Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) (23 page)

“She is yours, made from your seed.”

Duncan froze.

Davina’s face appeared from beneath her cloak, an unsettling smile twisted her thin lips. “Aye, ‘tis a bonny lass we made, but she is not for us. She is for the fairfolk, to appease their lust.”

She scampered along the wall, dragging Nellore who screamed with fright. But then Davina stopped and pulled Nellore into her arms, cradling her. She sang the same tortured refrain that had drifted to him on the wind outside Brenna’s hut. Tears trailed down Davina’s cheeks, and Duncan felt pity surround his heart. She embodied suffering. Her soul was lost, but he could see the mother hidden deep beneath the folds of madness.

“Give me the child, Davina. I will keep her safe.”

“Nay,” Davina wailed, banging her head into the rock wall. Then glassy eyes turned on him as she pulled a dagger from her cloak. Nellore fell to the ground as Davina lunged toward him, her vile scent filling his nostrils. Duncan stepped to the side, avoiding the thrusting blade and seized Nellore while Davina crumbled to the ground.

He sidled through the narrow tunnel and placed Nellore into Ronan’s arms. “Take her and run. Get her out of here.”

Then Duncan turned around and hastened back to Davina through the narrow pass. She was a shriveled mass of shadow and sorrow. Pain ripped from her mouth in sobs that once again filled his heart with pity.

He knelt by her side.

“Davina,” he said, “come with me. I know those who could help you. Give you warm food and clean robes.”

She looked at him, her hard eyes blazing, rabid with anger.

“Get out,” she screamed. “Get out.” Her cold breath hit his skin as she screamed the words over and over again.

Duncan shook his head and stood. “’Tis a pity,” he whispered.

With a heavy heart he began to squeeze through the cramped space. The distant sound of Nellore’s cries beckoned his gaze, but when he turned away from Davina her shrill laughter stung his ears and a sharp pain shot through his back. The metallic smell of blood assailed his nostrils, mingling with the putrid smell as he stumbled through the cave. His head felt like crude metal, burdening his neck and shoulders with its dizzying weight, but he kept his eyes trained on the entrance and fought to stay on his feet. Filth and odor surrounded him like an enemy in the darkness.

Then, at long last, he emerged and fresh air filled his lungs. His eyes found his daughter’s face and beheld her black curls so like his own. With a full heart, he reached for her, but then cold rushed to his fingertips, and he sank into darkness.

Chapter 25

Anna rested but only after her body was drained of tears and her only recourse was sleep. Brenna could only imagine the relief Bridget felt to have Anna safe within the thick walls of the keep. Smoothing a lock of hair from Anna’s face, Brenna said, “Your daughter will rest, Bridget, and wake in a few hours as blithe and joyful as ever.”

Bridget nodded as she covered Anna with yet another blanket. “A little of her whimsy will have vanished like a gossamer web in the rain. Despite how hard anyone may try, life does not allow us to remain children forever.”

Brenna turned away as her empty arms hung limp. Anna’s description of the vile woman who stole Nellore filled Brenna’s mind once more. When Anna had first came to in Brenna’s hut, she had been delivered from unconsciousness into a new darkness. Anna had sobbed as she spoke of the attack.

Having thrown another cut of peat on the flames, Anna had returned to her seat at Brenna’s table with her mug cradled in her hands. Just as she brought the cup to her lips an odor like death wafted into her nostrils. At that moment, Anna knew. Her head whipped around, expecting to find a cloaked figure by the door, but instead a grinning face hovered a breath from her own. Glassy eyes agleam with venom blurred into hazy memory as a sharp pain shattered Anna’s consciousness.

The weight of horror overwhelmed Brenna yet again, and she stumbled back against the hard stone of the castle wall. A new wave a nausea assailed her stomach as she sunk into the darkest chasms of Hell where she imagined her daughter cowered in the presence of madness.

Sobs shook her body. Bridget’s soothing words navigated around the tortured screams of Brenna’s soul.

“What if they do not find her?” Brenna wept.

“Wait”, Bridget said as her hand flew to cover Brenna’s mouth, smothering her next lament. “Listen.”

Commotion barreled down the hallway with a child’s wail at the fore of the din. “Nellore”, Brenna shouted as she scrambled to her feet. Before she could reach the door, it swung wide as Ronan pushed inside, cradling Nellore in his arms.

Brenna grabbed her child to her bosom as she sank to the ground, trembling and sobbing with unspeakable relief. Her heart filled and then broke again as Nellore clung to her in terror. She continued to rock her daughter as she tried to see past Ronan.

“Where is Duncan”, she asked.

It was then Kenneth stepped into the room with Duncan in his arms. “He is here”, Kenneth said. “Lady Bridget, he is in great need of your talents.”

Brenna gasped as she stared at Duncan’s bleeding, limp form draped over Kenneth’s shoulder.

“God’s blood, Kenneth. You were ordered to await your lady in the hall.” Ronan said. Kenneth’s gaze settled on Anna, but Ronan moved to block his view. “Speak of what you’ve seen to no one, not even to Cormac.”

Kenneth nodded and turned from the room with Bridget at his heels.

“Ronan?” Brenna said, her eyes pleading.

“Tend to your daughter, Brenna. She must be bathed. When she has been comforted and put to bed then I will take you to Duncan.”

“Ronan, please?” she begged, searching his face for reassurance, but he shook his head as his mouth settled into a grim line. “A tub and hot water will be brought to the room across the hall. Wait for the chore to be finished before you open the door. Only by remaining unseen will we avoid scrutiny while I fabricate an excuse. When Nellore is clean lay her next to Anna. The child should not be left alone.” With that, he turned and departed.

Brenna stared after him, dumbstruck, but then Nellore’s trembling drew her focus. The odor wafting from her daughter’s tunic assailed her nostrils. Not waiting for the tub to arrive, she stripped the filth from Nellore’s wee body and flung the offensive fabric into the hearth. Wrapped in a blanket, Nellore buried her face in the crook of Brenna’s neck.

After Nellore was bathed and resting peacefully beside Anna, Brenna’s thoughts turned once again toward Duncan. Fear for his life consumed her as she hurried from the room.

Father Colin sat near the large hearth in the great hall. She was halfway across the room when he noticed her. “My child,” he said as he stood, “the lady of the keep awaits you in her rooms.”

“Thank you, Father”, Brenna said as she hasten toward the stairwell. She did not stop running until she pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. Brenna was familiar with Bridget’s sitting room. The large fireplace crackled with fresh wood and tapestries covered the walls, but there was no one to be found. Panic gripped her heart.

Then her eyes were drawn to a door on the far side of the room half-hidden by a faded tapestry. She sucked in her breath as she lunged for the door. Flinging it wide, she collapsed to her knees when she took in the scene before her. Duncan lay on a large bed with blankets pulled to his waist. Fresh linens circled his chest. He was clean and his face appeared peaceful as Bridget stood nearby, waving a gorse branch over his wound all the while muttering something under her breath.

His chest rose and lowered again as his breath released. With every breath he took, she was pulled closer to his side.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Brenna,” Bridget said without opening her eyes.

Brenna’s hand shook as she touched Duncan’s face. His skin was warm, wonderfully warm. She collapsed at his side with a smile, taking his hand in hers.

“Duncan,” she said. “’Tis I, Brenna.”

He lay so still but for the steady rise of his chest.

“Why does he not wake?” Brenna asked.

“I cannot say, lass. His wound is deep but clean, and the bleeding has stopped. He has no fever. His breathing is shallow but regular.”

“But he will wake, Bridget. He has no fever, no infection. ‘Tis only a matter of time before he wakes.”

A sad smile passed Bridget’s lips as she bent and brushed a kiss across Brenna’s cheek. “You shall pray to your God, and I shall pray to mine. One of us should find a god willing to save a man as good as Duncan,” she said. Then she turned and exited the room.

Brenna’s eyes returned to Duncan’s face. His skin glowed in the firelight. Black curls spread over his pillow, and black lashes rested against his cheeks. She brushed a wayward lock that had fallen across his forehead. As she gazed at him, so many words drifted through her mind—savior, lover, friend. Tears rushed from her eyes. She had never thought of any man as a friend before, not even Ewan.

“Duncan,” she said, shaking him. “’Tis time. You must wake.”

She watched for some movement, a flutter of lashes, anything.

She shook him again, harder. “Duncan, wake up.”

Still he did not move.

“Duncan,” she shouted, shaking him with desperate ferocity, tears blinding her eyes. “Duncan, please,” she whimpered.

Then she froze. “Fool,” she snapped as she hastened to lift his back and peek beneath his bandage as a new fear choked the breath from her body. With heart stopping relief, she judged his wound had not reopened from her jostling.

“Thank you, God,” she cried as she pressed her lips to his. Her tears bathed his face. She climbed into bed beside him and wrapped her arms around his neck as she whispered desperate pleas into his ear.

***

“Brenna,” Bridget said from the doorway. “You’ve not left this room for three days.”

“Save your strength for another task, Bridget. I am not leaving,” Brenna replied, her eyes not shifting from Duncan’s face.

“It’ll do him no good to take ill yourself. You’ve not slept nor have you eaten. Brenna, ‘tis my command. If you refuse, I will summon the guard to drag you away.”

Brenna met Bridget’s steel gaze and knew her lady would not hesitate to carry out her threat.

“What if he wakes and I am not here?” Brenna whispered.

“I shall stay. I promise if he demonstrates even the slightest sign of waking, I shall have you fetched without delay.” She wrapped her arm around Brenna’s shoulder. “Go downstairs. There is broth and fresh bread waiting for you. Eat. Then take a turn in the courtyard, or, better yet, visit my gardens. Bluebells still bloom. You shall find peace there.”

Brenna’s legs shook as she wound down the narrow stone stairs. Fatigue and hunger sapped her strength. She could give her heart to despair but not her body. She needed to maintain her strength if for no one else then for Nellore. The hall was empty for which she knew she had Bridget to thank. After sipping down most of the broth, Brenna grabbed the bread and crossed the hall to the stairs leading down to the kitchens and then out into the gardens.

She blinked when she first stepped into the bright sunlight. The day was crisp, and the air held the promise of winter. The glory of the flower beds receded into memory with only shrinking blossoms and thinning leaves left to admire. Still, the meandering pathways coaxed her along like an encouraging friend and eventually led her through perfumed beds of resilient heather and yellow gorse. She inhaled the brisk, scented air as she stumbled upon the remains of a Bluebell garden. The flowers eased her soul, just as Bridget said they would. For the first time in days, her despair lifted, and she felt full of hope for Duncan’s recovery.

She whirled around as she heard someone approach. She could not see above the hedge row, but through the thinning leaves she glimpsed a tall figure cloaked in the MacKinnon plaid. Her heart hammered in her chest as a smile spread wide across her face.

Duncan.

Laughter danced from her lips as she rushed to the end of the row. Tears of joy filled her eyes, but she stopped short as she turned the corner. Her smile faltered. Ronan stood before her, his face troubled.

Her heart caught in her throat. “I beg you tell me what news you bring before my courage fails,” she whispered.

“He is unchanged, Brenna,” Ronan said. “I’ve come to discuss another matter.” He took a deep breath and then grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a stone bench. She sat beside her laird, staring at her hand, which still rested in his. She felt as wee as Nellore next to his massive frame.

“I could not follow Duncan to the place from which he freed Nellore. My size did not permit passage. I was forced to wait in the shadows and do naught but listen. A fey creature is not to blame for this misery. She was as human as you and I, but madness claimed her mind, laying waste to her body and soul.” His hand squeezed hers before he continued. Brenna sensed his discomfort. “Her body gave life to Nellore, but she was no mother. She planned to return Nellore to the fairfolk.”

Brenna shuddered as she imagined her daughter once more abandoned on the moors, starved, her life stolen.

“I’ve more to tell, Brenna,” Ronan confessed.

Brenna straightened her spine as she met Ronan’s gaze. “I set out this morn to capture the lass. I planned to send her to the prison on the Isle of Canna, but instead
I found her lying broken at the mouth of her cave. Whether urged by her own suffering or bade by the voices in her mind, she threw herself from the cliffs above.”