled on the edge of the rug.
“’Tis all right, lass. Me brother needs ye.”
Merrin gulped and followed Ian to the laird’s bed.
Alexander opened his eyes. “Where is Friar Pat?” His voice rasped and a bead of sweat rolled from his temple.
“The friar asked me to tend ye. He’s got the ague as well.” Though the friar put on a brave face when they captured her, Merrin had recognized the signs. She’d bet her life Pat had taken to bed once they set sail for Fladda. Merrin felt Alexander’s forehead. “Ye’re burning up.”
Alexander turned his head away.
Lady Anne stepped beside the bed and grasped Alexander’s hand. “You must allow Miss Merrin to treat you. She’s prepared her father’s tincture.”
The laird pursed his lips and gave a single nod.
Ian helped support Alexander’s shoulders while Merrin gave him a tot of her brew. “Ye’ll need this once every couple of hours until the fever breaks. Someone needs to tend him with damp cloths to his forehead.”
Lady Anne turned the hourglass on the bedside table. “I’ll see to it myself.” Lady Anne pointed to an adjoining door. “Go tend Lady Ilysa, then you’ll be needed most in the great hall.”
Merrin followed Ian through the strange door. “Do no’ they stay in the same chamber?”
Ian shrugged. “They have their own rooms when they choose.”
This chamber, decorated in lavish purple velvet and silk, was every bit as extravagant as the laird’s own. “How could anyone possibly need so much luxury?”
A serving maid, seated across the room, hopped to her feet, clasping her shaking hands.
Ian faced her. “Fetch some water and a cloth. Lady Ilysa’s head mustn’t be without a damp rag until her fever breaks.”
The woman curtsied. “Aye, m’laird.” She let out a quick breath and crossed herself, mumbling, “Heaven help us all—I cannot believe a witch…” The door closed and blocked her utterance.
Ian gave Merrin a reassuring pat. Merrin shook it off, trying to control her urge to run after the lass and give her a good shake. With a deep breath, she poured a tot of tonic into a glass cup. “They’re all nervous about me.”
Ian helped Ilysa sit up. “Do no’ worry about what they think. This ague is bad. Ye must stop it quickly.”
Merrin held the cup to Lady Ilysa’s lips, but she burst into a fit of coughing. Patiently, Merrin waited. “I’ve added some anise for your cough, m’lady. Ye’ll feel much better once ye’ve taken it.”
“Thank you,” Ilysa said weakly, shivering from fevered chills.
“Lady Anne will oversee your comfort. If ye need anything, I’ll be tending the others in the hall.”
Rumbling voices echoed up the stairwell as Merrin descended, with Ian leading and Bran behind. But these were not the same angry voices from the morning. These were tones of concern and worry.
Benches had been pushed to the walls. Coughing people were strewn across the floor, every shade of plaid imaginable draped over them. Merrin clutched Ian’s elbow. “There will no’ be enough tincture for all these people.”
Ian glanced back to Bran. “I’ve never seen anything the like.”
“Nor I.” His mouth pulled down in a grim frown. “Pray ’tis not the Black Death.”
Merrin shuddered and made the sign of the cross. “Do no’ even speak it.”
Ian beckoned a serving maid. “Bring out trays of cups. We’ll need ye to help us tend the sick.”
Her eyes darted to Merrin. “She’s trying to kill us all.”
Ian stepped up to the maid, his nose an inch from hers. “If I hear ye utter one more falsehood about Miss Merrin, I’ll see to it ye tend the chamber pots for good. Now be gone with ye.”
