by Willa Blair
“A child of the clan needs aid that only I can give,” she told him softly but firmly. “Let me be. I can handle her.”
“Nay, ye canna. She’s no’ in her right mind.”
“It doesn’t matter, Toran. I will do it.” To do so might mean exposing her most threatening secret to the entire clan, but with a child at risk, she had no choice. If Aileana could not talk Coira into releasing the girl, she’d have to use her Voice to subdue her. She knew doing so would merely confirm in Donal’s eyes that she was wildly dangerous, but if Coira would not listen to reason, there might be no other way. Aileana would cope with the consequences when the child was safe.
“I’m coming with ye,” Toran said as she stepped away from the table and began to walk toward Coira. Aileana ignored him, focusing instead on holding her head high, and locking her gaze with Coira’s. She couldn’t do anything until she was close enough to touch the madwoman, and she feared Coira would slash the girl’s throat in her fury before she could get that close. Toran’s presence was like a solid wall at her back, ensuring that she could face an attack head on without fear of being flanked by anyone who sympathized with Coira.
“So this is what it takes to get ye to come to me, Toran,” Coira snarled as she watched him follow Aileana. “Ye canna tell me yerself that ye banish me, but send yer minions to do it for ye. Did ye hope never to see me again, Lathan? Now that ye wed yer witch? I doubt ye expected to see me again, now did ye?”
Toran didn’t answer. Aileana felt another presence arrive at her back and glanced aside. Donal! Shoulder to shoulder with his laird? Or ready to support Coira? It didn’t matter. This was her fight. “Stay back,” she told them, risking a quick glance at Toran. “Don’t interfere.”
They dropped back two paces, but they neither stopped, nor gave her more room than that.
She stopped a pair of paces away from the lass Coira held in front of herself like a shield. The child’s eyes were wide with fear and tears streaked her ruddy face. So far, the blade at her throat had not broken the skin—a small miracle given the hatred on Coira’s face as she stared at Aileana. “I am here, Coira. Let the child go.”
“Come closer.”
Aileana took a step forward. She could almost feel Toran’s fists clench behind her. But he made no move to stop her.
“Closer,” Coira demanded.
Aileana complied, her gaze never leaving the other woman’s face. “I’m here as you demanded,” she said calmly. “You promised to let her go. You can do so now.”
With a cry that was more of a wail than an expression of outrage, Coira shoved the girl aside and swung the knife at Aileana. Aileana reached out just as Coira swung the blade, wincing as it plunged into her shoulder below the collarbone. Shocked by the sudden attack, she still managed to touch Coira’s face, but it was too late to try to use her Voice. She heard the gasp that echoed around the hall. Everything seemed frozen. No one moved. Coira, still holding the hilt, sneered at her in satisfaction.
Then, almost dreamlike, Aileana saw Donal stepped around one side of her, Toran the other. Their dirks flashed in the middle, Toran’s held at Coira’s throat, Donal’s buried to the hilt in her chest. Coira widened her eyes in surprise and she let go of the knife she’d plunged into Aileana. She took one step back, gaze still locked with Aileana’s, before she crumpled to the floor.
Toran sheathed his dirk as he spun then grabbed Aileana by both arms. “Sit, lass,” he commanded as someone shoved a bench their way.
Aileana had come out of her shocked daze when Toran touched her. She felt for the extent of her injury, and sighed in relief when she found the damage confined to the muscle and breast tissue above it. “Toran, help me,” she said, relieved that her voice sounded stronger than she felt. “I need to help Coira, but you have to pull her blade out of me first.”
“Nay, lass, wait for Senga.”
“Nay. There’s no time. Do it now, Toran. Don’t make me do it myself.”
Senga hurried up at that moment, took one look at the bloody tableau and sniffed. “We’re well rid of that one.”
“Nay, Senga,” Aileana told her. “She’s hurt, and needs my help. Tell your laird to remove Coira’s blade from my shoulder. Then you can aid me.”
Senga looked skeptical, but nodded. “Do as she says, Laird.”
He started to protest, but both women gave him such determined looks that he had no choice but to comply. He gripped the hilt reluctantly and slowly, careful not to twist or shift the blade in any way, and pulled it free. Aileana fought to keep her expression bland, despite the pain that swamped her. She had a job to do. “Put pressure on my wound. This will only take a moment.”
Senga pressed a clean cloth to the blood welling from the top of Aileana’s breast and winced as Aileana paled against the pain. “Hurry, lass.”
“Aye,” Aileana gasped. But in a moment it was done. The wound was not healed, but the bleeding stopped, and she could do what she must before she finished with it. Senga insisted on tying another clean cloth over the still-gaping cut before she allowed Aileana to drop to her knees beside her wounded attacker. “Toran,” Aileana commanded as soon as her head stopped spinning from kneeling over Coira, “this is just like the arrow in Jamie. Pull this blade slowly. I’ll work as ye go. Don’t stop, but go slow.”
Toran knelt beside her and did as she bade him, thankfully for once without any argument. Coira was badly hurt, but Aileana knew that this wound was nothing compared to the pain in her heart that had driven Coira to take such desperate action. Aileana had sensed it when she touched her face. Yes, Coira feared her. But most of what Aileana had sensed was a deep, abiding sense of loss, an aching emptiness that had stolen the rest of her breath after Coira’s blade pierced her. Coira couldn’t understand why Toran had refused her. His was the latest of many rejections in her life. Her clan had sent her far away. Aileana could not begin to guess what had happened to her there to drive her this far from home.
Aileana worked quickly, knowing her strength would be severely limited by the wound Coira had inflicted on her. Donal’s blade had bitten deep in his bid to protect his laird’s bride. Coira’s lung was filling with blood. As Toran pulled the blade from Coira’s body, Aileana worked quickly to stop the bleeding and mend the torn tissue Donal’s dirk had left behind. Finally satisfied that she had done all she could, she did not allow Coira to awaken, but lay a healing sleep on her.
“Senga, keep someone with her. She’ll sleep into tomorrow. But if she has any trouble breathing, come get me right away.”
“Nay, lass, ye need to rest.”
“I will. But Coira needs our care. She was sore troubled before she did this terrible thing. But now I think she’ll awaken very sorry for her actions. We must guard her well, so that she has a chance to make a better life for herself.”
“It will be done, lass. Dinna fash.”
Aileana smiled at Senga, then at Toran, then at Donal. “Thank you, Donal, for protecting me. I know you believe I’m a threat but…”
“Nay, lass,” Donal said, interrupting her. “After the grace I’ve just seen ye display, to risk yerself to save a child, and then to save the life of yer attacker and forgive her actions, well, Toran has been right all along. There’s a good heart in ye, lass, and I’m glad to have ye in the clan.”
“Thank you, Donal.”
“And now, if ye’ll help Senga get Coira settled and post a guard,” Toran interjected, “I’ll get Aileana to bed so that she can rest and recover.”
“Wait,” Aileana said, as Toran bent to pick her up. “Where’s the lass Coira held hostage?”
“Here,” a woman’s voice answered. Aileana looked around to see the child, tears dried, sitting on her mother’s lap. The mother looked more upset than the girl. Aileana took a step toward them and smiled when Toran took her arm to assist her to them. She knelt in front of the child and touched her cheek. “Are you well, lass?”
“Mommy says so,” the little girl replied shyl
y.
“Ye sacrificed yerself to save my daughter,” the woman said, fresh tears springing to her eyes. “That madwoman could have killed her.”
“But she did not. She bore many burdens that wounded her, but I think she’ll be better now. And as for you, little one”—Aileana turned her attention back and brushed her fingers across the girl’s forehead. It would take so little of her talent to make the child forget…she reached gently and told her, using the Voice in a whisper that not even her mother would detect—“It was just a bad dream. But your mother is here and all is well.”
A shy smile lit the girl’s face and Aileana dropped her hand to her side. Toran helped her stand. “She’ll sleep and remember this only as a dream,” Aileana told her mother. “She’ll be herself in the morning.”
“Thank ye, Healer…Lady,” the woman choked out before turning to hide her tears in her daughter’s curly hair.
“Let’s go,” Toran said.
Aileana nodded. “I’m ready.”
Toran scooped her up. As they started toward the stairs, someone started clapping. First it was one, then several, then it became a thunderous din that echoed around the Great Hall. Toran stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to look down on the people of his clan. “Ye’ve seen the worth of yer new lady. Let this be the last of the slander and of the violence.”
Aileana blushed as the clapping began anew, punctuated by shouts and cheers. She could see Donal at the back of the room, overseeing Coira’s removal from the hall with Senga. Before he left, he turned and caught her eye. A rare smile lit his face and Aileana smiled back. All was well. Then she winced at the twinge in her chest as Toran turned her away from the noise and into the hallway leading to his chambers. So, not quite all. She still had some work to do.
****
Toran watched Aileana settle in front of the fire. She seemed disinclined to talk, and he wasn’t sure he was even capable of speech. Not yet. Not until his belly stopped trying to climb out of his throat. Gods! Coira had nearly killed her. A few inches lower and the blade would have pierced Aileana’s heart. Bad enough the damage she had done, to mar Aileana’s beautiful breast, to weaken her shoulder, hell, to cause her even the slightest pain at all. Toran couldn’t think of a penalty severe enough to punish Coira for what she had done and nearly done.
The anguish of it was eating him alive. It was all he could do to stand quietly and let Aileana’s attention be absorbed by the fire in the hearth and what healing she could do for herself while she waited for Elspie to bring the sustenance she needed.
“Laird?” Elspie voice roused him from his fretting. She stood at the door, tray in hand, hesitant for the first time in his memory to enter Aileana’s chamber. Perhaps she sensed her laird’s mood.
“’Tis all right, Elspie,” he told her, his tone more gruff than he’d intended. “Come in. Aileana needs what ye bring.”
Aileana lifted her head from her study of the flames in the fireplace. “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined the dress.” Then she turned her gaze back to the fire.
The sound of her voice started Toran. She hadn’t spoken since he’d brought her to her chamber.
Elspie put the tray on the table beside her and took Aileana’s chin in her hand, studying her eyes. “Nay, lass. Moina will simply redesign the neckline,” she told her. “Anyway, better the dress than ye.” She put the tankard of sweet cider into Aileana’s good hand. “Now, drink this down, and eat what I brought ye. Then ye can sleep.”
Aileana obeyed Elspie without a word. Toran shifted where he stood, arms crossed, glowering at his bride. He’d never seen her so unresponsive after healing, even after she exhausted herself dealing with Jamie’s wounds. But he’d never seen her attacked and injured, either. Perhaps she never had been, and despite her special Talent, or perhaps because of it, it was more of a shock to her than to others who had been through the same kind of thing.
Damn, he had not intended to spend the evening with her this way after celebrating their handfasting with the clan. Nay, he’d had a joyous, aye, even vigorous celebration in mind. Now that would wait until Aileana had time to fully recover. In the meantime, he’d deal with Coira.
He’d once thought to find a place for Coira in the clan, though not as lady, and cement an alliance with her people. That could not happen now, especially not after Toran meted out a punishment that fit her crime. At the very least, he must banish her as soon as she was well enough to travel. But her attack on the Lathan lady merited repercussions that could have their clans feuding for generations, exactly what Toran had wanted to prevent.
“Laird,” Elspie’s voice penetrated his thoughts yet again. “She’s ready for bed, but she’ll need our help.”
“Nay,” Aileana said. “I can manage.”
“Elspie will help ye,” Toran commanded, his tone making it clear that he would brook no nonsense. “As will I. Come, lass.” He went to her and helped her stand while Elspie set the now empty tray aside. Gently, Toran started peeling her blood-soaked clothing from her while Elspie wrung a cloth out in hot water and began to dab at the wound.
“Ach, ’tis already nearly healed,” she exclaimed. “Ye think I’d be accustomed to this by now, but ’tis still a fair miracle what ye do, lass.”
Aileana gave her a tired smile.
Toran picked up her nightrail and as soon as Elspie finished cleaning the skin around the newly healed wound, lifted Aileana’s arms and helped her into it. Then he scooped her up and deposited her gently on the bed. Elspie fussed with the covers, layering them to her satisfaction.
“Warm enough, lass?” Toran asked.
“Aye.” He could barely hear Aileana’s response, and her eyes were already closed.
“Do ye want me to stay with her, Toran?”
“Nay, Elspie. I thank ye for yer care, but I’ll stay with her. I’ll send for ye if I’m needed elsewhere.”
“I’ll warn Donal to leave ye be,” Elspie said with a smile, picked up the empty tray and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Aileana was already deep into what she called her healing sleep. Toran wasn’t sure how it differed from normal sleep, but he took solace that she’d consumed the food and drink that Elspie had brought her well enough. Toran took the seat she’d vacated by the hearth and stared into the flames. Now he would wait and sit vigil over his wife.
His wife.
How could he have let her put herself in danger like that? He was her husband. It was his job to protect her. But no, his stubborn, determined wife was all too capable of taking on challenges that would daunt a lesser woman—or man. She’d gone straight to Coira, sure that she could convince Coira to let the lass go. He’d nearly lost his dinner when Coira’s blade had pierced her. He hadn’t been affected like that in battle since he was a beardless youth. But the attack had not been aimed at him. He knew how to handle that. No, it had been aimed with deadly intent at Aileana, and he thought his heart would break from the shock of it. If not for his and Donal’s quick action, Coira might have had time to strike again, and again, until even a talent like Aileana’s would not have saved her.
It had been all he could do to hold his dirk at Coira’s throat and not slice her open from ear to ear. No, Donal had come closer to finishing her off. But Aileana would not allow her attacker to die. She had more heart than sense, this one. So she thought that Coira would be somehow reformed by her healing? Toran didn’t think so.
It was interesting that after all they had seen her do in her time in the Aerie, it was this simple thing—forgiving her attacker and saving her life—that had transformed Donal’s opinion of her. It wasn’t that he’d been determined to doubt and distrust her. He’d just needed to see her good heart for himself. Jamie’s healing had been too sudden and too new. And Donal had not gone with them to try to save the MacAnalen. He hadn’t seen the grief and remorse that failure had cost her.
What she had done for Coira spoke volumes about the kind of person she was, and had been
enough to convince even an unrepentant skeptic like Donal. But gaining Donal’s support was not worth this. Toran had never felt so helpless in his life. He vowed that he would never allow her to put herself in jeopardy for another person again.
Chapter Fifteen
When Aileana joined Toran on the rampart, it was still early morning when the sun hung just below the edge of the earth, and everything took on an eerie radiance, lit by reflections of the first trace of daylight. Aileana imagined that if she were ever to walk underwater, it would look and feel just like this. Despite its glow, the air was completely still, cold, heavy, and thick, pressing down on all it touched. Nothing moved. High, thin clouds streaked like claw marks across the deep blue of the sky.
Toran stared out at something in the glen. Donal stood stiffly by Toran, frowning toward Aileana but refusing to meet her gaze.
Toran had left her bed, reluctantly, upon hearing Donal shouting for him. Not very long after that, she’d been surprised when Elspie arrived at her door with food and drink to help her dress. She said the laird asked that she join him on the ramparts and had sent Kyle, who waited for her in the hall, to escort her. Aileana wondered at that, too. She knew the way to the ramparts.
For once, Elspie had made no comment. Aileana fretted over that. Elspie’s silence was unnerving.
Kyle, who usually offered a friendly greeting or had a story to tell to amuse her, also made no comment. He hastened her straight to his laird at such a pace that she’d been forced to focus on keeping her feet under her, looking neither right nor left as they hurried along.
Toran’s posture was guarded. He, too, refused to meet her eyes, and Aileana had no idea what would make him so closed off and…grave. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, he closed it again and motioned Kyle and Donal away without saying a word.
“Toran, what’s wrong?” Aileana asked, worried by his strange behavior.
“There’s something I must show ye,” he finally said, but pulled her back when she turned to peer over the wall to see what had drawn his attention. “Not yet. First ye must tell me something.”
