Dangerous Pride (48 page)

A wave of anger shot through Lachlan, but he forced it down, settling back in the chair to study the man more closely.  The years had not been kind to the Earl.  He was no longer the fair, honest man Lachlan remembered from his youth.  In the wake of the devastating losses in his family, and his desperation to maintain control of his holdings, he had lost his good judgment and his objectivity.  It did not bode well for the future of the Ogilvy clan, but it appeared the Earl was past caring about anything other than his own vanity.  Lachlan couldn’t help but agree with Rory’s assessment that this man was an unlikely candidate to have fathered his wife – though Elizabeth was another matter entirely.  There was little doubt about her paternity, he reflected with sadness at the thought of a life – however ill-lived – cut short.

“With all due respect, sir, I think yer underestimating the damage Leslie has done in recent months.  It has gone far beyond reiving now, and it must be dealt with.”

“What proof have you that Leslie is linked to any of this, Forbes?  I’ve known the man for many years, and he has ne’er been aught but a loyal kinsman.”

“He has been far from that, let me assure you,” Lachlan said, feeling his temper rising yet again.

“You bring me accusations, lad, but no proof.  Why should I take yer word against Leslie’s?”

“It is no’ just my word.  Talk to my men.  They will tell you how Leslie’s men have set upon mine not once, but twice.  In the first attack, we lost six good men.  In the second, we fared better.  Several of Leslie’s men were taken prisoner, until you saw fit to let them go.”

Seafield snorted dismissively, but his face reddened, betraying his unease.  “Is this all you have to bring to me?  Because if it is, I think our discussion is finished.”

The Earl was unsteadily pushing himself to his feet when the younger man’s temper snapped.  He had vowed he would keep Catriona’s name from this discussion, but the old man’s stubborn refusal to accept the truth angered him past the point of reason.  “For God’s sake, Leslie tried to rape yer own daughter.  What more proof do you want than that?”

Seafield’s face drained of color, and he dropped heavily into his leather chair.  “Before you dismiss this as rumor or gossip, let me tell you I witnessed it myself.  If I had no’ found Catriona when I did, the bastard would have raped her.  If that was no’ enough, his men have threatened yer son on more than one occasion.  I do no’ expect you to care whether I live or die, but yer own flesh and blood have been threatened.  Is that proof enough for you?  Or will one of yer children have to die at Leslie’s hands before you take measures to stop him?”

The Earl sank back further into his chair, covering his face with his hand as his chin sank to his chest.  The man sat that way for some time, the only sound filling the room his labored breathing, and the slow, steady ticking of the clock which sat above the hearth.  Lachlan refused to move from his chair, unwilling to give Seafield any reprieve.

“I will talk to him,” he said finally, as his cold eyes, cloudy with age, finally rose to meet Lachlan’s steady glare.  “I canna promise that aught will come of it, but aye, I shall talk to him.  As soon as possible.”

“Is that all you intend to do?  Talk to him?  Yer children – and both our clans are threatened by the bastard.  How can you stand by, when I am giving you plenty of reasons to kill the son of a bitch before he draws another breath?” Lachlan demanded, his voice laced with contempt.

“It is no’ as simple as all that, Forbes,” the Earl replied in an empty, wooden tone.  “There is more to this than meets the eye, and you would do well to leave me to handle it.  Alone.”  Once again, Seafield pushed himself to his feet, his gaze now steady and unmerciful.  “Listen to me well, Forbes.  If you meddle in this, like as not you’ll lose all that is dear to you, and mayhap yer life itself.  Do no’ get involved with what you do no’ understand.”

Recognizing he would get no further with the Earl, Lachlan rose to his feet, nodding curtly before he turned to leave the room.  “Remember what I said,” Seafield called out as Lachlan closed the door in his wake.  “You have no idea the damage you will cause if you do no’ leave it be.”

Summer wound more deeply into fall as the Forbes clan began to prepare in earnest for the difficult winter ahead.  The men spent long days in the fields, harvesting the crops that would sustain them in the cold winter months.  Wheat was hauled to the mills to be ground into flour, and carefully stored in the Tolquhon cellars.  The sheep were brought in from high in the mountains where they had spent the summer months, and gathered in the pens near the castle where they would spend the winter in safety.  The year had been a successful one, despite the problems with reivers.  The clan was in good spirits as the leaves on the trees turned golden, then brown, falling like a carpet along the woods surrounding Tolquhon.

In the weeks after Lachlan and Catriona left Boyne Castle, they  received no word from Catriona’s father.  Though it troubled Lachlan to leave Leslie’s fate in the hands of a man he neither trusted nor respected, there was little to be gained by pressing the Earl further.  In fact, much to Lachlan’s surprise Leslie had caused no more trouble to his kinsmen since their visit to Boyne.  Slowly, Lachlan and Rory had relaxed the guard that had patrolled Forbes lands for any sign of the outlaws, to allow the men to help with the harvest.  Despite these responsibilities, they were still careful to watch for any indication Leslie had resumed his activities.

Freedom from the constant worry about Leslie gave Lachlan an opportunity to focus his attentions elsewhere.  He had relaxed the rigorous training of the men, instead choosing to make them available to help the clan ensure they were ready for the rigors of winter.  The thatched roofs of the crofthouses were repaired as necessary, and the men cut blocks of peat from the bogs to be dried and used for fuel as the nights became colder and longer.  The pride Lachlan felt at seeing how the clan prospered filled him with a sense of satisfaction.

For her part, Catriona spent most of her days taking the measure of the stores the clan would rely upon for the coming months.  Spices and grains were sorted to ensure that any items that had spoiled were removed promptly, before they had a chance to cause further damage.  Staff in the kitchen were kept busy preparing and curing the game the men hunted.  The fishermen contributed salmon, herring and other fish, which were cured and stored for the long months ahead.  Under Catriona’s supervision, herbs were gathered from the garden, and hung to dry for later use in both medicines and foods.  Though there was much work to be done around the keep, spirits were high, and the necessary chores were completed with good humor.

Any of Catriona’s energies that were not devoted to preparing the clan’s stores were spent in the development of the school.  There would be fewer responsibilities for the children come winter, and Catriona planned to start daily classes once more of the youngsters were able to attend.  Until that time, she contented herself with holding the occasional lesson in the warmth of the kitchen, well out of Mairi’s way, with whichever children showed an interest in learning.

Late one afternoon, as she placed the last sack of oats back under the shelf in a corner of the cellar, Catriona allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.  Lachlan’s mother had taken little interest in the practical matters of running Tolquhon.  Though Catriona held no resentment for the older woman’s disinterest – after all, the dowager was well past the age of wanting such responsibilities – it had been a very difficult task to put the clan’s stores to rights.  “That’s the last of it, Annie,” she said happily, slowly pushing herself to her feet.  Catriona had felt exhausted in recent days, a fact she attributed to the heavy workload.  As she stood up, she suddenly felt the room spin about her.

“My lady!” Annella cried, rushing forward to help steady her mistress, who swayed uncertainly on her feet.  She wasn’t quick enough to catch her, and the pair fell gracelessly to the floor, Catriona’s prone body resting atop Annella.  Shaking her mistress gently, Annella grew increasingly alarmed as Catriona failed to respond.  Carefully, she shifted Catriona’s weight so that she lay on the floor.  Dashing up the steps, Annella raced down the hallway, almost out of breath as she burst into the kitchen.  “Lady Catriona has taken ill in the cellar,” she cried out, breathless, startling the lasses working near the ovens.

Quickly, Mairi tossed aside the bread she’d been kneading, and began issuing commands to the staff.  “Niall, ye make haste into the battlements and find the laird,” she commanded her young grandson.  “He is supposed tae be trainin’ with the men this afternoon.  And ye lads,” she said, pointing to a pair of Lachlan’s men who had carried a freshly hunted deer into the kitchens, “ye get tae the cellar with Annella here and see the lady carried tae her room.  I’ll fetch a healer straight away.”

While Catriona had helped most of the clansmen who had required care of late, an elderly widow who had served as a healer in her younger days still lived on the edge of the keep. Frequently, she had helped Catriona when she had required assistance or advice.  As Mairi raced toward the woman’s cottage, she hoped that the healer hadn’t chosen that day to stray too far from home.

###

The moment he saw Niall tearing across the fields to the south of Tolquhon, Lachlan understood he had never known true fear before.  The young lad was running as fast as his skinny legs would carry him, shouting to gain the attention of his laird.  Lachlan quickly hastened toward the boy, rudely turning his back on the crofter he had been talking to without so much as a second thought.  His thoughts raced frantically as he struggled to control his rising fear, though in the very pit of his stomach he was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread.

Once Niall had gained his laird’s attention, he’d fallen to his knees, exhausted from his run, as he struggled to catch his breath.  Lachlan was at his side in moments, crouching down beside the lad so he could hear his message.  “It’s yer lady, laird,” Niall said between gulping breaths.  “She’s taken ill and me Gran sent me tae bring ye back tae the keep quick-like.”

“Good lad,” Lachlan said as he briefly placed a grateful hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “One of the men here will see you back to the keep,” he added as he turned and ran towards the castle.  Unmindful of the curious stares he drew, he could think of nothing but his wife as he pushed down a growing sense of helplessness.  If Catriona was ill, there was little he could do for her.  His skills lay in the battlefield, not the sickroom.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Lachlan frantically dashed down the hall to the bedchamber he shared with his wife.  He stopped short in front of the door when he heard the quiet, muffled sound of sobbing from the corner.  Turning sharply, he saw Annella weeping freely in Rory’s embrace.  His heart fell to his boots as he saw the extent of her despair.  “Is it that bad then, Rory?” he asked quietly, unwilling to enter the room before he had a better sense of what he faced.

Rory pulled Annella closer to him, meeting Lachlan’s gaze above her shaking body.  His eyes were filled with sympathy.  “We do no’ ken, Lachlan.  The lass took ill in the cellar, while she was checking the stores with Annella.  The healer and yer mother are with her now.”

Lachlan nodded his understanding, and after drawing a deep, calming breath, turned to open the door.  The healer was leaning over their bed, gently washing Catriona’s face.  In the corner of the room, his mother sat anxiously in a chair near the fireplace, nervously twisting a handkerchief in her hands.  As soon as she saw her son enter the room, she came to her feet, hurrying to his side as he stood at the foot of the bed.

“It’s good that yer here, son,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his arm as she turned her gaze back to the motionless figure on the bed.

“Whatever happened to her?” he asked blankly, still stunned by the sight of his wife lying there, pale and unmoving.  “She was fine when I saw her last, this morning…” he said, his voice trailing off weakly as he was struck once again by a sense of helplessness.

“We don’t know yet,” his mother replied, drawing him from the bed to the corner of the room.  “She was in the cellar with Annella when she suddenly collapsed.  The men brought her up to yer room straight away, and Mairi brought the healer to attend her.”  The dowager leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones.  “The lass has not stirred since she got here, son, but Bertie is doing everything she can for her.”

Lachlan’s eyes were drawn from his mother’s concerned expression to the healer.  Leaning heavily on her walking stick, she made her way slowly across the room.  “Laird,” she nodded brusquely, clearly disinclined to make polite conversation.  “Does the lass have any enemies hereabouts?” she demanded.

“Enemies?” Lachlan repeated vaguely, shaking his head in an effort to make more sense of the question.  “My wife does no’ have any enemies, Bertie.  What are you saying?”

“Yer lass was fiercely sick when they brought her here, but she has no’ moved since.  No one else in the keep has taken ill, so we ken it is no’ bad food or drink that caused this.  If I did no’ ken better, I would think yer lady’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Lachlan repeated blankly, struggling to wrap his mind around the old healer’s speculation.  “How could that be possible?”

“I’m no’ sayin’ it is a certainty, laird, just that mayhap it explains why the lass has taken ill so sudden-like.  She does no’ have a fever, nor any sign aught else is wrong with her.  Her maid says she was right as rain this morn.  I ken no other explanation than a poison – be it accidental or otherwise.”

“I do no’ ken anyone who would do this to her,” Lachlan replied, walking across the room to his wife’s side.  Her features were so pale, as if they had been carved in wax.  As he reached a hand to her cheek, he was shocked at how cool her skin was.  “If it is poison, how can we help her?” he asked quietly.

“We’ve done all we can, laird.  The rest is up tae her.”

“That is no’ a good enough answer.”