Lyon's Gift (22 page)

Alison spun to face him, responding
instinctively to the note of alarm in his voice. “Meghan! What of
Meghan?” she demanded.

He came near enough so she could see his
face, and then she recognized him. “Cameron!”

“
Aye, lass, you remember
me,” he said. “ ‘Tis Meghan,” he hurried on. “There is no time to
speak long. You must come.”

“
Come?”

“
To
Montgomerie’s!”

“
Me?” Alison asked in
surprise.

“
She has had an accident,
Alison, and I dinna know how to say it, but they told me she didna
look so well when I left there. They sent me for a midwife, and I
know you spent much time with her and her grandmother. I didna know
where else to go for help. She needs you now, lass!”

“
Oh, no!” Alison
exclaimed, and her heart nigh leapt from her breast in fear. “But
how shall I go? He would know me!” she said doubtfully. “I think he
would know me! Will he let me tend her?”

The old man suddenly seemed to share her
concern. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know.”

“
Wait!” Alison said. “I
know what to do! He shall not recognize me when I am through, and
he’llna turn me away if he does not know me. Wait here for me, and
I will return in a trice!” She clutched the old man’s arm. “Thank
you. Thank you for coming to fetch me. Wait here now, if you will,
and I shall be back anon. Wait!” she begged him, and raced into the
hall, taking care that her father did not see her, as he believed
she was still within her room.

Meghan needed her now, and she would not
fail her dear friend—she would not!

Meghan awoke to the sound of voices.

She couldn’t seem to gain her bearings.

She heard everything, was keenly aware of
her surroundings in the oddest sort of way, but her lids were too
heavy to lift. Nor could she move. It was as though she were
sleeping still and could not awake.

“
I have reset the bone,”
said a woman’s voice from somewhere beyond the haze. Meghan faintly
recognized it. She tried in vain to open her eyes, to look upon the
bearer of it. “’Twill need time to heal,” the woman continued
gravely. “Dinna let her use the arm, and if you must... bind her to
the bed until she awakes.”

“
I shall remain with her,”
she heard a familiar male voice say in a low tone. “How long will
the drogue last?”

“
Until the morrow,” came
the woman’s reply.

Drogue.

They’d given her a drogue... like the ones
her grandmother sometimes used... Her heart lifted with hope.

“
Fia?” she
murmured.

Shadows descended like a shroud over her
senses.

“
Fia?” she
persisted.

She sensed more than felt the hand at her
brow... not a small one with calluses on the tips of fingers raw
from pulling herbs... but a large one... as gentle as it was
coarse.

“
Hush now, Meghan,” the
man’s voice commanded, though not unkindly, and the familiar sound
of it reverberated through her very soul.

Lyon?

Meghan heard herself whimper softly, and was
surprised by the distance of the sound. Strange, it didn’t sound
like her at all, didn’t feel like her, though she knew it was.

What was wrong with her?

And why did her arm hurt?

And why had they drugged her?

“
Och, you really should
bind her to the bed,” the woman said, concern in her voice. “You
dinna want her to injure the arm any more.”

Meghan shook her head. She didn’t want to be
bound to the bed. She whimpered, trying to tell them nay.

“
Poor wee thing,” the
woman lamented, and once more the familiarity of it struck
her.

Who was the woman?

“
Fia...”

The woman let out an audible sigh. “Crazy
auld Fia has been dead nigh on two years now,” she said. “The two
were inseparable; where you spied the one, the other was not far
behind.”

It wasn’t Fia.

Fia had been dead nigh two years now.
Meghan’s heart fell as she remembered that. It wasn’t Fia.

Who was it?

She heard weeping again and wondered if she
were the one sobbing.

She felt so weighty, so dizzy... so
insubstantial...

“
Fia... Fia is her lamb,
as well,” Lyon confided to the woman.

Dear God, the lamb.

Meghan groaned as slices of memory began to
return to her. She’d been holding the wee lammie within her arms,
dancing with it across the room—with a few well-placed stomps for
special effect—so happy that her plan had gone so well.

“
Aye, but she seems to
think the lamb is her grandmother,” another man’s voice
disclosed.

Silence.

“
Och!” exclaimed the woman
after a moment. “Poor wee thing, but it does not surprise me,” she
said grimly. “She comes from verra bad bluid, you see. ‘Twas merely
a matter of time before Meghan Brodie succumbed to the madness as
well.”

“
She seemed well enough to
me.”

“
So were her mother and
grandmother in the beginning,” the woman pointed out sadly. “And
then it came over them, twisting their minds. Och, but ’tis a
shame, too, as Fia understood the magic of the woodlands
well.”

Naught had come over her mother and
grandmother, Meghan wanted to scream. They had simply been
misunderstood. Who was this woman who would befoul her mother’s and
grandmother’s names?

“
I’m afeared she’ll end
like them if something is not done—and soon!”

She wanted to speak up and tell the woman
that she was wrong—all wrong! It wasn’t true! But she couldn’t open
her mouth to speak. Nor could she lift her lids. What had they
given her? The heaviness seemed to be dragging her down into
oblivion.

Meghan fought to stay awake... fought until
finally, the will to sleep was too great...

“
What can be done?” Lyon
asked the old woman.

“
I have a potion,” she
answered, and those vaguely familiar eyes began to gleam with the
color of gold, though in the dimness of the room, it was difficult
to tell their true color. “I am something of an apothecary,” she
disclosed. “But the price of this particular potion is high,” she
cautioned him. “And you will not relieve me of it for less than a
handful of gold.”

Lyon wasn’t entirely certain it was
necessary to do anything at all to cure Meghan’s so-called madness,
but if the old woman’s medicine was harmless enough, he might
consider the prescription, no matter the cost. “What sort of
potion, woman, would cost me a handful of gold coins?”

She smiled, a brilliant smile that seemed to
smooth the wrinkles from her brow, making her appear much too
young. Her hair was covered with a scarf that concealed much of her
face, as well, and was tied entirely too tight about her chin
besides. He wondered that she could bear it.

“
A powerful potion,” she
assured him, eyeing him first, then casting a glance at David.
“Made from roots.”

“
I have never heard of
such a thing,” David interjected.

“
Of course not,” she
replied, drawing back and peering at him, obviously insulted by his
challenge. “It is the root of a tree found in the Far East
alone.”

“
You have been to the Far
East?” Lyon persisted, at once doubting her claim.

“
And you have seen this
tree with your very own eyes?” David added.

“
Och, nay,” she confessed,
“but I do have the root with me even now.”

“
But you have seen it work
its magic?” David inquired, saving Lyon the trouble of
asking.

“
Nay. You will need to
take my word.”

“’
Tis rather convenient a
tale, I should say.” Lyon eyed her speculatively. “And you just
happen to carry with you this root of an unknown tree—”

“
Do you not also carry
upon your person your most valuable possessions?”

“
I have none,” Lyon
claimed, and was aware of David’s surprised glance.

“
Ah, but you do,” the
woman demurred.

“
This tree root,” he
continued, overlooking her remark, “it comes from a land where you
have never been, and you claim it a cure for madness, though you
have never seen it work?”

“
You are not a believer of
medicine, I take it?” she asked, cocking her head
inquisitively.

He wasn’t a believer in anything at all, if
the truth be known, except in life and in death. All else,
according to his mind, was merely illusion. He lifted his brow. “I
believe your nose scents gold, old woman!”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not precisely,” she
yielded. “What I do scent is something far more valuable than
gold!”

“
And what makes you think
I’ve anything of value between these walls? Look about,” he charged
her. “Do you see the hole in my roof and the one in my floor? Tell
me, does this strike you as the home of a wealthy man?”

“
These auld eyes,” she
said, “see more than you think. For instance, they spy the look in
your eyes when you gaze at her.” She glanced down at the bed where
Meghan lay, resting peacefully. “It is the look of a man who loves
a woman.”

“
Then shall I pluck out my
eyes,” he asked acerbically, “and place them within your palms to
pay for the potion? All for the love of a woman? Do you think me a
fool who can be taken advantage of over some sentiment you perceive
I bear?”

The light in her eyes faded.

She seemed disappointed.

“
Perhaps I was wrong,” she
said and turned away to make a few last-minute inspections of
Meghan’s sleeping form. “She’ll sleep until the morn, I think.
Dinna let her rest upon that arm, as it must heal exactly as I have
set it. As for the wound upon her head,” she continued, “it bleeds,
but it is not deep. Simply leave it be and it will heal on its
own.”

Lyon watched her gather up her
belongings—her potions, her needle, and her thread—and was grateful
she had not had to use the needle upon Meghan’s lovely face.

“
If she should need me,”
she began, “I shall—”

“
Wait!” Lyon urged
her.

She spun to face him, the gleam in her eyes
once more apparent.

“
Are you certain it will
work? This potion...”

She gave him a discerning glance. “Nay,
there is never a surety. But the root is said to purify the mind
and return its lucidity. It is said to make the weak mind strong,
and to create genius in that which is already keen.”

“
Very well,” he relented,
“I shall pay your price, old woman. Work your sorcery!”

“
But there is one last
thing,” she apprised him, her eyes narrowing. “There is yet another
price to be paid beyond that you will render to me.”

“
Another price?” He gave
her a deprecating glance. “More gold? Perhaps you’d rather have
jewels or cloth?”

She smiled, flashing teeth that were far too
white to be so old. “Nothing such as that,” she assured him.
“Though this price is to be paid by her, as well.” She nodded at
the bed where Meghan lay.

“
And what price might that
be?” Lyon persisted, his tone fraught with sarcasm.

“
The potion is sometimes
disfiguring.”

His brows collided. “Disfiguring?”

“
Aye,” she said, giving
him a knowing look. “To the face. There are those who form a
reaction to it,” she explained. “Sometimes merely a pox...
sometimes more... but you cannot know until it happens just who
will, and who will not. If you think it more important to have a
pretty face than a keen mind... dinna give her the potion. But...
if she truly matters to you...”

Her implication hung in the air for him to
ponder.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “And is that
all? The potion is safe aside from that?”

She seemed pleased with his response, for
her smile manifested now within her peculiar eyes. “Aye,” she
answered, and then declared, “I have the root with me now, but ’tis
useless to you without the elixir. I shall have it prepared by this
eve. Have the gold in hand when I arrive,” she commanded him, and
with that, turned and left, leaving him and David to stare at each
other in wary contemplation.

Lyon turned to the woman lying so quietly
upon his bed. The old woman had claimed he loved her.

Did he?

Could he?

He knew he wanted her, knew he craved her
even.

But love?

Love was something he had never believed
in.

So what was this strangeness he felt? This
bond he shared with the woman lying there so still?

Obsession?

David departed before eventide, with the
intent of paying the Brodies a visit.

It was their right to be informed of
Meghan’s accident. Were the situation reversed, Lyon would
appreciate the same courtesy. Right or wrong, however, he had
refused them visitation, and David had agreed to uphold his
decision, and to soften the blow of his refusal with a personal
appearance. It was more than Lyon had a right to ask of David,
since the Brodies surely would not accept Lyon’s decision so
blithely.

Lyon was perfectly aware that he was being
unreasonable, but he also understood that if her brothers came to
see her... and Meghan asked to leave with them... he would look at
her in the condition she was in... and he’d not be able to refuse
her.