by Willa Blair
Nay, she would not say Flodden and bring his anguish back to the surface. “Well, he despaired of making a match for me here, and sent me to foster with the Lathans.”
Logen would understand what she meant, that most of the men were gone forever. And among those left, who would want a difficult woman?
“Of course, I presumed I was intended to wed the new Lathan, Toran. I was there for more than two years, but still he didna offer for me. Every day that passed saw me angrier and more desperate, but also more haughty. In my mind, I was already the lady of the clan. It was my destiny.
“Toran was away from the Aerie visiting another clan when a lowlander army attacked. Injured while helping defend the neighboring clan, Toran was taken prisoner. The lowlander Healer, Aileana Shaw, cared for him. He…saw in her something he wanted, so he stole her away from the lowlander army when he escaped, and brought her back to the Lathan keep with him.
“His fascination for her was evident to all and insulting to me. On the day they wed—handfasted, actually—something inside me snapped.”
“It must have been difficult for ye.”
The fact that Logen felt sympathy for what she’d been through—what she’d inflicted upon herself—surprised her, but gave her the confidence to continue on with her tale. “So much so that the rest is too shameful to relate. I was crazed. Not myself. I felt I had nothing to lose.” She paused, considering. But his patient concern was like the calm of a tidal pool. Dared she disturb it? Yet she owed him the truth if he was to trust her. She wanted his trust. “In the end, I stabbed the Healer. To halt my attack, the arms master, Donal MacNabb, stabbed me. Toran only held his blade to my throat. The wound Donal inflicted was mortal, but the Healer wouldna let me die.” Coira rushed ahead now, to get the words out before fear choked her. “She made them help her stop her own bleeding so she could save me—the woman who’d just tried to kill her.”
“Ach, lass—”
She ignored Logen, determined to finish. “I think she sensed my anguish and healed that, as well. And left me with this ability. A gift? Or a punishment? I canna say.”
Logen’s silence unnerved her, but her other sense told her there was no disgust or dismay in his reaction. Thoughtfulness, mostly. Curiosity.
“What have ye no’ told me? I must ken it all if I’m to protect ye.”
“If ye ken it all, ye willna wish to protect me.” Fear coiled in her gut again. Fear and shame. “Instead, ye’ll wish to throw me from the cliff top and let the sea carry me away.”
“I dinna believe that.”
“If the Lathans didna tell ye, then I wish to leave all that behind me, there. Can I no’ start fresh here? I wish to believe that is what the Healer intended when she gave me this...gift.”
Coira held her breath, waiting. Would Logen press her? She couldn’t bear for her misdeeds to become common knowledge among the clan. She’d never be free of her past if that happened. The Lathans knew that, and it must be the reason they had not told the true story of her banishment. The Healer would have insisted, and the laird would have done whatever his new wife wished as long as it didn’t further endanger his clan.
But what of her people here? Could her madness return? She had to hope it would not. If she could learn to guard herself against the onslaught of others’ emotions, she could survive.
“Verra well.”
Those two words were the sweetest Coira had heard in a long time. Relief made her giddy, but caution kept her still.
“I’ll leave ye be on this for now. But dinna give me cause to regret it, lass.”
“I hope never to do that.” It struck her that might be the truest thing she’d ever said…to anyone.
His gaze bored into her, assessing. As he if wished he, too, could read emotions and sense what she was feeling and thinking. It was unnerving, and made her realize how others would regard her if they knew what she could do.
“Ye canna tell anyone about me, Logen, please. They willna understand. They’ll think I pry into their innermost secrets, even though I canna. I willna be safe with anyone. This must remain between us.”
“It will. Ye have my word on it. But ye will do as ye suggested, and try to sense who threatens me. I fear no enemy I can see coming. But lately, I must fear the dirk at my back in the hand of a friend.”
“Ye have my word on it.” She deliberately used his phrasing to show him she was as serious about their pact as he.
“It seems both our lives may depend on the other.”
“I willna fail ye, Logen.”
He stood and assisted her to her feet. His calm was gone, replaced by slow-simmering anger that made her think of distant lightning. “It’s time for ye to go. Unless ye wish to be seen accompanying me to the hall for the evening meal?”
Coira shook her head. “Nay, ’tis best I make my own way.” She paused by the door, intent on her awareness. Was anyone outside? Nay. She opened the door and peeked down the hall. Empty. Without another word, she slipped away from Logen and returned to her chamber to prepare herself for whatever she might find among the people of her clan.
****
Though he knew he must keep his wits about him, even in his own hall and at table in front of his entire clan, his thoughts kept returning to the strange conversation he’d had with Coira. Could she sense his mood even now? From her place halfway across the hall? He had little trouble guessing hers. She could not be comfortable making this foray into such a crowd. If large groups were “noisy” for her, then this meal would be consumed in an unrelenting din.
He dared not allow anyone to notice him watching her, but as he ate, he glanced around, noting Coira as his gaze travelled past her. Another woman was sitting and speaking with her—ah, Elizabeth. Good, Coira had one friend at least.
As far as his limited senses could tell, with a good meal of roasted fish and plenty of ale before them, the clan’s mood was benign. Laughter echoed to the rafters and the fire in the large hearth seemed cheerful and welcoming. Was it all an illusion? A dream conjured up by his hopes? He let his gaze rove past Coira, yet again. She was pushing food around on her plate. Elizabeth was talking to a lad on her other side.
Back again, his gaze skimmed the room and lingered on Coira. Did she seem suddenly pale? He had no time to contemplate the question. She slumped in her seat, complexion ashen. Logen forced himself to stay where he was, hoping for Elizabeth to notice and tend to her. That hope held him in place for no more than three heartbeats, then he surged to his feet and moved through the rows of trestle tables to her side. At his approach, Elizabeth finally turned and saw Coira’s condition. Logen reached them just as Elizabeth tried to rouse her friend.
“What’s amiss?”
“I dinna ken, laird. She was fine just moments ago. But she willna rouse.” Elizabeth lightly slapped Coira’s cheeks, then patted her wrists. “We’d best get her away from here.”
“I’ll take her.” The words were out before Logen could control his tongue. He grimaced and nearly waved another man over, but Elizabeth heard him and stood to allow him access. Logen picked up Coira and moved away from the table, Elizabeth trailing closely behind. “Stay with me, lass,” he told her as they mounted the stairs to the upper hall. “I may need yer help.” Logen glanced over his shoulder in time to see her nod.
“Should I get the healer?” Elizabeth asked as they reached the upper landing.
Logen wanted to shout his frustration. What if Coira woke up talking about “feeling” something? But she might need the healer’s help. “Aye. That would be wise.”
Just then, Coira stirred in his arms. “Wait. She’s...ah, there ye are, lass. Just in time for me to have carried ye all the way up the stairs and to yer door.”
“What...?”
“Ye fainted,” Elizabeth told her as she opened the door to Coira’s small chamber. “Do ye ken why?”
Coira’s gaze cut to Logen’s as he set her down on her edge of her bed. “Are ye well?” he asked, to divert her
from answering Elizabeth, then stepped back to a proper distance.
“I still feel a bit weak, but I’m sure I’ll be well in moments. I am...unused to being among so many people. I’d lost my appetite.”
“Ach, so ye need some food,” Elizabeth supplied. “I’ll fetch ye a tray and be back in a trice.”
“My thanks,” Coira told her.
Once Elizabeth had gone, Coira ran a hand through her hair, then regarded Logen. “I couldna tell anything, Logen. I’m sorry. So many people...” She wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were still being pummeled by all the feelings in the great hall. “Suddenly, the pain became too much. That must have been when I fainted.”
“Then ye must no’ subject yerself to that many people again, lass. Why bear such pain if ye canna learn anything from it?”
Coira gave a rueful chuckle and shook her head. “Would that no’ be true for all the wars in Scotland’s history?”
The mere thought of a battlefield sent Logen’s pulse racing.
“Ach, I’m sorry. I did it again.” Coira reached out to him.
Logen fought to control his reaction. He stepped back.
“Breathe, Logen. Please.” She stood and came to him, laying her hands on his arms and sliding them down to his clenched fists. “All is well, at least for the moment.”
Logen was finally able to drag in a deep breath of air, redolent with her scent and heat. His pulse kicked up again, for a very different reason this time. But she had blanched again, her jaw clenched tight. Was she ready to be on her feet? It appeared not.
“Step away, lass, please. Sit down. Ye fainted no’ so very long ago. I willna have ye do it again.” The excuse sounded good to his ears, but in truth, he needed some distance from her, too, or he would take her in his arms, and Elizabeth would return to find them locked in an embrace. Or worse.
Without a word, Coira reseated herself on the edge of her bed.
Logen kept his distance and watched as her face gained color. What was happening to her? Then the truth came to him. “Ye said the presence of so many people could become painful, but even that could be easier to bear than the strong emotion of one person.”
Coira’s gaze snapped up to meet his, yet she still did not speak.
“It hurt ye, again, just now, when ye touched me, aye? Ye went pale. Ye were gritting yer teeth.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, giving her time to decide how to answer. The tear that suddenly glimmered at the corner of her eye surprised him. He knelt and took her hands in his. “Coira, what’s amiss? Tell me the truth. Did I hurt ye? Do I hurt ye now, touching ye?”
She sucked in a breath. “Aye, ye did. And nay, ye dinna hurt me now. Yer concern is a comfort. But I...I need to learn how to build walls against what others are feeling.”
“Is such a thing possible?” If the Lathan healer had done this to her, why had she not taught Coira to protect herself? He squeezed Coira’s hands and released her, rocking back on his heels.
“I dinna ken. If it is, I dinna ken how.”
“Perhaps we should return ye to the Lathan Healer...”
“Nay!”
Because Logen only meant to help, Coira’s sharp reaction surprised him, but it made her objection clear.
“Why no’, lass, if she can help ye?”
“If she couldha helped me, she wouldha.”
He tried again. “If she doesna ken ye’re in trouble...”
“I canna return there, Logen. Please, dinna try to make me.”
This made no sense. “Let us think on this a while.”
“There’s naught to consider. I willna go. Now, please leave me, Logen. I need to rest.”
Logen pursed his lips, confused by her refusal to seek help. “Verra well.” He stood and went to the door. “Elizabeth will be back in moments. I’ll leave ye in her care.”
After the door closed behind him, he leaned against it and shook his head. What had the Lathan escort failed to tell him?
****
“So, she is the lass returned to us. Like the prodigal daughter, aye?”
The shrill voice outside the wall behind her caused Coira to leave off gathering the herbs the healer had requested. While carefully plucking tender leaves, she had been able to ignore the world around her. A few moments of peace, alone in the sunny walled garden, were all Coira had sought this morning, yet it appeared she was to be denied even those.
As she pulled herself back to her surroundings, the thought occurred to her that distraction and concentration might be the key to achieving a barrier against the emotions of the people around her, such as those of the women outside the garden’s high walls.
Coira sighed and rose, steeling herself against the lapping wavelets of irritation and mistrust moving toward her like a rising tide. Some people projected such strong feelings that Coira’s senses could barely register anything else around her. This woman was one of those, though Coira got nearly as much from her shrill voice as she did from the disdain that felt like icy spray hitting her skin. Surely, this woman and whomever she was speaking to would pass by soon.
“Ye mean the one named Coira,” another voice answered the shrill one quietly. “I do wonder what really happened in the Highlands, eh?”
“And what about these rumors I’m hearing?”
The rumors again? Would they never die down?
Shrill’s spike of irritation added icicles to the sea spray sensation. Coira fought to keep her breathing even and slow. Please go on by. Dinna come in here.
“I canna guess what news ye might be hearing,” the softer voice answered. “Tell me!”
“The lass was so difficult before she was sent away that no man here would have her. No man there, either, it seems, since they sent her back to us.”
Shame, hot and deep, speared Coira through the gut. If only she could erase the person she’d been from everyone’s memories. Though she wanted to protest that she’d changed, she held her tongue and thought about sandbars and offshore winds, clear sunny days that flattened the sea into a shimmering mirror. Her breathing slowed as she began to feel calm. In moments, she realized something was happening. Like a tide going out, the shrill one’s onslaught was receding, diminishing.
“She’d best no’ get any ideas about the laird here, mind ye.” Shrill’s voice penetrated the soothing image she’d built in her mind.
Coira couldn’t help reacting. She stiffened, but remained silent as the harridan continued, her disdain breaking through to Coira like water breaking through a dam—a trickle at first, but growing fast.
“She failed to become the Lathan lady, or she wouldna be back.”
The truth of that pinched at Coira, deeply and painfully.
“She willna be so exalted here either,” the soft-voiced woman’s tone dripped sarcasm. “What makes her think she’s so special? Other lasses—that Campbell chit for one—would be a better match for the clan. At least, there we’d gain an alliance that might stop the Campbell raids. If our laird lasts much longer as laird, that is.”
What? What did she mean, “…if he lasts much longer as laird”? Coira nearly bolted to the gate, to see who spoke, but caution held her in place. If they knew she overheard, they would not reveal anything else. She wanted to clench her fists, but that would amplify her own emotional state, which was far from the calm she’d almost achieved.
But this woman seemed to know something. Her certain tone chilled Coira in a way that even the shrill-voiced woman had failed to do. She knew something about a threat to Logen. Coira tensed and opened herself, questing, sensing as much as she could, no matter the discomfort. Aye, the soft-spoken woman was unsettled. Ambitious. For her husband? But fearful, too. That Logen would prevail? Or someone else would? She had no way to tell, short of reading the woman’s thoughts, which Coira could not do.
Her shrill companion felt quizzical, dissatisfied. Then they moved away and Coira groaned in frustration. What did the soft-spoken woman know?
She dar
ed not follow. They would see her and know they had been overheard. And if the soft-voiced woman really did know the conspirators, realizing that Coira had overheard them might put Logen in immediate danger. Nay, she could not follow them.
But she had learned something valuable from the encounter. As she had tried to do with Logen, willing herself to serenity, or as close to it as she could achieve, seemed to have a similar effect on the women. Almost as if her own calm was contagious, she’d felt their agitation lessen slightly. Or had she simply begun the process of learning to build the walls she needed to block out such people? Either way, it was a step in the right direction.
Should she stay and finish her task? Or find Logen and tell him what she’d sensed? Nay, she didn’t know enough yet. But what she’d overheard had been fair warning. As if she needed any. The clan watched her—or some faction of it did. She dared not approach Logen too openly or she would invite more of the disdain the shrill woman had so enjoyed heaping upon her. Coira’s shoulders slumped.
To be talked about was bad enough, but to be discussed so openly and so cruelly, stung. Unbidden, tears wet her face. How could she ever hope to belong here when she could know, merely by passing nearby, how any person, in their most private thoughts, felt about her? Why had the Healer done this to her? Truly, she gave Coira no gift, but a lifelong punishment. Suddenly defeated, Coira ran for her chamber.
Chapter 4
Logen pored over the clan’s books. From the state of the records, the last lairds had given the clan’s wealth little attention, save for what use they could make of it. That would have to change, and the task would fall to him to untangle the mess they’d left behind. He’d enjoyed learning mathematics at St. Andrews, but he needed different skills for this accounting than anything he’d studied there. He wasn’t sure he knew where to start.
The clatter of running feet broke through Logen’s concentration. When he didn’t hear the sound of children’s laughter along with the clatter, he became concerned. The noise out in the hallway could be a welcome diversion, or it could mean more trouble headed his way. Logen stepped out of his solar just in time for Coira to slam into his chest.
