“Faither, ye need to get back to camp. Yer wound bleeds heavily. Someone, bring the supply wagon quickly.”
“There is a healer here,” offered Reed. “Perhaps he can look at yer faither’s wound.”
“Nay,” complained Duncan. “I would rather die right here than to stay another minute within the walls of Grant Castle.”
“Get him out of here,” Alastair commanded. Brohain and Rhodric stepped forward to help their chieftain to the wagon.
“Come on, Fia,” said Alastair, helping her mount his horse.
“Where are ye takin’ my daughter?” asked Reed.
“We are goin’ back to Cluny Castle. Ye are welcome to come along,” Alastair told Reed. “My faither needs healin’, and I would like to discuss the marriage with ye as well as with Fia.”
Reed nodded to his men. “Let’s help them in any way we can. If my daughter is goin’ to be a MacPherson, then I want to see where she will be livin’. Let’s get a move on to Cluny Castle.”
Chapter 19
Three days had passed, and still, Duncan MacPherson’s wound was not healing. Alastair was so upset by this that Fia had hardly seen him. He spent most of his time at his father’s bedside.
Her father, Reed, left days ago to collect the rest of their family and bring them to Cluny Castle for the wedding that was planned to take place as soon as they returned. A message had also been sent to Castle Rothbury to tell Fia’s sister as well as her cousins the good news.
Fia walked the grounds of the garden with Caitlin, trying to calm the girl since she was afraid her father would die. Having seen the man’s wound, Fia realized it didn’t look promising. An infection had set in. And in his weak state, she was sure Duncan MacPherson didn’t have long to live.
“I am so frightened,” said Caitlin, sitting down on a bench. Fia sat next to her and put her arm around the girl.
“Everythin’ will be all right, Caitlin. Dinna worry.”
“Do ye think my faither will live?” Caitlin looked up and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. Fia didn’t want to give the girl false hope. If her father was dying, she had a right to know.
“Only God kens for sure, Caitlin. The most we can do is pray. But I want ye to realize that no matter what happens to yer faither, I will always be here as yer friend. Alastair will, too.”
“Thank ye, Fia, but I dinna think Alastair will ever accept me. He will always see me as the reason his mathair left.”
“I dinna want ye to worry about that. Now, go back to yer chamber and wash yer face and put on a smile. Ye need to be strong.”
“Thank ye,” she said, heading toward her chamber.
Fia followed Caitlin inside. She caught sight of Alastair in the great hall and approached him, noticing the way he sat with his ankles crossed, closing himself off. Something was troubling him even more so than before. “Is yer faither any better?”
“Nay, he’s no’,” he said cradling a tankard of ale. “I think he will no’ live until the mornin’. I am goin’ to get the priest to bless him one last time and hear his confession before he leaves this world.”
“Oh, Alastair, I am so sorry.” She sat down and leaned against his chest. “I also feel saddened for Caitlin because she is havin’ a tough time with the thought she might lose her faither and have no one.”
“I feel no remorse for that girl.” His hands balled into fists. “She is the reason my mathair left me when I was only a lad. Now she’ll ken how I felt.”
“Stop it, Alastair. Yer anger is misplaced. It is no’ Caitlin’s fault what happened between yer mathair and faither.”
“How can ye say that?” he asked her. “Ye have only been with the MacPherson Clan a short time. Ye dinna ken the way it used to be before I lost my mathair.”
“It has been long enough to see that ye are actin’ like an ass.” His eyes opened wide, and his mouth turned down into a frown. Cerberus ran over, jumping up on Alastair, barking as usual. The hound took hold of Alastair’s sleeve and tugged, ripping his tunic.
“I dinna have time for this.” Alastair shot up off the bench, pushing the dog. “Get away!”
“Ye are always pushing away those that love ye,” she pointed out.
“The hound is always aggravatin’ me, Fia. I have things botherin’ me. I dinna need this in my life right now.”
“If ye paid more attention to the people or things that are important, instead of holdin’ on to yer grudges of the past, ye would see how much happier ye’d be.”
“My faither is dyin’. My clan is upset, and half of them think I did the wrong thing by makin’ an alliance with the Grants. I dinna have time to be befriendin’ a troublesome hound.”
“Is that what ye think? That ye did the wrong thing?” she asked, not liking what he said.
He stopped and pulled her up next to him, gathering her in his arms, holding her tightly. “Nay, Fia. I didna do the wrong thing. I will marry ye no matter what anyone thinks because I ken we were meant to be together.” He kissed her tenderly on the mouth, making her want to spend intimate time with him alone. Her heart went out to him because she knew how troubled he was with all that had transpired lately. “I promise ye things will be different soon. But right now, I need to get the priest and go to see to my dyin’ faither.”
As soon as Alastair left, Niven came to find her.
“Lady Fia, Laird Duncan calls for ye at his bedside,” said Niven.
“Me?” That surprised Fia. She didn’t understand it at all. The man didn’t even seem to like her. Why would he call for her?
“Aye, he asked me to fetch ye right away.”
“I’ll wait until Alastair returns with the priest.”
“Nay,” said Niven. “Laird Duncan stressed the point he wanted to see ye while Alastair was away.”
“He did?”
“Go on,” Niven told her. “Dinna be afeard of him, he willna hurt ye. He hasna enough strength left in his body to hurt a flea.”
“I’m no’ afeard.” Fia headed to Laird Duncan’ s solar. Outside the door she paused, feeling anxious about talking with the man. Why did he call for her and why did he request to speak with her alone? She had no idea but had the feeling he wanted to say something that he didn’t want his son to hear. Fia raised her hand and knocked softly. The door opened and the healer, an old Scotsman, nodded and let her in.
“Leave us,” said Duncan from his bed.
“Aye, my laird,” answered the healer, slipping from the room and silently closing the door behind him.
“Come forward, lass.”
Fia ventured closer, feeling awkward being alone in the room with the dying man and wishing Alastair was there with her. “Ye wanted to see me?”
“Sit,” he commanded, talking to her like he would a dog. She didn’t like it but, in respect to a dying laird, she sat on the edge of a chair next to the bed. Just a sheet covered the man’s thin body. His eyes were sunken on his face, and she swore he was not much more than skin and bones. His midsection was wrapped with a bloodstained cloth.
“How are ye feelin’ my laird?” She tried to make casual conversation to ease her nerves.
“Stop with the pleasantries. I didna ask ye here to inquire about my health. We both ken I am dyin’.” His voice was rough and low. The dank, dark room smelled musty. Burning sage smoldered from atop a copper plate next to the bed. It thickened the air, making her feel as if she were going to choke. She coughed into her hand, wanting to rip open the shutter for fresh air.
“Why did ye summon me here?” she finally asked him. “Ye have never even spoken to me before today.”
“Ye are a brash lassie, and I dinna like it.” Even in his dying moments, Duncan MacPherson was a crude and intimidating man.
Her hand covered the heart brooch on her bodice as she thought of Imanie and tried to be strong.
“That brooch,” he said, closing his eyes for a second, struggling to breathe.
“What about it?” she asked, surprised he had
even seen it in his condition.
“I noticed it at Grant Castle. Where did ye get it?”
“It was a present, my laird.” She didn’t feel as if she owed him any more of an explanation.
He nodded slightly. “A present from the late Queen Philippa of England.” As he said the words, he stared at the ceiling.
“Aye. How did ye ken?”
“Alastair has a brooch just like that.”
“Aye, he showed it to me,” she said, running her fingers over her pin. “He said it was given to him by a mysterious woman who saved his life on the battlefield. He also said ye dinna believe him.”
“Fia, I am dyin’. The reason I called ye here was because ye will soon be my son’s wife.”
“Aye, I will. But I dinna understand what ye want.”
The man turned his head and coughed before continuing. “I never doubted Alastair’s story for a minute.”
“Really? Then why did ye tell him ye didna believe him?”
“It was a choice I made to keep him from findin’ out more.”
“More? About what?”
“About the queen’s secret group of women kent as the Followers of the Secret Heart.”
Fia gasped. “Ye ken?” she asked, almost falling off the chair. She repositioned herself and pushed back further to regain her balance.
“My wife was English, and I should have kent trouble would come from it. I am no’ proud to say I beat her when she wouldna tell me about the heart brooch and where she got it. I thought it was from another man. When I found out the truth, I wished it were from a man because at least then I coulda killed him.”
“Alastair’s mathair was a member of the group?” she asked in amazement.
“I didna like the fact then, and I dinna like the fact now that my son is goin’ to marry and make the same mistake I did.”
She sat up straighter in the chair. “I dinna believe by any means that bein’ a strong woman is a mistake.”
“That’s no’ the mistake I meant.” He released a breath and closed his eyes. His breathing became shallower. She almost thought he fell asleep, but then his eyes opened and he continued. “I was talkin’ about the mistake of sendin’ her away and tellin’ her that if she returned or even tried to contact our sons . . . I would kill her.”
“Och, ye dinna say that!”
“I did. I even took a mistress. We had a baby because I thought if I had someone else, she would never try to return.”
“Caitlin,” mumbled Fia.
“Aye, Caitlin is my daughter. Her mathair died givin’ birth. It was my punishment for sendin’ away the only woman I ever loved.”
“Ye loved yer wife and yet ye beat her? And ye never tried to find her again?”
He coughed, sounding much weaker than before. “The more time passed, the harder it was for me to admit my mistake of no’ tellin’ Alastair and his brathair, Toran, the truth.”
“And now yer wife and son are dead.”
“I’m afraid Toran died on the battlefield three years ago, although I could never find his body to prove it. But my wife, Oletha, is still alive.”
“How do ye ken?”
“The mysterious woman on the battlefield that saved Alastair’s life – I believe it was her watchin’ over him.”
“The brooch,” said Fia, understanding everything now. “Why didna ye tell Alastair? Ye need to tell him.”
“I’m afeard if I tell him, he will never forgive me. I wanted to confess to someone before I died, but I couldna bring myself to tell him.”
“And ye’re tellin’ me because ye want me to relay the story to him?”
His eyes closed again. His skin became even whiter. “Ye are a strong lassie; I can see that. I will leave it up to ye if ye tell him the secret or no’.”
“Nay! Dinna dump yer deceitful problems on me. Besides, ye ken as well as I that I am sworn to secrecy and canna tell Alastair or anyone about the Followers of the Secret Heart.” Fury raced through her as well as confusion. She glanced back at the door, hoping Alastair would return during their conversation. He had to. There was no way she wanted to try to explain all this to him. There had to be another way.
“It is up to ye now, Fia, whether Alastair ever . . . kens the truth . . . or . . . no’.” His breathing stopped. And when it did, his haunting eyes stared into her very soul. He died, therefore making his problems hers. She didn’t need this, nor did she want it.
“Laird Duncan,” she said, reaching out and shaking him but, of course he didn’t respond. Tears filled her eyes. “Laird Duncan wake up! Dinna leave yer secrets on my doorstep. I already have enough weight on my shoulders. Please, dinna do this to me!”
“Fia!” Alastair rushed into the room with the priest and the healer right behind him. “What are ye doin’?”
“He’s dead,” she said, with tears streaming down her face. “Alastair, why didna ye come back five minutes sooner?”
“Nay! Faither!” Alastair leaned over and stared into his father’s open, lifeless eyes.
“Let me check him,” said the healer, stepping in between Duncan and Alastair, holding his hand to the man’s neck and then his wrist. He reached out with one hand and closed Duncan’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head solemnly. “Alastair, the infection has taken the life of yer faither.”
“Let me give him a final blessin’,” said the priest, stepping up to the bed and opening his book.
Fia’s body shook while tears streamed down her cheeks. Alastair’s arm slipped around her shoulder. Lovingly, he pulled her closer. “It’s all right, Fia,” he said, thinking she was crying over the death of the man.
The fact that Alastair lost his father saddened her, but what the man told her with his dying breath is what really had her upset. She now held the secrets that could end all Alastair’s searching for answers, yet at the same time could expose her and make him hate her. She had a decision to make that could alter the course of both their lives and didn’t know what to do.
In another day or two, she and Alastair would marry for the sake of an alliance between two clans that had been enemies for years. If she told Alastair the story his father had relayed to her, would it bring to his mind more questions? What if he found out she was the one responsible for the English army’s retreat, hence spoiling the surprise ambush by the Scots? Would he be angry that she ruined their plans, or happy since she’d saved so many lives? And the question that bothered her the most was would Alastair react to her the same way his father responded when he found his wife was a member of the late queen’s secret group? If so, a marriage that had not yet even started could be over before it began.
With her eyes transfixed on the dead man, she listened as the priest recited prayers that she was not sure would benefit the man’s soul and get him to heaven. Duncan MacPherson had made mistakes that she wasn’t sure could ever be forgiven. And now he’d laid his troubles at her doorstep. It was all up to her now. She was the only one who could right the wrongs of the past. But in doing so, she could hurt a lot of people and, perhaps, even bring about a war. If the Scots knew the English retreated because of a warning from a woman, her cousin, King Richard, would be made a laughingstock to even his own people. How much could she tell Alastair and how long could she continue to keep secrets? She longed to be a loyal wife, securing her marriage to Alastair and maintaining peace between the clans. Fia never felt such turmoil in her life.
Where were her cousins, Maira and Willow, now that she needed them? She couldn’t make this decision alone. She needed someone to guide her, and she needed it fast.
Chapter 20
Alastair held the burning torch, ready to light the funeral pyre that would send his father’s soul on to either heaven or hell. Every day lately had been mentally exhausting. Finally, he’d managed to free his father from Clan Grant’s prison, only to end up seeing him die in the end.
“Go ahead, Alastair,” said the priest, giving him a nod to light the fire. Fia stood
at his side, seeming almost more upset than he was if that was at all possible. He’d yet to have a chance to ask her why she was alone in his father’s room when he’d died. Niven told him that Duncan had called for her right after he left to find the priest. Odd, since his father didn’t even seem to accept the fact that he was going to marry Fia.
“My laird, everyone is waitin’,” said Niven, urging him to do the one last deed that would finalize the fact Alastair would never see his father again. He nodded and stepped forward slowly, touching the fire of the torch to the dead branches and twigs under his father’s dead body. Flames shot up, licking at the air. He threw the torch into the fire and stepped back, watching as fire consumed his father.
“They are waitin’ for ye to say somethin’,” Niven reminded him.
Alastair wondered what he could possibly say to his clan that would bring any of them peace. He felt turmoil wracking his body and rattling his nerves. If he hadn’t looked over to see his beautiful bride-to-be, he didn’t think he’d be able to speak at all.
“Come, Fia,” he said, holding out his hand. She walked forward to take his hand and join him. “Ye are my strength that will get me through this hard time.”
“I am?” she asked, sounding as if the thought disturbed her.
“We are gathered here to say our last guidbyes to a man who I have idolized my entire life,” Alastair told the crowd. “My faither was strong through all the troubles in his life. Duncan MacPherson was my rock when my mathair left us because of the jealousy of another woman who had claimed my faither’s heart.”
Fia coughed and pulled her hand from his. He looked down at her, wondering if the smoke was bothering her. “Are ye all right, my love?”
“Aye,” she said, forcing a smile. “Go on.”
He turned back to the crowd. “I will continue to be chieftain of this clan, and I will follow in my faither’s footsteps. My actions will be the same as those of my faither when he walked the earth.”
Highland Secrets Page 19
