Wolf's Castle

by Madelyn Hill

  “I need your help, lass.” Alice appeared, wiping her hands on a rag, now tinged with red. “The lad is dead on his feet.”

  She followed, not quite prepared for what greeted her.

  The stench of sickness and death hovered thick in the air. Even in the dark room she saw the struggle Alice faced. Water lay puddled on the wood flooring and the bed coverings were piled in a corner, stained with Liam’s blood.

  Bernard rushed in and handed Alice the splint.

  Alice nodded to the corner. “Are you going to stand there or help? Hold onto his arms while I get his other leg.”

  Galen emerged from the corner; haunting echoes of the evening filled his eyes. Vivian ached for him. She ached for them all.

  “Hold tight, lass,” Alice ordered.

  Bile rose in her stomach when Alice bared the leg once again.

  “You,” she directed Laird Maclean, “pull straight until I tell you to stop. Donna waver, lad.”

  Galen nodded before he hunkered down near the foot of the bed. He inhaled deeply and then grasped the old man’s ankle. He closed his eyes and pulled.

  Liam screamed with pain, then plummeted into unconsciousness. Vivian crossed herself as she whispered a brief prayer. With quick stitches the older woman closed the gaping wound on Liam’s leg.

  Galen sunk onto the floor, a vacant glaze over his eyes. Alice wrapped the torn sheets around the brace she’d rigged. She patted him on his shoulder and left the room.

  “Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph. ‘Tis in God’s hands now.”

  Galen looked to both of them, nodded his head, and left the chamber.

  Vivian nodded. “Do you need any help before bed?”

  “Nay.” Alice wrapped a shawl around her hunched shoulders. “Off with you.”

  “You’ll call for help if you need me?” Vivian sent a quick prayer that Liam would sleep through the night.

  “Aye, lass. That I’ll do.”

  Weary of all that had happened during her time at Wolf’s Castle, Vivian headed toward her chamber, hopeful for some peace.

  Chapter 14

  Och, she looked bedraggled, a little sick even. Patting her cheeks to put a little color in them, Vivian sighed when the pinkness faded quickly into white. She wanted to hurry and see if Liam was faring better this morn.

  She found Nessa, Madge, and Bernard in the parlor where they’d held their impromptu pirate’s play. The dour look on their faces told her of Liam’s condition.

  “Nessa?”

  Her maid rose and gathered her in soft arms. Cushioning Vivian, she sat down, an arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. “Happened early this morning, lass.”

  “He’s gone?” Sorrow overwhelmed her and tears trickled down her face. He was such a dear man and it was such a painful end for him.

  “Aye.”

  Madge and Bernard sat silent, grief shadowing their eyes. Nessa wiped away the tears racing down her face with a well-used handkerchief.

  Vivian glanced around the room. “And Laird Maclean, where is he?”

  Bernard looked at her and gave a sad shake of his head. “Haven’t seen the laird since last night. Alice is tending to the body.”

  Vivian shuddered. In a matter of a few hours, poor, gentle Liam was now being called a body. She stood, shaking off her maid’s good intentions and left the room.

  She kenned where to find Galen.

  Not bothering to knock, she barged into the malodorous library. A few candles flickered in a puddle of wax, dimly lighting the room. Galen stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, the stiff line of his shoulders intimidating.

  “Galen.” It wasn’t possible that he didn’t hear her, but he didn’t react. “M’laird?”

  He sighed and his head tipped downward, as if he were overburdened with grief. Easing closer, she shortened the distance between them, wanting to help him in any way possible.

  “I should’ve forced him to stay indoors.” His gruff voice raked over her, broke her heart.

  “And have you turned into the Almighty? Able to tell when and if you could have prevented Liam’s death?” ‘Twas obvious her words held no weight.

  He grumbled and walked to the doorway. “We’d best bury him before it storms.”

  She glanced out the window. The bright sky hardly seemed threatening. But she kenned the island’s inhabitants possessed an innate talent for predicting dire weather.

  She joined him, silently gripping his hand in her own.

  “M’laird.”

  Vivian sighed as Madge interrupted the moment.

  “Here’s your overcoat?” She looked pointedly at Vivian. “’Twas left on your bed.”

  He grabbed the thick woolen coat from the maidservant. Tension, taut as strained muscles, consumed the air.

  “I sent Bernard for it,” he said.

  “Aye, well, I was there and brought it for you.”

  Galen glared at the young woman, started to speak, but then stopped. Vivian felt like an outsider amidst their terse exchange.

  “Are you ready, Vivian?”

  She smiled with relief. “Aye.”

  “She needs her mantle, m’laird. A frail bird like herself would perish in this weather.” Madge’s face looked innocent, yet her words were sharp.

  “Bollocks, lass. Keep your mouth closed.”

  Vivian squeezed his arm and whispered, “’Tisn’t nice, m’laird.”

  Madge had the grace to look chagrined, but Vivian still suspected her intentions as they walked toward the main hall.

  She stopped as an eerie wail lifted through the air. “What is that noise?”

  Galen continued to walk. “I didn’t hear a thing, m’lady.”

  Wasn’t it the same cry she heard from her chamber? Uncertainty had her doubting her own lucidity.

  “I’ve my arisaid. Take it, m’lady, while I get another.”

  Vivian accepted the wool mantle and watched Madge hastily disappear down the hall.

  “Shall we?” Galen asked.

  She nodded and donned the garment. The old garment proved thin, useless against even the perpetual draft of the castle walls, not to mention the bluster that often swept the moors.

  She wished she had the courage to grasp Galen’s hand once again for her own comfort as well as his, then the moment had passed, leaving only uncomfortable silence.

  The broad oak doors creaked in protest as Galen butted his shoulder against them. They finally relented and Vivian followed him out into the icy cold day.

  She tugged the arisaid tightly around her.

  The wind held the briny stench of sea water as they approached the small cemetery nestled between a steep crag and the slate stone fencing that contained the sheep. An imperial stone marked Laird Alexander Maclean’s gravesite, still covered with an unsettled mound of stones. She strained to read the other markers, but years of harsh weather had eroded their lichen-covered surfaces.

  Alice stood alone, like a guardian watching over a dear friend’s shrouded body. Nessa and Bernard crested the hill with a petulant Madge bringing up the rear.

  As the young maid neared, Vivian blinked, unable to understand what she was seeing. Madge was wearing her mantle. Her thick, warm shawl.

  Rain began to fall, lightly at first, then in a more persistent drizzle.

  Alice threw some herbs over Liam’s body. Bernard began carefully laying rocks over the body. Nessa cried, then began keening a soulful melody. Vivian remembered the words from her childhood and silently said them for her father as his grave was the tempestuous sea.

  Alice and Bernard joined in while they both piled stones. Madge stood still as a statue, looking off into the distance, her ear cocked as if she were listening for someone to call her away.

  Soon rivulets of water washed over them as they huddled stoically.

  All but Galen. He was off by himself, desolate, staring blankly at the growing mound of stones.

  Vivian watched him, her heart clenched with his pain. A tear gliste
ned on his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away.

  He’s just a man, she realized, not a beast trying to protect his lair. She watched his reserve fall away, as if Liam’s death was the break in the dam. Vivian caught his gaze as he looked to her, silently begging, pleading for her to understand his previous behavior.

  And then it became as obvious as the now drenching rain.

  She loved him.

  Chapter 15

  Donal glanced wildly around the chamber. Someone had invaded his private domain and touched his things. He picked up a faded drawing of a human spread over a star and astrological symbols. Just that morning, he’d completed his chants while focusing on the image. Now, someone had moved it from the hearth onto his work table.

  He searched through the elements in ceramic jars. Counting them, he sighed with relief. All seven were accounted for. Donal rubbed his eyes. How much longer was he to stay in Inverness? Maybe he should return to Perth. The weather was proving to be too uncooperative.

  He’d just have to stay away from his employer, mayhap spend the Christmas holiday with his brother. Yes, he’d leave as soon as he packed his belongings.

  Carefully, he wrapped glass beakers and crucibles in the cushion of his undergarments. The elements proved more troublesome. If they spilled or mingled, it would prove disastrous. Donal chuckled. ‘Twas a particular laird who held that knowledge personally.

  He moved quickly to his clothing, tossing breeches and shirts haphazardly into a bag.

  “Planning a trip, are you?”

  Donal spun around at the raspy female voice.

  “Madame! No. . .I, I was just coming to see you.”

  She cocked a regal brow and looked down her straight nose at him. Even at his height, her demeanor made him feel trivial.

  “It would appear as if you were leaving.” She swept across the room and sat in the chair before the window. With her back against the paned glass, the light haloed her. She was anything but an angel. Her occupation as a brothel owner would attest to that.

  Madame tapped her lip with a silk-gloved finger. “Do tell, Burke, what are your plans now?”

  Power exuded from her, especially her power over men. She was a beauty, perhaps beyond her prime, with a smattering of gray weaved through her deep auburn hair. Her clear, intense gaze skewered him with a pointed look as she fingered the lace edging the plunging neckline of her elegant gown.

  If he’d passed her on the street, he’d think she was a wealthy widow looking for a young buck.

  “Burke,” she purred threateningly.

  “I was coming to report to you. I can’t cross that blasted sea until spring. None of the boats will travel in this weather.” He hated bowing to a woman, but his fortune depended on it.

  Slowly, she stripped the gloves from her hands, finger by finger. He easily imagined her doing the same for a client.

  Repulsed and interested all at once, Donal shook the sensual image from his mind.

  He had thought himself fortunate when she sought him out with a deal he found hard to refuse. It was his chance to rid the stench of failure from his life.

  Madame cleared her throat.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Stuart headed toward the isle a few months back. Canton confirmed as much, the devil take him.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll not stand in our way any longer.”

  Donal cringed, but didn’t care to know the details of Canton’s demise. So far, he’d stepped over every boundary of morality he’d ever possessed.

  She stood and browsed around the room in a seemingly casual manner. But if he kenned her, Madame was calculating their next action.

  “Here is what we shall do,” she started. “I’ll hire one of these fishermen to bring us to Mac Tìre after the holiday. They’ll not be expecting us. A villager told me half of the castle is closed.” Her brow knitted in concentration. “The more I think of it, the better it is for us that you blundered in Perth.” Flashing a humorless smile, she said, “Consider yourself forgiven.”

  He nodded as relief swept through him. His weaknesses had urged him to approach Vivian in the library at Westington. He’d itched to loosen her severely styled hair and grab the thick tangle of mahogany tresses. She was so young, proper, and innocent in the staid wool gown she wore. He’d imagined the curves the baggy material hid. He had even attempted to brush up against her to feel them with his own hands.

  They were engaged after all. A few liberties weren’t unusual for a bridegroom, but he wasn’t able to stop after a few liberties. He’d been consumed by her innocence and took it from her. And when he was done with her and her feigned protests, he left. Donal didn’t regret his actions, but he didn’t return to Westington out of fear Vivian had spoken to her father about their assignation.

  Once again, he was at sorts with propriety and debauchery.

  No, he thought, meeting Madame had put an end to his dismal future. Donal needed to ensure he didn’t act without thought. Madame wielded unknown influence in Inverness and even in Edinburgh. Too many wealthy men frequented her brothel, now considered a hotbed of Scottish politics.

  And he didn’t need more enemies.

  Chapter 16

  Madge sauntered by the parlor, a smug look on her face.

  “Could I speak with you a moment?” Vivian watched as a sly smile lifted the maid’s mouth.

  She stepped into the room and dropped the duster she was holding. “Aye.”

  “I would like my mantle.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “’Tisn’t yours, m’lady. Nothing here is yours.”

  Anger began to rise and inflame her face. “The mantle is mine, Madge. I brought it to Lomarcan with me.”

  Shrugging her shoulders, the maid tipped up her chin in defiance. “You’ve no right to be here.”

  Vivian had no idea why the young woman was saying these things to her, but she wasn’t going to allow it. “I never wanted to be here. And I won’t be for long.”

  “’Tis the truth, to be sure. Then Laird Maclean will be focusing on important things.” Her shoulders sharpened as she turned to leave the room.

  “My mantle.”

  “You’re messing everything between m’laird and me.” Madge pounded her chest with a pointed finger.

  Trying to catch her breath, Vivian looked at the maid, who appeared more childlike than ever. Her fist now planted on her homespun-covered hips, the freckles, and that puckish glare of her gaze. Vivian didn’t know whether to laugh or scold. “Between the Laird Maclean and you?” she finally managed.

  “Aye. Wasn’t I his before you came?” Then a triumphant look brightened her brown eyes. “I gave him a bairn.”

  Vivian’s heart lodged in her throat, choking any discernible words. “I think you have lost your mind. There are no children here.”

  “M’laird doesn’t speak of it, but in the east wing, his bairn lives.”

  She clung to the back of the nearest chair. Galen had a child. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was subjecting the poor babe to the same neglected upbringing he had endured. “A bairn is locked in the east wing?”

  “Nay. I watch him most of the time. Auld Alice and Liam helped. He’s a good, me son. I try not to let him cry.” Motherly pride shone bright in her tearful eyes.

  “Why haven’t I seen him?” But perhaps she had heard him. That would explain the wailing she’d likened to a ghost roaming the halls.

  Anger snapped back into the maid’s spine. “M’laird is ashamed, he is.” Her brow creased with fear. “Please don’t ask him about me son.”

  Vivian drew her brows together. “Why not?”

  Madge’s hands began to shake. “He’ll turn me out, to be sure. Without me bairn.”

  Vivian looked speculatively at the maid.

  “He’s. . .he’s threatened so.” Madge’s voice cracked and tears flowed from her eyes.

  Vivian wanted to go to the library and shake some sense into Galen. Madge began to wring her hands. She kenn
ed well what life was like without a mother, and she refused to be responsible for taking the bairn from Madge.

  She gave a brisk nod. “Aye, I’ll not say a word.”

  Relief erased some of the tension from the maid as she left the room.

  Vivian went to the window and pulled back the curtain. She gazed at the harsh landscape. Madge’s revelation was so unsettling, it pierced her with anger and disappointment.

  She thought of the wee bairn locked away from life. Much the way she’d lived until her father died, and still lived, she grudgingly admitted. She rubbed her hands over her arms to ward off the chill racing through her body.

  She needed to be with people, someone comforting. The kitchen was the best place for that.

  Alice pounded the bread as if it had committed a heinous crime. She looked up and grinned wryly as Vivian entered the hot kitchen. She wiped a hand dusted with flour over her brow. “We won’t be celebrating the season again this year.”

  Vivian stopped dead in her tracks and tried not to chuckle over the white smear across the maidservant’s forehead. “No Christmas?” In a way, it made enormous sense. She was still mourning her father and Lomarcan had suffered extreme losses. But maybe the hope of Christmas would raise the spirits of the island’s inhabitants.

  “Aye, weel, has been ages since Nollaig graced Wolf’s Castle.” Alice lifted the smooth dough into a pan. She patted it lovingly, as one would a newborn’s bottom.

  “What of the bairn? Won’t it be a shame for him to miss Father Christmas?” She waited for Alice’s gaze to meet hers. The maid never lifted her astute eyes from the oven. Instead, she shook her starched apron free of flour and bits of dough and smoothed her gray hair back into place.

  Seeming to ignore the disconcerting question that hung in the air, Alice set the pan near the fire and placed a rag on the table, all without raising her head.