Highlander's Challenge (19 page)

"Not a problem. I've dealt with plenty of stubborn men in my time."

Her eyes twinkled with her grin. "Aye, that you have." She turned and led Tuck into the room.

The first thing Tuck noticed was the gloom. The heavy tapestry drapes were pulled together, shutting out the sun. Eerie shadows cast by the fire flickered over the bed where the MacLean Laird lay. She'd expected a sickroom odor, but found none. Only stale air, and an odd smell she couldn't place.

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Her eyes caught sight of a small brazier on the floor by the bed. A thin trail of smoke snaked into the air. Herbs of some sort, she guessed.

Elspeth moved to a table across the room littered with various bowls and jugs. Tuck stepped up beside her as Elspeth took carefully measured spoons of the herbs and powders and combined them in a large cup.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, trying to ascertain why he'd need so many drugs.

"He hasna been well since he was clouted over the head." She added ale to the mix and stirred. "He canna think clearly any longer and has no want for food. We can only make him comfortable." She cleared her throat softly. "I'll need your help in propping him up tae take his tonic. I didna wish tae ask Colin. It grieves him so tae see his da like this."

"I, um, understand." But she didn't, never having felt much of anything for own father other than contempt. "So what's in this thing?"

"I dinnae know all the names. 'Tis Maighread's brew. It helps him rest." Elspeth turned toward the bed and moved to the laird's side.

Tuck hesitated by the table, more than her curiosity peaked. Having never been left to her own resources in the bush for longer than her rations lasted, she'd never needed to rely on her knowledge of the various plants, both edible and medicinal. Now she found herself putting that information to the test.

She took a pinch of one of the powders and carefully tasted it. Ground heather, not dangerous, but not very 180

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helpful. She moved to another container and lifted the bowl. She gingerly sniffed, but couldn't place the plant. Although it smelled of apples, it was distinctively different.

"Mandrake," she hissed, her memory kicking in. The plant was commonly used in medicines over the ages, but could be poisonous. The amount Elspeth had placed in the cup wasn't overly much, but still, what good would it do the man?

She moved to another, recognizing it as scotch broom, harmless, then continued until she'd identified each powder. There didn't seem to be any great threat from the many herbs as long as they were carefully administered. But all at once and mixed with ale?

Her internal alarms blaring, she dropped the last bowl on the table, rushed across the room to Elspeth, and snatched the cup from her hands.

"What are you doing, lass?" she gasped. She turned to the chamber pot sitting beside the bed and emptied the cup into it. "This stuff is killing him."

"But Maighread—"

"Doesn't know squat about medicine. All those herbs mixed together with ale is only making him sick."

"But the draft soothes him. It lets him rest." Tuck snorted. "Oh, he'll rest all right. In peace." She set the cup on the table and went to the bedside and touched his brow. He felt unusually cold, but at least there was no fever. Sliding his limp hand from beneath the covers, she felt his pulse. Weak, way too weak. She looked over the wound at his temple. It had scabbed over, but the coloring 181

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around it was still too purple for the amount of time that he'd been laid up. It wasn't healing.

"What have you been feeding him?" she asked.

"Broth, when he would take it. With some of the herbs mixed in."

That explained it. Not only were they mixing all sorts of potentially poisonous plants with alcohol, a dangerous combination, they were giving him too much. He was over drugged.

An odd thought crossed her mind. If Maighread was such a great healer, why didn't she realize she was killing the man?

She'd been taking care of him for weeks.

She shook off her suspicions for the moment. The laird needed medical care. "No more drafts," Tuck commanded.

"But he needs them. Tae ease his mind, his pain." She sighed heavily. This wasn't going to be easy. "What he needs is to be left alone. Those drafts are sucking the life out of him." She ran a hand through her hair at the look of consternation on Elspeth's face. It would be difficult for her to turn her trust from Maighread to her, but she had to if the laird was to live.

She grasped the older woman gently by the shoulders. "I'll try to explain this to you as best I can. Mixing all those herbs together with ale and putting them in his food has made him weak. His body doesn't have the strength to heal." Elspeth shook her head slightly, her round face pinched with worry. "I dinnae understand."

"Have you ever heard the saying too much of a good thing is bad for you?"

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She looked at the man lying listlessly in the bed. "You mean tae tell me, I've been—I've been hurting him?" Her hand flew to her mouth with a choked cry.

"It's not your fault. You didn't know. Now, here's what we're going to do. First we get rid of Maighread's potions." Tuck marched to the table and snatched up the containers, then promptly dumped them in the chamber pot.

"And as for this," she lifted the lid to the brazier, and instantly felt dizzy as a waft of smoke encircled her head. It wasn't opium, but she suspected it caused a distinctive effect on the nervous system. Shaking her head, she snatched the basin of water by the bed and dumped it onto the smoldering weeds.

"We need to fill this room with fresh air and the laird with good food, but not solids. We need to build up his strength first. Weak ale at best, no whiskey, and plenty of broth—

without any of Maighread's herbs."

"And the leeches?" Elspeth asked tentatively.

"Good God, that too? No wonder he's half dead." She grumbled an apology at her choice of words. "But keep those things away from him. Don't use them. Ever. On anyone again. Do you understand?"

"But why? They take the bad humors from the body. How can a person heal with bad humors?"

"You're just going to have to trust me, Elspeth. All those slimy things are good for is getting rid of a bruise." She repressed a shudder. Leeches were one of her pet peeves. The nasty little buggers found their way into her 183

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fatigues on more than one occasion while she waded through shallow waters in the army.

"Now you go down and get a very big bowl of broth," she said. "We've got to flush all that stuff out of his system so his body can begin to heal itself."

Elspeth scurried out of the room, muttering "oh dear" beneath her breath several times.

"Don't worry, sir. We'll have you back on your feet in no time." Tuck hoped.

She moved to the window, threw open the curtains and let the sunshine in. Her stomach roiling with all the chemicals she'd inhaled, she opened the window to air out the place. 184

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Colin paced the battlements, irritated with the constant thought of her. He tried to cast her from his mind, but repeatedly found himself thinking of her, watching her, and listening to her read.

In an effort to drive her from his mind, he spent long grueling days pouring his energies into training the men, then making quiet, fairly safe raids on MacKenzie farms. Years of peace had weakened his clan's skills and he refused to risk their lives until absolutely necessary, but they were good lads and eager to strike back at the MacKenzies. He could not hold them back, so he appeased them with reiving. Yet were the MacKenzies the true enemy? Was someone trying to tear the island apart by pitting the clans against one another?

"Damn puzzles," he growled.

A war was at hand, and he could think of nothing but a stubborn female with lips like the sweetest heaven, a voice that spoke to his soul, when she chose to use it, and wearing trews. If he didn't regain control soon, his clan would pay for his weakness.

Time and again his mind replayed the way she'd strode into the great hall in a kilt, her long firm limbs plainly visible for the world to see. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder, storm back to her chamber, and explore every inch of her skin with his hands and lips. Madness, it was!

A light mist began to fall and he retreated inside, his determination firmly embraced. His fate was before him. He 185

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had to accept it, although he was not happy with the direction his life would take. Why had his expectations changed? Why did he find himself wishing he was not the man he was? He'd always known he would be laird one day. Why did he feel so differently about it now?

He hoped beyond hope that the answer would not have anything to do with Amelia. Aye, he could no longer think of her as Tuck, and never truly had, not when he whispered her name over and over in his dreams.

A shrewish voice echoed in the corridor answered by a deeper menacing one. He strode firmly onward, beyond his bedchamber and came to a stumbling halt before his father's open door.

"Why don't you find your broom and take flight," Amelia snarled.

Maighread raised her hand to strike her across the face, but Amelia quickly snatched her arm before she could deliver the blow and spun her around. She shoved his cousin across the room straight into his arms.

Wearing a wounded look upon her face, Maighread said,

"Colin, did you not see what she's done? She tried tae kill me so she can get tae your da. I tried tae stop her, I did." Why Maighread ever thought she could defeat Amelia was one of those female mysteries he'd yet to decipher. Not only was she a half foot taller than his cousin, she was faster and stronger. But what was she doing in his father's bedchamber?

He shoved Maighread to the side and entered the room, stopping before the woman who plagued his every waking thought.

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"What are you doing in here?" he demanded. He gave only passing consideration to Maighread's words, but couldn't ignore the fact that the woman was where she didn't belong. Amelia propped her hands on her hips and shook her head.

"You still don't trust me. After everything that's happened. Ian, Robby, those jerks in the dungeon. You can actually stand there and think I'd do something to hurt your father or this clan."

He clenched his teeth against the hint of hurt in her voice, but she was right. He'd mistrusted her from the beginning, as he should, and yet over and over, she'd proven herself honorable.

He'd watched her many times from the parapet as she worked to teach Robby her odd dance amid the gardens beside the keep. The lad seemed stronger, not in muscle but in heart. He held his head high as he went about his chores, and the other children had ceased their teasing. Much could be said for her way with the lad and others who had accepted her. Nay, she was not a threat to his people. Only to him.

"That still doesna explain why you're in my father's chamber," he snarled, unable to contain his anger with himself. He wanted to snatch her up, feel her sweet firm body pressed against his as he devoured her mouth. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled into a tight line. "I happen to be helping Elspeth, who happens to trust me."

"I am the healer," Maighread shrilled as she rushed to his side. "You have no right tae be here."

"Be still, cousin."

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She clawed at his arm. "She is evil, I tell you. She means tae harm your da."

Amelia poked him hard in the chest. "You let her in here to screw up the progress we've made, and I swear I'll deck you," she growled through clenched teeth then looked at Maighread. "Right after I sweep the floor with her." He opened his mouth, but was at a loss for words as the two women prowled around him like mad cats. How had he come to be in the middle of this feud? And how was he to bring it to an end?

His cousin shrieked, piercing his ears. "She casts her spell!

Beware, Colin."

"I'll cast something, but it won't be a spell," Tuck said, reaching for Maighread.

"Leave off, the lot of you! You're ruining my first good meal in an age."

Colin's heart jumped to his throat, his jaw fell lax. He'd been so distracted by the women, he'd failed to notice his father sitting up in bed eating his supper. Slowly, he turned to where the voice, the tone, the strength he thought he'd never hear again had bellowed heartily.

"I taste your hand in this wonderful stew, Ellie," his father said then winked at his aunt who promptly blushed. "'Tis the finest I've ever tasted."

Colin cast a quick glance back to Amelia. Her arms folded and her lips pulled up in a cocky grin. She had done this. This woman who tormented him at every turn had brought his father back from the dead.

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Unable to contain his joy, he plucked her off the floor, and kissed her soundly. She squeaked at the sudden connection, and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She tasted better than he remembered.

"'Tis her witchcraft. She's spelled him, she has," Maighread cried shrilly.

Stunned by what he'd done, he carefully returned her to the floor. His hands glided up her arms, along her throat to her cheeks, relishing the simple pleasure in touching her. Gently cradling her face, he smiled at her dazed expression. It was one of those rare moments in which her mask fell away and all her thoughts and emotions were bared to the world. She'd enjoyed the unexpected kiss as much as he.

"You must resist her, Colin. Dinnae let her bewitch you," Maighread demanded, tugging on his arm.