My Highland Lover (20 page)

“Bring it, Aileas,” Trulie dared her as the carriage pulled away.

The warmth and bustle of the early-morning kitchen never ceased to amaze Trulie. She had never been a morning person. In her opinion, anyone starting their day with such vigor won her admiration. She stifled a yawn behind one hand and blinked hard against the last dredges of sleep.

“Do ye think Cook kens why we walk through the kitchen each morning?” Coira tugged on Trulie’s sleeve as they paused in front of the widest hearth. Suspended from iron bars over the fire, several round-bellied pots bubbled and hissed.

Karma pushed his way between them, raised his glistening black nose, and sniffed. His perked ears relaxed back in place as he backed up a step and plopped down on his haunches. Apparently, whatever was in the pots didn’t smell good enough to tempt Karma’s voracious appetite.

Trulie leaned closer and inhaled.
Yuck. No wonder.
The bland, sticky smell of boiling grains wrinkled her nose. The MacKenna clan loved their parritch.

Trulie glanced around at two scullery maids currently elbow deep in two tubs of steaming water, then turned back to Coira. “You tell me. Have you heard anything?”

Coira glanced about the room, then leaned in close. “They dinna confide in me anymore, mistress. They fear me closeness to ye.”

“Well, I don’t think any of the staff knows why we’re wandering, through.” Trulie hitched in a quick intake of breath with an uncontrollable yawn. “Honestly, I think they’re all too busy to even notice we’re here.” Rubbing the corners of her eyes, Trulie lowered her voice. “I don’t sense anything different from yesterday. I think it’s still not the right time.”

As they entered the vacant herb-drying room, Coira stole a glance back over one shoulder at Trulie. She started to speak and then stopped, as though she had changed her mind.

“What?”

Coira stared down at her feet, then shook her head. Karma nudged his head up under the silent girl’s hand and whined. His great black tail barely wagged as he leaned against her. Even the dog sensed Coira’s uneasiness.

“What is it, Coira? You know you can ask me anything.” Trulie wrapped an arm around Coira’s shoulders and gave her an affectionate shake. “We’re alone in here. Now tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Granny says yer line can see troublesome things that will happen to those around ye, but ye canna see any ill that might befall those of yer own blood. Why, mistress? Do the Fates no’ care for ye enough to protect ye?” Coira lifted her face, her worried gaze filled with confusion. “I worry for ye, mistress.”

Trulie had often pondered the very same thing, until the day she had finally asked Granny. “Granny says we can’t see our blood kin’s misfortunes because we wouldn’t be able to bear it if we weren’t able to change it. She says we should be thankful. Knowing one’s own future is a curse, not a blessing. That’s what Granny always told me.”

Trulie hadn’t quite agreed when Granny had shared that particular kernel of wisdom, but the more she saw of the world, the more she understood it to be true—especially if it was a vision of an unalterable event making itself known. Those were always the worst. Trulie drew in a deep breath. A foretelling of a
possible
future could often be avoided entirely. But a person’s final fate could never be changed. “And sometimes, when Fate sends us visions, they’re warning us about things we won’t be able to change.”

Coira’s voice fell to a hoarse whisper and her face paled as she spoke. “How long did it take ye t’know the difference between a warning to change someone’s path and an omen that canna be altered?”

“Not long,” Trulie said as she hurried them through the archway leading out to the gardens.

Karma trotted ahead. A little way up the path, a scent caught his attention. With ears perked forward and his snuffling nose barely inches above the ground, Karma wove in and out between the clumps of weeds. As he analyzed each and every scent, he occasionally paused, raised his head, and shook with a violent, snorting sneeze. Granny said Karma was clearing his nose for serious tracking whenever he had a snorting fit.

A disturbing weight settled on Trulie’s heart as she watched the dog vacuum his way around the garden. Trulie despised the visions she knew she could never change. A shudder shook through her at the memory of the last time fate had revealed someone’s unavoidable end.

Fate shouted whenever it shared the unavoidable. It grabbed your heart with icy fingers and squeezed until you cried out with the pain. Fate demanded your full and undivided attention. Fate refused to be ignored.

As the warming rays of the early-spring sun topped the wall, the light frost covering every surface sparkled as though lit from within. Trulie drew in a deep breath and forced the dark memories away. Thank heavens the vision of Gray and Colum dying from poison had not been accompanied by pain. She turned to Coira and offered a consoling smile. “At least Fate hasn’t decided to whisper anymore lately. Maybe she’ll leave me alone for a while.”

“I hope so,” Coira agreed.

Suddenly, Trulie stiffened, halting in the middle of the path. Her senses vibrated like a metal detector closing in on buried treasure. Something at the farthest corner of the garden pulled at her, urging her to come closer. “There’s a plant. Over there. It holds the poison that takes the men.”

Trulie calmed herself with deep, slow intakes of breath as she made her way to the corner. Squatting down closer to the tangled mess of leaves and stems, she scanned the scrubby clumps of new growth. This corner of the garden had been sadly neglected. Weeds lined the inside of the stone fence and the ground looked as though it hadn’t been worked in a while. Trulie bent and pushed aside the tallest of the weeds, searching for plant types she could positively identify. There they were. Several long, narrow leaves pushed their way up through the soil.

Trulie knelt and looked closer at the leaves. The plant was so young and the leaves so tiny, she couldn’t tell for sure. “We’ll have to get Granny. She’s better at identifying plants than I am.”

Coira’s face brightened as Trulie stood. “The men willna be in danger until the plant grows large enough t’bloom. I recall ye said ye saw pretty purple flowers that looked like wee sock caps.”

“Wee sock caps,” Trulie repeated under her breath as she tried to bring to mind all the lessons in herbal lore Granny had given her. Sock caps. Purple flowers. Trulie glanced back down at the tiny plant just pushing through the dirt.
Dead man’s bells.
It had to be foxglove. Trulie shivered with the recognition. Digitalis poisoning was a terrible way to die. Nausea. Vomiting. Wild hallucinations and unbearable headache. Then, if you survived all that, the beating of your heart gradually slowed until it stopped.

Trulie patted Coira on the shoulder and nodded back toward the keep. “Come on. At least now we have a warning flag. We just need to watch for little purple flowers.”

Coira beamed with their discovery. “Now the men will be safe. All will be well.”

Karma pushed around them, hesitantly sniffed at the dangerous plant, then hiked his leg and peed on it. “Thank you, Karma. That should help immensely.” Trulie ruffled the dog’s velvety ears.

Karma smiled up at her, his long red tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth.

Trulie headed them all back toward the keep. The knot of tension centered in her chest didn’t seem quite so tight. If they could just figure out who wanted Gray dead, life in medieval Scotland might actually be enjoyable.

“Aileas is gone and Fearghal can no’ be found. Why can ye no’ settle on a date?”

Trulie didn’t turn to face him. She paused from sorting through colored threads on the table and slid a sideways glance back over one shoulder that left no doubt about her feelings. She was obviously not in the mood to discuss wedding plans.

Gray couldna help it. He wanted the ceremony done and behind them. The more he mused about the role of husband and father, the more he yearned to embrace it. Summer was fast approaching. It would soon be time to head out across MacKenna lands and visit all his people. When he rode across his lands, he wanted his wife at his side. Not only did he look forward to introducing Trulie to the clan, but surely enjoying Trulie’s charms beneath the star-filled summer nights would guarantee a strong son by next year.

Farther down the long wooden table, Granny thumped a crooked finger atop the square of linen spread in front of her. “I think the first of May would be a perfect date. What better time to marry than on the Feast of Beltane.” Granny leaned forward, excitement brightening her face as she continued. “A very fertile time, I might add.”

Beside the hearth, Tamhas chuckled as he chimed in. “Aye. A marriage feast on Beltane could ensure the welcoming of your first born by Brid’s day.”

Gray leaned forward and lightly traced a fingertip atop Trulie’s hand. “What say ye,
mo chridhe
? Shall we plan the feast for May first?”

Trulie still didn’t speak.

Gray’s frustration increased as Trulie’s mouth pressed flat into a determined line. He knew that look. The woman was gearing up to list all the reasons why they should wait.

Trulie huffed a stray curl off her forehead. She dampened her fingertips with the tip of her tongue, then pinched apart several tangled threads. Tense silence filled the room. Even the flames of the iron candelabra in the center of the table stilled as though awaiting Trulie’s answer. Holding the threads up in front of the light, Trulie squinted at the knotted hanks as she spoke. “Until we nail down your little pyromaniac and potential poisoner, we don’t need to get sidetracked with wedding plans.” Trulie lowered her hands and smoothed the separated colors across the table. “Who knows what the wacko would do if we agitated him…or her with nuptial preparations.”

Gray wasn’t sure about some of those words, but he caught enough of the gist to ken he didna agree. He would dive headfirst into the pits of hell before he bowed to the whims of some gutless fool too cowardly to challenge him face-to-face. The more he thought about it the hotter he burned. Nay. He’d had enough. ’Twas time to turn the tables.

“N’more waiting. If it takes our joining to flush out the enemy, then so be it. May first, Trulie. What say ye?” Gray leaned forward and stilled both of Trulie’s hands with his own. She had to agree. Waiting for attack made a warrior weak.

Granny eased away from the table and joined Tamhas at the hearth. Karma’s nails clicked across the stone flooring as he walked over to Trulie’s chair and plopped down beside it.

The low-burning fire in the hearth hissed and popped. Sparks sizzled as they rose into the darkness of the flue.

Gray glanced around the room. Time felt suspended, as though the cosmos wanted to hear Trulie’s answer too. “What say ye, m’love?” She had to agree. Surely, she wouldna delay the day any longer.

“You really think we can marry without someone getting torched, poisoned, or maimed?” Trulie turned toward Gray, one brow arched.

Gray bit back a chuckle. Her expression reminded him of a mother interrogating her child. “I will make it so,” he swore in a solemn voice. “I swear it.”

Trulie nodded. “Then May first it is.”

Excitement surged through him like the burn of good whisky.
Finally.
They would be as one. Gray swept Trulie into his arms and kissed her soundly.
“Tha gaol agam ort, mo chridhe.”

Trulie blinked up at him and waited, both finely arched brows raised this time.

“I love ye, m’heart,” Gray translated as he pressed his forehead to hers.

Granny clapped her hands as her triumphant “Whoot!” rang across the rafters. Karma barked and Kismet surveyed the room with a bored flip of her tail.

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” Granny proclaimed with an excited bob of her head. She turned and patted Tamhas’s shoulders, nudging him toward the door. “Come on. We have a lot to do.”

“We?” Tamhas repeated with a horrified look. “What do I have t’do?”

Granny shoved him harder until he shuffled sideways. “A lot. Now get moving. There’s no time to waste.”

Tamhas rolled his eyes, turned, and plodded toward the door. When he reached the arch, he paused and glanced back at Gray. “May the gods be with us both, nephew,” he called out as Granny shoved him out the door.

“Were ye about the tunnels today?” Colum leaned close and glanced around. “Were ye near the passage that opens to the sea?”

Gray didna answer as he hefted a scarred longbow free of the rack. “The
taifeid
is worn on this one.” He held the bow sideways in front of Colum’s face and plucked the bowstring. “See it is replaced.”

“Aye.” Colum nodded as he took the weapon. “Did ye hear m’question about the tunnels?”

“Aye.” Gray selected a shorter bow and examined it closely. “I am no’ deaf. ’Tis the heart of yer question that troubles me—especially now that m’Trulie has settled on a date.” The location of the escape tunnels leading from inside the keep to an elaborate network of hidden caves was known to verra few within the clan. Keeping such knowledge to only the most trusted ensured the safety of the stronghold.

“The hidden door was ajar.” Colum handed Gray another bow and took the short one from him. “ ’Twas mere inches, but wide enough to allow a smaller body to squeeze through.”

“Yer thoughts?” Gray turned and faced Colum. Colum never came to him asking questions without good reason. Knowing his trusted man-at-arms, Gray waited to hear who Colum thought had trespassed through their tunnels.

“Fearghal,” Colum spit without missing a beat. “I ken in m’gut that snake hides in the darkness beneath our land.”

Fearghal. Gray scrubbed his fingers across the stubble of his jaw. Admittedly, no one had seen the sniveling wimp since nearly a fortnight before his mother left. But how could the bumbling fool survive such an existence? The clumsy oaf had ne’er mastered any basic survival skills. Fearghal couldna hunt, was afraid to fish, and had a hard time sitting a horse long enough to ride across the paddock. The only thing Fearghal had e’er strived to perfect was draining tankards in one long swallow. He didna even do that well. The ale usually ran down either side of his face and streamed into his oversized ears.