Mary Reed McCall (22 page)

Sitting up in bed, Aileana shuddered. What if the
Ealach
had been taken from the security of its hiding place? She gripped the blankets tightly to her chest, looking toward the shutter to see the light of dawn peeking through the cracks. It was enough to see her path back to the grotto; if she set out soon she could be back before supper. Then she could rest easier about its safety—perhaps even bring it back and make a gift of it to Duncan. A sign of her faith in him and the rightness of their union…

Scrambling from beneath the coverlet, Aileana hurried to dress and ready herself for the journey. She needed to do this alone and yet she knew she’d have to tell Bridgid of her plans to take one of the horses and be gone for the day. Perhaps she could hide her true purposes under the guise of seeking out some mandrake for their herb supplies, she thought, as she hastily plaited her hair. Likely none would wish to accompany her then, fearing as they did the darker magical qualities associated with cultivating the roots of that plant.

Aye, that was a plan. It would serve to protect her true reason of retrieving the
Ealach
. Now she just had to
hurry to set everything in motion so that she could return to Eilean Donan before Duncan did.

Nora crouched deeper into the shadows behind the cart near the stable, watching through narrowed eyes as Aileana MacDonell led a haltered pony out into the misty dawn light. A sour taste filled her mouth as she studied her rival, trying to see just what it was…what gift Aileana could possibly possess that had allowed her to claim such a resounding victory with Duncan.

She was beautiful, aye, but Nora herself had turned many a head in her day. It had to be more than that. It had to be something powerful enough to entice the laird from Nora’s bed, blinding him to the truth of what the MacDonell traitor was. Something that would have compelled him to elevate Aileana from the humiliating position of leman to one as his honored betrothed.

Witchcraft
.

She’d long suspected it. Aileana MacDonell was surely practicing the black arts, just as Nora had heard her cursed sister did before her. It had to be that. Nothing else could explain the change that had come over Duncan within days of the conniving wench’s arrival at Eilean Donan.

Oh, Aileana had pretended to be innocent, and within a few weeks of coming to live with them, she’d even mastered the pretense of caring about the MacRaes. She’d lured Bridgid, Kinnon, and many of the others into believing, even going so far as to cleverly using some of her skills to aid the clan when the plague struck.

That she herself had fallen sick after nursing them all was the only fly in the ointment of Nora’s conviction, but she wagered that Aileana had used her ungodly arts to feign symptoms of the illness in order to garner Dun
can’s sympathies and attention. And it had worked, damn her eyes. Her spells were potent.

Now, finally, Nora had a chance to prove it. Aileana had been up earlier than usual this morn, intending to go off on her own to collect more herbs before winter snows fell in earnest…or so Nora had overheard her saying to Bridgid. She sought mandrake, she’d told the
bailie
, and so she would go alone, to prevent anyone else from becoming tainted if aught went awry as she collected the dangerous root.

But Nora knew that was a ploy; she was sure Aileana was leaving the confines of the castle grounds to practice more spells. Spells to keep Duncan by her side.

Aye, the time was right. She’d follow Aileana this morning to see just what she was up to—and when she caught her at her witchery, then at last she would be able to prove to Duncan, once and for all, that he’d made a terrible and dangerous mistake…

For he would finally see that when he’d asked Aileana MacDonell to marry him, he’d taken a snake to his bosom instead of a bride.

T
he glen looked dim, even in the mid-morning sun. Aileana suppressed a shiver. She’d felt strangely all morning, but she’d be finished here soon enough. She squinted, searching for the spot. It was hidden well. Dragon’s breath but she wanted nothing more than to find the amulet and bring it and herself home to Duncan and their warm bed. A smile teased her lips. Thoughts of Duncan had sustained her through the dark hours of travel. Even when the rain began, soaking her to the skin, she’d kept on, driven by an image of his face and the memory of his touch. She loved him, and giving him the
Ealach
would be a final act of trust, a gift to ensure he never need doubt her commitment to him again.

But first she needed to find it.

Pulling the old, frayed plaid she’d brought with her as a cloak more firmly over her damp hair, she stepped into the chill of the glen. Bits of sun sparkled through the copper and gold leaves still clinging to the trees, belying
the storms of the night. Mist rose from the mossy ground, making her shiver. It was cold. Much cooler here than along the barren stretch of road she’d followed from Eilean Donan. Her breath hung around her in white puffs, dissolving almost as soon as it took shape.

Then a jutting boulder caught her gaze, and she paused. Its brown and red contours looked familiar. A twisted root nearby seemed to point to a mossy patch of earth, just as she remembered.
This was it. The spot that—

A chill raked up her spine an instant before she heard it. Soft laughter, tinkling over her like a shower of ice. Whirling to face the sound, Aileana gasped. Her hand flew to her throat, and she took a step back. Ten paces away, half hidden in the gloom, stood a disembodied vision. A haunt like those of a thousand Highland stories told round the fire of a cold winter’s evening. Only this spirit was more frightful than any anonymous fiend she might have faced. She knew this shade’s identity.

“Morgana?” She breathed her sister’s name, fear and awe closing her throat so that only a whisper escaped. She almost expected the vision to melt before her eyes into the mists of the glen.

“You remember me, then, little sister.”

Aileana swallowed. She’d never known spirits to speak. Yet this could be nothing but a phantom. “Why have you returned here? Is something troubling you that you seek me out?”

Morgana laughed again, throwing back her head, and the rippling cascade of sound filled the glen. When her amusement abated, she stepped closer to Aileana, directly into a shaft of sunlight that shone through the branches of the trees. It kissed the glossy waves of her
red hair, her luminous blue eyes…the
Ealach
amulet that hung shining around her neck.

“Ah,” Morgana said, cocking her head, “it’s a fine story I’ll be telling, what with you thinking me a ghostie come back to haunt. How delicious, when the truth is nothing more otherworldly than that you came upon me here just as I was readying to return to my holding in the north.”

Bewilderment, joy, and uncertainty all blended in a torrent as Aileana faced the sister she’d last seen more than thirteen years before. It seemed a dream. Unreal.

“They told me you were dead.”

“Aye, as I made certain they would. I had word sent that I’d died from the privations of banishment, and it was nothing our dear clan leaders hadn’t expected to hear.” Morgana arched one brow wickedly and smiled. “It went just as I planned. But as you can see, little sister, I’m as alive as you are, and I have many tasks yet to accomplish—many dreams to fulfill.” She stepped closer, reaching out to chuck Aileana under the chin, a gesture reminiscent of their childhood. Tilting her head to the side, she studied her. “It is true what they say,” she murmured finally. “You do share an unusual likeness with me. All except for the eyes…”

Aileana’s plaid fell to her shoulders, and she shrugged herself away from her sister’s touch. “Why have you come back?”

Morgana’s expression hardened, and she brushed her hair back from her face. “To get the
Ealach
, of course. But first I had to determine where you’d secreted it.” She gestured around her. “It took me a deal of time to find it once I arrived here last eve, but in the end it was a certainty. And deliciously ironic, wouldn’t you say? I couldn’t have chosen a better spot myself.”

“But the amulet isn’t yours. Father took it from you, and for good reason.”

“Father is dead,” Morgana stated flatly. “May his soul burn in everlasting hell.”

“How can you talk so about him? He loved you more than the sun.”

“Not enough to stop the clan elders from banishing me,” she snapped. After a moment, a knowing, sinister look came into her eyes. The negative force of it drove Aileana back a step. “But come, little sister. Don’t tell me that you never cursed Father for all those long years he locked you away in the tower chamber. He was a meddling fool who got what he deserved.”

Anger and shame clouded Aileana’s mind. It was true; she’d sometimes wished Father dead—wished so heartily for freedom from the four walls of her room and from the keeping of the amulet that she could taste the need. But Morgana couldn’t know that. It was impossible for her to know that.

Aileana lifted her chin. “What would you care for how I felt? It was because of you and your ways that I was kept under watch and key at all.”

“Be that as it may, I’ve learned much these thirteen years, Aileana. Much to make me strong.” A fierce light shone in her eyes, making them pierce the shadows of the glen like sapphire blades. She stroked the
Ealach
’s opalescent surface. “And now my time has come.
Samhain
is fast approaching, and on that day all of the Highlands will be forced to acknowledge me. Your arrival here is unfortunate, sister, but it confirms what I’d suspected; you’ve cultivated a connection with the amulet as well. Such a thing might prove useful to me. If you wish to share your gift in that way, I would make
sure that you shared also in the glory that is to come when I use it to gain my power.”

“I could never use the
Ealach
for ill, Morgana.”

“Why? Are you so loyal to those who mistreat you? Our father imprisoned you and our brothers sold you as leman to the MacRae; he is no better than they, keeping you in shame and captivity at Eilean Donan.” She arched her brow. “I admit to being rather surprised at the news that Duncan lived; I’d thought I’d taken care of him when I gave him to the English those years ago.” She shook her head, making a clicking sound with her tongue. “You’ll have to forgive me for that one, sister. By rights he should have been dead and of no threat to anyone anymore.”

“It is only because he still lives that I am able to bear any forgiveness for you, Morgana. What you did to him was nothing less than—”

“After all he’s done, you can still feel pity for him?” Morgana broke in sharply.

“Nay, not pity.” Aileana swallowed, the softer part of her nature not wishing to cause her sister pain even now, after all she’d learned about her. “Duncan has asked me to wed him, Morgana, and I have accepted. I am to be his wife.”

A deadly silence settled over the clearing, and Aileana felt a shiver up the back of her neck.

“His
wife?
” Morgana broke the quiet, hissing the words with vehemence. “You must be jesting. Duncan would never offer to marry you. Not after everything that happened between our clans.”

“And yet he did. We are to be married.”

As Aileana spoke, Morgana’s face tightened, sharpening to a look that was almost painful in its bitterness. “I
see,” she answered, her voice both harsh and echoing hollow through the chill of the wood. She glanced around them. “You’ve come to this place alone, haven’t you, little sister? Duncan could not know of your journey, else he’d never have allowed you to make it without escort, especially with so important a prize as the
Ealach
at stake,” she added, her palm drifting up to stroke the amulet.

Aileana remained quiet, the sudden, painful memory of what Duncan had told her about Morgana’s cruelty and lack of conscience lodging in her chest. She worried the edges of her plaid almost absentmindedly, feeling the frayed weave loosen. It seemed she’d been foolish to eschew all company this morning, and now she was forced to do what she could to conceal her mounting uneasiness.

Her sister’s gaze slid back to her, piercing as she leaned in to say with soft menace, “It would be wise of you to answer. Your silence will be deemed an attempt to thwart me—and believe me well when I say that you do not wish to do that.”

Tendrils of fear unwound in Aileana at Morgana’s tone, and to mask her reaction she gripped the plaid tighter to her chest, cocking her head at a mutinous angle. “If you know as much about me as you claim, you would realize that I am not easily intimidated. Just what do you think you can do that would force me to comply with any demand of yours?”

“Not what I can do,” Morgana said with a dark smile, “but what I’ll let
him
do.”

As she finished speaking, she jerked her chin toward a place just past Aileana’s shoulder, and Aileana whirled in that direction, gasping as she came face to face with
what seemed to be another haunt—only this one in the shape of a strangely familiar man.

He stood a bit taller than Duncan, with hair the same golden brown color and a jaw square and firm. He even had a scar, though not as severe as the one on Duncan’s face, disappearing beneath a black eye patch. The similarity ended there. This man’s visible eye held a hard expression in its dark depths.

He stared down at her, his gaze sharpening more with each passing second, the lines around his mouth tightening into a cruel grin that reminded her of a wolf. The answer to his identity clicked suddenly in her mind.

“You must be Colin,” Aileana said, her voice barely a whisper.

“And you’re Aileana MacDonell.” Colin grinned wider and the wolfish image intensified. “So, my brother’s been talking to you of me, has he?” A moment later he scowled. “But Duncan is supposed to believe us dead.” He reached out and gripped her arm painfully. “Tell me what he’s learned of us.”

“He knows nothing,” she countered, trying to pull away.

Colin jerked her closer, raising his other hand, and she flinched, sure he was about to strike her; but in the next instant Morgana snapped an order for him to release his grip, and mercifully, Colin obeyed. Aileana stumbled back a step, rubbing the bruised place above her elbow.

“There is no need for that, Colin,” Morgana said silkily, stepping around him to peer into her face again. “Aileana is telling the truth, I think. If Duncan had had any inkling about us, he’d have led a search long before now, to finish what our exile was supposed to have accomplished. His damned MacRae pride would have de
manded it—no insult intended toward you, of course, darling,” she continued quickly, flicking her gaze toward Duncan’s half brother as she spoke the last bit.

Until then he’d been glowering like a thundercloud, but now he swiftly laughed, and Aileana nursed a fleeting thought that perhaps Colin MacRae was daft, his moods shifting like the wind.

He fixed his gaze on her when his mirth had passed, his expression making her feel both dirtied and exposed. “I’d not be surprised, her trying to protect Duncan. She’s probably soft on him, what with him tuppin’ her all this time.”

Aileana remained silent, enfolding herself in icy calm as a defense, but Morgana hissed in her breath. Colin only chuckled again. He walked away a few steps, leaning over to retrieve a leather pack from behind a pile of stones nearby as he added, “But be that as it may, you’d best decide what to do with the chit and soon, Morgana. We’ve a goodly distance to cover before nightfall and little time to spare.”

“It will be quite simple,” Morgana answered flatly, clearly not amused with Colin’s observations about Duncan. “My sister will be making the decision herself,” she said, swiveling her head to look at Aileana again. “You see, Colin and I must keep the secret of our continued good health safe from the MacRae or anyone else, at least until
Samhain
. After that day, Duncan can lead all the clans of the Highlands in chase of me, and I’ll care naught. But until then, I cannot have you running back to him, telling tales that will interrupt my plans.”

Morgana nodded to Colin, and he grinned as he came back toward them, pulling from his pack a thin strap of leather twice the length of his forearm. Aileana felt like some kind of prey, cornered in the den of two hungry
wolves; her gaze darted between the two of them, uncertain which was more imminently dangerous.

“Your choice is this then, sister,” Morgana intoned. “You can come with me peacefully, to remain at my holding in the north until my plans reach fruition—or Colin will have to ensure your silence by other means…a decision which I am afraid will be far less enjoyable and infinitely more permanent.”

Colin had wrapped the ends of the leather strap around his meaty fists, and now he snapped its length tight, pausing to stand in readiness of Morgana’s command.

“You would order me strangled?” Aileana rasped, even though the horrible truth was staring her in the face.

“I will order whatever is necessary,” Morgana answered sharply, her expression dark and powerful. “I have waited many long years, Aileana. Years of endless privation and suffering while I watched and planned for this chance, and nothing—not even a sister—is going to stand in my way now. The choice is yours.”

“Do not think to run,” Colin said quietly, as if sensing the instinct that rose in her for impending flight. His voice was all the more menacing for its seeming gentleness, as he added, “I
will
catch you if you do, sweet…and then I will surely demand additional recompense from you for my efforts, before you breathe your last.”

Even for all her pretended calm, Aileana couldn’t suppress the shudder that rippled through her. Colin gave her a knowing grin, driving his point home with unmistakable meaning as he blew her a mocking kiss.

Revulsion swept through her, and it was all she could do not to slap the smirk from his handsome, scarred face. Instead, she concentrated on pulling herself to
gether, letting anger override the panic that was burgeoning with each passing moment. The two of them had won this battle, it seemed, but all was not lost. Not yet.