Mary Reed McCall (11 page)

Aileana’s brows drew together. “I do not understand, then. Why were you trying to send me away?”

Bridgid looked down and shook her head; her breathing sounded heavy, as if a burden weighed on her. When she met Aileana’s gaze, hers was shaded with kindness and concern. “I was giving you leave to go, missy, because I’ve thought better of what some of the others might say if the sick die, as many are bound to, under your care. I had not considered that part of it when I called on your aid, but since Inghid spoke, I’ve seen where it might lead to that.”

“You’re thinking they will brand me a witch and accuse me of working spells to kill their kin, plague or nay,” Aileana said flatly.

“Aye,” she admitted. “And not only what they would call you, but what they might do to you as well.”

Aileana clamped her lips tight.

“Some might think to use you to ease their hurt. And with the MacRae away on a raid…” Bridgid shook her head. “Mayhap it is better for you to retreat to your castle chamber, lass. I can come to you for advice or remedies as needed.”

Bridgid’s suggestion struck a chord with Aileana.
Retreat to your castle chamber
. The concept sent a shudder of revulsion through her. She’d spent the better part of her life locked in her chamber, and unless she was forced, she’d never do so willingly again.

“I think I will take my chances against the plague.”

At Bridgid’s stricken look, she grimaced, adding, “I know precious little about people, thanks to the life I led at Dulhmeny, but I do know how to heal their bodies. And besides that, I’m fearing you will need every available helper in the coming days. Where one falls sick, many usually follow.”

“It is your decision, missy, though I cannot say I will be sorry for your help,” Bridgid answered, looking at her with a new measure of respect before she frowned
again, the action furrowing deeper lines at the sides of her mouth. “Do you think it will be laying low the entire clan, then? I do not think we can stand another devastation so soon after coming together again under the MacRae.”

“Pray God it will not come to that.” Aileana looked around the tiny hut. “But chances stand that any one of these folk will show signs of it next, and then…” She placed her hand on the feverish William’s brow again, mentally cursing that the water hadn’t arrived yet. “Come what may, I will stay with you. That I swear.”

Any further chance at conversation dissolved in a flurry of activity as Evan came rushing through the door. Another lad followed him in, the cask of wine leaking from a tiny crack along its side.

“You’ve got to come! There’s another fallen sick. We dropped the wine trying to help her, but in the end we couldn’t lift her up from the ground.”

“Who is it, lad?” Bridgid asked.

Evan’s eyes were filled with tears of frustration as he swung his gaze to the
bailie
. “Old Jehana! She was on the bank of the loch, trying to get the water the lady wanted, but now she is just lying there, and to touch her is like burning yourself with fire. Please, you’ve got to help!”

An anxious glance passed between Bridgid and Aileana, and they stood as if of one accord. “Evan, get two strong men from the village and show me where Jehana is,” Aileana said. “We will help her, lad, best as we can.”

Bridgid nodded her agreement to stay behind with William, and Aileana set to action. It was going to be a very long night, she realized, as she strode through the door behind Evan. Two fallen ill in less than an hour,
and more sure to follow if the sickness held true to the virulence proclaimed of it in the Lowlands.

She needed to keep her wits about her now, she knew, for she was about to be tested as never before in her protected life at Dulhmeny. And she faced the added pressure of knowing that this clan might hold her personally responsible for any failure to heal the afflicted.

Mouthing a prayer for strength, Aileana trudged onward. Aye, it was going to be a long night. A very long night, indeed.

H
er arms felt leaden. They sagged to her sides no matter how hard she tried to grip the cloth and bathe the faces of the sick. With effort born of desperation, Aileana pulled the basin and dipped the piece of rag again. She let the cool, minted water drizzle over Nora’s neck and chest, praying in the never-ending litany of the past four days for God to spare the people of Eilean Donan from further ravages of the plague.

Eighteen had died thus far. Old Jehana had succumbed, as had Floraidh and Fergus and several of the other men who’d stayed behind when Duncan left more than a fortnight ago to raid the MacLennans.

But little William had lived. And if means existed, she’d make sure that Nora and the rest survived as well.

“Missy, why don’t you take a rest now? There’s some cold mutton waiting in the kitchens,” Bridgid cajoled, her eyes looking as weary as Aileana felt. “You need to
keep up your strength. You cannot keep working without respite.”

“I’ll not be leaving you alone to do all the tending.” But even as she spoke, Aileana couldn’t prevent her traitorous mind from leaping at the prospect of sleep. She shook her head, trying to clear away the fuzzy feeling, and the
bailie
clucked her tongue and muttered.

As Bridgid went on her way to another patient, she stumbled, and Aileana frowned. Bridgid was exhausted, too. Neither of them had taken much rest in the days since the plague struck the clan. There’d been too much work to do, and after the first twelve hours, too many sick to tend.

Pushing back the sleeves of her tunic, Aileana moved on to young Kenneth; he’d fallen sick just yesterday. After a quick examination for swellings, she repeating the cooling process she’d administered to Nora. They’d converted the great hall to a kind of infirmary, since there wasn’t already a chamber for that purpose on the castle compound. Aileana made a mental note to insist that Duncan order some new construction for such a room come spring.

Duncan
. She missed him, there was no doubt. She knew that now. She missed his warmth and his compelling presence…missed his arms around her when he’d carry her to his bed each night. But she would find strength to care for his people in his absence, that she promised herself.

A wave of dizziness washed over her as she leaned down to pick up the basin. Forcing her feet to move, she trudged across the hall, planning to go to the well and draw some fresh water. She picked her way over rows of people in varying stages of disease. Some stared straight ahead, eyes glassy with fever. At the far end were those near death. Those unfortunates Aileana had taken on as
her own crusade; she vowed to save as many as she could, even if she needed to go two more days without sleep to do it.

Stopping to pull a blanket over a shivering child near the door, she steeled herself against the helplessness that was beginning to consume her. She knew better than most that it did no good to become emotional. But she couldn’t stop the horrible thought that the sounds and smells surrounding her were shadows, surely, of what hell must be like. Groans and coughs battled with wails of pain and grinding of teeth; magnified in the close quarters, the noises exceeded even the hideous echoes of the battlefield on that day Father had been killed.

Worse than the sound, though, was the stench; the foul odors of sickness made the air unfit to breathe. Yesterday, she’d insisted that the hall’s shutters be left open. Such ideas were considered dangerous; drafts often led to chills and death. But the need for clean air had overpowered any possible argument, and so the shutters were opened.

A reason to thank Duncan
.

Warmth spread through her, her mind latching on to the thought as surely as it had registered complaint about the castle’s lack of an infirmary. It was Duncan, after all, who’d insisted that every room be equipped with plenty of windows after his return from the Tower. He’d had them hewn into the stone walls, even, where openings didn’t exist already, and it appeared now that his insatiable need for fresh air might be the winning factor in the struggle many of his people waged for their lives.

Aileana brushed a lank wisp of hair from her eyes and continued to the well. The cool outdoors beckoned her, and she tried to concentrate on something positive as she stepped into the chill. At least she needn’t fear Duncan falling under the disease’s ravages. Bridgid had ordered
that a sign be posted on the castle’s main gate, telling all who came, to remain outside the wall for fear of contagion; unless he and his men had contracted the plague during their travels, they’d be safe.

Upon reaching the well, Aileana paused, filling her lungs with the clean, crisp air. It was so pleasant that she found herself lingering longer than she’d intended. But soon duty reared its head again, and she walked back to the sick room where Bridgid awaited her.

The
bailie
looked stern as she took the basin of water. Setting it on the table, she turned without hesitation and pushed Aileana toward the kitchen. “Now you’ll go, missy. I’ll not be telling you again. I’m still
bailie
of this castle, and I need your healing skills for these people. You cannot be doing me or them any good if you’re senseless from lack of food and sleep.”

Aileana tried to muster the will to fight her order, but she was too tired to resist. Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes and nodded. But as she started to make her way toward the kitchen, a sudden banging and scramble of activity stilled her. She sensed more than saw the figure move behind her, near the door. When the familiar, deep voice echoed through the hall, it sent a tingle down her spine.

“Christ’s Holy Blood—what is all this?”

She looked behind her, shivering in response to the ice reflected in Duncan’s silver eyes. He pinned her with his gaze, his legs spread in a wide stance, and his hands fisted at his sides.

“Aileana MacDonell, I want to know just what in hell you have done to my clan.”

Duncan was losing the struggle, and he knew it. The hellish sights. The sounds. The smell…God help him,
the smell. It spiraled him into the world of the Tower all over again. Except that these prisoners were all familiar to him. These people were his clan.

His kin.

He took another step forward, clenching his gloved fists as tightly as he could, trying to regain control. His gaze darted from Aileana to Bridgid and back again, and for the first time he observed the strange flush on his leman’s face, the dark smudges beneath her eyes—the defeated stance of her body.

“It appears that you cannot read, Duncan MacRae.”

Aileana’s restrained comment struck him like a slap in the face, blinding him to the weariness in her posture. But it gave him something to cling to, and he grasped it as if for dear life.

“I can read enough to know what is written on the gate, woman. I will not be barred from my own castle.”

“Then you are a fool, risking your life for no good reason.”

“It is no foolishness to ensure that my people are safe.”

“And of course with
me
ministering to them, you’re filled with doubt about that possibility.”

Duncan glowered, matching Aileana’s irritation with his own. In truth, once he and Kinnon had deciphered the sign, he’d feared for everyone inside Eilean Donan, to his surprise, Aileana most of all. In fact he’d been worried almost senseless about her—so much so that when he’d first come in and seen her standing in the hall, thankfully still walking and breathing, he’d snapped out the first cutting words that rose to his lips to mask his overwhelming relief. But he couldn’t admit that weakness to her. “I needed to see the condition of my people with my own eyes,” he settled on muttering, sweeping
his gaze around the great hall. “And this does not exactly reassure me.”

Her gaze pierced him, making him notice again her eyes’ heightened brilliance and her tired expression. “If the arrangement isn’t to your liking, Duncan, it is because we had little to work with. You’ve no infirmary and many that need tending. What would you have had me do—lay the sick on the ground in the yard?”

The question seemed to drain Duncan’s energy, depleting him of any remaining heated emotion. Running his gloved hand through the tangles of his hair, he shook his head and sighed. “Nay, lass. I’d not have that.”

Bridgid stepped forward. “I was just telling the missy to rest a spell and get some nourishment. There is plenty of cold mutton and bread in the kitchen for you and your men as well.” She looked behind Duncan, seeing no one but Kinnon, who stood quiet in the shadows of the doorway. “Where are the other lads?”

“I made them stay outside.” He looked straight at Aileana. “If I am foolish, it is not with others’ lives.”

She didn’t respond to his goad, though, only leveling a strange look at him. “I will go ahead to prepare food for the three of us, then. It is not safe to meet with your men again, Duncan, until the contagion is passed. You will have to send a message to them another way.”

“Aye. I will see to it,” he said, earning a nod from her before she turned to go. But as she walked to the kitchen, Duncan noted the effort it took her; he saw the shuffling stumble in her gait, and it filled him with alarm. She looked ready to topple from exhaustion.

“How long has she been like that?” he demanded of Bridgid once she’d gone. “How long since she ate or slept?”

Bridgid shook her head and looked down. “Without
food…since yester eve, I suppose. Sleep…longer than that. And even then she will not use a bed. She sits over there near the fire.” She pointed to an uncomfortable looking chair positioned not far from where some of the sick lay. “Of course she doesn’t get much sleep that way. If someone groans loud, up she goes, tending to them again.” She sighed. “The missy is stubborn, she is. But her healing has saved many already, God bless her.”

“Aye, well enough is enough,” Duncan growled, more in frustration at Aileana’s stubbornness than in anger with Bridgid. “I am sending her to her bed until morning, unless there’s reason against it.”

Bridgid shook her head. “None that I know.”

Duncan nodded. “Good. Can you manage without her until tomorrow, then?”

Swiping a hand over her eyes, the
bailie
nodded. “She’s shared with me all she knows of healing those with the plague, and I will carry on fine without her.”

Duncan paused, noticing for the first time that Bridgid seemed almost as tired as Aileana. Most likely she’d slept as little. He motioned for her to sit. When she was comfortable, he said, “After you sup, I’ll be asking you to show me the methods Aileana taught you. Then you’ll be taking to your bed as well. I will assist your helpers for the rest of the night.”

Kinnon stepped from the shadows. “I will stay, too. We’ll both do whatever is necessary to help.”

Bridgid started to protest, but Duncan added, “I am commanding you as chieftain of this clan. No more arguments.”

Her mouth clamped shut, though the warmth in her eyes expressed how grateful she was. Her voice cracked as she gestured them toward the kitchen, shooing them
along like the fowl in the yard. “Off with you to eat, then. When you’re done I will take a quick meal myself and then teach you what I know.”

Duncan nodded and motioned Kinnon along with him, quickening his pace as they neared the kitchen. Eating didn’t interest him as much as ensuring that Aileana supped well and was tucked safely into bed before the hour passed. Strange warmth cut through the worry that had been gnawing at him. He savored the thought of sitting at table with her again. When he was gone, he’d realized that he’d missed her fiery looks and the occasional sharp rejoinder she offered when he became overbearing.

Duncan suppressed a smile. Even tonight, tired though she was, she’d managed to incite his anger, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. She was a strange, unpredictable woman; she didn’t hold back from letting her complaints against him be known quite freely, but at the same time, she’d driven herself to exhaustion tending his people, caring for them while he was away.

Another surge of warmth bloomed in him. Her generosity was a surprise, made all the more pleasant for the fact that it was unsolicited. Be she from an enemy clan or not, she’d made a sacrifice for his people, and because of it, he was going to do something he never thought he would ever do for a MacDonell…

He was going to offer her his thanks.

Duncan strode into the kitchen, more eager than ever to find her. But he didn’t get the chance to say anything. The room was empty.

He stopped so quickly that Kinnon slammed into his back. His cousin careened to the side, muttering a curse, and without looking, Duncan held out his arm to steady him. He was too busy searching the chamber for sign of
Aileana. “Where the hell has she gone off to now?” he grumbled.

Kinnon brushed off his sleeve and scowled. “Most likely she’s at the well, or in one of the pantries. Don’t worry, cousin—I’m sure she’s no plot to starve us.”

“It is not the food that concerns me,” Duncan snapped, as he crossed the length of the chamber in search of her. “I just want to make sure she is—”

“Sweet Jesus.”

Duncan froze mid-step at Kinnon’s exclamation, his heart in his throat at the tone in his cousin’s voice. Everything seemed frozen for an instant, suspended in time. He twisted his head and saw that Kinnon was leaning over something. Nay, leaning over
someone
. Someone slender and pale, with flaming gold hair…

“Aileana.” Her name whispered past his lips, and he spanned the distance between them in a few strides, falling to his knees beside her and lifting her onto his lap. Her head lolled lifelessly, and though the shallow rise and fall of her chest assured him that she lived, her body’s heat burned into him, even through their layers of clothing.

“Ach, lass.” He rocked her gently, ripping off his glove to touch her brow, her cheeks, and the back of her neck. But it was all the same. She was burning with fever. “Christ, Kinnon, she’s come down with the plague.” His fingers tingled and his throat ached with dread. Scooping her up, Duncan cradled her against him and strode out of the kitchen, toward the steps leading to their bedchamber. “Get Bridgid and tell her to bring everything she has to help.” His final command was uttered in a half growl. “Hurry, dammit.”