Highland Intrigue (Duncurra Book Book 3) (23 page)

“Please come in, Tira. Thank ye,” Fingal said.

She walked to the bed, took one of Gillian’s hands in hers, and felt her forehead with the other. “Fallon said ye lost a bairn last week. I am so very sorry for ye. She says ye have been very tired. Are ye still bleeding, my lady?”

“Nay, that stopped a day or so ago.”

“And was it very heavy for long?”

“Not really. Not after the first day or two.”

Tira palpated Gillian’s belly. “Do ye have any pain here?”

“Nay.”

“And ye have been overly tired since the bleeding started?”

“I have been tired since a week or so before that.”

“’Twas that and the nausea that made us think she was carrying,” offered Lana.

“I think that is the worst part. I thought the sick feeling would go away after I...lost the baby.”

Tira frowned. “Did it not?”

“Nay. It is almost worse. Rhiannon, she is a healer, she’s given me a packet of herbs to make a tisane that helps a little.”

“What herbs does she use?”

Lana smiled. “She says it is her secret blend but it doesn’t take much skill to know it contains mint, thyme, comfrey, and chamomile. I added some willow bark when the pains were bad in the beginning.”

“All of those should help settle yer stomach. Would ye like me to brew ye some now?”

“Nay, I had some just before ye came. I just want to sleep now.” Gillian patted the bed. Bodie hopped up, settling himself beside her. “Fingal, please return to our guests.”

“Just long enough to assure everyone ye are well. I will be back in a few moments.”

“I’ll stay with her ’till ye return,” Lana said.

“Perhaps it would be best if we all left and let her sleep, Lana,” her husband said, holding the door open for Lana and Tira to pass.

With Bodie’s solid warmth beside her, Gillian fell instantly asleep.

~ * ~

Once they were in the corridor Fingal asked, “Tira, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“It isn’t just the miscarriage?” Lana asked.

“I don’t think so. The fatigue and mild dizziness might be normal for a few days, especially if she had lost a lot of blood, but it doesn’t sound as if she did. Sometimes, a fever will set in after a miscarriage, but she doesn’t seem to have one. Besides, her belly would hurt with it and she has no pain. The thing that is most puzzling is the nausea. Morning sickness should have stopped immediately. Occasionally a lass will have bleeding like when she hasn’t actually miscarried, but she isn’t pregnant.”

Fingal frowned. “If this isn’t still a result of the miscarriage, what could it be?”

“I don’t know. This Rhiannon is a healer ye say? Has she examined Lady Gillian?”

“Nay. We thought this was all because of the miscarriage.”

“I’ll go for her first thing in the morning,” Lana said.

After Tira had examined her the previous evening, Fingal had been close to panic. He lay beside her throughout the night, but could not sleep. He couldn’t imagine what was causing her to be so ill and it terrified him. It had been a little more than two weeks since she started having the first signs of pregnancy and just ten days since her miscarriage and yet she seemed to be fading away. She was pale and much too thin. He had heard of wasting illnesses like this and prayed fervently through the night that she did not have one—that she would wake in the morning refreshed.

But when Gillian woke the next morning little had changed. Unlike the previous days, she was so weary she didn’t even attempt to get out of bed, not that he would have let her. Lana was true to her word and fetched Rhiannon shortly after daybreak. Just as Tira had the night before, Rhiannon examined her, asking many of the same questions.

She too spoke with Fingal and Lana in the corridor.

“Laird, I believe she suffers from melancholia, perhaps brought on by the miscarriage.”

“Aye, she is sad. The miscarriage came as a blow to both of us. But it is the nausea and the fatigue that has me concerned. Surely sadness isn’t causing that.”

Lana’s brow furrowed. “Rhiannon, how could it be melancholia? She was heartbroken after Duncan was killed. We all were, but she pushed through and did what had to be done. Then Meara died and she was forced to marry. None of these things brought on melancholia. Surely something else is wrong now.

“Lana, perhaps all of those things led to this and it has only been made worse by the miscarriage. Her humors are out of balance because of the excess bleeding. An abundance of black bile causes melancholia.”

“What can be done to help her?”

“Old Laird MacRae had a physician in his employ for many years. I learned much of my skills from him. He would have treated an excess of black bile with a purgative.”

Fingal groaned. Gillian had been through so much he hated the idea of putting her through more with a purgative.

Rhiannon went on. “However, I am not sure that is what she needs. Since the humoral imbalance was caused by losing too much blood, we need to build up her blood.”

Fingal sighed in relief. “So we just need to make sure she rests until she is stronger?”

“Oh, nay, that is the last thing she needs. If ye leave her to rest in bed, she will become a target for the devil himself. Old
Cluitie
likes nothing more than to swim in a bath of black bile. He will take her soul for certain if ye leave her idle. Work is what she needs to build up her blood and keep the devil away. Ye must get her up and have her do as much of her daily routine as ye can.”

“But that is what she has been doing and she only grows worse,” Lana said.

“Still, ’tis the best thing for her, Lana.”

“We had been planning to travel to Duncurra today for the Roodmas celebration and Rowan MacKenzie’s wedding to Eara Fraser,” Fingal said. “After she collapsed last eve I had decided against it but if normal activity is what she needs, perhaps we should go. Niall’s wife, Katherine, is an excellent healer. Perhaps she will know something that will help as well.”

Rhiannon looked momentarily horrified. “Nay, work is one thing, travel is something else. Going to a strange place where there will be throngs of people celebrating a wedding is the worst thing she could do. It will just remind her painfully of her losses. The black bile will simply increase. Ye will be practically inviting
Cluitie
to the wedding. Nay, she mustn’t travel to Duncurra now. Keep her here, in her own home, doing her normal routine and she will snap out of this. Lana, do ye have the packet of herbs I gave ye? Have ye been giving her the tisane?”

“Aye, she says it helps some with the nausea. At least for a bit.”

“Good. Keep giving her that for now. I will mix a new blend when I get home and add a bit of St. John’s wort. It’s said to repel the devil. Send someone for it later this afternoon. If she is not better in a few days, it will be a sign that Satan has taken hold of her. We will have to be more aggressive at driving him out. I sense a darkness around her and I fear the worst if we don’t act quickly.”

When Fingal went back into the room, he was relieved to see Gillian had gotten out of bed and was dressing. He didn’t want to scare her with Rhiannon’s dire predictions and if she kept to her normal routine, he saw no reason to.

“Don’t tell me to stay in bed, Fingal. I don’t think I can stand it. Besides, we are travelling to Duncurra today. I need to get ready.”

Fingal smiled, wrapping her in his arms. Perhaps Rhiannon was right. “I won’t tell ye to stay in bed, love. Maybe continuing to do what ye always have is best. Still, I don’t think we should travel.”

“But ye were going to speak with Laird MacKenzie about a betrothal for Fallon and Quinn.” Even as she protested, he felt her body relax in relief.

“Now that Bran MacBain is here, Diarmad will return to Duncurra. I will send a letter to Laird MacKenzie and ask Diarmad to represent me in discussions. Quinn himself is more than capable of helping his father see the benefits of this marriage.

After Gillian was downstairs and attempting her normal routine, Fingal sought out both men. Diarmad was discussing the ongoing training of Brathanead’s warriors with Bran and the other guardsmen.

As Fingal approached them, Diarmad stopped addressing the men. “Laird, how is Lady Gillian this morning?”

“She is no worse. Rhiannon has been to see her and thinks she will be fine with time.” Fingal heard the doubt in his own voice.

Diarmad frowned. “Is she up for the journey? We can set a slow pace. Perhaps it will be good for Lady Katherine to see her.”

Fingal sighed. He fully agreed. Most healers, like Rhiannon, believed that the power of evil was the root of a great many illnesses. Evil certainly was present in the world. Like most people, he prayed for protection from Satan and his malevolence. Therefore Rhiannon’s belief about the source of Gillian’s illness seemed reasonable and was consistent with much of his experience with healers. That was until he met Katherine.

She treated illnesses among the MacIans with an array of herbs, potions, and poultices just like many other healers, and she often prayed for God’s aid in healing, but she never mentioned driving out the devil. “I would love to have Katherine’s opinion but Gillian isn’t well enough for the journey. I thought we could take a wagon, so she wouldn’t have to sit a horse for so many hours. However, Rhiannon says she shouldn’t make the journey.”

“Not even in a wagon? We can make a comfortable place for her to rest and go very slow. It is only a half-day’s ride at a regular pace.”

“Rhiannon believes that the best thing for her is stay here doing what she normally does. If the journey made her worse, I could never forgive myself.

Eadoin said, “Rhiannon is an experienced healer. Most of the clan sought aid from Agnes because she lived in the village and was more accessible. Still there are those who always turned to Rhiannon, my wife included.”

Fingal nodded. “That is why I am unwilling to risk Gillian’s health with the journey.”

“Then there is only one answer,” Diarmad said. “I will ask Niall to bring Katherine here when Quinn and the other men return after the wedding. It should only be a week. If Gillian is improving by then, she will enjoy the visit. If not, Katherine may be able to help.”

Well over a week passed and Quinn had not returned with Niall and Katherine. Neither was Gillian any better. Rhiannon visited daily. She added more herbs to the tisane and instructed Lana to see that Gillian drank it three times a day. Strong and committed to overcoming her illness, Gillian continued to push herself but it became harder every day. She was getting worse and Fingal was beside himself.

He discussed it with Tira MacBain, who like Fallon and Lana stepped in to help with the running of the keep.

“I have heard of melancholia occurring after a miscarriage, sometimes even after a live healthy birth. Some say it is the devil’s work. I don’t know.”

“Do ye think encouraging her to keep doing what she usually does is the right thing? She seems so very tired.”

“When I have seen it, staying abed hasn’t made it better. Usually, it passes after a time. I just don’t understand why she is so sick. I’m sorry, Laird, I don’t know what to do.”

Then on the Friday before Pentecost, he began to lose hope. For the first time in over three weeks since the miscarriage, Gillian refused to get out of bed.

“Fingal, I can’t. I am too tired. My head aches and the light hurts my eyes. Everything seems too bright and oddly green.”

“Please, love, I know ye feel terrible but Rhiannon says ye will not get better if ye don’t get up.”

“I don’t care what Rhiannon says,” she snapped. “Getting up every day and trying to ignore whatever is making me ill hasn’t worked so far.”

“Just sit in the chair for a bit. Perhap ye will feel stronger then.”

“Why are ye pushing me like this?” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t force myself anymore. I just need to rest.”

Tears stung the back of his eyes. He hated seeing her so ill. He knelt next to the bed, taking her hands in his. “Sweetling, Rhiannon says it will only get worse if ye stay in bed.”

“Sleep has always been the cure for tiredness. When did that change?”

There was nothing to do but tell her Rhiannon’s fears. “She thinks it is more than just tiredness. She believes ye are suffering melancholia and to stay abed will allow it to fully take hold. Please let me help ye up.”

He started to lift her from the bed. “Nay, Fingal!” she yelled. Bodie growled at him. “Leave me be!” She started to sob.

“Wheesht, love,” he crooned, stroking her cheek. Forcing her to get up—upsetting her so—couldn’t be good for her. “I will let ye rest. Please, stop crying.” When she had quieted, he washed her face with a cool cloth.

Then she said the words that chilled his soul. “I’m sorry, Fingal. I don’t think I can get better.”

“Nay, I won’t hear ye say those words. Ye will get better. I am sending for Katherine immediately. She will know what to do.”

He sent a servant for someone to sit with Gillian. After he sent for Katherine, he would visit Rhiannon to see if there was anything else to do.

Fallon arrived in a few minutes and once he was sure Gillian was as comfortable as possible, he sought out Eadoin. He would trust no one else to carry the message to Duncurra. Eadoin left immediately. Fingal too saddled Con and rode out of Brathanead. Coby and Tarmon stood watch at the gate. “Laird, where are ye going?” called Tarmon, but Fingal didn’t answer. He had but one thought, to help Gillian in any way he could.

He arrived at Rhiannon’s cottage in a few minutes. Her little dog, Blaze, announced his presence before he reached the door. He raised his hand to knock, but she opened it before he had the chance.

She smiled. “Laird, this is a surprise. Come in. Sit down.”

He entered the cottage. “She is worse, Rhiannon. I can’t get her out of bed today. When Quinn and Diarmad left for Duncurra, even though I had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, I asked them to bring Lady Katherine MacIan back after the wedding. She is a very gifted healer. I don’t know why it has taken so long. The wedding was to have been last week. I have sent an urgent message for her to come now but I’m worried. Rhiannon, she has given up.” He couldn’t keep the dread he felt out of his voice. “There must be something else to do. I’m begging ye.”

“Laird, I feared this. The devil is taking hold of her.”

“Don’t say that. There must be something to do.”

Rhiannon thought for a moment. “Well, I know a few of the old ways—charms and the like. Mind ye, we must make sure to use our faith in God as well or old
Cluitie
will make his own use of them.”

It was a measure of his desperation that he said, “I will do anything. Please, I need to keep her alive until Katherine gets here.”

Rhiannon nodded. “Very well. I will tell ye what ye need to do. Ye know that the rowan tree was sacred in the old ways. Even now, people place great store in its ability to ward off evil. If we need to turn the devil back, I reckon a rowan charm is the best way.”

“What do ye need to make it? I will get it for ye.”

“Ye have to be the one to make it, Laird. Ye will need to cut two small twigs, each about the same length, from a rowan. Cut no more than that. Never take more off a rowan tree than ye need. Ye will bind the twigs together, with red thread, into the shape of St. Andrew’s cross. Then we will have Father Stephen bless it and we will bind it over her heart with a red ribbon.”

“Is that all? That is simple enough.”

“There is a bit more to it. Ye need to pray to the Blessed Mother and all the angels as ye are cutting the twigs.”

“I have been praying constantly anyway. That will pose no problem.”

“Also, ye need to cut the twigs from a rowan tree that ye have never laid eyes on before and the stronger the tree, the stronger its protection.”

“How can I tell a strong tree from a weak one?”

“Strong trees grow in inhospitable places, in rocky soil or better yet out of a crag or cliff wall. Lucky for us, I know of just such a tree and I will warrant ye have never seen it. It isn’t far from here. Perhaps an hour’s walk or less.”

“Can ye ride with me? There is no time to waste.”

Although he meant no insult, her tone told him that he had affronted her in some way. “Aye, Laird, I am perfectly capable of sitting a horse. Let me just get my walking stick. The terrain near the cliff is rough and I wouldn’t want to lose my footing.”

After she had fetched her stick, he lifted her onto Con’s back and mounted behind her. He took a trail that led northward and soon the trees thinned and he could see the edge of the cliff rising ahead of them.

“Now just turn eastward a bit. The tree I’m thinking of isn’t far from here.”

This was the general area where they had killed the boar weeks ago. She was right. Because of his accident, he had not seen the cliff that day.

“Here, now. We will need to walk the rest of the way.”

He dismounted and lifted Rhiannon from the saddle. Using her walking stick, she began to pick her way carefully toward the cliff’s edge. He looped Con’s reins around the branches of a small shrub and followed.

When they neared the edge she said, “Aye, this is the spot. I fear I am not steady enough on my feet to draw closer to the edge, but if ye just lean out a bit, near that boulder, ye will see it growing from a fissure there.”

Fingal did as she said. Holding onto the boulder for balance, he leaned out. Sure enough, a young rowan grew out of a fissure but it was far enough away he wasn’t sure he could reach it. He turned to tell her so and was struck full force in the chest by her walking stick. Losing his balance he fell backwards over the edge of the cliff.