Warrior's Lady (31 page)

"He's ill, milady." Orrin tried to reason with her.

She turned a wild-eyed gaze upon him. "A holy man's body is too pure to host illness."

"We are wasting precious time." Camden frowned at the woman. "Either we treat them all here and leave them behind, or we take them with us — willing or not."

Orrin stood over the bishop's body. "If we leave them behind we could make better time on our return to Lee Castle."

Camden did not like the idea of abandoning them, with only the old woman to care for them. But what other choice did he have if he was to see to the needs of his own people? He reached for the dagger the old woman had dropped and tucked it into his belt "Give me the Stone, and draw some water. The sooner we treat them, the sooner we can leave."

Orrin tossed the Stone to Camden. It arced across the room, the bloodred stone glistening as it moved through the air. Camden palmed the Stone. Gratitude moved through him at the return of his family's legacy.

He brushed his finger over the Stone in the center of the coin. It warmed beneath his touch, as if the Stone somehow knew a Lockhart was in its presence.

Orrin returned with a pail of water and a wooden cup. He placed the pail before Camden. "There's been enough death. It's time for healing."

"Leave my son alone," the older woman batted at them with her gnarled hand.

Camden took the mug from Orrin and scooped up a portion of water. He quickly treated the liquid, then tossed Orrin a speaking glance. Orrin nodded slightly, and grasped the woman's shoulders. Camden tipped her head back and forced the water past her lips.

She sputtered, but eventually stopped struggling, until they'd given her the entire cup. They carried her to the bed and set her there to rest, bringing the bedsheets over her body. She seemed to drift off to sleep.

Leaving the woman to her slumber, Camden returned to the pail and drew another mug of water. Once again, he dipped the Charm Stone in the liquid three times, then swirled the amulet to the right. "Help me with the bishop. Lift his head while I pour the liquid down his throat."

Between the two of them, they swiftly treated the bishop and the maid while the old woman continued to sleep.

"Let's hope this works," Orrin said as he and Camden carried the bodies of the bishop, then the maid, and placed them on the room's only bed next to the bishop's mother.

"Rhys' healing proves the Stone can cure the plague." Because if it did not ... the possibility was too horrible to imagine. Camden strode to the bucket and treated the remaining water with the Stone. "Before we leave, every warrior and every servant needs to drink this water."

Orrin nodded as he accepted the bucket and gathered the men. No one put up a fight. They seemed eager to drink anything that might keep them safe from the horrifying illness.

When the task was complete, Camden returned to his horse and gave the signal for them to ride out. Now that the Stone had been returned to its rightful owner, they had to return to Lee Castle before it was too late.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rhiannon was too tired to feel anything. Not pain. The strain in her shoulders and back had turned to numbness hours ago. Not grief. She'd been forced to submerge her emotions — both sympathy and horror — as the castle's residents collapsed in illness and death all around her. She had no time to grieve the dead when the living needed her help. Not fear. She had managed to ignore the ache that had settled under her arms, but she could not dismiss the red rash that had crept across her throat and chest with alarming speed. She'd fallen victim to the plague herself. Hours marked her presence upon this earth.

The light of dawn filtered through the front door of the keep. She had moved from the bedchamber above to the great hall hours ago as more and more residents became ill. She had thrown open the door to the keep, praying that the slight, cool breeze would carry away the stench of death that hung over the castle like a shroud. A huge fire in the hearth kept the residents warm.

Rhiannon leaned her head back against the cold stone of the castle's hall. She needed to rest, only for a moment. She could feel the tears of exhaustion and grief behind her eyes, but she buried her emotions deep inside, afraid that if she gave vent to anything she would be consumed by an overwhelming tide. Nay, it was best not to feel anything at all.

The only other person who could help was Rhys. She had asked him to take care of the dead. Since he was now healthy and strong, he could carry their bodies into the hall and line them against the wall without injury to himself. And in between carrying the dead, the man built a massive burial pyre so they could burn the bodies. Which was where he was now, leaving her alone.

No footsteps sounded anywhere in the hall as the servants, scullery maids, pages, warriors, and grooms had either fallen ill, or run away in terror. She didn't blame those who'd left. There was a time when she might have run herself. But not any longer.

She could not change who she was, and finally she accepted that she did not want to. Her family might be known as criminals and thieves to most of the Scottish people. But she suddenly realized that she was shaped by her family's reputation not to do bad, but to do good — to be more than a Ruthven had ever been before. Strong, dependable, and honest.

She was all those things, and more.

Strengthened by her thoughts, Rhiannon pushed away from the wall, ready to continue the battle against her unseen enemy. "I will fight you to the end," she said, allowing her conviction to resonate throughout the hall.

In order to sustain the fight, she needed fresh water. The cistern in the courtyard had been used dry. If she wanted water, she would have to fetch it from the well. Alone.

A sense of desolation swept over her, but she forced it away. Water. She had to get water. Straightening, she stepped out the door of the keep, through the courtyard to the stable where she hitched two horses to a cart. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, but she brushed them aside with the sleeve of her dress and pressed on.

She gathered as many buckets from the stable as she could find, and after placing them in the back of the cart, she stepped into the driver's seat. With a flip of the reins, she headed out.

The task of drawing the buckets of water from the well grew steadily more difficult with each bucket she filled. Even in the cold, sweat ran down her face and soaked her blue gown as she struggled to lift the heavy buckets into the wagon. Over and over again she filled the buckets, until finally the task was complete.

"I never realized water was so heavy." Rhiannon leaned against the side of the cart, her breath coming in halting gasps. Now all she had to do was drive the water back up to the castle and repeat the process, unloading what she had gathered. She swiped at her face with the back of her hand, then hitched herself up into the driver's seat.

By midday, the task of retrieving water was complete. And Rhiannon found herself once again kneeling beside the castle's residents, wiping their brows of fever and cleansing their wounds.

What was keeping Camden? What she wouldn't give right now to feel the strength of his hand wrapped around her own. Had he deserted her as well as the others?

She clamped her mind shut at the thought. Camden would never desert her. She repeated the mantra over and over again as she continued in her work.

He would never desert her.

She was so busy with her ministrations she did not hear anyone approach until a hand gently clasped her shoulder. She turned to see Violet standing beside her.

"Get back to your chamber," Rhiannon gasped, as fear twisted her heart.

Violet shook her head. "I want to help."

"Nay," Rhiannon cried, feeling a nauseating despair creep over her. But Violet would not be deterred. And Rhiannon no longer had the energy to fight her.

With a sigh of defeat, Rhiannon nodded. Perhaps it was for the best. Someone would have to take over the care of the sick and dying when the inevitable happened to her.

The gates to the castle stood open.

Sheer black fright swept through Camden at the absolute silence. No one and nothing stirred beneath the light of the midday sun.

He jumped from his horse and raced across the courtyard toward the doors of the keep, which were also open. The stench of rotting flesh assaulted his senses as he burst into the great hall.

He searched the room, desperate to find Rhiannon. His gaze tripped across the rows of bodies hidden beneath shrouds of white linen. "Merciful heavens." His voice was raw. He thrust his hand into his sporran. His fingers clutched what he'd hoped would be his people's salvation. But the plague had devoured them faster than he'd ever imagined possible.

The knot in his chest eased as his gaze slid to Rhiannon and Violet, sitting beside Mistress Faulkner. Rhiannon bathed the woman's forehead with a cloth, then returned her rag to the water only to swipe at her forehead once again.

"Rhiannon," he shouted as he moved across the chamber to her side.

She continued to dip, then swiped as though she had not heard him. She stared off in the distance, at something he could not see. Her expression remained blank, devoid of all emotion. Her beautiful blue gown was torn and filthy, her hair a wild tangle of knots.

She kept dipping her cloth, then swiping.

"Violet, why are you down here?" his voice filled with agony.

"I wanted to help."

"You are so very much like your mother." He gave her what he hoped was a comforting smile before he turned to Rhiannon.

"Rhiannon, can you hear me?" He dropped to his knees beside her. "Are you well? Dear God, answer me."

Her gaze finally focused on his face. "Camden?"

Relief lightened his chest. "Aye, my love."

"Camden!" Her eyes widened with horror, her faculties suddenly restored. "Get away from me!" She scooted away from him, frantic. "Plague. I'll kill you. Go away."

Violet offered him a ragged smile. "She's been ill for several hours, Uncle Camden. I did not know what to do."

He stood and grasped Rhiannon in his arms. She struggled desperately to free herself. He drew her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Shh, my love. Help is on the way."

When she stopped struggling, collapsing against his chest, Camden held out the Charm Stone to Violet. "Will you treat the water while I hold Rhiannon?"

She bit down on her lip. "The cistern is dry and the well is so far away. We've used all these buckets of water. There is nothing in the castle left to drink."

"The ale," he said softly over Rhiannon's head. "Use the ale."

Violet nodded. Before she could turn toward the storeroom, Orrin and the other warriors who'd ridden out with them entered with several casks of ale.

"When I saw that the cistern was dry, I knew you would need something to use as a tonic. I figured the ale was the quickest choice."

"Aye," Camden agreed. "Set the casks down here." It took four men to carry each of the big casks that they set down near where he held Rhiannon so fiercely.

"Help Lady Violet by drawing the ale into those buckets," Camden ordered the returned warriors. "Once the ale is treated with the Stone, each of you should drink before you treat the others." At Orrin's puzzled expression, he added, "It will not help to have any of you fall ill."

Orrin nodded, then handed Camden a mug of the treated ale. "When that is done, what should we do with the dead?"

Camden closed his eyes. The image of twenty or more bodies in the hall was there right behind his eyelids. He blew out a heavy breath. There had to be others, he deduced from how rapidly the disease had spread from Rhys to everyone else. "Set them in the courtyard for now. The Stone can do nothing for those who have already died."

Orrin nodded.

"And, Orrin, I shall also need you to find the others who have left the castle in fear. Send a contingent of men out to round them up. They must be treated or the chain of death could continue unchecked."

"Agreed," he said. A moment later, he and the others set to work.

Camden drank the contents of the mug, then cradled Rhiannon in his arms, unwilling to release her. He turned to Violet and dipped the wooden mug into the ale she had just treated. "Drink."

The girl put the cup to her lips. When she was finished, she pursed her lips into a frown. "Your ale tastes terrible."

He laughed. "Duly noted. I will try to meet your standards in the future."

She smiled, then giggled, the sound a balm to his heart. Violet had suffered so much, yet she was strong, a survivor, just like Rhiannon, and just like him.

His gaze shifted to the woman in his arms. "Will you be all right," he asked his niece, "if I take Rhiannon upstairs to her chamber? She needs to rest."