"How long have I been here? What day is it? What did you give me?" The soldier stood up and held on to the bed for support until the dizziness passed. He began to pull his uniform on and then reached for his boots. The uniform now smelled of various herbs, apparently ones she used in cleaning it. He observed that his boots had been cleaned also. Reaching into the inside pocket of his uniform, feeling for the packet of henbane that he kept there, he found nothing. He knew there had been only a small amount left, but he wanted it, needed it.
"Where is my packet? It was in my uniform!"
"Sir, that medicine is poison and is only used when there is no other available. Ye've used so much of it that yer body has suffered greatly. You would do well to let it recover on its own, and it will if you allow it to."
"Old woman! Get me my packet! Now!" he yelled at her and started to walk from the room. She went to her cabinet and removed the packet, handing it to him and he promptly stuck it inside his jacket.
Stomping his feet, trying to get them farther down into his boots, he grabbed his sword laying on the table and walked out the front door.
"I need a horse. Where can I find one?"
"Oh, that I can't tell ye. Mayhap ye can find a farmer down the way that may have one, but I can no promise ye that."
Without another word, and certainly no thanks to her for her help, he walked a few steps, then looked out into a side field next to the healer's cottage. Far out in the field he spied an old horse.
Turning back to her he yelled, "There's a horse out there. Who does it belong to? I want it." The soldier was demanding as always.
"That's old Bellboy, but he's too old to ride anymore. He's barely able to stand on his feet and he's almost as blind as I am," she said.
With that information, the commander walked to the field and, pulling the old horse by his mane, brought him back to the small shelter behind the cottage. There he found a bridle, reins, and a very old, deteriorated saddle, with leather so old and stiff it would hardly bend enough to buckle beneath the horse's belly.
"I tell ye he's too old! It'll kill him!" The old woman had hobbled out to the stable. She was beside herself with fear for the old horse. He had been such a good old plow horse for many years when her husband was living. But, he was so old now that arthritis had all but frozen his joints, and just ambling about to graze was all he could do.
"Get out of my way, old woman! He's no good to you, and I need him now!"
After securing the saddle after a fashion, he climbed up on old Bellboy's back and kicked him sharply in the sides.
"Git on now!" And the old horse tried to trot, but was limping on his right, front leg. The rider paid no attention to the animal's distress and continued kicking him trying to get him to move faster.
When they got to the edge of the path leading to the next village, a screeching yowl caused Commander Campbell to jerk his head around.
"Holy Christ! What . . ." and he stopped his chatter as Regina came flying off the ground and landed on his chest, then raked her claws across his freshly stitched neck! The soldier screamed to high heaven and plucked the cat away, throwing her to the ground. He felt to see if his neck was bleeding again, but it was alright for now.
"I'll kill you yet, you four legged demon!" He looked about, hoping to see where the cat had gone. She ran into the woods, and the soldier cursed at her and kicked the old horse once again.
* * *
Commander Campbell had soldiering in his blood. The men in his family had always been military men, and he was proud to carry on the tradition. He had two older brothers who had entered the military service as young men, and had advanced in rank quickly. Their father had thought the sun set on his first born, and Campbell and his other brother were in constant battle for their father's attentions. The older brother had one large character flaw, in Commander Campbell's opinion. He cared about others and conducted himself in an honorable manner, as his father had taught him. As fate would have it, several years ago the older brother lost his life when he returned to a burning barracks to try to help some fellow soldiers escape. Someone had apparently not put out the campfire, and a spark had ignited the roof and began to burn as the soldiers were sleeping. As Campbell's brother went back for the second time, to carry a wounded soldier out, the roof collapsed on them and both were killed instantly.
"Serves you right, you fool!" thought Campbell. So, now that left Campbell and one brother. Perhaps he would prove to his father he, too, was every bit as worthy as his older brother had been. But their father grieved for his son, and Commander Campbell felt resentment toward his brother even more so. Even in death, his brother was still his rival.
Campbell had married well, or at least he had married a woman who came with a sizeable dowry. He thought his father would be pleased with that accomplishment, but if so, he never voiced it to Campbell. But the woman was stupid, insipid, and given to coddling their son, Bradford. He would forever blame her for trying to lead his son astray from what should have been his true calling, a military career, as all Campbell men had aspired to. And, now, having lost his son, he was beginning to understand how his father must have felt when Campbell's brother had died. He well recalled the day they learned of his brother's death and how his father had fallen to his knees as if he could no longer stand....
* * *
"I'll show him now what a real son can be! You were always the one to get his attention, but I'll outrank you very soon and Father will have to acknowledge that he was wrong all along. I've always been the best! You were just older and he could only see your accomplishments.
"Well, mine will outshine you, dear brother. Let him grieve for a while. Then he'll come seeking my good graces."
Campbell had stood over the coffin and recited this sentiment to the corpse of his brother. This scene he remembered well also.
But, unlike his father, who had resorted to remembering his son, grieving appropriately, and moving on with his life Campbell would never be satisfied until he made that witch pay for killing his son. He didn't believe for one minute her story about it being a fever of some sort. She had put some wicked spell on all those men, and he would see to it she paid for her actions.
Campbell had actually been a caring father when his son was young. He often took him riding across the moors and taught him to shoot. At times, he struggled to keep the boy's interest, but stayed with his instructions and exhibited a great amount of patience with the young boy.
"Now, here, just slowly lift the rifle, bring it to your cheek, then make sure there's no space between your cheek and the gun. That'll help you maintain your steadiness. And make sure your feet are well planted — not too far apart, mind you — then put a bit more of your weight on your left foot. Bring it forward just slightly. Keep both eyes open now. None of that closing one eye business. You'll learn to focus better with both eyes."
"Yes, Father. I'll try."
"No! Don't tell me you'll try! Tell me you'll do it!" He realized he had raised his voice, then immediately returned to a quieter, soothing manner. He had already learned his son responded favorably to instruction that was calm and deliberate. And Commander Campbell wanted this son to succeed as he had.
"There, that's good, Bradford, very good."
The boy actually was beginning to become quite a fine marksman and Campbell was ecstatic.
"Bradford, you've come a long way, my boy. By the time the military academy opens its doors to you, you'll be leading the way showing the other new recruits how it's done!"
"Yes, Father."
Of course, it suited Campbell not to remember that his son had never wanted to be a soldier and had told his father that on numerous occasions. Campbell had spent much time and money trying to secure a place for his son in a military school that would prepare him for being a leader of men, a military strategist, or a regimental commander at least.
"But I'm an artist. Painting is what I do best! It's the only thing I want to do!" Bradford had wailed.
/>
Campbell cringed just remembering his son's remarks to him. That was the result of his wife's interfering in the boy's upbringing. That detestable woman! She had presented the young boy with a special birthday gift when he was ten years old — an easel and some oil paints.
Bradford had taken to painting with a passion, and from that time on he had no wish to do anything else. Painting was his life.
"And you ridiculous woman! Arranging for him to study with an artist!" Campbell was angry beyond words. This artist was well known in their social circle. With some instruction from the artist, Bradford's artistic talent had grown quickly, and he had begun to produce very fine work. He then began to talk of going to Italy to study with other artists, and was encouraged by his mother to do so.
"That will never happen! Do you hear me! You will do as I say and go where I tell you!"
And, after being threated by his father to be sent to an uncle who lived in a fishing village far over on the east coast, with no contact with his family, the boy was forced to enter the military, following the path his father had chosen for him.
* * *
Refusing to dwell on the past and unpleasant memories, Commander Campbell turned his thoughts to his present. He was feeling much better after having his neck tended to and, now, with a horse to carry him, he would find her, no matter how long it took.
He reached up and felt the new scratch that Regina had delivered to him. That wretched cat! If he hadn't been in such a hurry, he would have gone back and taken care of her. Still, that old woman had apparently known her business as his neck was healing very nicely.
After another day's ride, Campbell was near the Black Isle and made inquiries in the villages trying to find out if they knew anything about a red-haired healer. There were only two or three trails that led north, so she must have taken one of them. And this was where he knew his soldier's training would be of help. He could track as well as any bloodhound and would not stop until he caught her.
It was late afternoon and the sun had long ago disappeared, with the leaden color of the sky suggesting that snow was on its way. Campbell mounted up, hoping to make a few more miles this day in order to catch up with the healer. Of course, she had his horse, damn her hide! This old nag didn't move quickly at all, and he was frustrated with his slow progress. As he took the reins in his hand and kicked the old horse in both sides, the animal groaned and then stumbled. This infuriated Campbell, and he lashed at the horse with his whip.
"Get a move on, you stupid beast!" And he kicked even harder.
With that last kick, old Bellboy fell to his knees, then on down to the ground, letting out one long breath and groan. His eyes closed and, with a shudder, he expired. Campbell stood, looking down at the animal, then kicked him once more in his side.
"I'll kill you. You old nag!"
But, then as he looked again, he realized that he would not need to kill the horse, he was dead already. He kicked him once more in frustration. So, now, he was back to no horse and still had not found the healer. But, he was close. He could feel it. Some intuition told him to be patient. He would find her.
He felt inside his coat pocket for the henbane, which was almost gone. But, he knew just a taste of it would render him relief, so he threw his head back and downed another bit of the poison. He felt more relaxed immediately and began to walk in the direction that would bring him to the Black Isle.
CHAPTER 33
Warwick had paid handsomely to have Henri make his way to Scotland and the Cameron holding. Finding the estate was not difficult, as it was very large and most of the villagers nearby knew of it. So the Frenchman went on the path that led to the rear of the stables and waited for the castle to be put to bed, meaning all the animals had been stabled, the old hands had gone to their crofter huts in the field, and the serving ladies had returned to their families nearby. Of course, Henri was aware there were sometimes a few servants who remained in the castle and had quarters usually somewhere close by the kitchen in case they were needed in the night. He would need to be especially quiet.
Henri tied his horse at the stall that was farthest away from the doors and crept up silently. So good so far. But as he rounded the last stall, he ran headlong into a young stable lad carrying a pail of water. The young boy dropped his pail and exclaimed,
"Oh, good Lord! Ye scared me near to death! Weren't expecting to meet anyone here tonight. Ye must be the new gardener the missus said was coming. Well, she does like her flowers and the old gardener is just too old to keep up her gardens, so I reckon ye'll be needed. I be Archie. I work with the horses and keep the stalls clean."
"Oh, yes. I'm the gardener," replied Henri, struggling to understand the lad's heavy brogue.
"I just need a place to put my horse and sleep tonight. Then tomorrow morning I'll see the mistress and get my orders I expect. Henri was quick on his feet, mostly from learning to be so any number of times before.
"Aye. The last stall there is empty. And up above, there in the loft, there's another cot up there. Ye can stay there tonight. I'm off to see my lass now, Debra. That is if her Da will let me. He's right strict about anyone talking to his daughter. But, I'll keep trying. It might be late before I'm back, but the loft is not too bad. There are blankets and a lantern if ye need. Just be careful, don't need a fire in here for sure!
"That's a real different voice ye have there. Not from around here, I guess. One of the upstairs maids sounds just like that when she talks, too. Huh." And the lad went quickly on his way.
Henri breathed a long sigh of relief.
"Now what? Hadn't counted on anyone seeing me. I might have to take care of that boy before this night is over." Henri muttered under his breath. This was not going exactly as he had planned.
As soon as the stable boy was out of sight, Henri slowly ventured a little closer to the back side of the castle. The only sound he heard was an owl, somewhere close, with his constant "hoo hoo" call which seemed to never stop. Drat that bird! The night air was chilly, and he wanted to be done with this job. Inching his way to the far side of the bailey and climbing a tree close by, he entered the grounds, and found a door cracked open at the rear of the castle. The door squeaked when he pushed it, just enough to squeeze his thin body through. He felt around in the dark and quickly realized he was in a wine cellar.
"Well, now this is what I call a first class place. This looks like very fine wine. French wine at that!"
His first thought was to take some of the wine, but he dared not stop for anything just now; he needed to get this finished. Climbing the cellar stairs slowly, he got to the top and cautiously opened the door. The stairs led up to the kitchen, which was filled with smells of freshly made bread and some kind of fruit pies. Those smells made him wish he had time to stay awhile.
He had just started across the expanse of the large kitchen when a young girl came strolling in. She was rather thin and had her hair tied up with some kind of blue kerchief. She walked over to the oven and opened it. The aroma coming from the oven made Henri' stomach come to life as it had been some time since he had eaten. Then, turning back to the larder, the young lass started over in Henri's direction, carrying a candle before her to light her way. Henri hoped she would not notice him but the girl stopped in her tracks and looked directly at him.
"Oh! Who are you? What are you doing in here?" The girl started to back away. Then she held the candle higher and the Frenchman's face was clearly shown in the light. Henri knew a scream was imminent and had no choice but to clamp his hand over her mouth. Now there was yet another person who had seen him!
Henri was no stranger to killing, but she was so very young, and she would certainly alert others if he didn't take care of her.
"Ah, it's not what I wanted, cheŕi."
The girl never had a chance to even think of screaming. Within just a short few moments, Henri had grabbed the kerchief on her head, pulled it down, and tightened it around her neck.
There was no sound from h
er. But now he had to do away with her. He easily lifted her thin body and deposited it in the corner of the larder. It would at least be out of the way until someone came to start breakfast tomorrow morning.
Now, he had to find the bedrooms. Warwick had said the women would most likely be upstairs as that was the usual place for family quarters. He crossed the kitchen and went out into the great hall. The remnants of a fire were smoldering in the giant fireplace, the small embers still giving off red flickers of light, and the warmth felt good to him. The sheer size of this place was amazing to Henri, but a flight of stairs to his left seemed to be the logical place to start.
He could hear every creak of the stairs as he climbed. He just hoped no one else could hear them as well. Reaching the top, he looked about. All was quiet. There were several rooms on either side of a wide hallway. Which ones did the women sleep in? He had not thought of this, but made short work of looking quickly into the first one he came to. This room was vacant, and was probably a guest room when needed. He proceeded on to the next one on the right, and it, too, was empty. He was beginning to wonder if there was another flight of stairs and he had taken the wrong one.
He walked to the other side of the hallway and turned the knob on the first door. Clearly he had found one of the women, as a most pleasant aroma filled the large room. Flowers. Ah, definitely a woman's room. He knew nothing about flowers, but found this scent pleasing to his nostrils. Tiptoeing over to the bed, he looked only briefly at the very old woman, lying on her side, facing the wall. When he reached the edge of the bed, he looked down and was taken aback as the old woman was awake and staring at him! He jumped back, not sure what his next move should be.
"Who's there? Is that you, Moira?" Henri held his breath and remained perfectly quiet.
"Moira?" He quickly discerned that the old woman had her eyes open, but in the dark she was having great difficulty making out who it was. Then, in one long stride he was back at the bedside. It took only a moment to complete his assignment as she offered practically no resistance to his great strength.
Highland Healer Page 15
