by Connie Mason
“Who would do such a thing?”
“I was going to ask ye the same question, lady. Graeme isna going to like this. ’Tis best ye remain inside the walls until the laird returns.”
Blair accepted Aiden’s edict with little argument. Until she learned who was behind the kidnapping attempt, she wouldn’t put the lives of any of Graeme’s kinsmen at risk.
Blair spent the next four days dividing her time between Stuart’s bedchamber and the stillroom. Stuart’s wound was healing without complications. He was still pale from loss of blood but was quickly regaining his strength on a diet of herbal teas and rich beef broth.
The fourth night, Blair looked in on Stuart, saw he was sleeping and continued on to her own bedchamber. Alyce helped her undress, then left. Blair crawled into bed, letting her thoughts wander to her husband. Did he miss her? Did she care? Though she and Graeme were husband and wife, they shared no strong feelings.
Well, there was lust, she admitted ruefully. Just thinking about his hands and mouth on her made her tremble. Despite the attraction that raged between them, Blair vowed to guard her heart. With that thought in mind, she drifted off to sleep.
Hours later, Blair woke up screaming. She was burning; flames licked at her clothing and hair and singed her skin. Fire raged all around her; there was no escape. The dream had been nearly identical to the one she’d had before Graeme left. But this time there was no Graeme to offer comfort.
Unable to sleep, she turned up the lamp and listened to the rain pounding against the windows, painfully aware that she would soon encounter the ordeal by fire . . . just as the Prophecy predicted.
Fire, water, stone.
Would she fail the test?
Drenching rain kept Graeme and Heath inside the inn. They had been at Inverness four days and were celebrating the profitable sale of their wool. Graeme planned to spend another night at the inn, then stop at Gairloch before returning home.
Naught had been done concerning Blair’s dowry, and it was past time for a settlement. Graeme should already be receiving rents and taxes from Blair’s lands on the Isle of Skye, but none had been forthcoming. Graeme knew that the lands produced a good income, and he suspected that Niall was reluctant to part with them. But they belonged to Blair, and Graeme could use the income.
As Graeme sipped his ale, he felt a sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach. He was overwhelmed by the feeling that he was needed at Stonehaven. The only thing that kept him from racing home was the knowledge that Stuart would have sent word if there were trouble. But the longer he sat nursing his mug of ale, the more troubled he became.
“What ails ye, Cousin?” Heath asked. “Ye look distraught. It canna be the wool, for the price we got was verra good.”
“Something is bothering me, Heath, but I dinna know what. I’ve tried to ignore the burning in my gut, but it willna be denied. I am needed at home.”
“I thought ye had some pressing business with MacArthur.”
“My business can wait,” Graeme said decisively. “I learned long ago to obey my instincts. They kept me alive in France.”
“When do ye want to leave?”
“Tonight if it wasna raining so hard. Unfortunately, travel would be too difficult at night in this wretched weather. We’ll leave early tomorrow, rain or no. I want to reach home before nightfall.”
Blair rose at dawn to begin her day. It had been a long night. Most of it she’d spent sitting up, staring into the shadows. She was already out of bed and dressed when Alyce bustled into her bedchamber. “Ye’re up early this morn, lass.”
Alyce opened the shutters to let in the light, her smile fading when she saw Blair’s face. “Ye’re pale. Are ye ill?”
“Nay, ’tis naught. I dinna sleep well last night.”
“Was it the dream?”
“Aye.”
“Och, dinna fash yerself, lass, ’tis only a dream. Yer husband willna let anything happen to ye.”
“No one can escape his or her fate,” Blair whispered. “If I am to perish by fire, then so be it.”
“Dinna talk like that,” Alyce scolded. “Come downstairs, I’ll fix ye yer favorite breakfast of fresh eggs and ham.”
Blair acquiesced, though she had little appetite. What she truly craved was Graeme, and the comfort he offered against the demons plaguing her. She needed to see him one last time before the flames devoured her.
Despite her worries, Blair managed to keep busy. She helped Jamie count bed linens, checked pots and pans for possible repair or replacement when the tinker came through next, and supervised the laundress. After an early dinner, she went to the stillroom to work with her herbs. There was much to be done there. She still hadn’t extracted all the willow juice from the bark they had collected and intended to finish the task today.
She worked steadily until her eyes began to droop. Because she hadn’t slept much the previous night, she decided to sit down and rest her eyes while the juice was draining from the willow bark. Within minutes she was asleep.
Blair knew not how long she slept, but she was awakened by frantic voices screaming inside her head. Dense smoke filled the stillroom as fire licked at the wooden frame of the little building. Flames blocked the door—there was no escape there. Heat seared her; smoke choked her. She looked toward the only window in the room, and her heart sank. It was too high for her to reach.
She backed up against the rear wall as the flames crept closer, devouring everything in their path. Then the thatched roof caught fire and Blair realized she was doomed. She was living her worst nightmare. Her breath came out in quick little gasps as she tried to draw air into her seared lungs.
Suddenly her fighting spirit took over, and her gaze returned to the window. Spurred by desperation, she rolled a barrel beneath the window, then prayed to the spirits to protect those she cared about. As for herself, the one person who could save her was too far away to hear her plea. She hoped Graeme’s kinsmen had noticed the fire and were fighting to keep it from spreading to the kitchens. For herself, she feared it was too late.
The window was small, but it was her only hope. Climbing atop the barrel, she grasped the frame, pushed open the shutter and pulled herself up. Unfortunately, she lacked the strength to lift herself up and out to safety, but she was grateful for the breath of fresh air when none was to be had in the burning building. Flames licked at her skirt and singed her legs. Pain seared through her as she opened her mouth and screamed.
Graeme pushed his mount ruthlessly. It was nearly dark and he was anxious to reach home. The pain in his gut had intensified, reinforcing the premonition of danger at Stonehaven. It wasn’t like him to ride his horse so hard, but he could almost hear Blair’s voice begging him to make haste.
Relief flooded through him when he saw Stonehaven’s towers rising in the distance against a darkening sky. “We’re nearly home!” Graeme called to Heath. “I’m going to ride ahead.” Since his steed was more powerful than Heath’s, he quickly outpaced his cousin.
Then he saw something that made his heart leap into his throat. A thin spiral of smoke rose into the air above the keep. Fire was a hazard everyone feared. It could devour a man’s home, his possessions, and the lives of innocent people.
Graeme’s courageous steed gave his all to his master. The beast was covered in foam and blowing hard when Graeme entered the unguarded gate and reined in before the keep. He dismounted and flew up the stairs, not surprised to find the hall deserted. Everyone would be at the site of the fire.
He called Blair’s name as he raced to the kitchen, the most likely place for a fire to break out. Maeve rushed forth to meet him. Her face was smeared with tears and ashes as she fell into Graeme’s arms.
“Where is the fire?” Graeme demanded.
“The stillroom,” Maeve said between sobs. “Oh, laird, ’tis bad. Verra, verra bad.”
“Blair! Where is my wife?”
Maeve’s wails grew louder. “Gone. No one could survive that inferno.”
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“Where are my guardsmen?”
“Throwing water on the fire, for all the good it will do.”
Graeme rushed out through the kitchen door and skidded to a halt when he saw flames shooting up through the thatched roof of the stillroom. The building was an inferno. Despite the great amount of water being handed man to man from the well to the stillroom, it seemed unlikely anyone inside could survive.
Graeme could not let Blair go like this. He had to save her. Taking a deep breath, he ran toward the door. Aiden grasped his arm, stopping him in midstride.
“Ye canna go inside, mon. ’Tis certain death.”
Chills ran up Graeme’s spine when he recognized the truth of Aiden’s words. A mass of flames filled the place where the door had once stood, and the thatched roof looked ready to fall in. But he couldn’t stand there and do nothing while Blair was being consumed alive by flames. Then he remembered the window at the rear of the building. While everyone was busy throwing water on the fire, Graeme raced around to the rear, praying for a miracle.
A miracle was what Graeme found. Blair’s face, grayed by soot and contorted by pain, was visible in the window. Desperately he called her name, but she appeared too dazed to reply.
“Can you climb out, lass?” Graeme asked.
This time his voice must have gotten through to her, for she focused on him and shook her head. Cursing, Graeme glanced around for something to stand on.
“Here! This might help,” Heath said, dragging an old hay wagon behind him.
Graeme didn’t question how Heath had known what he needed; he merely nodded his gratitude and set about rescuing Blair. Climbing atop the wagon, he grasped Blair’s arms and pulled her through the window. Fire had eaten away the bottom half of her gown, and he used his hands to beat out the flames. Then he leaped to the ground with Blair in his arms and rolled out of harm’s way moments before the roof caved in.
Chapter Ten
Blair lay in bed while Alyce spread alkanet salve on her legs. Fortunately, Maeve kept the salve in the medicine chest she stored in the kitchen for emergencies. The burns weren’t serious and were unlikely to leave scars, but Alyce insisted on treating the reddened flesh. When Graeme had carried Blair into the keep, Alyce had set to work, immediately, stripping off her charred clothing and washing away the thick layer of soot and ashes coating her skin.
“Do ye hurt, lass?” Alyce asked.
“The burns on my legs sting but not unbearably. The salve is soothing. Thank you.” She dragged in a ragged sigh. “Losing my herbs and remedies in the fire is a terrible blow. ’Twill be difficult to replace them.”
“Be glad ye have yer life,” Alyce scolded. “Do ye know how the fire started? Could one of yer candles have done it?”
“Nay. I wasna using candles. ’Twas light enough to see without them. Where is Graeme?” she asked, suddenly aware of her husband’s absence.
“Maeve is bandaging his hands.”
“Graeme was injured?”
“Aye, his hands were blistered beating out the flames on your clothing. I suspect he will be here as soon as Maeve finishes with him.”
Blair started to rise. “I must go to him. I want to know how badly he’s hurt.”
Alyce gently eased her back against the pillow. “Nay, lass, ’tis best ye rest now. Ye had a harrowing experience. Ye nearly died. If not for Graeme, ye would have perished in the fire. As it was, everyone thought ye were lost to us.”
“How is she?” Graeme asked from the doorway.
“She’s going to be fine, thanks to ye,” Alyce said. “Come in, laird, I was just leaving.”
Graeme stepped into the bedchamber and approached the bed. Alyce brushed past him and out the door, closing it softly behind her.
“Your poor hands!” Blair cried, horrified by the thick bandages covering his fingers.
“They will heal,” Graeme assured her. “A few blisters and a scar or two willna bother me overmuch.”
“But you were hurt saving me,” Blair whispered. “How did you know I needed you?”
Graeme’s blue eyes darkened with emotion. “ ’Twas strange how it happened. Something told me I was needed at Stonehaven. Did you summon me?”
“I did need you, Graeme, but I didna think you could arrive in time.” She shuddered. “Without you I couldna have survived the first trial.”
Graeme sat on the edge of the bed. “Trial? What are you talking about?”
“The Prophecy says a Faery Woman will face trials by fire, water and stone. It has been thus throughout the ages. Thanks to you, I survived the fire.”
“I thought the only way you would lose your powers was if you loved someone who doesna return your love.”
“Nay, there are also trials to endure. Fire was the first one; there are still water and stone.”
When he raised his hand to protest, Blair let out a cry and grasped both his hands in hers. “ ’Tis my fault. You were hurt because of me.”
“Dinna make too much of it, Blair. They will heal. How bad are the burns on your legs?”
“Not bad at all. My skirts took the worst of it. The skin from my ankles to my knees is scorched and reddened, but Alyce said there will be no scarring.”
“ ’Tis a miracle you survived. Someone was looking after you. It appears we have a fire-starter at Stonehaven, but fear not, I intend to unearth the culprit.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Sift through the ashes for clues, for one thing. Think you the fire could have been started by a candle?”
“I lit no candles, and I let the fire in the hearth go out after I boiled the willow bark. I fell asleep while waiting for the juices to drain. I awakened to an inferno.”
Graeme tried to pull his hands from hers. “I’d best be on my way if I’m to find the criminal in our midst.”
Blair refused to release them. “Wait. Dinna go yet. Let me do this for you.”
Graeme slanted her a puzzled look. “Do what?”
“I can heal your hands.”
Graeme stared at her. “Like you healed Stuart? Aiden told me about the attack. Stuart suffered a near fatal wound but was miraculously cured. These powers of yours frighten me, Blair. I dinna want you practicing black arts. ’Tis dangerous. Did the fire teach you naught?”
“There is naught of evil in my healing,” Blair argued. “My powers come from God. Would you rather I had allowed Stuart to die?”
A flash of pain passed over Graeme’s features. “Nay, I wouldna. I dinna know what to think or how to handle these ‘gifts’ of yours. I wouldna want you to die because of them.”
“I canna stop healing, Graeme. I would be worse than dead if I did. Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just do as I say and dinna try to pull your hands from mine no matter what happens. Your hands are important to you. They will be badly scarred if you dinna let me help you.”
“I dinna believe in witchcraft.”
Blair ignored him. “Close your eyes and think pleasant thoughts. Your aura isna right for healing. You must believe in me, Graeme. Believe that I can help you. Believe in the power of healing.”
Blair looked down on Graeme’s bandaged hands, which now rested in her palms. Much to her relief, Graeme’s aura changed from gray to light blue, though she doubted he was thinking pleasant thoughts. Exhaustion etched lines in his face, and as he relaxed beneath her soothing touch, the lines smoothed.
Blair began her incantation beneath her breath, so that Graeme couldn’t hear what she was saying. Her hands began to tingle and grow warm, and pain shot up her arms, until her whole body trembled with it. She felt Graeme try to pull his hands away, but she wouldn’t allow it, gripping his bandaged fingers with all her strength. Just when the pain became unbearable, she cried out and fell back, releasing Graeme’s hands at the same time.
“Och, Blair, what have you done?” Graeme cried. “Are you all right, lass? Speak to me. What happened just now?”
Sp
eech slowly returned to Blair. When her vision cleared, she reached for Graeme’s right hand.
Graeme pulled it away. “What are you about? What happened just now? You appeared to be in some kind of trance.” His eyes widened. “ ’Twas a spell! I willna have it, Blair. You willna work your magic on me. Is that clear?”
“Please, Graeme, give me your hand,” Blair said calmly. “I merely want to undo your bandage.”
“Am I supposed to believe you’ve healed me?” Graeme demanded.
“Indulge me,” Blair whispered, “just this once.”
“Verra well, have it your way. Maeve willna be pleased to see her work undone, but I will do as you say if only to disprove the powers you claim.”
Blair began to unwind the bandage covering Graeme’s right hand. When the hand was fully exposed, the incredulous look on Graeme’s face told its own story. Mayhap now he would believe in her healing powers.
Graeme gazed at his hand in stunned disbelief. Not an hour past he had watched Maeve spread salve on his burns. Now there was not so much as redness on his palm. The pain was gone, and the skin was smooth but for the calluses that had existed before. Grim-faced, he tore away the bandage on his left hand, flexed his fingers and held it up to the light to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. How could this be?
“You are a witch,” he said in a voice full of frustration and no little amount of fear.
“Nay! How can you say such a thing?”
He held up his unblemished hands. “How do you explain this? No healer, no matter how skilled, could do what you just did.”
“I am a Faery Woman. My powers extend beyond simple healing.”
He shoved to his feet. “Stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“Whatever it is you just did. Rumors are already spreading about Stuart’s miraculous recovery.” He thrust his hands before her face. “What do you suppose will happen when word gets out about this? More attempts will be made on your life. Do you value your life so little that you would openly court danger?”
Hurt dimmed Blair’s violet eyes. “I am what I am, Graeme. Aye, I have powers, but I use them to help others. After you saved my life, I wanted to help you.”
