Highland Jewel (Highland Heroes #1)

Chapter 20

“Fiona!" he rasped, but she was already gone, slamming the door behind her and stumbling over poor Ranald, who grumbled and sat up groggily. "Fiona!" Leith yelled again, nearly jerking the door from its leather hinges before he also half-fell over Ranald in his haste.

Fumbling with her nightrail's loosened ties, Rose scurried down the steps.

She must leave! Go back to England where she would be safe from her own desires.

A few candles still burned in the hall. Roderic sat beside the cool hearth with his friend Alpin, their hands gripped as they wrestled to determine which was the strongest.

Their gazes lifted as she flew past, her voluminous gown billowing behind her. Their brows rose.

"Fiona," they greeted with studied casualness just as Leith rushed down the steps, his feet bare, his plaid askew.

"Leith," they greeted.

"Fiona!" Leith called again, ignoring them completely and striding across the stone floor. He caught her by the arm just before the door. "Where are ye going?"

There were tears on her cheeks as she faced him. "Back to England."

Their gazes caught, violet on sable.

"Nay, lass. Ye canna."

"Why?"

"Because..." He could not live without her. "The clans need ye, lass."

She shook her head. "I cannot stay," she whispered, feeling lost to her own rampant need for him. "Please do not ask me to."

"Come back to bed, lass, where we can talk."

"Nay." She shook her head again, terrified by the emotions that raged within her. "I cannot."

"Why?" The single word was no more than a whisper.

"Tis a sin."

"Nay."

"Yes, it is," she said, letting her eyes fall closed.

"Come back, lass."

She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t look at him, for surely she would be lost forever.

"Fiona."

She remained as she was, saying nothing, and in a moment he bent, placing an arm behind her knees and lifting her into his arms.

She couldn’t help but let her head fall against his shoulder, nor could she stop the painful thrill that went through her at his closeness.

From near the hearth Alpin and Roderic nodded their good nights, their hands still locked in immobility.

Leith took the stairs two at a time.

Ranald remained groggily before the door, but Leith stepped quickly over the cot bearing Rose into their chamber and closing the door with a foot.

He didn’t speak as he settled them onto the bed. She was nestled comfortably on his lap. Her hair was soft against his bare shoulder, her tears warm on his chest.

"Lass," he said gently, reaching up to press a bright thistledown tress from her face, "have ye considered that mayhap this is what the Lord wishes for ye?"

She remained silent, her face still turned into his shoulder, and he sighed.

"Twas a blow when first I found the tombstones in the auld abbey, for I thought surely all chance of peace was lost. But something led me to the lochan, and there beside those quiet waters I saw a fairy." He stroked her hair back again, letting his knuckles skim her cheek. "She had hair as bright as a Scottish morn, skin as soft as heather, and beside her..." He paused, looking into her bonny face. "Beside her was the very symbol of the Forbes people. A wildcat—but na wild. Na." Leith shook his head before sighing again, lost for a moment in the memory. The cat had been tamed, and purred beside the fairy like a wee, harmless kitten. "Aye," he whispered, "she had tamed the beast, just as I fear she has tamed me."

Rose lifted her gaze to his and again he touched her face, but so softly it was like the brush of a butterfly's wing.

"Rest, sweet, gentle babe," Leith murmured. "And think on what I have said." Lifting her from his lap, he set her carefully to the mattress. "I will sleep elsewhere this night and give thee time to consider me words." He smiled, feeling the firm press of her thigh against his. “For I fear I am na better armed against yer charms than I was earlier." He stood slowly, not lifting his gaze from hers and feeling lost in its deep-hued depths. "Sleep well, lass."

Rose's head hurt as she descended the stairs the next morning. Her thighs ached, and that secret place between them felt raw and strangely swollen. Reaching the floor, she glanced quickly about, hoping to catch a glimpse of Leith, for, true to his word, he had slept elsewhere for the rest of the night.

Despite her hopes, however, Roderic was the only man in the hall, reminding her again of her shameful attempt at a midnight exodus. Surely he must think her insane after her frenzied flight across the hall.

She sighed. A part of her still wished to flee, while a larger part of her wanted to be held again in Leith's strong arms, to hear him croon words of comfort.

Where was he? Rose swept the hall with her gaze, feeling that dreadful emptiness in her chest again.

In an effort to soothe her own thoughts and busy her hands she had repaired her old nun's habit. Rose smoothed a hand down the coarse fabric, realizing she had done a poor job of mending it, and wondering why she had forgotten how the thing itched.

Even after such a short time, it felt strange to don that humble garment again and she scowled. Was it a sin, she wondered, to wear the robes of the Lord after the night just past? Or would God understand her need to don the garment as she tried to sort out her thoughts?

Upon her head she'd tied a plain linen kerchief, which held her hair from her face and freed her movements for the chores with which she hoped to occupy her time.

Hannah approached from behind and set a deep, wooden bowl of hot sowens before Rose, who lifted a spoon and tried to conjure up some appetite for the oat-bran porridge.

"Me lady?" Hannah spoke softly, her bright-green eyes wide in her oval face. "A favor I would ask of ye."

"A favor?" The scowl dropped from Rose's face. Vaguely, she noticed that Harlow had entered the hall. But in an instant he turned, departing quickly. "What is it, Hannah?"

The girl's face flushed, and with some interest Rose noticed that she did not turn to see who might have come and gone so abruptly. "Me sister," said Hannah. "She is heavy with a bairn."

"'Tis a blessing of God," Rose said.

"Aye. But, ye see... " Hannah wrung her hands nervously. "She has lost two bairns already. Dead at birth and after a terrible hard laying-in. I would na ask," she hurried to add, "if I didna fear so for her safety—and for the safety of the bairn. But she is me only sister, ye ken, and I am scairt of what will happen to Eve if she should lose this wee babe too."

"You want me to help with the birth?" Rose asked.

" 'Tis a great deal I ask, I ken, me lady, but her time draws near." Hannah lowered herself quickly to the bench beside Rose. "And ye have proved yerself to be so kindly that I—"

"Hannah," Rose chided gently, "I am honored that you would ask." She took the girl's hand and watched as the other’s eyes filled with tears. "Now don't cry," she said stiffly, for already she felt moisture clouding her own vision. "Please," she entreated, but it was too late.

"I love her so, and I do thank ye," sniffled Hannah.

Rose lost the battle with her tears.

From a short distance away, Roderic watched, making Rose feel foolish.

"Don't cry now," she said sniffing, "or we'll flood the entire keep. I will see to your sister when her time comes. Just make certain she remains as quiet as possible. No unnecessary work. In fact, no work at all. If she truly wants this child, she will remain abed until her time arrives."

"Abed?"

"Aye." Rose nodded, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Tell her not to move unless it is absolutely necessary."

"Aye, me lady." Hannah nodded thankfully. "I will tell her."

"And see that she follows my advice, or—"

The hall door burst open, and a small lad staggered in, his arms filled with a long-haired sheep-hound that was nearly as large as himself. His breath rattled in deep gasps from his hurry, and his voice was a speedy jumble of Gaelic.

Rose stood quickly, noticing the dog's blood-coated fur, its limp neck. "What has happened here?" she asked, but now someone else stormed through the door.

He was a big man with oily, shoulder-length hair, a scowl on his face, and a stout stick held in a meaty hand. He spoke harsh words and, stepping forward, whipped the branch across the boy's back.

The lad barely grimaced, though his grip on the hound tightened protectively. "Dora—" he began, but the man snarled in return and raised the switch again.

In a single heartbeat Rose placed herself solidly between them.

Her feet were spread apart and her fists planted firmly on her hips.

“Touch the lad again," she said, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, "and I'll serve your head for supper."

The switch drooped for a moment as the man stared at her in shock. Then he snorted in derision.

"Out o' me way, slut!" he growled in English. "Or ye'll feel the switch yerself. The lad has shirked his duty once too often and will learn better by me hand."

Rose neither turned nor flinched but stared him straight in the eye, her body stiff with rage. "It looks to me as though the boy has brought his dog to be healed. A task you would not be wise enough to do yerself."

It took a moment for the insult to seep through to the big man's brain, but when it did he raised his hand again to strike.

The switch never fell, however, for suddenly his wrist was caught in Roderic’s steely grasp.

"Before ye hit her, know this," he warned, his tone low and raspy. "Me laird and brother has asked that I protect the lass while he hunts." He paused, letting his words settle for a moment. "Methinks he would be somewhat put out to see welts on his lady's face. Especially if they were put there by wolf bait like thee, Dermid."

Dermid's face paled three shades and his arm went limp so that Roderic finally relinquished his hold. "Nay! She is na the laird's lady!" denied Dermid.

"Aye." Roderic smiled grimly into the other's unshaven face. "She is. And if ye'd left yer hovel long enough to attend the feast, ye would have known as much."

" 'Twas busy," growled the man.

"Busy starving the lad, looks like," said Roderic with a sneer. "What think ye, Fiona? Shall I take the stick and give him a taste of his own broth?" he asked, raising his voice slightly. But she was already gone, directing the lad to carry his precious bundle to a pile of rushes near the corner. "It seems our lady has already forgotten ye, Dermid," he said. "A good thing horse dung is so simple a thing to disremember.”

The man jerked. "Here now, the lad is me own since me sister's death. He'll come home with me now."

"He'll na," corrected Roderic, "unless ye wish to leave yer head for the feast the lady described."

Dermid shook the mentioned head, and Roderic’s smile brightened.

“Then I suggest ye let the boy rest the night here and return on the morrow."

Blood rushed back to Dermid's face, but saying naught he turned with a snarl and left.

In the far corner the lad gently laid his hound on the rushes. Below his threadbare plaid, Rose noticed that his scuffed, knobby knees shook with exhaustion.

"What happened, lad?" she asked, feeling the dog's blood-soaked throat for the fragile pulse that still beat there.

It took the boy a moment to speak. He swallowed hard, his green eyes round with unspoken emotion. "Me and Dora..." he began finally, leaning forward on his knees between the dog's outstretched legs. "We took the sheep to Gorm Glen." His hand wavered unsteadily as he wiped a filthy hand across his nose. "I didna see the wolf. They dunna attack in the summer, ye ken. I fell asleep." He admitted his weakness with unbending stoutness. Not crying, not whimpering, merely saying the words like a small soldier in shock. "I didna see him come. But Dora..." he said, stroking the long, tawny fur, "Dora..." His grubby hand shook again and his lips quivered.

"You are a brave lad," Rose whispered, feeling the painful lump of misery in her throat.

"Nay." A single denial wobbled from his gap-toothed mouth, though no tears fell. "I am na. I am worthless just as Dermid says." His voice trailed off and his lips quivered again, but he drew his back straighter, though his fingers were still tangled in the dog's fur. " Tis me own fault she fell."

Rose could barely make out his words and leaned closer, letting her own tears fall forgotten on the dog's matted fur.

He drew back slightly, as if he feared her nearness, but his voice came again, quieter still. "Me da gave her to me before he died."

Rose's throat ached with her sorrow. "Yer father must have loved ye dearly, for she is a fine dog."

"Aye." he nodded once, then wiped his nose again. "Aye. She was that. She was a verra fine lassie."

God's breath! Rose smeared her own tears across her cheek and let her nose run wild. "What do you mean 'was'?" she asked in feigned anger, though her voice trembled with a terrible sadness. "Did you not hear that I am a great healer?"

The boy nodded dismally, his mouth pursed, his cautious eyes showing the fragility of his belief in her. "Dermid doesna allow me to talk to others. But Douglas ..." He swallowed again. "Douglas told me of yer miracles."

"And do you not believe I can mend your dog?" she asked, endeavoring to keep a haughty tone, though her heart felt like it might break within her chest.

He did not answer. He did not nod. Nor did he dare to ask even so much as a hopeful question, and in that moment Rose prayed as she had never prayed before, for if ever there was a child who needed her Lord's help, he sat before her now.

The divine answer seemed very clear to her and Rose smiled, ready to address the task before her. God forgive her for taking credit for the life she would now try to save. But the boy's sorrow wrenched her heart, and she could think of no other way to give him hope.

She could advise that he trust in God, but.... Her eyes fell to a blistered welt that stretched across the back of his small hand. Mayhap he already believed in God and had received little but pain for his faith. Let him believe in her for a short time and soon she would joyously give his faith over to the Lord.

"I shall need your help, young..."

"Roman." He said the name with some pride and drew himself rapidly to his feet, though his poor little knees shook with exhaustion. "I am Roman, me lady."

And God's most beautiful child, she thought. "Then, Roman, I will need you to sit right here," she said solemnly, unable to bear to make him stand a moment longer. Who knew how far he had carried the dog which weighed nearly as much as he? "You must talk to Dora," she commanded sternly. "Remind her of your love for her, and I am sure, if the Lord allows it, she will stay with you."

Roman sank slowly back down, and with a nod, placed a trembling hand on Dora's long, elegant nose.

From behind, Roderic cleared his throat. “Is there naught I can do, me lady?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Aye," she said, not taking her eyes from the dog. "Get some hairs from a horse's tail... and pray."