Highlander's Secret, page 5
Marjorie brought it over to the bed.
“Can ye wash his wound while I prepare the splint?”
“Aye,” Marjorie said and sat on the bed.
She glanced at him, and there was curiosity and anger in her eyes, but also compassion. Isbeil walked to the chest, placed some jars and pouches with powder on the lid and started mixing things. Marjorie wet a clean linen cloth and looked him in the eye. Their gazes locked, and instantly, his mouth went dry.
Christ, she’s pretty.
“This will hurt, Konnor,” she said softly.
“It’s fine. I’m not a stranger to pain.”
Her eyes widened, and long, dark eyelashes trembled. He’d been wounded twice before while in service, but he’d been beaten countless times by his stepfather while he was a child. Pain was not foreign to him.
“Neither am I,” she said as she put the cloth against the cut.
He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, and ask what had happened to her, but she put the cloth against his wound and pressed out the water, letting it wash dirt out. There was something soothing about her touch, and despite the pain, he lay back on the pillows and watched her face as she worked.
“’Tis clean, Isbeil,” she said way too soon and stood with the bowl in her hands. Isbeil came to inspect the wound and gave a satisfied grunt. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him.
“I’m going to put a healing poultice on it and dress it. Then I’ll put on the splint.”
Konnor gave a curt nod. “I appreciate you treating me.”
She didn’t respond and spread the aromatic mixture on his cut and then bandaged it. Surprisingly, the mixture was cool and soothing, and his leg felt better. Then she took out two small planks from the basket and a linen bandage that looked clean. While Isbeil was setting the splints, Konnor looked at Marjorie’s pretty face. Their eyes were locked across the room, and he didn’t want to look away.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Isbeil said she was done.
He nodded and shifted to get up from the bed. “Thanks. Now I’m out of here.”
As he looked at Marjorie, he wished he had swallowed his words. Her hands were propped on her sides, and she glared at him.
“Ye’re out of here?” she asked, “Why are ye in such a hurry? Who are ye, Konnor? Is that even yer real name? Are ye a MacDougall?”
Her slanted cat eyes flashed, and there was a pink tinge to her cheeks. Her hair was in slight disarray. She was beautiful. Konnor was torn between smiling and being concerned for his safety. She wouldn’t order Malcolm to behead him like an angry queen, would she?
“I’m not a MacDougall. And my name is Konnor. Konnor Mitchell.”
“How can I believe ye? What if ye’re a MacDougall spy?”
A MacDougall spy? This medieval game was going a little too far.
“I don’t freaking know how you can believe me, okay? My passport is in the backpack that’s back where the damn fallen tower is. I’m sorry I didn’t say I wasn’t who you thought I was. I thought you wouldn’t help me if I told you the truth. And I was right.”
Marjorie pursed her lips and didn’t say anything for a moment, confirming that his assumption had been correct. Isbeil arched one eyebrow and started putting her sacks, jars, and boxes back into the basket.
“Look,” Konnor said. “Like I told you, I don’t want to inconvenience you, and I’m thankful for your help, but you can stop playing your fantasy games and just send me on my way. I’ll be fine.”
“He wilna be fine,” Isbeil said. “He needs to rest, or his ankle will get worse.”
Marjorie shrugged one shoulder. “’Tisna my concern. He’s a liar. Who kens what else he’s lying about?”
Isbeil put the last sack into the basket and looked at Marjorie. “I dinna think this one is a threat, dearie.”
“Explain yourself, Konnor,” Marjorie said. “The truth. Who ye are, and how did ye end up in that ravine?”
“I’m American. Please don’t tell me you don’t know what that means.”
Marjorie shook her head and shrugged.
A low growl escaped Konnor’s throat. “Come on, Marjorie, I think you’re smart enough to accept the reality beyond these walls.”
“I dinna ken what ye’re talking about.”
Her stubbornness was impressive. He wished she’d just drop the pretense.
“You know very well what I’m talking about, even if you don’t want to admit it. I own a security firm in Los Angeles. I’m a Marine who served in Iraq. I’ve been hiking through the Highlands with my buddy. A woman asked me for help. She’d fallen down a ravine and seemed to be hurt. I went down to help her and fell. Next thing I knew, she disappeared. Then I saw Marjorie. That’s the God’s truth of what happened.”
Konnor locked his gaze with Marjorie’s and forgot anyone else was in the room. She shot daggers at him, and heat rushed through his blood.
Come on, Marjorie, believe me. Be the reasonable woman I know you are and give me a sign you’re on my side.
She looked away and shook her head like she was disappointed.
“Was this all by the old Pictish stronghold?” Isbeil said.
“Aye,” Marjorie said.
“There are legends and rumors about that place,” Isbeil said. “I’ve heard strange things happen around it.”
“Like what?” Marjorie said.
“Like ancient Pictish magic that can open a tunnel through the river of time.”
Konnor frowned. That sounded exactly like what Sìneag had told him.
“’Tis an old story,” Isbeil continued. “I heard it from my grandmother when I was a wee lass. She was a wise woman, mayhap even a witch. She was afraid the Holy Church would burn her for witchcraft, so she didna tell the story much. She said some faeries bring good health, some bring good luck. Others play with people’s destinies and send them through the tunnel. Some say they do it so that people can find the one person they’re really destined for.”
Faeries? Come on. Although if he believed in fairies, Sìneag could probably pass for one. But he wasn’t a little boy, and he didn’t believe in magic.
Marjorie walked towards the window. “Out of all yer Highland tales, Isbeil, ’tis the strangest one.”
Konnor wasn’t sure he agreed. The story may be weird, but it was this place that was really strange.
“So ye believe him, Isbeil?” Marjorie said.
The old woman nodded.
“Well, ye havna been wrong yet in my life. But what of the outlandish things he speaks of, the security firm, the Los Angeles? What’s all that? It sounds like he’s from another world altogether.”
“Mayhap he is,” Isbeil said. “I tell ye, my grandmother warned me about that place. To never go near it. Ye dinna want to tempt faeries.”
“I was just there,” Marjorie said. “I didna notice anything strange.”
“Didna notice anything strange?” Isbeil chuckled and looked pointedly at Konnor. “I think ye brought the strange thing back to the castle.”
Marjorie blinked and then rolled her eyes.
“Honestly, Isbeil, sometimes ye talk as if I’m still a child.”
“’Tis because sometimes ye behave like one,” Isbeil said.
Marjorie sighed thoughtfully. “Look, Konnor, ye’re nae going anywhere. Ye canna walk anyway. Until I’m sure ye’re nae a MacDougall or another clan spying for the Sassenachs, ye’re staying here.”
Konnor couldn’t believe his ears. Now he was a prisoner in a medieval cult.
“You can’t just keep me here.”
“I dinna believe in fairy tales,” she continued. “So I dinna believe yer stories about Los whatever and firms and hiking. Any of that.” She turned around and walked to the door. “Ye’ve wasted enough of my time. Until ye tell me something I can believe, ye’re staying here.”
Chapter 6
Later that night, Marjorie lay next to Colin as she put him to bed. She kissed his forehead.
“Would ye like me to tell ye a story, sweet?” she said.
“Aye,” he said and nestled his head on her shoulder. “Granda told me stories of his travels. But ye havna been anywhere, have ye, Ma?”
Marjorie swallowed and looked around the small bedchamber. The tallow candle flickered as an evening breeze came through the slit window, making the light dance along the stone walls.
She wondered if the ghosts of her ancestors lived in that darkness and watched over her: her grandfather Colin, her cousin Ian, Diarmid the Boar—the legendary warrior who, according to legend, started the Cambel clan—her own mother, a woman she’d never known, and her stepmother, the woman who’d loved her as her own.
Fire crackled in the fireplace, illuminating the wooden shields and swords and the bow on the walls of Colin’s bedchamber. There was one steel sword that glistened on the wall and reflected the firelight. It used to belong to Marjorie’s grandfather, Sir Colin, who died in the battle to save her from the MacDougalls. The whole clan, including Marjorie’s uncle Neil, who was the chief of the clan, decided it should belong to Marjorie’s son, and it hung, large and beautiful, and almost as tall as its current owner, waiting for the day that Colin would be grown enough to wield it.
“Ye havna been anywhere, have ye, Ma?” Her son hurt her with the question, although he didn’t realize it. She’d always wanted to travel like her father and her uncle Neil. She’d always wanted to see England, France, and mayhap even reach the Holy City. She’d heard so many stories of the Crusades.
But she couldn’t. Today was the first time she’d been alone outside the castle walls in twelve years.
“I havna, son,” she said, swallowing the hurt behind a forced smile. “But I’d like to.”
“Mayhap, we can go together one day.”
“Oh, I’d love that, sweet.” To go together into the big, dangerous world and know there was nothing that could hurt her son or her because she was strong enough to protect them… That was what she wanted. Mayhap, one day she would have that.
She looked at her grandfather’s sword and remembered how she’d seen it twelve years ago lying in the dirt next to him. He’d been unmoving and pale. She often told Colin stories of his great-grandfather to keep the memory of the man she dearly missed alive. Ian had also fought to save her in Dunollie. He’d died later as a result of the feud between the MacDougalls and the Cambels.
She wanted to tell Colin the story of how Ian had saved her, how they’d lost Innis Chonnel to the MacDougalls. But she didn’t want Colin to know she’d suffered so much, so she decided to come up with a different name for Ian.
“Since I canna tell ye of my own travels, let me tell ye about a great red-haired hero called Seaghán. He was tall and big and brave, and as strong as a great oak tree. His hair flared like flames, and he fought with the bravery of a hundred men.”
Her eyes watered as she remembered Ian training with swords in the courtyard with her brother Owen. She was eighteen years old the last time she saw Ian in the courtyard of Glenkeld. He’d been fostered with her family as long as she could remember, and he was like a brother to her.
“He had a sister and three brothers, and all of them loved one another. Even at his young age, people looked at him with respect, and his enemies cowered in fear. While they were growing up, a son of the king fostered with them. They all grew up together and knew one another well. Soon, it became apparent that the prince was as evil as his father. Unfortunately, the prince wanted Seaghán’s sister. He did things when they were children…” Her throat clenched as she remembered Alasdair torturing a frog and twisting a duckling’s neck. “He did things that made her fear him. She started avoiding him, and that made him want to chase her even more. He’d take her by the arm too strongly, or pull her hair so hard she cried. But whenever Seaghán saw that, he’d protect her and make the prince stop.”
“Evil bastart,” Colin muttered sleepily. His eyes were still open, but he was starting to drift off.
“Oh, aye. One day, the evil king wanted to take their home.” She skipped the part when Owen, her younger half brother, lost MacDougall gold intended for King John Balliol, which started the feud between the two clans. She skipped the part when Alasdair kidnapped her and then her clan came to her rescue. “Seaghán lived in the castle together with his family. ’Twas big and beautiful, with walls as tall as mountains and as thick as boulders. ’Twas built on a small island in the middle of a loch.”
She was talking about Innis Chonnel Castle. It had been the previous clan seat where her grandfather Colin had lived and where Craig had taken her after the clan saved her. A few months after she was freed from Dunollie, she’d still been recovering mentally and had lived mostly in a fog. She’d locked herself in her bedchamber and had been terrified to come out. Nightmares had tortured her, while in her heart, she was hollow and cold. She’d wondered if she’d ever feel again and had been coming to terms with the fact that she carried something of Alasdair inside of her.
“The evil king came with birlinns and hundreds of warriors. Everyone in Seaghán’s clan thought the castle was invincible. But it wasna. The enemy warriors climbed the walls like spiders. Fire arrows landed on the thatched roofs and wooden constructions.”
She remembered screams, and the smell of smoke and death. And all that reminded her too much of Dunollie. The memories pulled her back in time…
Panic and fear tore at Marjorie from all sides. She screamed, hearing her own voice as though from a distance. Someone came into her room, and strong hands took her in a safe grasp.
“Marjorie.”
Brown eyes and blazing-red hair came into focus in front of her.
“Marjorie, ’tis Ian. I’ve come to take ye. We’re leaving Innis Chonnel.”
She stopped screaming.
“Good lass. Can ye walk?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
She walked behind him on shaking legs, bile rising in her stomach. They climbed down the narrow stone stairs. One, two, three flights. Just before they walked into the courtyard, Ian stopped and turned to her. “I want ye to listen to me. The MacDougalls have come to take the castle.”
She jerked in reaction to the name, her gut clenching like a tight fist. Horror rode through her in a black, icy-cold wave.
“Dinna fash, they wilna take ye,” Ian said. “I’d rather die than let them take ye.”
Marjorie bit her lip, fighting to stop the panic from her memory taking her over now.
“The evil king was winning,” she continued her story to Colin. “His men infiltrated the castle and swarmed the courtyard like wasps. Seaghán wanted to get his sister on the boat, evacuating the women and children of their clan. But just as he got her out of the castle and close to the boat, a band of the king’s warriors reached him.”
She squeezed her son’s hand and buried her nose in his hair, inhaling the clean, herbal scent of him.
“One had a great sword, the other a spear, the third an ax. They came at him all at once, from three sides just as his sister got on the boat. The boatsman pushed the boat off the shore and began rowing away. Seaghán’s sister watched in horror as he fought the three men. He killed the one with the sword, but while he fought the axman, the man with the spear wounded his shoulder. The last thing his sister saw before the boat arrived at the opposite shore and she had to run together with the other women and children, was that Seaghán had been gravely wounded near his heart and had stopped moving.”
She wiped the tears from one cheek, and Colin reached and wiped them from the other.
“Did he die?” he said.
Marjorie nodded. “The clan had to retreat after that, leaving their seat to their enemy, and their hero’s body as well. He died saving his sister.”
Not just his sister, but his nephew, too. And she’d never forget that.
She glanced at the shadows. Thank you for watching over him, Ian.
She kissed Colin’s forehead and tucked him in. “Good night, my sweet, let yer dreams be restful and safe. The heroes of yer clan are watching over ye.”
She blew out the candle and walked to the door, leaving only the dim light of the glowing embers in the fireplace to illuminate the room.
“Ma?” Colin called after her.
“Aye, son?” She turned around.
“Seaghán is Uncle Ian, isna he? And ye are his sister?”
She let out a shaky breath. He was too smart for his age.
“Aye, sweet.”
“I would have liked to meet him.”
“I would have liked ye to meet him, too.”
She wished him good night for the last time and walked out of his room. She leaned against the door after she closed it and simply breathed for a moment. She was safe. She was all right. Thanks to Ian. Thanks to all the men of her clan. Men she could trust.
While Colin would never have a father as a male role model, and she’d never trust a man with her heart, her son did have plenty of great warriors to learn from, like Marjorie’s father and brothers. That was enough.
Chapter 7
After a night in the castle, Konnor’s confidence that this was some sort of reclusive community was fading. He looked out the window and saw the guards on the walls. They appeared way too serious and way too armed to be playing around. If this were a role-playing game, how long would these people keep up the pretense? If this were a closed community, wouldn’t they still have to have some connection to the outside world?
If they really expected a siege—and judging by their somber expressions, one was coming—that meant there was another group of people who lived the same way.
They couldn’t be completely isolated. Growing and keeping food required gardens, crops, and animals. Yes, there were animals in the courtyard, but he hadn’t seen gardens or fields around the castle. They must buy that stuff from a grocery store.
Something was off. Everything in the room looked like it had been made by hand: the blanket, the bed, the chests, and the torches. There had to be a logical explanation to all of this. There was one possible explanation, but Konnor completely refused to believe it. It was there, nevertheless.
