Keeper of my Heart

by Laura Landon

  “Mistress, is that you?” Janet asked between gasps of breath. She lay on the bed, her bulging stomach unbelievably large and distended. Wisps of dark hair lay plastered against her forehead, the perspiration running down her face.

  “Aye, Janet. It’s me.” Màiri rushed to her side and patted her hand, then rinsed a clean cloth in cool water and wiped her face. “Relax now. It will be over soon.”

  Iain marveled at the gift his wife had for comforting Janet. He wasn’t surprised, though. He remembered how her touch had soothed him during the long, lonely days when he fought to stay alive. He remembered the comfort in her touch during the terrifying days when he’d thought he would be blind for the rest of his life. The fear and devastation he had felt loomed before him and he knew how reassuring it was to have her here.

  Janet pulled Màiri close and whispered something in her ear. “Very well, Janet,” she whispered back, then turned to face Iain. “Iain, why don’t you take Lochlan outside for a while. There is nothing either of you can do in here.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” He couldn’t help giving the warning. He could still see Adele’s lifeless body lying in the bed, the vile of poison Yseult had given her still clutched in her hand.

  “Do na worry, laird,” Yseult answered as if she’d seen his thoughts. “Your wife will come to na harm from me. There are other quarters that should concern you far more than any danger I can inflict.”

  Janet’s low, painful moan interrupted Yseult’s warning and Iain turned his back to push Lochlan from the room. Just as he was to close the door to give them privacy, he heard Janet ask Màiri to tell her everything was going to be all right.

  Looking through the slit in the open door, he saw his wife place her hand on Janet’s stomach and smile. “’Tis a healthy babe you have, anxious to come out into this wondrous world, Janet.”

  “I fear Lochlan will be disappointed if it is a girl,” she said between gasps.

  “Do na worry about such things. Lochlan will be pleased, boy or girl, as long as the babe and its mother are both healthy.”

  “I know, but…” Another sharp pain stopped her words.

  “Stop your worrying, Janet. Just hurry and have your babe so you can present Lochlan with his fine, healthy son.”

  “It is a boy? You are sure it is a boy?”

  “Aye. It is a boy. A strong, healthy boy.”

  “Ah, mistress,” Janet sighed, just before another pain took away her breath.

  Iain closed the door, hoping Màiri had guessed right and Janet would not be too disappointed. He walked into the cool night air and sat with Lochlan beneath the summer stars, waiting for the babe to arrive.

  The birth seemed to take forever and the sun had chased away the darkness of night before Yseult came out of the cottage to tell Lochlan he had a son. Iain breathed a sigh of relief. Of course Màiri could not have known that it was a boy, but she’d sounded so sure. There had been no doubt in her announcement.

  A niggling of confusion scratched inside his memory. His wife was truly amazing. First had been when the Cochrans had come. Now tonight. This was the second time she’d just—known.

  “Is Janet all right?” a very excited Lochlan asked rising to his feet, unable to sit still.

  “Aye, she is fine,” Yseult answered. “You can go in to see her and your new son if you don’t tire her out any more than she is already.”

  “Oh, nay,” Lochlan promised, striding to the door. His legs carried him almost at a run, his feet barely touching the ground.

  When Lochlan walked into the cottage, Iain was left alone with Yseult. He stared at the old woman, waiting for her to say what was on her mind.

  “Were you afraid I would harm the lass and her babe?”

  “You forget. I have seen firsthand what you are capable of doing. I helped bury Adele’s body.”

  “Ah, laird, you see only what you want to see and are blind to what you do na want to admit.”

  Anger surged inside him. “Quit talking in riddles, old woman. If you have something to say, then say it.”

  “Only that if you truly wanted to find out what happened to Adele, you would ask the one person who could tell you.” A slow, mischievous grin crossed her face, daring him to challenge her.

  “You are evil, Yseult.” His temper snapped. Since the day Adele had taken the poison the witch had given her, Yseult had taunted him with what she’d done. Daring him to find proof she’d killed Roderick’s wife. “Your crime will come to haunt you some day.”

  “The crime is that I canna make you see the truth. Even now.” Yseult spun around and pointed a bony finger at Màiri standing in the doorway of the cottage. “Have you told him, mistress? Does he know?”

  Iain walked over to Màiri to shield her. “Leave her alone,” he hissed. “I don’t want you anywhere near my wife.”

  Màiri clutched his arm. “Iain, nay.”

  “Do not defend her, wife. You do na know what she has done.”

  “I have done nothing,” Yseult voiced loudly. “Nothing save listen to an unhappy lass who could na abide the choices she’d made. My sin was that I did not recognize the tragedy staring me in the face. You are as much to blame for Adele’s death as I. Now you would rather blame me than look for the truth within your own keep.”

  “Silence!”

  A long, tremulous silence hung in the air, widening the chasm that separated them. Very slowly, Yseult raised her arm and pointed a bony finger at Màiri in warning. “Heed my words, mistress. You know the dangers. Who do you think will protect our laird when you are na longer able? Tell him before it is too late. Before the gift is used against you.”

  Iain looked down at the panic-stricken expression on Màiri’s face. He turned to order Yseult to leave, but the old hag had already turned away.

  He watched the effect of the confrontation between himself and Yseult. With her hands wrapped around her middle, Màiri stared after the witch until she was out of sight. “What did she mean, Màiri?” he said clasping his hands on her shoulders. “What hold does she have over you?”

  When she did not answer, he pulled her against him as if keeping her close could protect her.

  “Do na look after her, Màiri. She will bring you nothing but harm.”

  “The harm will not come from her, Iain. The danger is much closer than Yseult.”

  Iain shook his head. “Nay. It is only the witch who has put such thoughts into your head. There is nothing here that can harm me.”

  He kept her near a little while longer then held her at arm’s length to look into her face. “Come, Màiri. Let me take you home. It has been an exhausting night. You will feel better after you rest.”

  She raised her shoulders and took a deep breath that quivered in the silence. “Nay. I must go back in to see Janet. She may need something.”

  “Go in to wish her well again if you must, then we will go home. Her mother and sister are here to care for her. You can come to see her again tomorrow.”

  Iain watched Màiri walk back in to the cottage then turned his gaze to the path Yseult had taken. Her words came back to haunt him. What had she warned Màiri to tell him before it was too late?

  What gift did Màiri have that could be used against her? And by whom?

  Try as he might, he could not forget her words. He had no doubt he would rue the day he’d heard her warning.

  Chapter 19

  Màiri sat in her place in the far corner of the hall and watched Iain conduct business as he had since early this morning. She hadn’t left his side since returning from Janet’s the night before.

  If Iain thought it strange, he hadn’t remarked on it. Nor had he questioned her further about Yseult’s warnings. The turmoil that had started early this morning required all his attention, and if the coloring of his face and the haunted look in his eyes were any indication, he did not feel well again.

  Even though he tried to hide his pain from her, she could always tell when his head ached. T
here were mornings when she woke to his gentle kisses and his hands caressing her, then they would make passionate love until the sun brightened the sky. The next morning he might rise clutching his head as if it were bursting, then grasp onto the furniture on his way across the room to steady himself. Those mornings he left while he thought she was still sleeping. If he had known she was awake to observe him, he would not have allowed himself the luxury of giving in to his pain. He was too proud to let her see how debilitating his weakness had become.

  She’d watched the pattern of his illness, searching to find any similarities to the time he’d been ill before but couldn’t. She didn’t know what potion to try next. Nothing seemed to work. Each day he became a little weaker, almost as if the food he ate and the ale he drank made him worse.

  She shook her head in denial. She couldn’t let her mind run wild. Surely her gift would warn her if that were so. And yet. . .

  The bracelet he’d left for her burned in her pocket, yet she felt nothing in its touch. No connection to its giver, no warmth, no emotion. She clutched the smooth green stones into the palm of her hand, then focused her gift on Iain, praying that just this once he would not be closed to her. But he was. Even his special gift did not bring him any closer.

  The sound of raised voices drew her attention back to the two warriors standing before their laird, listening to his decision. With an angry shout, the one called Dugal, stormed from the hall, displaying a fiery show of temper. The other warrior, Donald’s second son, Conan, walked stoically from the room, his repressed anger as explosive as a brewing thunderstorm ready to wreak havoc on the countryside below.

  “I will speak to Conan when he has cooled down and see what more he will tell me,” Donald said, holding his back rigid and his temper in check.

  Iain shook his head. “It will do na good. Conan does na know anything about it. The stealing of Dugal’s coins was but one more groundless charge. It is the second false charge I have heard already today, neither of them any more valid than the dozen and more I have heard in the past month.”

  He rubbed his fists over his eyes as if he needed to block out the sharp afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. The color of his face took on an even paler hue. “What is happening, Donald?” Iain leaned back in his chair. “Who is behind the petty squabbles and the discontent among my warriors?” He pounded his fists against the arms of the chair then raked his fingers through his hair.

  Màiri wanted to go to him, but held her place and waited.

  “It seems I barely have time to put out a fire in one quarter before flames are burning in another. And all those accused are my most loyal followers. First Lochlan, then Hector and William and Gilchrist and Cormac. Now Conan. It is as if someone is trying to divide us. And their plan is working. The warriors are already choosing sides.”

  Donald gave her a sideways glance. Perhaps he could see the pattern. She prayed he could.

  “I have been watching, milord,” Donald answered, his body braced.

  Iain lifted his head. “What is it, Donald? What else have you found out?”

  “I have been keeping track of all those who have made harmful accusations. There have been eleven of them so far. They all stick together as if they are a clan amongst themselves.”

  Iain sat forward on his chair. “What have you noticed about them?”

  “They are na one of them MacAlisters. They are all—”

  “Here you are, Iain,” Roderick bellowed from the back of the hall. “I have been looking for you. There is another problem with the Cochrans.”

  Màiri sat forward, her gift hammering a warning she could not ignore. Roderick surveyed the room, then walked through the center of the hall, his chest puffed out with a confidence that frightened her. It was almost as if he felt himself in control, as if it were only a matter of time until he could imagine himself sitting where Iain sat now.

  “What has happened?” The concern on Iain’s face deepened the frown on his forehead.

  “Some of my men sent word that they spotted a band of Cochrans riding along our eastern borders. They think they intend to do harm.”

  A lie.

  “I was told they were passing close to Devon MacAlister’s fields and cottage. Our warriors are afraid they intend to—”

  “You are mistaken,” she said from the back of the room. She could not give Roderick time to tell more lies.

  Iain stepped off the dais and faced her. He wore the same look he’d worn when she told him the Cochrans had not come to make war. “Màiri? What do you know of this?”

  Màiri lifted her chin and walked toward Iain. “I know if Roderick will but check with the warriors who claim to have seen the Cochrans, he will find they have made an error.”

  Iain placed his hand beneath her elbow. “You are sure, Màiri?” he asked, looking at her.

  She nodded. “Aye. I am sure.”

  Roderick stared at her with a curious look. If only she could have watched in silence. If only she could have remained in her place and said nothing. But she could not. She had to stop his lies and knew when she did, her words would only confirm his suspicions.

  Roderick knew there was no way she could possibly know his words were false, unless she had a gift that told her.

  “What makes you think they were mistaken, milady?” Roderick said, taunting her to expose her gift.

  She did not let her gaze waver for an instant, locking intently with Roderick’s cold glare. She wanted him to know she knew he was lying. “I am sure if you take time to think of it, you too will realize, they were mistaken. Did you na hear Donald tell your laird last night that he had ridden to check the borders himself? Is that na right, Donald?”

  “Aye, milady. I did.”

  “Did you see Cochran warriors?”

  “Nay. I saw na Cochrans near our border.”

  She breathed a deep breath. “I think your warriors were mistaken, Roderick. Perhaps you will want to talk to them again.”

  The corners of Roderick’s mouth lifted ever so slowly. “I will be sure to talk to them first thing. They undoubtedly made a mistake.” He turned toward Iain. “How fortunate your wife is so perceptive. We could have made a grave error without intending to.” He turned his gaze back to her. “Thank you, milady. If you are right, we are all in your debt.”

  Roderick gave her a conciliatory nod. “If you will excuse me, I will straighten out this misunderstanding.”

  Roderick turned to leave then stopped when he reached Donald. “I am sorry to hear of your mother, Donald. I remember her fondly from my youth. She was a generous lady and will be missed.”

  “Aye,” Donald said, nodding his thanks. “I am fortunate I was with her when she died. Thankfully, the mistress reminded me last night that it had been a long while since I had seen my mother and asked me to make sure I visited her. I am glad I did na put my visit off another day.”

  Roderick stopped on the top step and turned around. A cold shiver went through her in warning.

  “How fortunate our mistress knows such things,” he said, smiling sardonically. “I am constantly amazed.”

  Before Roderick left, a serving maid called Anna came through the door, her face as pasty white as the apron she wore. “Master, come quick. It is Ferquhar. They found him dead.”

  Màiri’s heart clenched in her chest as Donald’s gaze sharpened on the girl. “Did the old man die in his sleep?” he asked.

  “Nay,” Anna replied, “he’s outside the lower level garderobe, an empty goblet still clutched in his hand. Yseult always said his love for ale would be the death of him.”

  Màiri clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the bile rising in her throat. It was her fault he was dead. She should have known Ferquhar would not be able to resist drinking the poisoned ale. Why hadn’t her gift sensed it? She never should have given it to him. She should have dumped it out herself. Ferquhar would be alive if she had.

  She looked up. Donald was staring at her, his face unnat
urally pale. He backed up a pace, then two, as if he feared standing too close to her would cause him harm.

  “Stay here, Màiri,” Iain said, the strained look on his face closed to her.

  Did he realize there was a connection between the goblet she’d given Ferquhar last night and his death today? She would give anything for her gift to be able to tell her. A sharp warning shot through her as Iain and Donald followed Anna out the door, leaving her to face Roderick alone. She braced herself to face him.

  He took one step toward her, then another. “It is too bad about poor Ferquhar but you should na let it bother you overmuch, mistress. You did try to warn him.”

  Màiri held her ground, refusing to let him see how much Ferquhar’s death had upset her. “You murderer,” she hissed, unable to hide her revulsion.

  “Ah, well,” he shrugged. “That could na be helped.” He absently fingered the hilt of his dagger at his side. “I am curious, milady,” he said, edging closer. “How is it you knew about the wine?”

  Her blood raced through her veins like ice water from a Highland stream in winter. She didn’t react. Roderick knew too much as it was.

  “And how was it you knew to send Donald to see his mother last night? What wee folk talk to you and tell you what no one else knows?”

  Roderick took two more steps, then three until he stood close enough to reach out and touch her. “And how could you know my men did na see any Cochran warriors on the border last night?” He reached out and placed his finger beneath her chin, tilting her head uncomfortably high. “Does our laird know of his wife’s…powers?”

  She clamped her fingers around the smooth green stones buried deep in her pocket, wondering what significance they held. “I’ll na let you harm him, Roderick,” she whispered, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

  “You think you can stop me?”

  “There is more than just me. We will stop you.”

  “Who do you think will believe you, mistress? Every MacAlister knows how loyal I am to my laird and how devoted the laird is to me. Did he na raise me from a lad? Am I not his own flesh and blood?”