Highland Treasure

by Mary McCall

  "Oh God, Hope!"

  Crystal flakes glittered on her skin and in her hair. He knew before he removed his gloves that she glistened with frozen sweat from a raging fever. He placed a hand on her cheek. Her flesh burned his fingers. Her gown clung to her like a soggy rag. Retrieving a liberal amount of wood, he tossed it on the fire bed and laid the torch near the kindling at the base so the wood could catch the flame. He took the mountain of pelts and plaids from Diable's back and made a small bed with three of the pelts, near the blaze, then set the others nearby so the fire could warm them. He lifted Hope close to his chest and carried her to the small bed. As he lowered her, she moaned and opened fever-glazed eyes.

  "The ribbon...'twas for our babe...Save him even if I...” Her raspy, raw whisper faded. Her head fell back, eyes closed.

  Leonce saw she had lain curved around her huge belly, giving as much heat as possible to the babe growing within her. From her size, he guessed the birthing wasn't far off. And he knew exactly what she meant. If she died before the birth, she wanted him to cut the babe from her and give the child a chance to live.

  "Ah, Hope, did my rage cause you to fear me so much that you were afraid for our bairn?"

  Suppressing his guilt, he removed the damp garment and the pelts wrapped around her feet and legs. He saw the recent angry scar on her thigh and gritted his teeth. Then he wrapped her in four layers of plaids and furs. After pulling on his gloves, he placed the remainder of the wood from the pile onto the fire. “In the morning, wee goat, someone will bring you to your friend."

  Leonce lifted Hope in his arms, picked up the low-burning torch, and turned toward Diable. The stallion bowed. Leonce mounted and wrapped another plaid about himself and Hope. “Rise, Diable, my friend. Take us home."

  Throughout the journey, Leonce castigated himself and held Hope close. The trails seemed icier. Diable's pace felt slower, and his hooves occasionally slid. Holding the dimming torch aloft, Leonce cast the meager light before the noble steed. The flame died about twenty yards from the spot where the trail exited into the meadow. Leonce worried Diable might falter without light on the rise to the keep.

  Entering the meadow, he learned his fear was unfounded. The mountainside blazed with fires from hundreds of torches held by clansmen waiting to light their passage. Diable broke into a gallop and held his pace. Cinders had been thrown on the front steps and the landing. The stallion didn't halt until they were inside the hall.

  "My thanks, Diable.” Leonce dismounted with Hope in his arms. “Aonghus, a blanket and dried apples for my friend. He can stay in the hall tonight. Freya, a bath—"

  "'Tis prepared, and water heats above your hearth.” Freya followed him up the stairs.

  She opened the door, and Leonce entered his chamber. He turned and blocked the woman's admittance. “'Tis my lady, Freya. I'll tend her myself and call you if there's a need."

  Leonce kicked the door shut, crossed the room, and laid Hope on the bed. While her forehead and chest burned his hands, her limbs were icy cold. After testing the water in the bath, Leonce grabbed the kettle from the hearth and added hot water until he was satisfied with the temperature.

  As he pulled the pelts and plaids away, Hope shivered, and a mewling whine escaped her. She reached for a plaid, but in her weakened condition couldn't grasp it.

  "You'll be warm soon, love.” Leonce lifted her from the bed. “Just hold on for a wee while. We'll get you through this."

  He carried her across the room and immersed her into the bath so only her head was above the water. Using the linens provided by Freya, he massaged the submerged limbs, surprised, but pleased, at finding only minor frostbite and no blackened areas. Hope's shivers soon ceased. Leonce found his hand resting upon her belly. Fluttering under his hand made him pause in wonder. Determination tightened his jaw.

  "The bairn is strong, Hope, but he'll need you as I do. We're not playing a game now. Though the object is the same, ‘tis a fight for your life. I'll not fail you again. Fight with all the extra senses the Good Lord gave you. Win."

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  Chapter Forty-Two

  * * * *

  Three evenings later Freya left the chieftain's chamber and descended to the hall. ‘Twas going to be an agonizing end for the young lady if he carried out her request. He had commanded Freya keep quiet, so no one else knew of the babe. Spying Aonghus at the high table, she walked through the crowd of MacPhersons, both men and women, who kept silent vigil.

  "How is the lass?” Aonghus asked as she stopped beside him.

  "The chief...bids you...send to the Ranalds for Father Cunningham.” Freya buried her face in her hands, openly crying.

  Aonghus stood and slipped his arms around her, offering his shoulder.

  "I cannot stand seeing her suffer so. Air barely passes through her lips. That which does rattles as a dirge. Would that the lady could wake long enough to tell us how to heal her."

  "She has!"

  Aonghus's bushy brows gathered as he looked toward the young woman who had leapt from her seat. “What was that, Mauri?"

  "I did not think until Freya mentioned the rattle.” Mauri turned to her husband. “Quickly, Rob. The green jar over the window. ‘Tis where I put the extra leaves and powders the lady gave us when she healed young Robbie."

  Rob left the hall at a run. Freya turned her gaze back toward Aonghus. “We may be too late. Best send for the priest."

  "Nay, Freya.” Mauri crossed the room and joined them. “Robbie was so near dead that we already had a box for him. The lady's fumes and potion cured him. Don't see why the Almighty wouldn't let them work for her too."

  "They damn well will work,” Aonghus declared. “You remember what to do, Mauri lass?"

  "Aye, Aonghus."

  A fire of hope sparked in the shrewd gray eyes. “When Rob returns, I'll go with you to tell the chief that someone else is about to tend his wife."

  * * * *

  Leonce opened the door. Mauri stood behind Aonghus, holding a tray. “Why are you here with Mauri, Aonghus? Did you send for the priest?"

  "Aye, lad,” he lied. “While we're waiting, Mauri has something she wishes to return to the lass."

  Leonce frowned. “My lady has no need—"

  "'Tis the lady's own cure for the death rattle, Chief.” Mauri stepped forward, raising the tray. “She saved my Robbie with it last spring. Mayhap ‘twill save her now."

  Leonce grabbed Mauri's arm, pulled her into the chamber, and slammed the door in Aonghus face. He turned the young woman to face him and gripped her upper arms. “You're not to tell what you learn of my lady's condition, Mauri. I'll not have it spread until I am ready."

  "Aye, Chief,” she quickly agreed.

  "What do you need?"

  "A pallet on the floor by the hearth with my lady upon it. I have everything else here."

  Leonce placed furs on the floor near the fire. Mauri set the tray within easy reach. After hanging a pot of water from the floor above the flames, she turned as Leonce laid Hope on the pelts. She raised both hands to her cheeks and gasped. “Saint Columba, she be breeding!"

  He scowled. Mauri grabbed a linen from the tray and held it out to him. “This must be hung low from the mantel, so we can fashion a tent over the lady and trap the fumes we'll make to help her breathe."

  Leonce draped the linen while Mauri broke five leaves into the steamy water. “You should sit and hold her head in your lap. The lady says ‘tis best not to let the body lay flat. Talk to her too. ‘Tis supposed to soothe her when the coughing starts."

  Sitting beside Hope, Leonce raised her limp body onto his lap and tenderly wiped her hot flesh with a cool, damp cloth. The vapors soon filled the small space, burning his eyes.

  Mauri mixed a pinch of powder in cool water and handed the potion to Leonce. “She must drink all of this and a cup of cool water every hour so the fever will go away."

  He coaxed the contents down Hope's throat. “What else do we do?"

/>   "We wait, and we pray.” Mauri knelt on a pelt beside them. “In about three hours, we give her more potion. It took half a day for Robbie's fever to break. She mixed up some paste for his chest when she first tended him, but I do not have that. I have enough powder for two more times. I hope ‘tis enough, for I know not what your lady put in it. I only know what she told me to do."

  "Then ‘twill be enough."

  Throughout the night, Leonce held Hope in his arms. He bathed her flesh, urged water and potions down her throat, and whispered in her ear. He used his hand to occasionally massage her abdomen until he felt a sign that the budding life still thrived. After Mauri mixed the last potion, Leonce bade her return home and rest. He knew the tears filming her eyes as she left were mirrored in his.

  He rubbed his jaw against Hope's hair and brushed his lips across her brow. “Ah, my Angelaspera, come back to me."

  Another hour passed. Then a violent coughing spasm wracked her body, expelling bloody phlegm. Leonce held her toward her side as Mauri had told him, so Hope wouldn't choke. He massaged her back, helping her force the disease from her body. The spasm eased, only to be followed by another. He soon felt dampness against his flesh. Beads of perspiration glistened on her brow. Kissing her cheek, he thanked his Maker for the drenching sweat that was washing the fever away.

  When the sweats ceased, he bathed her cool flesh with tepid water, cradled her in his arms, and carried her to bed. Slipping in beside her, he pulled her close, with her back to his chest and her head in the crook of his arm. He rested one hand over their child and the other over her heart. For the first time in five moons, the lion held his mate without fear in his heart.

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  Chapter Forty-Three

  * * * *

  She had left him again. Still weak two days after the fever passed, Hope went through the motions of life without living. Anything forced between her lips was swallowed. She offered no resistance to attention or care. But she didn't cooperate either. Her body lay limp, and her vacant gaze didn't see.

  The bairn was her only reason for surviving. Leonce knew after the birthing, she intended to die. Nothing he did reached into the secluded recesses of her mind where she had retreated. He begged, cajoled, badgered, scolded—all to no avail.

  He finished spooning broth into her mouth and dabbed at her lips with a linen. As he set aside the bowl, she turned her head away and closed her eyes. Leonce lifted one delicately boned hand, kissed each finger, and closed his palms over her hand.

  "I know you can hear me, Hope—if you'll listen. I can never make up to you for my lack of trust. More than that I regret what I've done to your heart and soul. You gave those precious gifts into my care, and I abused them worse than the baron ever did. I struck you, listening to my rage. My heart rebuked me. I knew afore I met The MacKay that you were innocent of betrayal. I still want you, Hope. I still love my Angelaspera. Without you life has no meaning—no hope for a future.

  "If you wish to leave and never see me again, I understand. Though ‘twill break my heart, I'll help you. Don't let yourself die because of this pathetic excuse for a chieftain, love. He isn't worth it. He failed to cherish his most precious treasure. I know you returned only for our bairn, not to be with me. I'll move my things to another chamber and ask Freya to take over your care. But know in my heart there is a place only yours can fill. If you ever decide to come back to me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to repair the damage I've caused to your heart."

  Leonce leaned over and brought her face toward his, holding it between his hands. “I love you, Angelaspera, with all of my worthless heart."

  He caressed her lips with a finger and lovingly kissed her mouth. After rubbing his whiskered cheek against hers, he stood and left the chamber.

  * * * *

  Tears gushed from Hope's eyes. What should she do now? She had almost made it to that other place before he kissed her, sending his love back into her heart. Why had she let him fill the emptiness and pull her away from the numbness she sought?

  How could she accept his love knowing how fickle...nay, not fickle—'twas constant, for none other had replaced her. The problem was his cursed jealous rage. Could she trust him not to turn on her again? Hope opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Was she not as jealous where he was concerned? If she saw him with another woman, would she assume the worst or ask questions first? Bloody rot! She had almost killed the king of Scotland over that man in a fury that rivaled his!

  Every word he had spoken since bringing her back, he meant. His heart truly was hers...and always had been. He had just guarded it for a while. She wanted his love back—needed his heart so she could go on living. Why, she hadn't truly lived until she fell from that tree into his arms. Her existence started with Leonce, and she wanted a lifetime.

  She could trust him, for her heart held his again. He had probably felt as dead as she had during the last five moons. They needed to talk about how they would respond to each other's rages, for she wouldn't go through this again. And Leonce needed to forgive himself, because she already had.

  Zounds, cursed and bloody rot! He was leaving her! She'd not allow it! She had to find him and tell him that she would feed his cursed carcass to Harry if he did!

  Hope rolled over and pushed up to a sitting position on the side of the bed. A wave of dizziness and paroxysm of coughs assaulted her. She raised a hand to her brow and dangled her feet until her senses unreeled. Then she slowly lowered herself and stood on the floor. Her knees nearly buckled. She stayed upright only from sheer tenacity.

  That cursed bed had held her too long. She felt weak as a newborn lambkin. Bloody rot! She was naked too! Hope reached for the plaid. Drawing the heavy material toward her seemed a monumental feat. Urgency to reach Leonce mounted as weakness hindered speed. She drew the blanket over one shoulder and made sure it covered her front from breast to knees. She let the rest of the material train behind her, not caring if it covered anything or not.

  Exertion labored her breathing. Slow progress frustrated her as she agonized toward the foot of the bed. What could she do to spur herself onward?

  Lightning struck, and her lips curved. A game! Though she felt just as drained, she would reach Leonce. For this prize she'd risk everything, and she would bloody well win.

  "Get re—” Hope broke off and cleared her swollen throat. “Get ready, Lion. I am about to cast bait."

  With torturous, staggering steps, she reached the door and leaned against it. An abrupt kick inside her belly made her smile. She rubbed her hand over the spot. “'Tis all right, cub. Your mam won't halt this game until her lion is back in the den where he belongs."

  After a struggle, the heavy door opened. Hope crept down the corridor. She balanced by keeping one arm against the wall and her other hand on her belly. Arriving at the top of the steps, she hesitated. A fall here could kill her and the babe. A punch in her side decided for her. This cub wanted a mother and a father.

  She inched down the stairs and stopped on the fifth step above the landing. Leonce appeared haggard, standing across the hall beside her story chair where Harry perched next to Bertie. A number of clansmen and women had gathered. No one noticed her, and they all seemed sad. She didn't want the melancholy of the room surrounding her, and her strength was waning. How could she get Leonce's attention? What kind of bait could she cast into the crowd?

  Harry fluttered his wings, drawing Hope's gaze to his perch. She remembered other nights in this hall with people about while she sat in that chair. She prayed her thin voice would reach Leonce. “Once upon a time..."

  A hush descended over the crowd. All eyes turned toward her; she stood clothed in only the drape of a plaid, leaning against the wall with a hand pressed against an obviously rounding belly.

  Leonce paled when he saw her.

  "...there was a young girl who fled an evil baron. She arrived in the Highlands only to be caught by a mighty chieftain who bloody well tricked her into wedd
ing him."

  "Hope, be careful and don't fall. You shouldn't be out of bed.” Leonce rushed toward her.

  "The girl was a cursed heathen and gave the chieftain a dire pain in his rump. They soon fell in love, and he joined in her bloody fun games.” Hope held up a hand as Leonce arrived at the foot of the stairs. He hesitated, looking up at her. “One day a joyous dawning came to her. She rushed home to share her happiness with the chieftain, but a cursed strange thing happened."

  Leonce's face drained of its remaining color.

  "They both fell asleep, and their slumber lasted five cursed moons.” Did he understand there was nothing to forgive? “I just had the sweetest awakening, Leonce. And I wish to share my joyous news with you."

  A questioning light flickered in his eyes, and Hope smiled.

  "Baron Nevilles was never my father. And though he is another of your enemies since you have so many, I want you to share my happiness in knowing my true father is another Highlander called MacKay. And while that makes me joyful, my other news is so wonderful it sent me home in a rush to tell you. In case ‘tis not too apparent, the lioness is bairned and will soon give her lion a cub. Does this please the lion?"

  "Aye, Hope.” A tender smile eased across his lips. “It pleases him more than he deserves."

  "'Tis the truth, the Highlands have softened me.” She pushed away from the wall. “Catch me, Leonce.” She flung herself at his chest, and he caught her. Leaning her cheek against his, she whispered, “I am so glad you tricked me."

  "Oh, my Hope, I love you,” Leonce said with a look of wonderment on his face. He kissed her forehead and tightened his hold around her.

  "I cherish your love, Leonce, but your powerful squeezing may squish our babe."

  Leonce eased his hold.