A Laird's Promise

by Aileen Adams

  He turned toward the house, the women following.

  “Did you find everything you needed?”

  “We will see,” Sarah replied.

  As they entered the manor, Agnes handed her basket to Sarah.

  Phillip looked down at the older woman. “Thank you for helping Sarah. Go get something to eat and then bring some food to Jake's room when you’ve finished.”

  “Of course,” she said. She turned to Sarah. “If you need any help preparing those, you tell Phillip, and he will come find me.”

  Sarah said nothing, but nodded and waited.

  He took the cue and gestured toward the stairway. As he took the first step and she followed, he spoke. “We have changed his nightshirt and bedding as you asked. The room has been aired out again, and a fire is burning in the fireplace.”

  She said nothing.

  When he reached the landing, he glanced back to watch her mounting the last few steps.

  In each hand, she held a basket brimming with the accouterments of her trade. Some of it look like weeds. He saw flowers, some roots, some big pieces of bark. Several different types of leaves.

  She caught him looking, and finally spoke. “I'm going to need a mortar and pestle, a bucket of water, and several wooden bowls. I'm also going to need another good-sized piece of linen to make a fresh bandage.”

  He nodded, not quite surprised when she said nothing more, but brushed past him, heading for Jake's bedchamber. He lifted an eyebrow as he watched her walk down the hallway, her back straight, her shoulders back, and her chin lifted in… what was that? Defiance?

  He chuckled as he followed. The sleep last night, though brief, had obviously rejuvenated her to some degree and her feigned arrogance was back. And that's exactly what he believed.

  She wasn't arrogant, nor self-centered, nor cruel. She was frightened. As well she should be.

  Another thought trickled into his head, causing him to pause before he entered Jake's room. He didn't want to let her go. He stopped just past the threshold, watching as Sarah moved toward the fireplace.

  She placed the two baskets on the floor and then sat down cross-legged in front of the fire, arranging her kirtle around her before plucking her spoils from the basket one at a time, organizing them on the floor in front of her.

  He watched for several moments.

  When she glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow, he held back his grin and left the room to go downstairs and let Agnes know what she needed.

  No longer the frightened mouse, not without look she had just given him. Almost a silent command, an indication that he had better hurry up and do as she asked or… or what?

  He found himself chuckling as he moved down the stairs and across the great room toward the doorway on the far side of the hall into the kitchen area. He rarely stepped inside, and his presence now startled not only Agnes, but the cook, Agnes's daughter Millicent, and Catherine, the cook’s helper.

  Everyone froze with varying expressions.

  Agnes, the most familiar with him, made a gesture as if to shoo him out of the kitchen.

  “Laird Duncan, you're frightening the servants. Does the young lass need something?”

  He nodded. “A bucket of water, a mortar and pestle, and several bowls.” He turned to leave before he remembered. “Oh yes, and more linen. A large piece, she said, to make more bandages.”

  Agnes nodded and turned to gather the requested items.

  Again, Phillip held back a grin. What was this? A conspiracy? Being silently ordered about? Shooed out of the kitchen? He recalled his youth, when he and his brother managed to upset the household with their antics.

  Agnes had had no trouble putting them in their place then, and she had no trouble now.

  Still, he found it rather amusing that both Sarah and Agnes would display such… familiarity with him. He was the laird of the clan!

  He sighed as he returned to the great room, heading for the stairs. Who was he fooling? He had never demanded respect from his servants and household staff. He had earned it. He took care of them, kept them clothed and fed and sheltered. In return, they had given him their unswerving loyalty.

  He was familiar with most of them and preferred it that way. This was his home. They were his people, his clan. They took care of each other. He had never mistreated anyone.

  It had always been that way, at least until recently. Until he had broken a rule that he had made long ago when his father died, and the clan leadership passed down to him. To treat all his people with the same respect with which he wanted to be given. Until Jake had been carried home wounded. Until Jake had not recovered. Until Ceana had failed to heal him.

  Until he had resorted to kidnapping a young woman against her will to do his bidding.

  While on a moral level this behavior disturbed him, his emotions did not allow his morality to overcome his desperation to find a way to save his brother. He would not, could not, apologize for that. He would keep his promise to Sarah MacDonald that he would return her home.

  Even though he no longer wanted to.

  He found her captivating. An odd mixture of defiance, obstinacy, gentleness and compassion. He had never met anyone quite like her.

  She wasn't afraid of him, or didn't seem to be. She seemed to realize that he was relying on her to help his brother. That gave her a certain amount of power, but she had yet to take advantage. She had not refused to help Jake. That was something.

  He returned to Jake's chamber, relayed to Sarah that Agnes would bring the items up momentarily.

  She nodded, focused on sorting and separating the items on the floor in a semicircle around her. He had no idea how she was going to prepare her medicines. A poultice? A drinkable concoction? A salve to rub onto his skin?

  “After you've prepared your medicines, what then?”

  The question prompted her to look up at him. She seemed to study his face longer than needed before she answered.

  “We wait.”

  His response was interrupted as Agnes came into the room, carrying the bucket of water in one hand, several bowls, the mortar and pestle nestled inside the top one in the other hand, the linen draped over her forearm. She set the items down beside Sarah.

  The two began to talk quietly between themselves as Sarah gave the older woman instructions.

  Phillip felt unnecessary for the moment, and with a glance at Jake, sleeping deeply or unconscious on the bed, he decided to leave the women to their tasks for a little while.

  “I will return shortly.”

  Neither acknowledged him, and he turned and left the room, once again shaking his head. He supposed he should be grateful that they were both focused on preparing the herbs for use. The sooner, the better.

  He left the manor house and walked toward the stables. Several horses strolled through the corral. One stood still in the middle, Hugh straddled over the hind leg of the sorrel stallion, the hoof held up between his knees, filing down the edges of the hoof.

  “Hugh.”

  Hugh paused and glanced up. When he saw it was the laird, he immediately released the horse, wiping the muddy file on his pant leg.

  “Go find Ceana.”

  Hughes said nothing but nodded, tucked the file into the waistband of his pants, and climbed between the railings of the corral.

  Phillip watched him as he headed for the path around the pond and the village beyond. He was going to get down to the bottom of this once and for all. He would have Ceana tell him everything that she had done for Jake. He wanted to see if she had an explanation for the old, somewhat useless herbs that Sarah had pointed out.

  But why doubt Ceana’s ability to help Jake? Why doubt her loyalty and devotion? It'd been months since the two had cooled their ardor for one another.

  Maybe that was something he needed to talk to her about as well. Perhaps that would be the only way to settle once and for all whether Ceana had deliberately tried to harm his brother. He didn't want to think it. Found it ludicrous, but it w
as his brother.

  It seemed like all he had been doing lately was wait. Wait for Jake to get better. Wait for Ceana to make him better. Now he waited for Sarah to help his brother. Waiting again for Ceana to answer his questions.

  The sense of helplessness and confusion surrounding recent events troubled him greatly. But, at least for now, the answers to his many questions would have to wait. In the meantime, he would go sit with his brother.

  When he returned to Jake's bedchamber, Sarah sat quietly beside the bed, placing a cool cloth over Jake's forehead.

  Agnes sat on the floor, crushing herbs with the pestle inside the mortar.

  The gentle grinding and Jake's breathing the only sound in the room.

  He nodded at Agnes and then strode to the side of the bed, where Sarah sat still in the chair.

  When she looked up at him, he noted her troubled expression.

  “What is it?”

  The sound of the grinding pestle paused for the briefest of seconds.

  Both he and Sarah looked at Agnes, who bent over her task with deliberate purpose, refusing to look at him again.

  He turned back to Sarah as she reached for something on the bedside table. She extended it to him.

  He looked at the limp bunch of a green plant, not much longer than Sarah's hand. It had a few reddish purple bell-shaped flowers clinging tenuously to the vine. The leaves were dried and shriveled, as if it had been picked days ago.

  He didn't recognize it.

  “What is it?”

  “It's called many things. No Man's Cherries, the Devils Herb… I call it Deadly Nightshade—”

  It felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. He stared at the plant she held, then at Jake. He looked over his shoulder, saw that Agnes was still purposefully ignoring them both.

  Had Sarah given his brother the poisonous plant? His heart began to pound. He didn't want to believe it, but she looked so calm, so serene. Her revenge?

  “Where… how—”

  “I found it under the bed.”

  Her words nearly took his breath away.

  Relief.

  She had not done this. He frowned, not comprehending. She had not been the one who plucked this deadly plant—but if not Sarah, then who?

  Ceana!

  “Consuming even a single leaf can prove fatal,” she said. “It appears that he has not ingested a fatal dose. I imagine that a leaf might have been soaked in broth or water and then given to him to drink. He would not have been able to eat the leaf, or the berries. If that was the case, it would have taken maybe ten berries or so to prove fatal.”

  Phillip darted his gaze between Sarah and Jake, disbelief transforming into nearly overwhelming fury at the betrayal. Ceana had done this. Ceana had tried to kill his brother! Sarah had confirmed it.

  “I can state with certainty that your brother has been deliberately poisoned. There is no reason for this plant to be in here, let alone hidden beneath the bed.” She paused. “By your expression, I surmise that you suspect Ceana of the deed, but I remind you, I cannot place this herb in Ceana’s hand. I found it under the bed. I am not pointing the finger of guilt.” She lifted her chin. “And you can't make me.”

  Initially, he felt confused. Why was she defending Ceana? And then he understood. She wasn't defending Ceana.

  She was defending herself. She was the stranger here. The newcomer. The captive. To cast accusations against a member of the laird's clan without absolute proof could very well be a death sentence.

  He sought to reassure her.

  “Sarah, it's all right. This is between you, me, and Agnes.” He looked over his shoulder at Agnes.

  At first, she didn't want to look at him, but then she did, her face crumpled with sorrow and grief. She slowly nodded.

  He knew that she would say nothing.

  Sarah glanced at Jake and then back up at him. “I can make a broth that we can spoon into him to help him regain his strength. Most of the toxins are now working their way out of his body. I will make a poultice for the wound in his leg. It should begin healing well as the poisons work their way out.”

  He studied her face. “You're telling me that Jake is going to live?”

  She nodded. “He should. I will tell Agnes exactly what to do and how to prepare a poultice and the broth mixture for the next couple of days.”

  Phillip swallowed. He knew what she was going to say next.

  “I want to go home. You need to take me home.”

  He shook his head. “Not until my brother wakes up and he is better.”

  “You promised!”

  Phillip’s mind whirled.

  His brother had been poisoned. By a friend. One who had been so close to his brother that he thought that she would become his sister-in-law.

  What had prompted Ceana to do such a horrible thing? Revenge? Jealousy?

  A headache began to pound behind his eyes, and he shook his head. He must also deal with Sarah. He had given her his word.

  “And I will keep my promise,” he insisted, his temper rising. He pointed toward his brother. “But I am not going to leave his side, and neither are you until he wakes up, his fever is gone, and I am satisfied that his wound will heal properly!”

  “He will. You must believe me!”

  “I don’t!” he argued. “I have already been betrayed by one healer! I will not be betrayed by another!”

  He didn't realize he'd raised his voice until he heard Agnes gasp.

  He refused to look at her, instead watching as a Sarah slowly stood from the chair and turned to face him, arms crossed underneath her ample bosom. He jerked his gaze from that lovely bosom back to her face, now revealing signs of stubborn obstinacy.

  Her eyes flashed with anger; her jaw clenched tightly. Then, much to his surprise, she poked him in the chest with her finger.

  “You. Promised. To. Take. Me. Home!” Each word was emphasized with a poke.

  If it had been anyone else poking a finger at him, he would've grabbed it and broken it, but not Sarah. Such a little thing, yet very brave, sometimes foolish, and certainly not afraid to stand up for herself.

  “Tell me who beat you.”

  “No.”

  “Tell me why you're in such a hurry to return to Kirkcaldy.”

  “No.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, straightened to his most imposing height and gave her his fiercest scowl.

  Based on her reaction, he didn't intimidate her a bit.

  He scowled. “We seem to be at a bit of a standstill, don't we?”

  “You promised—”

  “Och… will you two quit your arguin’?”

  Sarah and Phillip both turned to find Jake looking up at both of them, grimacing in pain, his brow furloughed with annoyance.

  Phillip was so startled he was rendered speechless. Then, hope burgeoned in his chest. For the first time since before he left to go down to Kirkcaldy to fetch the healer, Jake had been unable to speak. He couldn't help the burst of relieved laughter that escaped.

  “Jake! How are you feeling?”

  “Would be better if… I could get some sleep ‘round here,” he mumbled.

  Then, as abruptly as he had woken, he once again slipped into a deep sleep.

  Phillip, still stunned, stared down at his brother with an incredible sense of a reprieve. He glanced over his shoulder at Agnes, who quietly wept as she sat on the floor, the pestle still clasped in one hand.

  And then he looked at Sarah, not sure what to say.

  She spoke first.

  “Told you.”

  13

  Sarah walked from Jake's bedchamber back to her own. Since he had awoken a few hours ago, he seemed to be resting more comfortably. While he hadn't regained consciousness again, Sarah felt comfortable that he would. Exhausted, he would sleep, likely for the next couple of days, but she had no doubt that with the proper care, he would recover.

  Due to the damage in his thigh musculature, he would most certainly h
ave a limp, maybe even a constant ache especially in cool, damp weather. She could do nothing for that, but suggest mild pain relief tinctures or poultices.

  Exhausted, she longed for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, but as before, felt guilty even thinking about it. Heather and her predicament weighed heavily on her mind. As far as she was concerned, she had given Phillip what he wanted. She had helped his brother. After the brief discussion that had woken Jake earlier, Phillip had not said a word about releasing her.

  It wasn't fair!

  To insist that she remain until his brother was up and walking about? That could take another few days, maybe even a week. He had no right to keep her!

  She had tried to discuss this with him again, but he had abruptly cut her off each time. He left the room or simply scowled at her without responding.

  For the first time, Sarah wondered if what Ceana had told her was true. Maybe Phillip had been lying all along. Perhaps he had no intention of releasing her. After all, if she notified their local sheriff in Kirkcaldy that she had been kidnapped and held against her will by a Highland clan, it could cause no little difficulties for the highlander and his clan. Word of the kidnapping would spread far and wide as fast as a horse could travel. Enemies of the Duncans could take advantage, claim they would seek retribution and do so—covered by the blanket of the law.

  Sarah shook her head as she entered her bedchamber and closed the door softly behind her, so exhausted that her entire body trembled with weariness. She wasn't thinking clearly. Still, the thought of never returning home filled her with a sense of stomach-churning dread. Her little sister was no match for Patrick. She could only pray that Heather was all right and that she wasn't taking the brunt of Patrick's drunken episodes.

  Patrick had never blamed Heather for the loss of his wife, their mother. No, that hatred was reserved for Sarah. Still, when Patrick was drunk, he made little distinction over who received his hand or his vitriol.

  When they were together, Sarah always urged Heather to seek shelter in their room. To shut and bar the door. Sometimes she did but once she had refused, claiming that she come to Sarah's defense. That had resulted in Heather receiving a solid blow to her jaw that knocked her flat on her back. That sight had triggered a fit of fury in Sarah so powerful that she had attacked her stepfather, to little avail. She had received a severe thrashing for that.