by Laura Landon
Màiri placed her hand on Kenneth’s forearm and leveled him a serious look. “I am safe, Kenneth. He will never know me. He canna see.”
Chapter 2
He was awake, but not brave enough to open his eyes. Memories of the suffocating darkness crowded his mind, causing him to break out in a cold sweat.
He couldn’t see.
Iain listened for any sign that the woman with the soft voice and gentle hands was anywhere near. There was movement to his right, the sound of someone stirring a kettle then adding more wood to the fire. He heard the crackle and popping of logs burning and smelled the rich odor of a stew simmering and warm bread just newly baked, but he could not see the flames rising from the hearth or the wooden spoon stirring in the kettle or the golden brown bread cooling on a rack.
By the saints! He was blind.
He struggled to keep the suffocating panic from choking him then turned his head and opened his eyes, praying he would see the glowing blaze from the hearth. He saw only darkness.
“Good day, milord,” the soft voice whispered, coming near the bed.
Iain instinctively reached to his side for his weapon. His hands grasped nothing but soft bedcovers. He was helpless. Would to God they had left him to die. Dying would have been better than living in a world of darkness for the rest of his life.
Her hand touched his forehead. It rested there long enough to send warm shivers down his body. A thousand questions came to mind, but his thoughts seemed so scattered he could not pull them together long enough to ask one.
“Glad I am you are awake. I thought you would sleep this day away too.”
Her voice had a consoling lilt to it, a reassurance that gave him the confidence not to sink back into his world of unconsciousness.
“Where am I?” he asked after drinking the cool water she pressed to his lips.
“Not far from where you were attacked.”
Her voice was soft, soothing to his ears. As comforting as her touch and her presence. “Is anyone else alive?”
“Nay.”
Iain fought the wave of fury. The four men with him were friends, loyal MacAlisters who’d forfeited their lives for no reason. Whoever had done this would pay for their deaths. Even if it took him to his dying breath, he would not rest until he discovered who had attacked them and why.
“Why did you help me?”
“It was not your time to die.”
Iain brought his hand to his forehead. His head ached as if a sword were imbedded in his skull. “God’s blood,” he whispered, fighting against the pain that threatened to take him back into his world of unconsciousness.
“Here.”
She put her hands beneath his back and helped him sit. When he held out his hands, she placed a crude cup in his grasp.
“Drink this.”
“What is it?”
She wrapped his fingers around the warm metal and helped him lift the cup to his lips. “It is warm ale with a mixture of feverfew in it. It will ease the ache in your head.”
Iain drank the liquid then lay back on the bed when she took the cup from his hands. “What are you called?”
“Mà… um, my name is Agatha.”
He breathed a harsh breath. The name did not fit someone with such a tender touch.
She pulled a cover up around his shoulders. “What shall I call you?”
“Iain. From clan MacAlister.”
“Rest now, Iain, from clan MacAlister. You are far from ready to stay awake any longer.”
Iain closed his eyes to the darkness as her touch soothed his aching body. She did not leave his side.
When he could no longer fight the excruciating pain, he fell asleep, holding onto the softness and gentleness of her touch. To think of his blindness would have been too horrifying.
. . .
“Is he awake?”
Màiri dropped another vegetable she’d been cleaning into the bowl and cast a glance toward the cottage door. “Aye. I left him sitting at the table to eat his meal.”
Kenneth finished skinning the game he’d killed for their supper and cut the meat in large strips. “Can he manage by himself?”
Màiri couldn’t suppress her smile. “He’s getting better.”
It had been more than a month since they’d rescued the MacAlister and in that time he had made remarkable progress adjusting to his blindness. But not without tremendous frustration and a regular display of his ferocious temper, most of which had been directed at Màiri.
“He seems to enjoy his food much better if no one is there to watch him eat.” Because his pride would not allow him to be fed, he quickly learned to eat on his own. Màiri found that if she placed the meat and the bread and vegetables always in the same spot on his platter, and placed his goblet of ale always to his right, he managed without much trouble.
“We have to leave, mistress,” Kenneth said, returning with a bucket of water he’d filled from the well beside the cottage, then set it down beside the small bench where he’d been working. “We can wait na longer.”
Màiri shook her head. “He is na well enough to be left on his own, Kenneth.”
“I saw warriors today. They were your father’s.”
“I know.”
Kenneth gave her a look that showed his displeasure that her gift had warned her about a danger and she hadn’t told him. “Then you know how important it is that we leave.”
“But he is na recovered enough.”
“Then we will send someone from the convent to care for him. It is too dangerous to stay here any longer. He is too dangerous.”
“How can he be dangerous? He is blind.”
Kenneth nodded toward the cottage. “He’s a MacAlister. Have you forgotten what his purpose most likely was in coming here? Does na your gift warn you—”
Màiri slammed the bowl down beside her on the bench. “Nay! My gift fails me where the MacAlister is concerned. It has never been like this before. I feel na warning.”
The puzzled look on Kenneth’s face deepened. “Then it is more important than ever that we leave.”
Màiri knew Kenneth was right. She had done all she could for the warrior. If they waited much longer, her father would find them. Her death was too important for him to give up his search.
“Are you sure you will na change your mind about the convent, lass? I could take you home with me. Your grandfather would give you refuge.”
“Nay. I must go to the convent. You were with my mother when she died. You heard her warnings.”
“Your mother’s family is not without wealth, lass. I am sure—”
Màiri threw the leek she’d been cleaning into the wooden bowl. “Is there another there with my gift? Another who can give me hope that I would be accepted?”
Kenneth studied the knife in his hand. “Nay, lass. But it would na matter. They know about the gift. They would understand.”
“I canna take the chance. I do na want to live where I will be shunned as the MacBrides shunned my mother. Rejected as my father rejected my mother. You know what it was like. You know the hell my mother lived from the moment my father found out about her gift. You saw his hatred for me when I warned him about—”
Màiri shoved away the painful picture of the dying babe she’d held in her arms. “I must go to the convent, Kenneth. The gift must end with me. It is my only choice.”
Màiri peeled another leek and placed it in the bowl with the rest. ”It will not be long and you will be free to go home. Your obligation to protect me will be finished.”
“I would stay with you ’til my death. You know that, mistress.”
“Aye, Kenneth. I know. But you’ve a wife and children waiting for you.”
Kenneth smiled. “My Alex should be full grown now and my Magda a young lass. They’ve na need of me anymore.”
“But your wife does.”
Kenneth smiled. “Aye. My Alice is a bonny lass with a gentle spirit. Her love for me is great.”
“She deserves to have you ho
me. She deserves someone strong and brave and gentle to hold her at night. It is her right after all the years she gave you up for my mother’s sake, and then mine.”
“And what of you, mistress?”
Màiri picked up another leek and chopped off the end, then fisted her hands to keep them from shaking. “I am na brave enough to live the life my mother lived. Her gift killed her in the end. It will do the same to me. I will go where what I am will na matter.”
“Mayhaps there is another way—”
Màiri held up her hand. “It is too late. We will leave for the convent in three days’ time. That will give me ample time to prepare enough food until someone comes to care for him. Perhaps he will want to be taken home. Surely his family—”
She heard the crash of a chair overturning, then the loud curse of her warrior. She could not go to him. He would not wish her to. She sat with the bowl of cleaned vegetables in her hands and waited. He was too proud to accept her aid.
A few moments later, the MacAlister stood in the cottage doorway, staring out into the bright sunshine without squinting. He was almost fully healed, the wounds on his shoulder and forehead and thigh nothing more than faint lines, marked only by the jagged pink scars that remained. His broad shoulders nearly filled the entrance, making the cottage seem small. His long, muscular legs and thick, corded arms bulged with muscles finely honed by hours of training with his warriors.
And his face. In a hauntingly masculine way, he was beautiful. High cheekbones and the strong angle of his noble jaw gave him a powerful look. A golden bronzed complexion and the hooded expression that was hidden beneath thick brows combined to create the most masculine image imaginable. The deep blue of his eyes was mesmerizing. And the two deep dimples nestled amidst the shadowed stubble on his cheeks emitted a rugged quality. She could not even guess how deep the crevices would dip if she ever saw him smile.
If not for the fact that he could not see, she would have guessed him to be the most perfect man God had ever given to Scotland.
He held his head high, the sheen of his mahogany hair a regal halo, his chin raised in noble bearing. The black look in his eyes bespoke more strength than she’d ever seen in a man before. The commanding tone of his voice evoked no weakness. She could not envision anyone more ferocious or hostile. No wonder her father had chosen him to kill her.
“Agatha?”
Màiri crossed the small yard in hurried footsteps. “Aye, milord. I am here.”
She hooked his arm through hers and led him across the small courtyard in front of the cottage.
“Is Kenneth near?” he said, cocking an ear to listen for any sound.
“Aye,” Kenneth answered. “I am cleaning a hare I snagged for your meal tonight.”
He did not release Màiri’s hand but held onto it with a certain possessiveness she found confusing.
“Will you make stew from it?”
“If that is what you wish.”
“Aye, but do na chop the pieces so small, this time.”
Màiri smiled. “I will remember, milord.” She stopped before a bench and let him sit down. He leaned his back against the stone wall adjacent to the cottage and lifted his head.
“I can feel the heat from the sun.”
“Aye,” Màiri answered, watching him bask in the sunshine.
“Is something amiss, Kenneth? I thought I heard raised voices.”
Màiri cast Kenneth a worried glance.
“Nay, milord,” Kenneth answered. “Nothing is wrong.”
Kenneth placed another piece of raw meat on the cutting bench and sliced it into perfect strips. “Have you given any thought to what you will do when you are well enough to leave?” Kenneth spoke each word casually, as if the answer held no more importance than talk of the weather.
“Aye. I will go home. I can hardly accomplish the goal I came for if I cannot see.”
Màiri waited for her gift to show a sign of warning but she felt nothing. She looked at Kenneth and felt the protective hostility he emitted every time he feared she was in danger. She shook her head and he relaxed his grip on his dagger.
There was a dark expression on the MacAlister’s face that Màiri could not help but wonder at. For the past month and more she had watched him for some sign that he was a threat. Instead, he arose each morn to bravely face another day, hiding the fact that his blindness was a curse as vile as her gift.
She’d sat with him and talked with him and waited for her gift to garner some answers regarding the pain he kept to himself, but it was as if a door was closed between them, keeping her as blind to his true feelings as he was blind to what went on around them. His next words gave them cause to remember how great a threat he would be if he could see.
“Do you know the laird of clan MacBride?”
Kenneth wiped the blood from the knife in his hand and sat straight. “Aye. We do.”
“And do you know of the laird’s daughter, Màiri?”
Kenneth held the knife closer, his body tense and battle ready. “Aye. We know her.”
“She was the reason I crossed over onto MacBride land.”
The breath caught in Màiri’s throat. She studied him carefully. Surely, her gift would warn her if danger surrounded him. Surely, she would know if he presented a threat.
“Have you ever seen the laird’s daughter?”
Kenneth rose to his feet and motioned for Màiri to stand behind him. With his feet planted firmly beneath him, he held out his hand and shielded her.
“Aye. We’ve seen the lass.”
“I have need to find her before I leave. I took an oath and my word is sacred.”
“You canna.”
Màiri’s adamant rejection surprised Kenneth as well as the MacAlister warrior. Both men frowned, the look on Kenneth’s face a glare filled with warning.
“You canna,” she stammered again. “She is dead.”
Kenneth opened his eyes in disbelief and shook his head.
“Dead?” The MacAlister warrior sat away from the wall. “How?”
Màiri could not stop. “She and her party were attacked some two months past. Mayhaps by the same renegades that attacked you.”
“How do you know this?”
Màiri lifted her gaze heavenward and crossed herself. Surely God would forgive her for her deceit. Lying did not come easily to her and when she spoke she pondered each word carefully so as not to get tangled in her web of untruths.
“I was the Lady Màiri’s maidservant.”
“You knew the Lady Màiri?”
“Aye. I had known her since she was a child.”
“How is it you were spared?”
Màiri crossed herself again. “I was na with the mistress when she was slain. We had stopped here to rest the night and when we awoke I was ill. The mistress did not want to wait for me to recover, so she left Kenneth behind to bring me when I was well again.
“The next morning we followed and that is when we found them. If not for my illness. . .”
The warrior leaned back against the wall and breathed a heavy sigh. “She is dead,” he whispered. “I have come to this for naught. Four good men gave their lives and she was already dead.”
Màiri gripped her hands in front of her. For some reason she did not understand, her gift had failed her again. She could not tell what he was thinking.
“It is time that Kenneth and I left. Neither one of us belong here. Kenneth must return home and I will enter the Sacred Heart convent to live with the sisters and devote my time to serving God.”
A frown covered his face. “A convent? Are you sure?”
“Aye. I would be there now if we would na have stayed to care for you. Kenneth has promised me safe passage, then he will go home to his family. He has a wife and children waiting for him.”
The MacAlister pondered her words for a moment then lifted his shoulders. “When will you leave?”
“In three days’ time.”
Màiri noticed the stiffening of the
muscles in his body. This was the first time since he’d realized he was blind that she saw any indication of fear.
“Would you escort me home, Kenneth?” the MacAlister asked, fisting his hands at his side.
Màiri and Kenneth exchanged confused glances. “Are you sure you are well enough to travel, milord?”
“Aye. If Agatha is convinced she wants to live with the sisters, we will take her to the convent, then travel on to MacAlister Castle. I can hardly travel on my own.”
Kenneth hesitated for a moment. “My first duty is to the Lady—, is to Agatha. When I am assured she is safe, then I will take you to your home.”
The MacAlister nodded, then leaned back against the wall and let the warm sunshine beat down on him.
“Your people will be glad to see you are safe,” Màiri said, searching her gift to read his strange mood.
“Will they?”
“Aye.” She could not explain the unease she felt. Her gift told her nothing. Instead, a part of her deep inside sensed the MacAlister laird wished he would have died with his warriors rather than take his blindness home.
He stood in front of the bench. “Take me inside, Agatha. I have had enough of the sunshine.”
The look on his face told her something bothered him. The tightness in her chest ached for him. Her gift told her nothing.
Màiri slipped his hand through her arm and walked with him to the cottage. She felt his hand tighten around her arm, the quickening of her heart in her breast a warning that it was important to put distance between them.
“Are you sure you wish to spend your life in the convent, Agatha? You are welcome in my keep.”
A familiar warmth spread to her cheeks. “I do na think so, milord.”
“At least consider my offer. I have come to depend on you for much. I promise you would always be fed and clothed and cared for in repayment for all you have done.”
Màiri thought of the fire that spread through her loins when she was near him. She thought of the spinning of her stomach when he touched her or spoke to her or held out his hand for her to come to him. Her gift was curse enough. She did not need the daily torture of her body craving something she could never have. Hadn’t her mother’s life of misery been example enough?
