The Healer's Gift (7 page)

At Logen’s nod, Coira closed her eyes and rebuilt her barrier, higher and stronger this time. With a fingertip, she touched the back of his hand, tentative at first, then with more confidence as her barrier held. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze. Heat flared like the rising sun on a summer day, the sand of the beach scorching her bare feet, burning away his irritation. An unexpected wave of emotion of a very different sort crashed over her, drenching her in his longing.

Sucking in a breath, she stepped back, diminishing, but not breaking, the link between them. “Logen...”

He shook his head and blinked as if dazed, then met her gaze. A hot flush stained his cheeks red. “I apologize. I didna mean for ye to feel that. I tried to stop it...”

“Nay, dinna apologize. I expected anger. Ye startled me. But Logen...” Her fingers curled into her palm as she fought for calm. She could not make the same mistake again. He might want her, but not in the way she wished for.

“Dinna say it.” He stood and moved away, anger now rolling off him in waves.

At himself, she was sure. He desired her and had not meant to let her know. She saw his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath and began to control his emotions, seeking calm. She mirrored him, sighing and forcing her body to relax.

“I willna ask ye to do, to become, anything ye dinna wish for,” he said, turning to stare out the window. “I ken the reception the clan would give the idea of…ye with me. ’Tis too soon. I ken it. But ye are no’ the only one alone here.”

He paused and she held her breath. What would he say next?

“Ye please me. Yer gift fascinates me. And ye can help me. Aye, ’tis self-serving, I ken that, too. But ye may be the only person here I can trust.”

“Ach, Logen.” Her fingers spread, and she lifted her hand toward him, fully aware of what that admission cost him. But she dropped her hand back to her side without touching him. Could she make him understand? “Ye
can
trust me. I do wish to help ye. But I dinna ken if I can…it may be too much for me.”

His gaze shifted away from her. “All I ask is that ye try.”

Coira could not fail to sense his disappointment. She fought it off, determined not to reflect it and make it worse for him. “I’ll go now and leave ye to yer books.”

Logen didn’t turn from the window. “Perhaps that’s best.”

That he would not face her stung a bit. But given the import of what he’d just revealed, not only his desire, but his isolation, his—
aloneness
—she understood. Truth be told, she felt much the same—on both counts. Unlike him, she knew the possible devastating consequences of acting upon either of those feelings.

She opened the door a crack and waited for her gift to alert her, then peered into the hall just to be sure. No one. Silently, she slipped out and closed the heavy oak softly behind her, then continued on to her chambers, where she’d been headed, in tears, before Logen intercepted her and changed everything.

****

Logen watched the activity in the bailey below his window. It all looked so normal—movement and shouting, animals and people milling around, going about their normal daily activities. Beyond that, he could see the curtain wall, then the endless sea and sky, interrupted only by the line of mountains on the islands to the west. The view made him feel small and insignificant.

Most of his life, he
had
been insignificant, one of many fisherman’s sons in the clan, related to, but not in the direct line of succession of the MacDugall of that name. Logen leaned against the wall and thought wistfully about his years fostered at MacKyrie, and the months he’d spent with them after bringing the sad news about their losses at Flodden. He’d thought he could recover there, perhaps make a home, but despite the number of lasses who had been made husbandless by the battle, in truth no one had tempted him to stay. Eventually he realized, if he hoped to wash the blood of Flodden from his soul, he must return to the sea.

If he’d known what he would face here, he might have chosen to stay and help Ellie rebuild her clan. But nay, he belonged here.

After he returned and the story of his survival got out, the clan hailed him as a hero. When someone put his name forward to replace the latest in a line of ill-fated lairds who hadn’t survived the clan’s in-fighting, he’d laughed it off and gone fishing, never expecting to be selected. But the vote had been taken, and now that he led by the will of the clan, he would do the best job he could.

As a near-outsider, he should find dealing with the factions easier, since he could not be accused of being partial to any of them. But he also lacked the friendships and loyal followers that developed over years spent hunting and fishing, or fighting Campbells and other western clans together. Without those, it was nearly impossible to gain insider knowledge of the conspirators’ plans or of their goals beyond gaining control. And when gaining control of the clan meant eliminating him, that knowledge became crucial to his survival.

He’d been sloppy the day the fishing boats came in. Too comfortable in familiar surroundings, doing familiar work, he hadn’t believed he was in any danger. Aye, he did believe the dunking was an attempt on his life, or at least a warning. There could be no question that he’d been warned. So he must find the malcontents and deal with them, or he’d be forced to die trying.

He could step aside, but the idea left a bad taste in his mouth. He wasn’t a quitter. And with Coira’s arrival and her gift, his odds for surviving improved tremendously. Her ability frightened her, but if she could learn enough control to protect herself, she could be very useful.

He’d come too far, lived through too much, to allow anyone inside his guard. Yet, she had slipped through his defenses like no one else ever had—or could. Her determination to make a better life for herself appealed to him. She meant to win friends and allies among the very people initially suspicious of her. Her willingness to help him, even though she suffered for it, proved to him that no matter what had happened to her in the past, she had a caring heart. He even let himself believe she cared for him, not just for the laird she sought to protect.

And like him, she was newly returned after years away and beholden to no one inside the clan. If they were smart, and careful, all would be well.

If only he could believe that.

Chapter 5

Coira paced within her small chamber. Her thoughts kept running in circles replaying the comments she’d overheard while in the garden—the women’s decidedly unfriendly emotions and then Logen’s disappointment in her. Why had the Lathan Healer done this to her? Could it be undone? Or was she condemned to know, intimately, every feeling of every person near her for the rest of her life?

This had been her clan, long ago, before she’d changed, before so many had been killed at Flodden, the clan itself had changed. She had expected to be unwelcome here, but with the old laird and most of his men gone—dead—things could be different.

If Logen succeeded, this could become her home again. She had promised to help him, days ago. Today, for her own protection, she had all but refused to do what she’d promised.

What other choice did she have, but to help him? Where else could she go? Not back to the highlands. Surely, the tale of her actions would spread beyond the Lathan keep. To the lowlands? The borders? Could she sail a
birlinn
to Ireland? Nay, not by herself. She glanced out the window as she paced. Sunlight glinted on the low-rolling breakers of the incoming tide.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand the confinement of her chamber any longer. She needed air, space, freedom. To be somewhere outside of walls—not just walls of stone, but also the invisible walls of her fears—and Logen’s expectations.

She grabbed her cloak and fled down the stairs, heart pounding, desperate to get outside. She moved swiftly through the bailey, her gaze intent on the gate ahead of her, her thoughts intent on her goal.

“Coira!” Elizabeth’s voice. She ignored the call.

Outside the walls, she slowed her flight. The cliffs or the beach? Elizabeth might follow her to the cliffs. The beach it would have to be.

She hurried down the path, heedless of the distance to the rocky ground below. Twice she slipped, catching herself by clinging momentarily to the rock face next to her. She reached the bottom, heart pounding, and ran to the narrowing strip of sand quickly being covered by the encroaching tide.

There she stopped. She pressed her hand over the knife scar in her side, hoping to ease the sharp cramp that reminded her too well of the pain of Donal MacNabb’s blade. Her fault then and her fault now, thanks to her headlong flight out of the keep. She bent forward and sucked in the briny tang of the ocean air. The chill of it burned the insides of her nose until fat tears began to spill from her eyes, causing her nose to run. She gasped against the pain, in her side and in her heart, and fought to breathe.

Finally, the cramp began to ease and she straightened. She regarded the ocean before her. Between her and Ireland stood the isles of Jura and Islay, the treacherous whirlpools in the waters around Scarba, and the open waters of the Irish Sea. Even if she managed to wrestle a boat into the surf and tried to sail it, she’d never make it.

She turned her back on the sea and contemplated making her way through Campbell territory. If she survived the first few days, likely she’d be picked up by a Campbell patrol, and wouldn’t the Campbell love to get his hands on her? A forced marriage would give him reason to petition the crown for MacDugall territory the Campbells had coveted for years. Logen would lose the clan, and perhaps his life, without ever facing a Campbell blade in battle.

She whirled back to the sea and for a moment, imagined walking into the waves. Nay! She dropped to her knees in the sand and lowered her head into her hands, her tears falling afresh. She could not take the coward’s way out. But no matter which way she faced, she saw no future.

“Coira!”

Logen’s shout startled her out of her self-absorbed misery.
Nay, not now.

Strong hands pulled her to her feet and turned her to face him. “Elizabeth told me she saw ye running from the keep as if the very devil himself chased after ye.”

She kept her gaze averted. She could not bear to look at him. His concern and his fear for her were making her head spin. One glimpse of his eyes, and she would burst into sobs.

“This is my fault.”

She nearly missed hearing his simple declaration, then couldn’t believe what he’d said once it finally penetrated her mind. Did he think to sway her by taking the blame? Sympathizing? Lulling her into acceptance?

Nay. She would not make it easy for him.

“It is.” Her voice sounded strained to her ears, but it didn’t matter. He’d heard her. Logen looked as if she’d slapped him, head drawn back, brows drawn down in a fierce frown.

“Ye ken I need yer help, Coira. I thought we agreed...”

“Why? So ye can remain laird?” She wrenched herself out of his grip and backed away until the surf splashed the hem of her dress. “Why must ye do that? Why not step aside, let the conspirators have their way. Let them succeed or fail. They canna do worse than they’ve already done.”

“I canna quit.”

He clenched his fists, and for once, Coira saw he, too, was trapped. She bit her lip.

“’Tisna in me to do that. I’m responsible for the clan. For ye. Ye are my charge...”

All the sympathy she’d felt for him a moment ago fled. “Yer charge? What do ye mean?”

Coira knew she’d struck a nerve by the flush staining Logen’s cheeks. Something he’d withheld from her. Something he didn’t want to share. She didn’t know whether to be angry or scared.

“Tell me, Logen.”

He sighed and held his hands out to her, palms up, in supplication. “Ye can sense how badly I feel about this. The elders made ye my charge, my responsibility, soon after ye arrived. For yer own good—”

“My good?” Her anger spiked, heating her body despite the cold water splashing behind her. “Nay. Likely to protect themselves from me…from what they imagined I might do.”

“And to protect ye, newly returned and ill.”

“So all yer care and concern, yer sweet words, yer offers of help, were simply ways to keep me near ye? To discover what I was doing? How I felt? All lies?” She was a fool—again. She backed away, into cold water up to her ankles. “Ye’re no better than the Lathan laird.”

“Nay, Coira. I am no’ he. Ye have sensed my feelings for ye. Ye ken they are true.”

“Or ye managed to convince me of that.”

“Come back to the keep, lass.”

“Logen, I canna take this any longer. I canna take
ye
any longer. Please, leave me alone.”

He stood his ground. “I understand if ye are unhappy with me. I pushed ye too hard, too fast. We can take more time for ye to learn to protect yerself. To build yer dunes. Ye willna take meals in the great hall, nor be around large groups. No’ until ye can bear to be among them. But dinna turn away from me, Coira. I do care. I do need ye. I may even love ye.”

Coira’s gasp silenced him. Thank God. She stared at him, disbelieving. How could he say such a thing? He
might
love her? Oh, aye, he wanted her. She could not doubt that. But to use the possibility of love? Her chest felt cold. Hollow. Nay, she never expected him to stoop so low.