Keeper of my Heart (32 page)

“Are you sure it is not in anything we bring him?”

Màiri picked up the pitcher of ale Donald had brought with him and held it. Nothing. “The ale is fine.”

“But you did na taste it, milady. I can get one of the cats to sample it and if it does na sicken…”

She squared her shoulders. “I do na need an animal to know there is nothing wrong with the ale, Donald. Just as I did na need to see little Roby fall in the stream to know he was drowning.”

She watched Donald’s eyes grow large, an expression of wariness coming over his face. “Or the night you knew my mother was dying?”

He instinctively took one step away from her and shook his head. “Ah, nay, mistress. Nay.”

She nodded, then walked to the window to watch the sun sink low in the sky. There would be a full moon tonight. In a few hours she could stand here and make a wish while the moon fairy gathered her dust. A wish that would end up like all the others. “It is a gift I have, Donald. I was born with it, as was my mother. I would know if the food were poisoned.”

“You must not say such things, mistress. You could be in grave danger if—”

“It is already too late, Donald. Roderick knows. And he will na pass up such an opportunity to use the knowledge in every way harmful.” She turned around to look Donald in the eyes. “You must protect your laird. We canna let him die.”

“Will you be able to cure him once you find out what he has been given?”

She shook her head. “I do na know. Perhaps, if there is a cure. Only Yseult will know for sure.”

“Perhaps it is not Roderick. Perhaps it is someone else and we will find who is trying to poison our laird and punish him.”

“It is Roderick, Donald. Do na be blind to his hatred too long, or it will cost your laird his life.”

Donald shook his head as he walked to the door, then turned around. “We will na lose our laird to a traitor. When it is his time to die, it will be in battle for the sake of peace. Not like this.”

With those words, Donald left the room and closed the door behind him. Màiri sat in her chair beside the bed to wait until Iain awoke. She folded her hands across her stomach and touched the smooth, stone bracelet still in her pocket. Its appearance was still a mystery. Someone had left it on her pillow for a reason. She did not believe in witchcraft or ghosts. She knew Adele had not come back from the dead to talk to her. She wished whoever it was would reveal its purpose. She wished they would reveal how she could expose Roderick before he killed Iain.

Màiri closed her eyes and fell asleep, her hand still clutched around the stones.

. . .

The hour was late before he stirred, almost time to go down to eat their evening meal. “How do you feel, Iain?” she whispered, feeling his forehead, thankful it was cool to her touch.

“Better. At least my head does na feel as if there is a broadaxe still embedded in it.”

“Here, drink this potion, then I will give you the ale Donald brought for you.”

He drank the ale laced with feverfew, then lay back on the bed with a heavy sigh. “It is too late to keep your gift hidden now. You know that, don’t you?”

His words were as ominous as a bell tolling a death watch. “It was too late long ago. As soon as Roderick discovered it.”

“God’s teeth, woman. Why do you hate him so?”

“Open your eyes and see, Iain,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “Roderick will na rest until you are dead and he is laird of clan MacAlister.”

“Does your gift tell you this?”

“My
gift
shows me all forms of lies and truth; love and hatred; happiness and bitterness. Aye, my gift tells me this. It shows me all of Roderick’s lies and his hatred and bitterness toward you.”

“You call your powers a gift, but ’tis not. ’Tis a curse. A curse that makes you as dangerous as Yseult.”

She grasped the corner of the table to steady herself. “I am not a witch, Iain. I canna cast spells. I canna harm anyone. I canna tell what is yet to come. I could na predict that little Roby was going to fall into the stream. I only knew it after it had happened, and even then I did na know who it was. I can sense emotions only when they are already there to feel.”

“It na longer matters what you can or canna do. Everyone in the courtyard thinks you possess special powers. They fear you, Màiri.”

She turned to face him. “My gift saved little Roby’s life!”

“And what if I had pulled him from the stream too late? Would his mother have thanked you then? Or cursed you?”

“You tell me, laird. These are your people. They will believe what you believe. Do you think me a witch?”

“Enough!” He slammed his fist down beside him on the bed. “It does na matter what I think.”

Bitterness filled her heart. “Then to whom does it matter? Roderick?”

His eyes narrowed. “Careful, wife. That is my brother you malign.”

“He is your enemy. He means to destroy you.”

“Nay! You do na understand. It is my fault he harbors such feelings. It is my fault that…”

“Why? Because of Adele?”

He turned his face away from her. “We have said enough.”

She waited a long time before she moved, praying he would tell her why he held such guilt. Somehow she knew it involved Adele, and Roderick’s wife had taken the terrible secret with her to her grave.

He breathed a heavy sigh, his exhaustion obvious. “Why is it, my Màiri,” he said, closing his eyes, “that I fear things will never be as they were before?”

“Because they cannot,” she replied, her voice hollow. ”You will have to choose in the end, Iain. Your brother or your wife.”

She helped him dress, pinning the MacAlister brooch on the tartan across his shoulder and fastening the sheath that held his dagger at his side. All the time he did not say a word to her.

Màiri knew it would be this way. His stubbornness would not allow him to forget their angry words, and his pride would not allow him to admit her words had merit.

They walked down the stone steps, the familiar droning of voices from the warriors already gathered in the hall to eat their evening meal a welcoming sound.

“Do na do anything that might draw attention to yourself,” Iain warned. “There is enough confusion about what happened this afternoon already.”

Màiri lifted her head. She would not cower before Iain or his people. She was not ashamed of the gift her mother had given her.

She stepped through the wide, stone-arched doorway and faced the stares from the crowded room. Voices dropped to a low whisper, then stopped altogether. Every warrior and serving lass in the long room turned to look at their laird with concern on their faces, then focused on her.

She made her way across the hall, following only a step behind her husband. Roderick was already there, the look of anticipation brightening his face. Only the soft crunching of their feet on the rushes on the floor broke the oppressive silence. A few of the warriors crossed themselves when she passed. Word of how she’d known young Roby was drowning had spread to everyone in the castle. Even those who had earlier thought there was a logical explanation for the mistress’s odd behavior now had their doubts.

“Are you all right, Iain?” Roderick asked quietly when they reached the dais.

“Aye. I am fine.” Iain looked at the rows of silent warriors, their platters half eaten. “Weren’t you telling one of your tales, Guthred?” Iain said to the old warrior, the tone of his voice commanding everyone to continue as before.

“Aye. I was telling of the time your father and I rode with the Macleans onto English soil.”

When the room buzzed with talk once more, Iain motioned for a serving girl to bring a platter of meat and cheese.

“I saw Stewart MacAlister on my way,” Roderick said, reaching for a wedge of cheese. “He said little Roby is doing fine, although Magda has na let him out of her sight since you saved him.”

“She is lucky he is still here to watch over. He was lying face down in the water when I reached him.”

One of the serving girls, a young lass named Carmen, made a wide circle, staying to Iain’s right to avoid coming too near Màiri. With trembling hands, she placed a platter of steaming meat on the edge of the table in front of Iain, then quickly backed away.

Iain reached for the platter, but just as the girl was ready to set it down, Donald asked him a question, drawing his attention away. Màiri reached for the platter first.
Nothing.
Reassured that everything else on the table was safe, she passed the food to him, then took some for herself.

“Such care you take of our laird, milady,” Roderick whispered softly.

“I told you before I would na let anything happen to him, Roderick.” She smiled. “And I will na.”

To anyone watching, Roderick’s smile would have seemed warm and cordial. Only Màiri could feel the malice that ate away at his heart.

She lifted a piece of warm bread to her mouth, forcing herself to swallow the morsel. She’d never been under such intense scrutiny in her life, even on the first day she’d come to them. Every warrior in the room feigned interest in the conversations around them but their gazes constantly lifted to study her, their mistrust and suspicions blatant in the looks they gave her. She held her head high and filled her plate as if she had the appetite to eat what she’d taken.

Another young serving lass approached their table with a pitcher of ale, her timidity and fearfulness even more evident than the girl before her. When she neared, Màiri smiled reassuringly, but from the trembling of the girl’s lower lip, the overture had not helped.

Màiri lifted Iain’s goblet first, letting the girl fill it with ale. She opened her gift to make sure it was safe to drink.
Nothing.
Next, she lifted her own goblet. Before the girl finished filling it, Roderick stuck out his cup, making sure he drank from the same pitcher of ale as the rest. He was taunting her, making sport of her gift that would tell her if Iain was in danger.

With a grin on his face, he took a long sip of the ale, then called the girl back to refill his goblet. Forced to return to the table, the poor girl refilled Roderick’s goblet, her unease painful to watch.

As the last droplets of ale poured into his cup, a loud clank hit the inside of the metal pitcher. The girl looked down as a bracelet of smooth, polished green stones just like the one Màiri had in her pocket rolled out in front of Roderick and hit the table with a heavy thud.

The girl stared at the stones with a startled look then picked it up and held it in her hand. “It is one of Adele’s,” she said in awe, turning the trinket over in her hand. “You never saw her when she was na wearing one of her bracelets of pretty green stones. It is a miracle. How did you do it, mistress?” she asked, looking at Màiri.

The air caught in Màiri’s throat. All she could do was shake her head in denial. To her left, Roderick pushed his chair away from the table as if he’d been burned, then lunged forward and snatched the bracelet out of the girl’s grasp. “Where did you get this?” he bellowed.

“I do na know. I canna imagine how it got there.”

Roderick clenched it in his fist then dropped it on the table before him and stared at it. His mouth pursed to a taut, thin line, his tenseness turning his face a deep purple. Ever so slowly, he picked it up and let it dangle from his fingers as if it were repulsive to touch.

“You did this,” he said, glaring at Màiri. The accusing tone of his voice dripped with revulsion. He leaned past her to look at Iain. “Your wife has a strange sense of humor, Iain. Not one I can say I appreciate.” With trembling hands, he put the bracelet in his pocket, then resumed his seat, obviously shaken.

Màiri could sense Roderick’s broiling turmoil, his furor seething just below the surface. He blamed her for the bracelet that had fallen to the table in front of him. He thought she had put it there.

“You do na fool me, Màiri,” he said beneath his breath, aimlessly shoving around the food on his platter. “Your witch’s tricks mean nothing.”

Màiri stiffened. “If the appearance of the stones holds some significance, Roderick, I am not the one who is sending the message. I know na more about them than you.”

Without finishing his meal, Roderick shoved back his chair and rose to his feet. “You will na win, milady” he hissed softly. “It will na be long before everyone knows you are a witch. I will see to it.”

Roderick strode across the hall without turning back, leaving a cold feeling of dread in his wake. She did not doubt his words. Her gift issued her the same warning.

She placed her hand in her pocket and clutched the stones between her fingers. They were Adele’s stones, yet no emotion emanated from them. No warning. No sense of unrest. No calling for help. But they had appeared twice. There had to be some reason.

She leaned back in her chair, then turned to face Iain. The anger in his gaze told her he thought the same as Roderick. He blamed her for placing Adele’s bracelet in the pitcher.

And worse, his look accused her of cruelly tormenting Roderick with painful reminders of his dead wife. A heavy weight rested inside her breast. She felt the separation between her and Iain widening. Would she always be alone in seeing the danger Roderick presented?