“God’s blood, Lucy!” she yelled at the crow. “You almost took my eyes out.”
She glowered at her pet crow, his wing a wee bit droopy despite her best efforts to fix it two years ago when he’d fallen out of his nest. He’d stayed with her after that, following her about as best he could on the farm, but unable to make the longer trips when she had to go farther afield—like up to the castle.
She’d been worried sick about him, and the goats, Belle and Beele, when she had to run from Murray—even though she knew one of her friends would take care of them.
All three animals were named after demons from the stories her grandmother used to tell her. Not because she was a witch, as the priest accused, but because it secretly amused her. How better to send a rude message to Father Odhran after he’d accused her of keeping the baby crow and a pair of baby goats as her familiars. Crows and goats, he said, were the devil’s helpers.
So, she’d named her pets Lucy, Belle, and Beele—shortened versions of the demons’ names the priest accused her of consorting with. She’d told no one, of course, of the private joke, not even Isla or Ian.
She felt her face for any scratches from Lucy’s talons as she walked across the room and held out her arm for him. He hopped onto it, cawing loudly several times as if to reprimand her for staying away so long.
“Oh, I know, I know. I canna tell you how sorry I am that you were so inconvenienced. The outrage of having to find your own food and shelter like a regular bird is beyond what any normal crow should have to endure.”
She unbarred and pushed open her back door, which led to the path through the trees to her garden. The sunlight dappled through the leaves, and the air still held a slight crispness from early morning.
Her favorite time of day.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she walked, taking in the scent of her wildflowers along the side of the cottage. But the scent changed as she neared the garden, became stronger and mixed. She realized something was wrong just before she heard the distressed bleat from the goats up ahead.
As Amber broke into a run, Lucy squawked and lifted into the air. He flapped ahead of her and landed on a tree. Horror lodged in her throat as she reached the end of the path and saw her beloved plants—both for eating and medicine—had been trampled beneath someone’s feet, ripped up by malevolent hands.
She scanned about for Belle and Beele, fearing the worst. A moment later, she found Belle tied up tight to a tree, her eyes wild as she struggled to free herself. From behind the goats’ shed, Amber heard thrashing and more bleating, and she ran around it to find Beele trapped beneath the wheelbarrow she used to transport dirt and plants. Lucy hopped along behind her, cawing as he went from tree branch, to fence, to shed.
“Oh, Beele. I’m here, sweetling,” she cried out as she struggled to push the heavy barrow off the goat and set it back on its wheels. Beele sprung up as soon as he was free, shaking his head and bleating, before lowering his head and racing toward Belle. Amber raced after him.
“Beele, wait! I’ll help her.”
When she reached the goats, Belle was tangled even tighter against the tree, and Beele had lowered his head, ready to ram anything in defense of his sister—including Amber, who grabbed his horns and held on, trying to soothe him.
It didn’t work, so she let go and just tried to avoid his head butts as she used her knife to saw through the rope and free Belle. Finally, the wee female loosed her head, but not before Amber was rammed several times by Beele.
“God’s truth,” she said, rubbing her thigh where Beele had pounded into her. “Serves me right for naming you after a demon.”
She looked around at the mess of her garden and nearly broke down, her heart hurting and stomach sick. Who would do such a thing? Not only to her medicinal plants and food, but to the goats as well? ’Twas likely someone had been trying to tie up Belle, and Beele had attacked them.
But to what purpose? And when? Ian had been here yesterday afternoon and had said naught was amiss.
She kneeled in the dirt to look at her plants. The damage to the stalks was recent, and the smashed vegetables were still moist. This had happened just before she arrived. She rose and peered around her, suddenly uneasy. Whoever did it could still be out there. Watching her.
Was someone trying to take revenge? Could it have been Murray? Surely he wouldn’t have stayed on MacPherson land, knowing what Lachlan would do to him if he were caught. ’Twas a sure way to die.
A loud, crashing noise sounded behind the goats’ shed, and Lucy cawed and flew to the top. Amber raced around it to see Father Odhran sprawled at the base of a large pine tree. Her first instinct was to help him, even though she knew him to be an awful and undeserving man, but then she saw the state of his shoes and the bottom of his robe—stained with the berries and plants he’d stomped on, and the dirt beneath his fingernails. Her chest constricted so tight it felt like she might stop breathing.
“You did this!” she yelled at him, striding forward through the underbrush, fists clenched.
“Get away from me, witch!” He scrambled back until he cowered against the tree trunk.
“How could you? All those plants killed. All that food and medicine wasted. And what were you trying to do with Belle and Beele?”
“Demons, both of them! I heard you.” He made the sign of the cross.
She avoided his flailing feet and grabbed the bottom his robe, yanking it so he rolled over and got a face full of dirt. “You killed living plants. God’s plants. Put on this earth to feed and help people. You’re the demon. Destroying His creation!”
“You pervert His will giving potions to the women, taking away their pain at childbirth. And you fornicate with that demon goat.”
She reeled back. “What?” If she hadn’t been so shocked by what he’d suggested, so disgusted, she would have burst out laughing. “You loathsome, foul creature. Nay, not even a creature, for even the lowliest worm brings life to the soil. All you do is hate and destroy, just like the demons you rail against.” She picked up dirt and debris from the ground and hurled it at him. He cried out and tried to crawl behind the tree on his hands and knees, but she stepped on the end of his robe and leaned over him. “I bring bairns, God’s bairns, into the world, and no matter how much I ease the pain for their mothers, it still hurts them, believe me. Not every child has as small a mind as you. You must have slipped through your mother like a wee shite, for that’s exactly what you are.”
She picked up another handful of dirt and smeared it into his hair. Then she planted her foot in his backside and pushed. “Get off of my land! And doona e’er speak to me again. If you see me, you run the other way, or I’ll drag you to the nearest well and throw you in.”
Her breath continued to saw through her lungs as he disappeared on hands and knees into the forest. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, trying to find calm amidst all the destruction and chaos. Her beloved garden—ruined. All the food and medicine lost. And what had he intended for Belle and Beele?
She trembled again just thinking about it, and then she realized that the ground shook as well—shook beneath her feet, the vibrations rising up her legs. Thundering hooves assaulted her ears moments later, and she ran back through her garden and toward her cottage. Belle and Beele followed at her heels, and Lucy flew from branch to branch in the trees above.
“Amber!” she heard Lachlan yell.
“I’m here!” she responded, and was almost knocked over as he barreled around the corner, his big hands catching her shoulders just in time to keep her upright. The warmth and strength of them made her feel safe, and she wanted to lean all the way into him.
Callum and several other warriors fanned out around them, weapons drawn, eyes vigilant.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is it Adaira? Or Earc?”
“Nay, they’re fine. Are you all right?” Whe
n she nodded, he looked around, frowning at the sight of her garden. “What happened?”
Her chest and throat tightened, and she tried to hold it back, but a sob pushed up from her belly. “Father Odhran did this. Thank God I arrived in time, or he would have hurt the goats too. He had Belle tied up so tight to the tree she could barely breathe, and he’d trapped Beele beneath a wheelbarrow. He would have killed them, I know it. You should have heard the things he said to me!”
He pulled her against his chest, and she went willingly, her head tucking beneath his chin, her eyes closing. She realized she was shaking, her breath coming in sharp gasps, and he wrapped his plaid around her shoulders.
“Let’s get her inside,” he said to Callum. “And find that donkey of a priest.”
Callum whistled then signaled with his hands as the warriors moved out. “Amber, where did you last see him and when?” he asked.
She lifted her head. “Behind the goats’ shed. He crawled into the bushes just before you arrived.”
“Crawled?” Lachlan asked.
“Aye, after my foot connected with his backside.”
He squeezed her shoulders and turned her to the back door of the cottage, but she dug her heels in and looked behind him. “My goats! Belle, Beele, come now, dearlings!” They bleated and pushed past her and Lachlan, running to the cottage door. She whistled for Lucy, and he swooped low past their heads then perched on the windowsill, cocking his head and cawing as he watched them.
“Any other animals?” Lachlan asked. “A cow perhaps? Or a herd of sheep?”
“Nay, just an ass,” she said, eyeing him.
He snorted as he walked her to the door, his big body shielding her, supporting her. “You should meet Caitlin MacKenzie, Darach’s wife. The two of you would have much to talk about.”
“Oh? Does her domineering husband try to boss her around too?”
A silence fell, and she regretted her words instantly. How could she have spoken so inanely?
“Aye, he does. But I’m not your husband, Amber.”
She felt the heat rush up her cheeks. “I know that. ’Twas just a…twist of words. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
He grunted, his arm tightening around her as she tried to pull away. He didn’t let go until they’d crossed the threshold and he’d placed her in her favorite chair in front of the hearth. Lucy flew across the room with a caw to land on the back of her chair, while the goats found their pillows on the floor by her feet. They both still panted and bleated anxiously before releasing huge sighs and flopping onto their sides.
Lachlan stepped over them and said, “Should I bring Saint in too? Let him have a wee rest on your bed?”
“Nay. Your jealous old nag is not welcome. He jolted me around on purpose after you made off with me.”
“He did not. He was just hungry. I didn’t want him full before the battle.”
She scoffed. “’Twas more than that. He didn’t want me up there with you. How did he get his name anyway? He’s certainly no saint.”
Lachlan smiled, looking almost sheepish, and she raised her brows. “My foster brothers and Gregor named him. Gregor thought it would be good fortune to name him after a saint, but they couldnae agree on which one. So…he became just Saint.”
“Let me guess. They were trying to choose between the saints of thieves and scoundrels and the saint of lost causes?”
He laughed softly, and she knew by the amused look on his face it was true.
“Something like that.”
He grabbed some kindling from a bin on the hearth and set about to build a fire. The smaller wood lit easily, and he added logs until it roared in welcome. She hadn’t realized she was cold until she found herself leaning toward the flames.
“’Tis the shock,” he said as he placed the kettle above the flames. “I’ll make some tea. Do you have any valerian root?”
“Aye, on the counter, second canister from the left. How do you know about valerian root?”
“Our cook used to make it for my mother when I was a boy. To calm her nerves, she said.”
“Oh? Was she anxious?”
Lachlan made a derisive sound as he pulled down some cups and placed them on a tray. “Only when she wanted to be.”
“I doona understand.”
“Neither did anyone else…except me. My father and brother—both good men—tried to please her or fix things for her, but I knew she ne’er wanted them fixed. She had things exactly as she liked, and if they weren’t to her preference, she manipulated and schemed until she got them that way. But it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone now.”
“Ah…I’m sorry.” Amber knew people like that, and they were a trial. It didn’t matter what you did to try to make them happy, they would find something else wrong.
“Doona be sorry she died. I wasn’t. Be sorry I didn’t have a different mother.” He pulled out the valerian root then looked through the rest of her canisters, lifting some to smell the contents. “My father and brother made up for her lack, though. I was much loved by both. And then by Gregor and the lads. ’Twas a happy childhood despite her best efforts.”
She pulled her feet up onto her chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I didn’t have a mother either. She died giving birth to me. ’Tis why I am so adamant to help the clanswomen with their births, despite what Father Odhran says. My father and grandmother raised me, and they loved me well, but I felt the loss of my mother even though I ne’er knew her.”
“I ne’er felt the loss of mine, but I suppose I wondered from time to time what it would be like to have a real mother. Mostly when I saw my friends with theirs.” He picked up the valerian root and pulled a small pot toward him.
“Doona put in more than a pinch,” she said, watching with interest as he mixed up the tea, adding rosehip and chamomile as well. She liked seeing him in her kitchen and marveled at the supple strength of his hands. He had held her so firmly when he’d kissed her, but also stroked so softly over her breasts. She lowered her lashes and let her gaze wander up the corded muscles in his forearms and over the bulge of his upper arms and shoulders. The massiveness of his chest enthralled her, and she placed a hand on her cheek, remembering how she’d rested it there just minutes ago.
Her heart rate increased all over again, and she turned to look at the fire.
“You just have to ask, Amber,” he said, his voice gruff.
She knew exactly what he meant—ask for his touch, his lips on her body. Her fingers itched to squeeze her suddenly aching breasts, to relieve the growing pressure between her thighs, but she clenched them together and ignored her urges. And why not? She’d had plenty of practice at ignoring them this past week.
He brought the tray over with three cups and poured the herbs in the kettle before sitting in the chair beside hers. He must expect Callum to join them.
“Why are you here, Lachlan? Did you know Father Odhran was here? That he’d destroyed my garden?”
“Nay, not until we arrived. What did he say to you, Amber?”
She pressed her lips together, not wanting to foul the air again with such disgusting lies.
He leaned closer, his gaze firm upon her. “I’m laird of this clan. He has desecrated your property, threatened your person, and meddled in your livelihood. You willna starve; we will provide for you if you have need, but he has done you serious harm. I need to respond to this. He canna be allowed to harass any member of my clan. Matters with the church can sometimes be tricky, but I have the backing of several important lairds, including Gregor MacLeod, who has a love of healers.” He leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “Amber, I will protect you. We can petition the Church to have him replaced.”
She squeezed his hand back. “What if the Church decides I am a witch too, and comes to investigate? My grandmother played a dangerous game in order to protect me and the clan f
rom Laird Murray. When she died, I continued it. Witchcraft was the only thing he feared.”
“Does the clan believe you’re a witch?”
“I doona think so, but if they’re questioned, they’ll have to say what they’ve heard. I’ve thrown many garbled words and threats at Murray, pretending they were hexes. I’ve threatened to shrink his manhood to the size of a rat’s, plague it with boils, make all of his teeth fall out, and tie his bowels in a knot. I was most creative. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, so life and death, ’twould have been amusing.”
“’Tis ne’er amusing to have to lie to survive. What did the priest say to you today? Did you see him in the garden?”
“Nay, he fell out of a tree near where he’d trapped Beele. He must have climbed up when he heard me coming. The plants had been recently torn up, and he had the juice and pulp from the fruits and vegetables on his robe and the dirt under his nails.”
“And when you spoke to him?”
She sighed, knowing he would press until she told him what he’d said. “He called me a witch.”
“And?”
“He said I perverted God’s will when I helped the women ease the pain of childbirth. But I doona always give them herbs! And sometimes when I do, there’s naught in the tea but what we’re having now. Just enough to calm them a wee bit, or make them think they’ve been dosed. Often, all they need is for me to rub their backs or help them into a better position for pushing. And if the bairn is turned the wrong way, I can push on the stomach from the outside to prod it into position. But the priest should like that because it can be painful for the mother.”
When she finished, he continued to stare at her, finally raising one brow. “Amber, what else did he say to you? I know you’re holding back.”
She made a scoffing sound she’d learned as a wee lass at her father’s knee. “How on earth can you know that?”
“Because I see it in your eyes. Tell me…please.”
Highland Conquest Page 11
