The Rogue (25 page)

“Birdi? Sweetie, can you hear me? Shit!”

Something cold and wet pressed Birdi’s forehead and she opened her eyes. Lady Beth hovered over her, concern clearly etched on her odd but pretty visage. Wondering why she should garner such sympathy, Birdi looked down and saw she sat on the floor, propped against Lady Beth. Embarrassed to her toes, she struggled to stand.

Lady Beth pressed her shoulder, thankfully, her uninjured one. “Sit for just another moment.” She wiped Birdi’s face and hands before looking deep into her eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

Birdi nodded, still amazed the woman wasn’t screeching.

“Let’s forget about your ablutions and get something in your belly, shall we?”

“Aye, that might be best.”

“Good.” She helped Birdi to her feet. Hand at her elbow, Lady Beth guided her back to the great hall.

The moment they entered the warm hall, the men came to their feet. Lady Beth handed her off to Angus and reached for a bell. A heartbeat later Birdi sat at Angus’s right on a raised platform at the opposite end of the room, her back to a warm fire and a mountain of food before her, most of which she didn’t recognize.

When she hesitated, Angus pointed right and murmured, “‘Tis roast pork and applesauce, ye’ll love it. That,” he pointed to a pile of greens, some of which she did recognize, “is salad. Verra good as well.”

“And this?” She pointed to a brown mound to her left.

“‘Tis roasted pheasant with rosemary. Yum.” He deposited what appeared to be choice pieces on her trencher, reached for a small metal pitcher and poured brown liquid over the meat. “Bon appetit.”

“What?”

“Eat.” With that, he dug into his trencher with both hands. Birdi, hungrier than she’d been in a long while and still shaky, sampled her first mouthful. Finding it salty, crispy, she murmured, “
Oh my word.”
She had definitely died and gone to Angus’s heaven.

She couldn’t get the meat into her mouth fast enough. Wishing for four hands, she found Angus grinning at her. She smiled back but didn’t stop eating fearing Lady Beth might ring her bell and then the delicious food would be taken away.

When she scraped the last of her bread through the last of her brown juice, she leaned back, folded her hands over her well-stuffed middle, belched then sighed. To no one in particular, she said, “That was verra good.”

The laird of Castle Blackstone laughed, startling her. “Ye’ve met yer match, my friend, at least at the table.”

When Angus chuckled, Birdi relaxed, deciding she might like it here, after all. Angus stood, pulled her chair back, and whispered, “Tis Lady Beth’s custom that we now retire to the other end of the room while the table is cleared.”

She took his outstretched hand. “As ye wish.” Being a lady definitely had its benefits: good food, bonnie gowns, a comfy bed above stairs, and someone else to clear the table. She could live like this.

She was halfway across the long room, her hand resting on Angus’s strong arm, when a door to the right squeaked and a dark shape move toward her.

“Good day, MacDougall, Lady MacDougall,” the dark shape said. “And who is this?”

As the man moved closer, Angus’s liege said, “Father John may I present our newest Lady MacDougall. Lady MacDougall, this is...”

Birdi’s heart stopped. Cold sweat erupted beneath her arms and across her brow. She saw only a black hood, black gown, and a large wooden cross.
Beware of the priests in black gowns who burn the likes of us on pyres.

“Aaaaahhhh!”

Arms out, elbows locked, she rammed the hooded specter of her nightmares in the chest knocking him backward, and bolted toward the door. Tripping and stumbling down the circular stairs, she keened, “Oh, Goddess, please, please help me!”

They’d fattened her up to eat!

And she’d never forgive Angus. Such deceit was beyond...beyond...

At the bottom of the stairwell, Birdi slammed against a clansman coming in. She slapped him out of the way with frantic hands and raced straight ahead. Fifty steps, just fifty steps to get out of this dreadful place. Run straight and ye’ll find the arch. Heart slamming against her ribs, hands before her, she ran, mouth open, sucking in as much life-giving air as Goddess would allow. Halfway across the bailey she realized she’d stopped counting. Just go, an inner voice bellowed, and you’ll find the sea. Just go!

Aye, better to drown than be burned alive.

Nay, she wouldn’t drown. She swam like a fish and would make good her escape.

Running through the arch, ignoring the shouts and pounding feet behind her, she sent a final sacred prayer to Goddess, asking for the sea to welcome her.

Without hesitation she ran straight into the heaving white foam roaring at the end of the stone quay.

As the bone-breaking cold engulfed her, knocked the breath from her chest, she felt the sea grab hold and pull her to its bosom. She kicked with all her might and rose, but the sea clutched her gown, kept trying to pull her back down. Her arms clawed at the water, her left arm strong, and her right made nearly useless by her struggle. Why had she not stripped before plunging?
Oh, Goddess. Help!

She kicked furiously, until her legs screamed for reprieve. Finally she felt the top of her head break through a wave and into the sun, but then—before she could grab a breath of air—she was pulled down again. She stopped fighting then. She was simply too small to break free.

As the sea spun her in its liquid embrace, she confided to Goddess,
Ah. I ken now. I lived as a stranger in yer land and shall now die a stranger in yer sea. So sad, but somehow so fitting.

A
s Angus raced through the great hall’s doorway after Birdi, he heard Lady Beth shout, “What the hell just happened?”

A very good question. He wanted to know as well. One thing was certain. Something had terrified Birdi. He hadn’t heard such keening, seen such horror on a woman’s face since his time in France.

He bounded down the stairs, taking them three at a time, pushed through the open lower door and into the bailey. He saw her; arms out before her, jet curls billowing behind her like huge black wings, as she raced through the raised portcullis. “Birdi! Wait!”

When she didn’t stop but raced on, he cursed and ran after her.
Merciful Mother of God, if she doesn’t stop she’ll run right off the end of the quay.

To his horror, just as he set foot on the quay, she did precisely that. She never hesitated; never looked back, just ran straight into the crashing waves.

“
Nooo!
”

He tore off his heavy jerkin as he ran, then dove into the pounding surf after her.

Freezing cold knocked the breath out of him and he kicked to the surface, where he gulped air and spun, searching for her. “Birdi!”
Oh, Christ, please, I beg ye, help me find her.
He couldn’t see for the tears and brine. “Birdi!”
She can’t drown, please don’t let her drown.
“BIRDI!”

The waves ebbed and he spotted something dark floating just beneath the green waves to his right. He dove and found her floating like a dark angel; arms extended, eyes closed, black curls resembling silk flotsam as she hovered in her blue gown.

Lungs aching, he grabbed her under the arms and kicked for the sun.

He broke the surface, gasped, and lifted Birdi higher, thrusting her head out of the water, only to panic when it lolled backward. “Ye canna be doing this twice, Birdi. Wake up!” Kicking to stay afloat, he shook her. “I’ll not have it, ye hear!” She coughed then, spewing seawater like a whale.  She gasped a few times, coughed again, and opened her eyes. With the next breath she screeched.

“Birdi, ‘tis me.”

“
Nay!
” She fought, arms flailing, teeth bared like those of a cornered she-wolf.

“Birdi, for God’s sake!” He had all he could do to keep them both above the waves surging toward the boulders. Pinning her arms and still kicking frantically to keep afloat, he shouted, “What the hell has ye so frightened?”

Gasping, she yelled, “I willna, I willa be burned. Let me drown!”

“
What?
Birdi—” He sucked in more air to them both from perishing. “Listen,” he panted, “no one is going to burn or drown, I promise. I’d never let that happen. I love ye!”

She froze then. Just gaped at him. “Ye love me?”

There it was. He did love Birdi, didn’t want to, didn’t understand the how or why of it, but aye, he did love his Birdi.

Good bye, Donaliegh
.

“Aye, Birdi, I love ye, I do.”

“Oh Angus!” She threw her arms about his neck, sinking them both.

God, she felt good as her tongue sought his, cold and frightened as she was. Cold and exhausted as he was, for that matter. But they’d best continue this on dry land.

He kicked, surfaced and, keeping a tight hold on her, made for the quay. Hearing shouts, he looked up and found Duncan and Ian reaching for them. Dozens of clansmen stood at their backs.

Duncan, having the longest arms, caught Birdi and heaved her up and onto the quay. Ian grabbed Angus’s shoulders and roughly hauled him up and over the boulders. On solid ground again, anxious to get to Birdi, he bellowed, “Out of my way!”

Angus found her in Beth’s arms, Duncan’s cloak wrapped about her, her pale skin nearly blue. Begging Beth’s pardon, he scooped her into his arms. “Are ye all right?” The woman would be the death of him.

Teeth clicking like a squirrel’s, she whispered, “I’m sorry, but I thought—
Aaaaaahhh!
”

Her magnificent ice-blue eyes bulged like a frog’s as she continued to screech and point to those surging toward them.

“What? What has ye fashing now?”“

Birdi clawed at Angus’s chest. “Get him away!”

He raked the crowd, looking for a Macarthur, a Gunn, someone or something that wasn’t right. “Who? What?”

She gasped, “The priest!”

Not understanding but willing to do anything so long as she stopped keening, he shouted, “Remove Fat John. Now!”

To his left Duncan ordered, “Ian, take Father John back to the keep.” Ian, scowling, grabbed the rotund priest’s arm.

The priest sputtered and fumed as Ian, saying something about mead, dragged him away.

Lady Beth heaved a sigh. Knowing Ian, she had little doubt she’d find their gluttonous priest out cold in some storage room within a few hours.

But she had more pressing problems at the moment and caught Kari’s eye. “Mistress Kari, please run ahead and stoke the fires in Angus’s room.” As the woman took off at a run Beth yelled, “And ready a bath!”

She took Duncan’s arm and followed Angus and his lady into the keep. In a whisper, Beth asked, “Do you know why she fears him so?”

Duncan leaned toward her to avoid being overheard. “If Angus is tale is true—and I’ve nay reason to doubt him—Birdi has every reason to fear Father John. She’s nay doubt heard tales of cumberendra.”

“Of what?”

“Church-ordered burnings at the stake. Witches usually, but heretics, as well. Birdi is a
cailleach,
a pagan healer and according to Angus, an extraordinary one.”

“You’re not serious?”

He nodded and slowed, letting those who traveled behind them pass. When the last had done so, he whispered, “I’ve wished to rid myself of Fat John for years. More so now than ever. If he remains, Angus will take his leave, and that I’ll not have.” He huffed. “My problem now lies in getting Fat John to leave of his own accord. I canna boot him out, as much as I’d like. The bishop would be here thrice, threatening excommunication and raising tithes.”

“I see.” Beth had wanted to rid herself of the priest since arriving at Blackstone. The man—intent on converting her—was still harassing her, but not until today did she realize her husband wanted him gone as much as she did. Splendid!

She patted Duncan’s arm. “Just leave it to me.”

 ~#~

His hands full, Angus shouldered open the guest quarter’s door and found Birdi up to her neck in warm water.

She peeked over the rim of Beth’s huge tub. “Is he still down there?”

Angus shook his head, dropped the flagon of hot mead and the tankards on the fireside table, and then knelt beside her. He reached for the fragrant rose soap bobbing on the water, a gift from Beth. “He’s locked in the west wing. Ian will keep him there.”

“All right, but so long as he’s about I have to stay here.”

His poor wee Birdi. He lathered the soap in his hands and murmured, “Sit up.”

When she did, knees bent and clutched to her chest, he eased the bubbles across the lace scars on her back. “Now, why didn’t ye tell me ye feared priests? I’d have kept him from ye.”

She hunched her shoulders. “I thought...I feared...I didna ken if—”

“...if I was in league with the priest?”

Turning scarlet, she nodded. “Aye, but then I didna ken that ye loved me. I was sure ye loved Mary and I—”

“Whoa. Who is Mary?”

“Hale Mary, the one ye whisper to each night and when ye’re most upset. Ye ken. The one with honey hair and beehive breasts.”

Oh my God
. She’d heard him praying and had assumed...He couldn’t help it. He started laughing.

Looking indignant, she slapped his arm. “What, may I ask, do ye find so humorous?”

Angus wiped the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his soapy hands. “Love, do ye remember the tale of the Blessed Virgin and the Immaculate Conception?”

Birdi narrowed her eyes at him. “How could I not? Ye kept me up half the night making sure I would.”

Because she looked so splendidly indignant, because it felt so good to be home, because she loved him and he loved her, because he’d lost Donaliegh and his chiefship and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it but laugh, he laughed again, this time until it hurt.

Birdi, apparently deciding he’d lost his mind, huffed and sank beneath the bubbles.

She ran out of air about the same time he caught his breath. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “Birdi, I do love ye so.”

“Good, because I do too, though why I should when ye jest at my expense and—”