“Surprised to see me, Diana?” He gave her a derisive look.
Her heart pounded at the memory of their last meeting, when she played her bluff and lost.
“Aye, ye should be verra nervous, Diana. The last person who crossed me lies not far from where I stand. Every bit of his flesh torn from his bones by the carrion.” She stepped back in unison with each step he took forward.
Feigning a confidence she did not feel. “Ye do not scare me, Damon Campbell. How quick ye forget who holds the power of the Fae.”
There was a pause in his stride, at the mention of her magic, and she bolted through the thick brush. Intermittent flashes of sunlight broke through canopy of leaves above as she ran. Then out of nowhere, a hand latched onto her bright, red tresses and slammed her to the ground.
“Where is this powerful magic ye speak of, Diana? Why do ye not cast a curse upon me now?”
Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath as his full weight pinned her down.
“Lost for words? Well, I will tell ye why ye run instead of using your powers. Unlike your sister, Delilah who is pure of heart, soul, and body. Ye are soiled to the core. A whore, Diana! Your power has weakened with each man ye take between your legs.”
She ignored his harsh words, though her eyes widened at the knowledge he shared. All he spoke was true, but where would he have come by such information? Surely not Delilah. She turned her head, and her voice thickened. “What if I tell ye I have a way to get my hands on the book?” There was no need to mention the key. When dealing with Damon, it had proven best to keep one-step ahead of him.
His laughter pierced her heart. “What if I tell ye I do not give shite about your book…at least not now.”
If she could not win his trust again, there was no doubt he would leave her for dead in this very spot. “Ye do no’ understand the power of the Tir Nam Famhair, but I do.” It was not the complete truth, but the enchanted tome aided the MacLaine’s at least once over the last two hundred years. Hettie MacLaine was all the proof she needed. Convincing Damon of its importance was another matter.
“Give me one reason I should trust ye, Diana?” He tightened the grip on her wrist.
An enticing smile spread across her face, despite the pain he inflicted. “We are two of a kind, are we not Damon? However, I can hear it in your breath. Ye wheeze like a man with one foot in the grave. If ye were to let me go, I could make ye whole again…and virile.” She continued when he did not respond to her last suggestion. “Aye, I’m right. Each day the coughing spasms lengthen and the pain has grown so great…ye consider driving a dagger through your own heart. Umm?” Rumors spread that he had approached every healer on Mull, but none alleviated his bouts of pleurisy like hers tinctures. It was a heady feeling to hold the power, especially for someone as influential, as Damon Campbell. What he called magic, she called black seed oil and an a bit of whisky for taste. The plant was a gift to her grandfather years ago, brought back by a Scottish knight from the Crusades. He taught her how to care for the delicate flower, and of its medicinal uses. Not even Delilah was aware of the great resource Diana had been gifted, and thought herself special. Then one evening she overheard her grandparents speaking aloud. Concern laced their voices, as they spoke of the dark spot that lay within Diana. She had been angered that day, but she did not need their pity. She did not need anyone. The plant’s secret was hers and hers alone, and she would take it to the grave.
“Go on, Diana.” His fingers dug deeper into the flesh of her arms.
“I saw a spark of lust in your eye when I mentioned the Tir Nam Famhair. Ye crave power as much as I do, and I can give that to ye…if ye would let me go I could show ye.”
“Ye have not answered my question…why should I trust ye?
She was quick to respond. “Ye canno’!” Before he could cut her off, she finished. “But ye need me to ease your suffering. I may be a whore, as ye put it…but I am your only hope to access the power of the Tir Nam Famhair, and…I have a plan.”
At her words, he threw his head back and laughed. “My only hope?” When his laughter diminished, he looked down at the wench. “Ahhh, Diana! How I have missed that twisted, diabolical mind of yers.” He released his hold upon her arms. Still lying upon the dampened leaves, his muscular thighs held her in place. Just before he covered her mouth with his own, he said. “First my little witch, we will go back to ye cottage and stir up some your magic potion. We will see how virile it makes a weakened man. Then ye will tell me about this devious plan ye have concocted?”
Chapter Eighteen
Calum aided Caroline onto Ian’s lap once he mounted upon his horse, and the short journey to Moy commenced. They had not gone far when one of Moy’s stone towers came into sight. She leaned back into Ian’s wide chest and took in the imposing fortress he called home. It was no fairytale castle, but impressive nonetheless. A surrounding loch and mountains in the distance enhanced further enhanced its beauty. Her eyes widened, as she absorbed each detail of the thick gray blocks of stone that were the commanding walls of Moy. From Caroline’s position upon Ian’s mount, she could see out across the vast expanse of the loch. The gentle sounds of water lapping along the shores that lay a stones throw away from the castle. From overhead, the sun’s dazzling light danced upon the crystal clear water.
Caroline’s attention was quickly diverted when a movement caught her eye. “Oh, look wild rabbits!” She pointed to a stretch of tall grass to her right. Ian growled low when she twisted around in his lap to adjust her view. The warm breath against her ear enflamed the skin it caressed. Looking over her shoulder, she asked. “Are you all right, Ian?”
“Aye. If ye would stop your fidgeting…I may be able to gain control of myself again.” A tight expression twisted upon his face.
“Sorry.” Though she didn’t understand what he meant or why he wore such a painful expression on his face.
Crenellated walls wrapped around the top of the tower. From this angle, she counted two parapets with tiny windows. “There’s a man on the roof, Ian?”
“Aye. He’s on guard duty.”
“Why?”
“Tis his duty, to watch for our enemies.”
“Do you have a lot of them…enemies, I mean?” What had she gotten herself into?
Dark eyes looked down and penetrated straight to her soul. He stated. “A man must protect what is his.”
Her stomach did a flip-flop, and she gave a barely audible. “Oh.”
Men, women, and children alike shouted their joyful welcome to their laird when they passed. Several times, they stopped and Ian conversed with them in a different language. Despite not understanding the language, it was clear he was well revered by his clan.
She hadn’t even realized they stopped moving until Ian’s hands were upon her waist and lifting her off his horse. Wrapped in the voluminous red, black, and green plaid she was careful as she placed a foot onto the stone steps, as Ian guided her up the stairs.
The moment Caroline entered into the cavernous great hall at Moy, her neck craned to take in the rounded ceiling. The colossal barrel-vaulted design and thick support beams above made her feel, as small as a flea on an elephant. Still wrapped in the MacLaine tartan, she clutched at the material with an instinct to hide her clothes, as the eyes of several servants stared in their direction.
On the opposite end of the room, a long wooden table sat upon a raised platform. Several chairs were present, but the two larger, in the center caught her eye. They both had tall backs and intricate claw-like carvings on the arms. It was obvious they were created for someone of higher regard. A detailed tapestry hung on the wall to her right, and depicted highland warriors wearing plaid pants, not kilts, waving large swords and battleaxes in the air, as they celebrated. Beneath their feet were enemies who lay in their own blood. Caroline’s heart skipped a beat, as she remembered the gruesome scene in the alley the night before. She redirected her attention to the enormous stone hearth at the opposite end of the room. An elder
ly gentleman napped before the fire, a tiny piece of wood lay in his relaxed hand. Above the mantle, a large shield and ancient swords dressed the wall above the hearth. In a far corner, gold-lined brocade draperies outlined the opening of a small antechamber. She was too far away to see anything, other than a few pieces of art hanging on the walls.
“Caroline…”
Her head lifted and their eyes met. “Yes.”
Ian tugged her aside. Without releasing her hand, he spoke. “It was not my intention to leave ye so soon, but my lengthy absence has many seeking my attention. Some canno’ wait.”
“Okay…I mean, that will be fine.” Her hand gave a slight tremble and she hoped she caught her words in time.
“Ye have nothing to fear, lass. I will leave ye in Mo Daol’s care. I promise to be finished in time to escort ye to the evening meal.” His thumb gently rubbed the top of her hand.
With the slightest touch, he set her nerves at ease. “You’re the laird. Don’t let me keep you from your job…umm, duties or whatever you say here. I understand.” She gave him a smile that did not match the feeling in her heart.
Concern etched his face before spoke. “Do ye fill ill, Caroline?”
She needed to rein in her emotions and anxiety. The last thing she wanted to do was fall apart where everyone could see. All the signs pointed toward a major anxiety attack. That out of body experience she dreaded was creeping up on her, and her mouth was going dry. “No. I feel fine. Just a bit of jet la…maybe a bit worn out.” She lied.
“Aye, perhaps ye will be able to rest before the meal.” She nodded and Ian leaned forward and placed a light kiss upon her lips. God, even his chaste kisses could turn her insides liquid. Now what had she been thinking about before he kissed her?
“I will be fine, Ian.” She swallowed back the desire building low in her belly, and reached a hand up to caress his face. Ian took her hand into his own and pressed a gentle kiss upon her fingertips.
It was his turn to nod, and then he turned toward the group of men waiting on him. Half dozen, giant kilted-men ducked through a small passageway and disappeared.
Mo Daol must have been waiting off to the side, because as soon as Ian was out of sight, the old woman appeared and led her away.
“Come Caroline. I have asked Greer to arrange for ye to bathe in your chamber. While ye are about that, I will see if I canno’ find ye a dress suitable for the evening meal.”
She gasped when Ian’s grandmother firm grip took her hand. Loosening her hold, the older woman turned both of Caroline’s hands over to reveal the deep gouges and scrapes from when she broke her fall. “Och, lass! Your hands are torn to shreds like an old apron. What happened to ye, and why did that dullard of a grandson not cleanse these wounds posthaste.” She shook her head in disgust. “Does he think to let them fester?”
“They are just scratches, and well…it’s my fault. I wouldn’t let Ian look at them when they first happened. Things got a little crazy after that.” Her mouth twisted in an attempt to stop her rambling.
“Well, let’s get ye in that bath and cleanse those wounds. I will have Greer send for Delilah.”
“Delilah?”
“Aye, the lovely red-headed lass was at the stones when ye arrived. She be the healer here a Moy and a good one she be.”
“Healer?”
“Does your hearing ail, Caroline? You are repeating everything I say. Perhaps ye injured more than your hands. Have ye hit your head?” Mo Daol’s blue eyes filled with worry.
She shook her head in response. Great, Caroline! She thinks you’re a complete nut job.
Placing a hand behind her elbow, Mo Daol directed her toward a doorway adorned with an in-laid stone that ran parallel in the arch.
They passed through the entry, and came to a set of spiral stairs made of stone. As they ascended the dimly lit abyss, Caroline could feel her chest tighten with fear. There was no way she was going to succumb to a panic attack now, but it gripped her anyway. While she struggled to control her breathing, the narrow surroundings faded away, leaving her alone to fight off the darkness. No! You will not fall apart. Deep breath in and a slow breath out. Again.
The desperate cleansing breath she needed finally came, but it had taken a minute for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. That is when she realized Mo Daol had been watching her the entire time. She turned her head and bit the inside of her lip to stave off the tears that threatened to overflow.
Mo Daol’s patient voice broke through the maelstrom of her thoughts. It soothed her when the warm feel of the older woman’s hand rubbed between her shoulder blades. Minutes passed by as she continued the circular ministration. Soon her shoulders slacked and the erratic beats of her heart slowed. Mo Daol asked. “Has your breathing returned to normal, Caroline? There is no rush. We will wait as long as ye need.”
The ache in her throat tightened. She must have spoken aloud earlier, but instead of a shunning her, Mo Daol consoled her. “I know what your going through, lass. When I first arrived…oh close to fifty years ago now, I retched every time one of Hector’s family made eye contact with me. Tis not like me to gossip, but in my case…and now yers too…we must be careful. If our origins were to ever become known…well, we will not think upon that. Ye have enough on your wee shoulders, but should ye have any questions…” Mo Daol’s arm embraced around her shoulders. “Please do not be afraid to ask. I will aid ye anyway I can.”
What did Ian’s grandmother mean in her case? Did she mean how she appeared out of nowhere, from another time? Could the book’s magic be so powerful, that it was a common occurrence? It was too much for her to take in right now. At the stones, she overheard Ian, and his brother talking. A few times a bit of English slipped between. They both agreed that an explanation for Caroline’s presence and for her odd accent needed to be decided upon for when his clan asked questions. According to Calum, they would most definitely be interested in the girl that caught the laird’s eye. She blushed at his statement. Ian had not hidden his physical feelings toward her, but she had yet to hear him profess anything more than protection.
The sound of her name drew her back to the present. Concern filled Mo Daol’s blue eyes. She gave her a weak smile, but oddly enough, the gentleness of this woman’s voice eased her discomfort. “Yes, I am fine now. Thank you.”
They made their way up the remainder of the steps and came to the first of five iron-banded doors. Ahead of them, a middle-aged woman with sandy brown hair walked into the corridor, followed by two younger maids who carried empty wooden buckets. As they approached, the older maid stopped before her and Mo Daol.
“Ye must be the lass the laird ordered a bath for.”
She fidgeted at the woman’s gruff tone. She replied. “Yeah.”
“I am not a horse, lass. What is it ye be saying?”
“Horse? I didn’t say you were a horse.” All I said was ”Yeah” Good Lord, just like they say when they signal a horse to gallop! Think before you speak, Caroline. “I’m sorry. I mean…yes.”
“Leave her be, Greer. The girl has had a rough time and does no’ need that sharp tongue of yers.” The maid was at least twenty years Mo Daol’s junior, but the two bantered as though they were old friends.
The sound of the iron hinges groaned as the door opened and she followed the two women inside. She stepped forward into the amber glow that flowed into the small, but elegantly decorated room. Steam rose from a wooden tub before the hearth. A floral scent filled the room reminding Caroline of her grandmother’s rosebushes. As the warmth of the air cloaked her, she was unable to stop the uncontrollable shiver that came forth. Her teeth chattered, and she expected to hear Mo Daol’s concern again, but it was Greer that spoke.
“Och! Let us get ye in this tub before ye catch your death.” Her hand flew to her chest when the woman tugged the woolen tartan from her shoulders and nudged her toward the tub. She took one look at the white shirt that clung tight against Caroline’s chest and turned toward Ian’
s grandmother in horror. “God’s Teeth! Tis the most peculiar clothing I have ever seen. I will attend the girl myself. Just see ye…find something respectable for her to wear this evening, Mo Daol.”
Ian’s grandmother stepped in. “Tis all right, lass. There is no reason to be afraid. As our guest, Greer will tend to your needs.”
The woman’s words didn’t alleviate the awkwardness of being stripped down to her panties by these two women. Not just any women…complete strangers. Even if it were common for this time, she would need to have a talk with Ian about the need for a bit more privacy. For the time being, she tried to comply so as not to offend either of them. Then from over her shoulder, the maid gaped at her with wide eyes. The woman’s shocked reaction made her feel even more awkward.
“Greer, will ye stop gawking at the girl like she has three heads. The lass has fallen upon hard times, and the laird as taken full responsibility for her needs.”
“Nay, Mo Daol. Look.” The middle-aged maid named Greer pointed toward Caroline’s back. “A flaming sun. It canno’ be. The Guardian?”
Ian’s grandmother turned back to her with a wink, as though they shared a secret. “Now Greer…ye’ve never been of a superstitious mind. Just ye hush and the lot of ye give Caroline some privacy while she gets herself into the tub. She is not familiar with our customs, and as our guest tis, our duty to make her feel most welcomed. The gesture was so overt, Caroline wondered if Mo Daol intended it on purpose. The maid guffawed, but did as Mo Daol requested. It took a matter of seconds for Caroline to remove her meager clothing, and jump into the deep wooden tub.
As the sound of water sloshed over the wooden planks in her chamber, Caroline heard the woman named Greer ask, “Are ye still here, Mo Daol? I have a lass to wash and she’d be a mite warmer when she is through, if ye were off finding her some clothes.”
“Pish! I am taking my leave right now, ye old hen…stop your caterwauling.” With the confidence of a queen, she left the chamber.
Heat rose to Caroline’s face when Greer took a closer look at her clothing and grimaced. “I have added a bit of rose petals in your water. It is what the laird’s mum preferred when she lived here a Moy, and I think ye will like it as well.” The women shook her head when she didn’t move. “Do no’ dawdle. There is a cake of soap on the chair beside the tub and a cloth to wash yourself. When ye are through I will give your hair a good wash.”
Kissed by the Laird (First Ladies of the Fae Book 1) Page 17
