The Border Hostage (13 page)

“Ah, I see. That's the root of yer complaint?”

Raven gasped in outrage. “You are as uncivilized as he is!”

“Far more uncivilized,” he assured her gravely.

“I believe you, since you are a Scot and a Borderer!”

“Border laird,” he corrected. Then his mouth curved with amusement. “ 'Tis impossible tae anger me tonight. I have been blessed by the gods. I am the luckiest man alive. Tonight we celebrate the birth of my twins. As Heath's woman you shall sit in the spot reserved fer a guest of honor.”

“I am
not
Heath's woman!”

“Patience, lass,” he advised with a devilish grin.

When Raven found herself alone, she knew this was her chance to find Christopher. Kennedy had mentioned a tower room, which she reasoned must be up here somewhere. Her heart hammered as she hurried down the long passageway, which led into another, and before she knew it, she became hopelessly lost. She took some stairs that led up to the ramparts, and though it was now dark, she could see the silhouettes of the corner towers, which helped her to learn the layout of the castle. She descended
the stairs and followed the stone wall to a corner tower. She moved close to a studded door and rapped. “Chris, Christopher, are you in there?”

Raven almost jumped out of her skin when the door opened and Heath Kennedy stepped out. “Miss me already?” He locked the door and put the key in his pocket. “Or did you lose your way?”

There was no point in lying; he knew exactly what she was doing. “You know damn well I was looking for Christopher.”

“Your concern is misplaced. He isn't worried about you. Let me escort you back to your own tower, mistress.”
“Your
tower, Kennedy!”

“If you insist,” he said agreeably. “Since we are sharing quarters, my name is Heath. Ada told me how you helped my sister, and I shall be forever grateful to you, Raven.” They entered the tower chamber and he closed the door. “I believe this is yours.”

Raven looked down at the hag stone lying on his palm. Suddenly she felt foolish and expected him to mock her.

“We have more in common than I first realized. I too believe in the ancient Celtic practices such as earth healing.” He looked at her intently. “Do you have the power, Raven?”

She was startled. What did he know of the power? Then she felt his magnetism, felt drawn to him against her will. She lowered her eyes to break the spell. “If I had any power, I would not be here!” As she reached for her hag stone her stomach rumbled.

“You are starving. Come down to the hall; we are celebrating the birth of the twins, and we have the best chef in Scotland.”

“No, thank you. I prefer to be alone.”

He loomed above her. “I could carry you downstairs; I could force you to my will.”

Raven knew he could force her physically, but in that moment she wondered if he also could force her mind to
obey him. “Does threatening a woman bring you pleasure?” she demanded.

He gazed down into her lavender-blue eyes and saw the smudges of fatigue beneath them. “Nay, in truth it does not. I shall leave you in peace.” He opened the door to leave. “For now,” he added.

Even after he left, Raven imagined she could still feel his presence. She told herself it was because these were his rooms, but deep down inside, she suspected it was more than that. Her grandmother believed in magic and the power of nature, and since the ritual, Raven was convinced there was such a thing. Was it possible that Heath Kennedy had the power? Heath … even his name was strange. It meant earth, which was certainly a powerful element in nature. He had easily charmed Sully. Was it possible that he could cast a spell over her too? She gave herself a mental shake and told herself to stop being fanciful.

She answered a low knock upon the door and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was a maidservant with a tray of supper. The aroma of the food made her mouth water, and she carried it through to the bedchamber and sat down before the fire to eat. Every dish tasted like ambrosia and she was ready to concede that Mr. Burque, the chef she had met earlier, really was the best in Scotland, or England for that matter. Anyone who lived in the Borders ate a steady diet of mutton, but the sauce that accompanied this dish totally transformed it.

There was a syllabub that had honest-to-god strawberries in it. Raven hadn't tasted strawberries since she was a child in Carlisle. There was a flagon of wine and a small silver dish that held chocolate truffles. As the chocolate melted in her mouth and she sipped the rich red wine, she knew she had Heath Kennedy to thank for this. Damn him to hellfire, he had only sent up the food so that she would feel gratitude toward him, and to her great dismay, it had worked!

From behind her she could feel the lure of his big bed
and fought it as long as she could. But finally, unable to resist it any longer, she undressed and climbed beneath the warm covers in her shift. As she curled up, her grandmother's words floated about her:
I want a real man for you, Raven, a Borderer … better someone wild and fascinating like a mountain ram than someone tame and uninteresting… your life's adventure begins today … do not forget to use your power, Raven.

As she flirted with sleep, Raven felt warm and strangely happy. She was glad she had been able to use her herbal power for Valentina and her babies. She acknowledged that she had used other power too. She realized that the secret was to believe and to get others to believe; that was the power. Suddenly she knew that Heath Kennedy also had the power. That would explain the strange attraction she felt for him, when her head told her plainly that she should hate him. As Raven closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her, her mouth curved into a smile. What an exciting challenge it would be to pit herself against him— and win!

It was after midnight before the celebration in Eskdale's dining hall came to an end. Every member of the Clan Douglas who resided at the castle, every moss-trooper, and every servant had congratulated Lord Ramsay Douglas and drunk to the health of his twins. When the last song had been sung and the last skirl of the pipes drifted off into the night, Heath Kennedy climbed the tower stairs and entered his rooms. He smiled grimly as he took the letter from his doublet. He had asked for eight breeding mares of good stock and an insultingly low two hundred pounds for Dacre's son and heir. Jock had been back well before midnight with Lord Dacre's agreement to the ransom demand.

He lit the square quarion candle and saw that the door to the adjoining chamber was closed. He would only have her for two more days. The thought propelled him to the door; he hesitated only a moment, then he opened it quietly and went inside. The fire had burned low, so he built
it up and set a fireguard before it. Then he moved softly toward the bed and gazed down at the sleeping girl. In the firelight, her black hair lay in a pool upon the white pillow, and her dark lashes shadowed her cheeks. Sexual desire for her blazed up in him, and yet it was not as fierce as his longing for something more, something far deeper. It was her spirit that called to him, making him hunger for a connection with her. If Raven Carleton would look at him the way his sister Valentina looked at Ram Douglas, he would ask for nothing more in this life. In that moment he knew he would not let her go. He would keep her.

A
t Castle Doon, Rob Kennedy was having one of the most miserable days of his life. He had rolled about in pain most of the night and feared that his heart was the culprit. He summoned Bothwick, the hairy giant who was the castle steward and sometime surgeon. Bothwick had much experience in pulling teeth and lancing boils, but internal maladies were beyond his ken.

“I'm cursed!” The florid face and sagging jowls belied the fact that the Lord of Galloway had once been a handsome devil. His hands massaged his barrel chest that over the years had slipped down into a paunch. “What can ye give me tae stop this pain in ma chest?” he demanded petulantly.

“Whisky!” Bothwick suggested the panacea for all pain.

“Whisky my arse! I've drunk the castle dry since Elizabeth abandoned me. God's passion, women can be vengeful. I'm cursed, I tell ye.”

“The Gypsies are back in Galloway Valley. Why don't I fetch Old Meg? She has some powerful remedies.”

Rob fixed Bothwick with a baleful eye. He and Meg were bound by old hatreds. For Bothwick to suggest bringing his Gypsy adversary must mean that his steward thought he was dying.

Old Meg took her own sweet time when Bothwick brought the summons. Though she hated Rob Kennedy with a vengeance, she had no thought of refusing the visit. It would bring her more than money; it would give her perverse satisfaction to see him suffer.

She waited until early evening to gather her herbs and paraphernalia for brewing potions. Arriving at this hour should guarantee her a good dinner and perhaps even one of the castle's luxurious guest chambers for the night.

Meg went straight to the kitchens when she arrived, and learned to her great disappointment that Mr. Burque, the Kennedys' renowned French chef, had gone with Lady Valentina when she wed the powerful Black Ram Douglas. The dinner she was served was unpalatable to say the least. The mutton managed to be both tough and greasy at the same time, and the bread pudding that accompanied it was a heavy, soggy mass.

When Meg was shown to the first-floor room where Lord Kennedy conducted his business, her shrewd glance noticed the dust in the untidy room that gave it a neglected appearance which matched that of its owner.

“I'm in a bad way, Meg. There's a gold sovereign fer ye if ye can take away the misery in ma chest.”

She watched him rub his distended belly, heard the belch it produced, and concluded that the irascible old swine was suffering from a massive bout of indigestion. It was no doubt brought on by a steady diet of poorly cooked food accompanied by too much whisky. Meg bent close, as if imparting a secret. “You are right, Rob Kennedy, you are in a bad way. I think it's your heart.”

He closed his eyes; it was exactly as he feared. He thought fleetingly of Elizabeth. A wife's rightful place was at her husband's side to comfort him in such calamitous circumstances.
In sickness and in health
, Lizzie had vowed. Overwhelmed with self-pity, he moaned, “I'm cursed.”

“You are right again, Rob Kennedy, you
are
cursed,” Meg said with grim satisfaction.

“Remove the damn curse, ye old Gypsy witch, for ye are the one who put it there!” Rob roared, purple in the face.

Meg shook her head regretfully. “I did not put it there, Rob Kennedy. You brought the curse on yourself, as well you know. I cannot remove it. The only one who can remove it is yourself. You know the remedy,” she said cryptically.

He glared at her fiercely, fighting the urge to smite her dead. “I
loved
yer daughter, Lily Rose. She was the only lass I ever did truly love.”

“And therein lies your shame!”

“The remedy ye hint at is impossible!” he roared.

Meg knew her adversary was stubborn, but at the moment she had him at a disadvantage and enjoyed twisting the knife in his belly. “Is not the Kennedy motto ‘Consider the end’? That is exactly what you must do. The curse dooms your entire family, not just you, Rob Kennedy.” Meg had been in Carlisle and knew all the gossip. She took out her tarot cards and waved them under his nose. “I consulted the cards; it's all here. Your male line will completely die out; there'll be no more Kennedys. Your own marriage is doomed, and your youngest lass will make a disastrous marriage, as did your other daughter.”

Rob gripped his belly. “Nay, Valentina has a happy marriage. She's expectin' a child.”

Meg shook her head gravely. “I saw two coffins, dark clouds, and red hair.
Consider the end.”

Rob was greatly alarmed. He had had no news of the
birth, and it was long overdue. God's passion, he must go to Tina, she was his favorite child.
“Two
gold sovereigns if ye take my pain away and get me on my feet!”

Meg rummaged in her big cloth bag until she found a vial of senna and figs. It was a harsh purgative that would open his bowels, but not without him suffering violent gripe and cramp. “I'd better stay. You could get worse before you get better.”

If Rob Kennedy had feared death earlier, he now had a change of heart and begged it to take him out of his misery as the endless hours of the night slowly crept toward morning. As well as physical torment, he suffered mental anguish over the fate of his children. His son Duncan should have sailed back from Flanders days ago. What if his ship had been sunk? The old Gypsy witch had said his male line would die out. His other son, Donal, had only produced a girl, and now there was no word about Tina. “I am cursed, cursed,” he moaned as he rolled from his bed and made another hurried visit to the garderobe.

By midday, after Meg had dosed him with syrup of wild rhubarb, the flux stopped, and by afternoon the distension of his innards lessened. His bloated belly was no longer putting pressure on his heart, and the pain in his chest had eased considerably.

When Meg came for her money, she saw that her patient looked pinched around the gills, and though he appeared subdued, she knew that wouldn't last long. She pocketed her sovereigns, then proceeded to destroy his peace of mind. “I saved you this time, Rob Kennedy, but my remedy was only temporary.”

“Yer bloody remedy felt like poison!”

“That's guilt,” she pronounced with conviction. “Guilt is the deadliest poison there is. It will surround your heart and squeeze until it bursts. If you don't assuage your guilt, you'll be dead within months, but not before you see the curse visited upon the rest of your family.”

His mouth set in a hard line. “I'll see Heath. Do ye know where he is?”

“When I saw him in Carlisle, he wore a Douglas plaid,” Meg said cryptically, then pressed her point, “The curse can be lifted.”

It can be lifted, all right
, Rob thought.
I'll see Heath an' order him tae have ye remove the bloody curse, ye evil Gypsy witch!

After Old Meg departed the castle, Rob Kennedy sat in his chair all night. Dark thoughts and persistent worries chased each other around his brain seeking an escape hatch, but it felt as if he had cut his mooring rope and was adrift. Last night the gates of hell had opened, and he smelled the sulphur as he
considered the end.