The Cursed Highlander

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Always goes like this,” Mrs. Kine explained fondly. “Especially when it's from bein' weary. Lady Joanna never was prone to dropping like this, mind. There, there. Rest now.”

  Dougal watched, relieved, as Joanna curled up on her side.

  “Best cover her with a blanket,” Mrs. Kine said quietly. “She just needs rest. Been wearing hersel' out with all this unrest.”

  Dougal nodded. He reached for a coverlet, set aside on another chair. It had a ragged tear where Joanna had cut bandaging off, but Mrs. Kine accepted this silently. She left Joanna where she was.

  “Now let her sleep,” Mrs. Kine said sternly. “Anything untoward happens, I'll be in the turret. Come and call me. I'll not sleep until it's morn and she's waking again.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Kine,” Dougal said softly.

  He waited until she had gone and then stood. Everything hurt, but he barely noticed it. He was looking down at Joanna.

  Her red hair spread out, fanning her face on the one side. Her soft cheek was pearly and her breathing regular, red lips just parted. One hand appeared above the covers, long fingers slack in rest.

  She is so beautiful.

  Dougal stood there for some uncounted time, staring down at her. At length, he shook himself. Put the lamp he had not known he held, back on the mantel. The gold light went out of her hair as he moved the lamplight, leaving it a sheen of hazed red.

  I love her, he thought firmly. It was a conviction.

  He looked down at his bed. She was sprawled across the side nearest him, her head towards the middle of the bed, feet on the pillow, as she had collapsed.

  Dougal smiled. He reached his fingertips down to touch her hair, stroking it where it lapped her ear.

  Then he sighed.

  He had no idea where he was supposed to sleep.

  Tired, weary, and painful, he walked slowly to the other side of the vast bed. Sat down. Stretched out along the side, perhaps an arm's length from her.

  It might be the only time he slept this close.

  He closed his eyes and, wearily, drifted off to sleep.

  He felt more relaxed than he had ever felt, the room still and silent but for her breathing, mingling in sweet, discordant harmony, with his.

  If there was any more disturbance in the castle, it seemed to feel the peace of that room, and tiptoe past, for they had no more restless happenings that night.

  They slept on unharmed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A MORNING OF CLOSENESS

  A MORNING OF CLOSENESS

  Mist. And darkness. And pain. They pressed in on Joanna, making her head ache as if wires were boring through her temples. Hot wires, insistent and sharp.

  “Ugh,” she groaned. She rolled onto her side. Where was she?

  She opened her eyes. It hurt, so she closed them again. Wherever she was, it was bright. It was morning. Memory tugged at her mind, but would not speak to her.

  She opened her eyes.

  White. She touched it, and found white linen. All around her. She was, she realized, lying on a coverlet. On top of a bed. She remembered where she was.

  In Dougal's bedchamber.

  She sat up, memory flooding her. The shadow, the attack. The person grabbing her assailant. Dougal! Where was he? She reached out, pressing on the ridged, cool linen. She sat up.

  “Dougal...”

  “Good morning,” a voice said somewhere above her head. She blinked. Looked around.

  He was over by the fire, a long gown draped around his shoulders, his hair freshly brushed. He was holding a beaker of some kind, she noticed. His face was serious, but his eyes shone. “I am so glad you're awake.”

  Joanna frowned, wishing she could remember something more. “Where...?”

  “You are where you were yesterday,” he informed her. “I have been downstairs and fetched up something for you. Mrs. Kine said you should drink barley water, though I thought milk would perhaps be a better alternative. It's warm,” he added, holding out the mug.

  Joanna took it. It was hot, and the warmth seeped into her fingers. The milk was steaming, a thin skin forming on it. She tasted it, letting the creamy warmth spiral down to her toes. It was good. She sighed.

  “What happened last night?” she asked. She was already feeling stronger. There was honey in the milk, she realized, and the mix restored strength to her. Her heart was beating harder and she could feel her fingertips coming back to life.

  Dougal dropped into the chair opposite her. He reached out to pull the blanket around her shoulders. She was wearing her day gown still, but she was cold. She sat still and let him, feeling her heart thump insistently as his fingers lightly grazed along her shoulder bone.

  “A man attacked you,” he said quietly. His voice shook with emotion and Joanna reached out to touch his hand. He tensed, and then breathed out. His eyes met hers. “He wanted to finish me,” he said quietly. “But you were there. You stopped him and...Joanna.” He covered his eyes with his hand, face stiff. He met her gaze, then, eyes empty. “If you had been hurt. If you'd died...” He shook his head. “I would have died inside.”

  Joanna felt her throat close with emotion. “No. Don't. Don't say that.” She cleared her throat. “One of us has to stay alive. Bring an end to this misery.”

  Dougal let out a shuddering breath. “It's not worth the risk, Joanna. I should tell you to leave. You don't need to be here, facing this risk. I should send you out of here.”

  “Don't even say it,” Joanna said quickly. “I won't have it. I'm staying. And you too. We will resolve this. We're almost done. I know it...we can't stop trying now.”

  Dougal looked at her. His dark eyes were sad, though they held a spark of interest.

  “You think so?”

  “Yes,” Joanna said firmly. She was not as sure as she was trying to act, but she did have a deep sense that they were getting close. She closed her eyes. She had dreamed, while she was unconscious. She had also seen something, the night before, to increase her conviction. What was it?

  “You should sleep more,” Dougal said, his touch stroking her hand. “I should not let you work yourself so hard.”

  Joanna sighed. “You should sleep more, too. Though I don't notice you taking that advice.”

  He smiled a little sadly. “I try,” he said simply.

  “Well,” Joanna said, feeling her strength return. “We should try and get some breakfast. And then...” she paused. She had been going to say: “And then we should interview this unknown attacker.” Then she stopped. Memory tugged at her, insistent. She suddenly recalled something, the fact that had been nagging at her mind since waking up.

  “I do know him,” she said quietly.

  “What?” Dougal said quickly. Then he demurred. “Begging your pardon, Joanna. What did you say?”

  “I said, I know him. The man who was here. In the room. I knew his face.”

  “You did? Where had you seen him?” He looked at her, his gaze searching.

  “He was at the wake. It was the minstrel. Francois.”

  Dougal stared at her. “For Heaven's sake! You're right!” He shook his head. “How could I not notice? I suppose I didn't notice him then. But you'd think...” he sighed. “But why? Of all people, why on earth would he wish to harm me? He isn't even from around here.”

  “I think that's the point,” Joanna said quietly. An idea was beginning to form in her mind. She could see, suddenly, more of the picture. Pieces were falling into place, suddenly. Words that had seemed unconnected, suddenly joining up. It was a picture she did not like. However, she had to try to build it.

  “Joanna?”

  “I should go,” she said, standing. She felt shaky, and held onto the back of his chair, feeling the room sway and her legs hurt.

  “Where?” he asked, standing at once. “Joanna, don't...don't wear yourself out like this. I can send someone else to carry you downstairs, if you must go down.”

  “No,” Joanna said, shaking her head to clear it. “I
don't mean downstairs. I mean away...” She felt frustrated as her vision blurred again, dark specks dancing at the margin of her eyes. He was, she thought crossly, right. She had been overworking herself. Now she was paying the price for her neglect. She could ill risk it, when she had so much that needed doing.

  “Away?” Dougal was there, at her side, a hand on her shoulder. “No. I can't allow it. Joanna, you can't walk! How are you planning to go anywhere? Listen to me.”

  She looked up at him, feeling deeply weary. She summoned a spark of irritation, fanned it, and made it grow to carry her through this weariness.

  “Dougal Blackheath,” she said regally. “You do not command me. If I mean to leave, I'll do it. Am I clear on this?”

  He stared at her. She saw the expression in his eyes change from worry to affront, then to surprised joy.

  “Joanna!”

  “What?” she said sourly. Her head hurt. She was exhausted. At that moment, she just wanted him to go. Leave her to do as she must. She was tired and annoyed and she felt as if all her bones were bruised and aching, even her feet pained where she stood.

  “You are the dearest, most stubborn...Joanna. I love you.”

  His arms were around her then, holding her close. She felt her heart jump and, very gently, she wrapped her arms around him.

  They embraced and his lips moved over hers. Slow at first, tender, nibbling along the edge of her mouth, their touch made her want to smile. She did smile, and then, very slowly, licked along his lips. He stopped. She relished his sudden surprise and then gasped as his own tongue thrust between her lips.

  She met his kiss with passion of her own, their lips meeting, sliding, and parting. When she looked up at him, her mouth bruised with kissing, his eyes were sightless with wanting.

  Joanna let out a ragged breath. She knew she was in no better way herself. She made a shaky attempt at a grin.

  “If we were caught now, we'd have little choice left,” she laughed lightly. She meant they would either wed or flee the town. He caught her meaning and his eyes kindled.

  “Well, you make me wish the door opened out onto the courtyard, and all the staff outside it, rapt.”

  She roared with mirth. “Dougal, you are shocking. But I could hope likewise, too.”

  He took her hands and clasped them. She sighed, feeling the warmth of them gripping her fingers, wishing they never had to leave her grasp.

  She turned and cleared her throat, then looked up at him.

  “I,” she said, extracting her hands deliberately, firmly, from his grasp. “Will have to go.”

  Dougal looked at her, his eyes filling with a sort of desperation. She shook her head.

  “I'll come back,” she said, turning in the doorway. He looked after her, face stiffly blank.

  “Do so.”

  Joanna walked away then, heading briskly down the hallway to her own room, his voice ringing in her ears.

  She sat down on the bed, covered her face with her hands.

  She was smiling.

  “Dougal Blackheath,” she said under her breath. “You are shocking. Utterly. I love you.”

  Her heart soaring in her chest, she moved about the room, packing a few necessary items into a cloth sack. She would travel light. It would be her, on her horse, alone.

  She had to go quickly.

  The trail would cool if she left it much longer. She had to find out as much as she could. Before it was too late.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A DECISION AND A JOURNEY BEGUN

  A DECISION AND A JOURNEY BEGUN

  Fire crackling, filled Joanna's ears as she headed down into the dank warmth of the kitchen. She shivered, letting the warmth penetrate her bones, drive out the cold. This place had been a favorite refuge as a child. She had hidden from bullies here, or unwanted attentions of the local noble's sons, learned how to make soup, and found friendship here.

  “Mrs. Kine?” Her older friend didn't move a muscle in her direction, intent on her current task, which appeared to be rolling dough. “Bet?”

  She whipped round. Put her hand on her heart, eyes going from shock to relief.

  “Oh, my lady!” She whistled out a breath. “You scared me! With all these strange goings-on...” she paused. “You should be resting. Why are you up? Milady...”

  “Bet, I'm well,” Joanna insisted softly. Her friend looked as if she would protest, then let out a deep sigh.

  “Well, you allus were difficult to convince, like.” Bet sighed. Joanna laughed.

  “Really?”

  “Yes!” Bet laughed, resuming her task of rolling dough, still talking as her hands worked without effort. “You're stubborn, like a mule is, Lord...” She whistled and then laughed.

  Joanna felt something in her glow as she recalled who had called her stubborn earlier that morn. She grinned.

  “Probably the case,” she agreed. “But Bet...” she paused. “I have a favor to ask from you. If you would.”

  “Anything,” her friend said stoutly. Joanna smiled, touched.

  “I need you to keep an eye on his lordship. Make sure he stays here, no wandering off. Keep an eye on his guards, too. Make sure they're changed often. I don't want them sleeping on their watch. He needs protection throughout the day.”

  “Yes, milady,” Bet said, eyes shining at the thought of being assigned such an important job. “Whist, Will! Get away along.” She reprimanded a pot boy, a dark-haired fellow with a face like a mischievous angel, who grinned at Joanna even as he ran off from the spit where he had been trying to take a piece of meat from the end.

  Joanna smiled. She loved her visits to the kitchen and found it depressing to see Bet's private kingdom, as it had always seemed to her in childhood, so understaffed.

  “What's worryin' you, lass?” Bet asked. They were at the table where the servants ate their meals, Bet's hands planted firmly on the dark wood surface. Joanna sighed. She drew out a seat and indicated Bet should do the same. She nodded, sitting across from her.

  “I'm going away,” Joanna explained. “Just a few days. I have an idea,” she said, then paused. She did not want anyone, not even Bet, to know she had an idea of who the potential killer might be. She did not want to burden anyone with that knowledge. It was bad enough having to tell Dougal where she went. If he tried to follow her, then...she sighed. “Keep a watch on him, will you?” she asked.

  “Yes, milady. I promise on my word.” Bet crossed herself as if to ward off any ill luck and then smiled. “My lady, you...”

  “Yes?” Joanna asked sadly.

  “You and his lordship. You make a fine pair. If I may presume tae say it, like,” she added, looking away again.

  Joanna smiled. “You may presume to say it, Bet. And thank you. But it can't be.”

  “Why not?” Bet asked, seeming angry.

  “It just can't,” Joanna said firmly. “That's that.”

  “Yes, milady,” Bet said, sounding entirely unconvinced.

  There was a moment of quiet between them. Something rattled on the fireside and Bet shot upright, walking briskly to attend her kettle.

  “Now,” she added, puffing as she lifted it, talking over her shoulder to Joanna who had come to join her. “I think you need to gather some things. If you're going on a journey, you'll be needing a hamper to take with ye. I baked that bread this morning. And some ham from the larder, to go with it, perhaps. And a small cheese...”

  As she bustled about the kitchen, the kettle set carefully aside, Joanna felt a lump form in her throat. She loved this place, and the thought of leaving it, when it was imperiled, of riding into greater danger, made her worried.

  If I should not come back, she thought, sending out a half thought of prayer, let them all be well. Let Bet stay here and things return to as they were. Let the castle prosper under his guidance. And please, please, keep him safe.

  She took the cloth bag Bet handed her, crammed with bread, cheese, and hard-boiled eggs, and then, still thanking her, headed out int
o the light.

  She crossed the courtyard, going to the stables. Her bag was packed, Len dispatched to fetch it. She would check her horse was saddled, as she had requested earlier. She had not said she intended to go for long. Only Dougal knew, for now. Bet, too, she recalled. No one else.

  She reached the stable. Her bag was on the saddle, her horse ready for her. She sighed and led her out, feeling a flutter of apprehension in her chest as they crossed the flagstones to the mounting post, the sound of hoofs on stone ringing through her thoughts.

  She swung into the saddle, everything suddenly in intense focus. The sound of her boots on the marble block, the feel of its rough surface, scraping under her boots. The smooth sheen of the leather under her hands.

  I might not come back here alive.

  The thought chilled Joanna. Having been face to face with her own death, the thought of it was no longer a distant thing, but close. Possible. Lurking on the edge of every day.

  She shivered, sighing. She would not allow herself to think that way. She was riding home. She had done it, once, before, when the coach was held up and she and aunt Alina had been here alone on a trip when Brien ailed. She would do it again.

  She raised a hand as a guard shouted farewell to her, and then rode out through the lifted gate. Then she was on the path, the vast wall of the castle behind her, the green and brown of moorland and forest, hill, woodland, and field, stretched out before.

  I will not look back.

  She rode on down the path, keeping to a steady, ground-covering pace. They went along the road, the sound of cobbles under Storm Surge's hoofs ringing up to hit the hard, blue sky.

  I will not die. I will come back.

  She had to convince herself of that.

  The ride to Dunkeld was far. She could expect to arrive after nightfall, if she rode consistently, all day. She sighed. They slowed a little as she reached the trees. Much of the ride was through the woodlands, on paths she was glad to recognize. She had come here often as a girl, she recalled, on hunts or with her cousins, playing at being soldiers, or whatever they fancied being for that day.