The Laird of Stonehaven (17 page)

“What are they for?” Stuart asked.

“Glory be!” Alyce cried as she fell to her knees beside Stuart. “Ye’re awake. ’Tis a miracle.”

While Alyce tried to shield Stuart from the rain, Blair crushed the dill seeds in her hands and sprinkled them onto the open gash in Stuart’s chest. Then she ripped the bottom half of her petticoat and made a thick pad, placing it against the wound.

“Here, lass,” Alyce said, “take some of my petticoat. Ye’ll need it to hold the bandage in place.”

Blair tore off the hem of Alyce’s petticoat and wound it about Stuart’s chest. “That’s all we can do until we get him back to the keep. We must cleanse the wound with comfrey as soon as possible and feed him rich beef broth to strengthen his blood.”

“I can walk,” Stuart said.

“Nay, ye canna,” Alyce scolded.

“Dinna coddle me, woman,” Stuart bellowed as he raised himself up on one elbow.

Blair watched in awe as Stuart shoved himself to his knees, wobbled a few seconds and slowly gained his feet.

“Praise God!” Alyce cried. “I’ve seen ye heal when all seemed lost, but this truly is amazing.”

Gingerly Stuart touched the bandage over his wound. “A miracle? Was I dead, then?”

“Nay, ye werena dead,” Blair said. “I canna bring people back from the world beyond. Are you sure you can walk?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

Stuart took a tentative step, then another. “I can manage.”

“The path is wet and slick,” Alyce warned. “Lean on me.”

Stuart must have realized he wasn’t as strong as he’d thought, for he gratefully balanced his weight against Alyce as they started down the path. Blair tried to shake off her debilitating exhaustion, but without much success. Curing Stuart was the most difficult healing she had ever attempted, and it had taken a great deal out of her. With extreme difficulty, she lifted herself from the ground and started after Alyce and Stuart.

They had just emerged from the woods when a group of men on horseback approached them. Blair sagged in relief when she recognized Aiden.

“What happened?” Aiden asked when he reached them.

“We were attacked,” Stuart said. “Take me up on yer horse, mon, I am about done in.”

“Be careful, he’s wounded,” Alyce warned. “Someone take my lady. She is in need of aid, too.”

Stuart was carefully lifted onto a guardsman’s horse. Another man took Alyce behind him, while Aiden took Blair up with him.

“How did you know to come for us?” Blair asked as they rode toward the keep.

“When ye hadn’t returned by the time the storm broke, I grew worried.”

“You arrived just in time,” Blair said. Stuart might consider himself healed, but Blair knew better. He needed her care. There was still much to be done to ensure him a long, healthy life.

Later, when Blair departed Stuart’s bedchamber after tending to his wound and giving him valerian to help him sleep, she found Aiden waiting for her.

“I saw Stuart’s wound,” Aiden said. “He should be a dead man. How did ye heal him?”

Blair went still. She knew what she had done might be called witchcraft by her enemies.

“I . . . have healing skills.”

“No earthly healing skills could have saved Stuart.”

“Are you accusing me of something, Aiden?”

He searched her face. “Nay, ’tis not my place to accuse. However ye did it, ’tis a miracle, and I thank ye. Stuart would be sorely missed had he died.”

Despite Aiden’s gratitude, Blair could tell by his expression that he suspected her of using magic. Something in his eyes revealed his fear, but there was also respect, and for that she was grateful.

“I’m taking a search party out to look for the men who attacked ye. Can ye tell me anything that would help us? Did ye or Stuart recognize the men?”

“I never saw them before, and I doubt Stuart had either. They’re probably long gone by now.”

“What frightened them? It seems strange that they would leave without accomplishing what they had come for. ’Twas ye they wanted, was it not?”

Blair fidgeted nervously. She did not want to say anything that would make Aiden suspicious of her.

“The storm frightened them. Two of the assailants were crushed beneath a tree that had been struck by lightning. The others fled; they probably feared the same fate awaited them.”

Aiden accepted her answer, though his expression remained doubtful. “If ye say so, lady. I’ll let ye know what we find when we return. Take good care of Stuart.”

“Stuart left his claymore behind, and I forgot a basket filled with willow bark. Would you retrieve them for us?”

“Aye, lady,” Aiden said as he took his leave.

Since Maeve was sitting with Stuart, Blair returned to her bedchamber to rest. She was utterly spent and needed to recuperate. Healing Stuart had required extraordinary strength and skill. One time she had healed a wound her father had sustained, but it hadn’t been as serious as Stuart’s. God and the spirits had surely been with her this day.

Alyce was waiting for her in her chamber. “Ye look done in, lass. Let me help ye remove yer bloody clothes. I’ve already ordered a bath. Afterward, ye can sleep as long as ye like.”

Blair was grateful for Alyce’s help. When the bath arrived, she soaked until the water grew cold. Then she climbed into bed and closed her eyes. Before sleep claimed her, she let her thoughts wander to Graeme and her feelings for him. Obviously, she didn’t love Graeme, for her powers were still strong enough to heal a man near death. And she didn’t for one minute believe she’d retained her powers because Graeme loved her. Nay, she wouldn’t fool herself into imagining such an outrageous thing.

What did she feel for Graeme if it wasn’t love? she wondered. That puzzling question bounced around in her head until sleep claimed her.

Blair slept the rest of the day and night and awoke ravenous. She dressed, washed her face and hands, cleaned her teeth and went immediately to check on Stuart. Alyce was sitting with him, patiently feeding him beef broth. His color was good, and his wound appeared to be free of infection. Leaving Alyce to her task, Blair went down to the hall to break her fast. Aiden was waiting for her.

“Good morrow,” Blair greeted.

“Good morrow, lady. I hope ye are well this morn.”

“I am fine, and so is Stuart.”

“I know. I already checked on him.”

“Did you learn the identity of our attackers?”

“We found the place where Stuart had been lying after he was wounded.” He sent her an inscrutable look. “There was blood everywhere. Not even the rain had succeeded in washing it away.” He shook his head. “His recovery is truly amazing. We found yer willow bark and Stuart’s claymore and returned them to the keep.”

“Thank you. Did you find the men beneath the fallen tree?

“Aye. All five men are dead. We found the three men ye thought had fled further up the path, crushed beneath another tree that had been felled by lightning. There was naught to link them to a particular clan, so we buried them. Mayhap they were mercenaries hired to kidnap ye.”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“I was going to ask ye the same question, lady. Graeme isna going to like this. ’Tis best ye remain inside the walls until the laird returns.”

Blair accepted Aiden’s edict with little argument. Until she learned who was behind the kidnapping attempt, she wouldn’t put the lives of any of Graeme’s kinsmen at risk.

Blair spent the next four days dividing her time between Stuart’s bedchamber and the stillroom. Stuart’s wound was healing without complications. He was still pale from loss of blood but was quickly regaining his strength on a diet of herbal teas and rich beef broth.

The fourth night, Blair looked in on Stuart, saw he was sleeping and continued on to her own bedchamber. Alyce helped her undress, then left. Blair crawled into bed, letting her thoughts wander to her husband. Did he miss her? Did she care? Though she and Graeme were husband and wife, they shared no strong feelings.

Well, there was lust, she admitted ruefully. Just thinking about his hands and mouth on her made her tremble. Despite the attraction that raged between them, Blair vowed to guard her heart. With that thought in mind, she drifted off to sleep.

Hours later, Blair woke up screaming. She was burning; flames licked at her clothing and hair and singed her skin. Fire raged all around her; there was no escape. The dream had been nearly identical to the one she’d had before Graeme left. But this time there was no Graeme to offer comfort.

Unable to sleep, she turned up the lamp and listened to the rain pounding against the windows, painfully aware that she would soon encounter the ordeal by fire . . . just as the Prophecy predicted.

Fire, water, stone.

Would she fail the test?

Drenching rain kept Graeme and Heath inside the inn. They had been at Inverness four days and were celebrating the profitable sale of their wool. Graeme planned to spend another night at the inn, then stop at Gairloch before returning home.

Naught had been done concerning Blair’s dowry, and it was past time for a settlement. Graeme should already be receiving rents and taxes from Blair’s lands on the Isle of Skye, but none had been forthcoming. Graeme knew that the lands produced a good income, and he suspected that Niall was reluctant to part with them. But they belonged to Blair, and Graeme could use the income.

As Graeme sipped his ale, he felt a sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach. He was overwhelmed by the feeling that he was needed at Stonehaven. The only thing that kept him from racing home was the knowledge that Stuart would have sent word if there were trouble. But the longer he sat nursing his mug of ale, the more troubled he became.

“What ails ye, Cousin?” Heath asked. “Ye look distraught. It canna be the wool, for the price we got was verra good.”

“Something is bothering me, Heath, but I dinna know what. I’ve tried to ignore the burning in my gut, but it willna be denied. I am needed at home.”

“I thought ye had some pressing business with MacArthur.”

“My business can wait,” Graeme said decisively. “I learned long ago to obey my instincts. They kept me alive in France.”

“When do ye want to leave?”

“Tonight if it wasna raining so hard. Unfortunately, travel would be too difficult at night in this wretched weather. We’ll leave early tomorrow, rain or no. I want to reach home before nightfall.”

Blair rose at dawn to begin her day. It had been a long night. Most of it she’d spent sitting up, staring into the shadows. She was already out of bed and dressed when Alyce bustled into her bedchamber. “Ye’re up early this morn, lass.”

Alyce opened the shutters to let in the light, her smile fading when she saw Blair’s face. “Ye’re pale. Are ye ill?”

“Nay, ’tis naught. I dinna sleep well last night.”

“Was it the dream?”

“Aye.”

“Och, dinna fash yerself, lass, ’tis only a dream. Yer husband willna let anything happen to ye.”

“No one can escape his or her fate,” Blair whispered. “If I am to perish by fire, then so be it.”

“Dinna talk like that,” Alyce scolded. “Come downstairs, I’ll fix ye yer favorite breakfast of fresh eggs and ham.”

Blair acquiesced, though she had little appetite. What she truly craved was Graeme, and the comfort he offered against the demons plaguing her. She needed to see him one last time before the flames devoured her.

Despite her worries, Blair managed to keep busy. She helped Jamie count bed linens, checked pots and pans for possible repair or replacement when the tinker came through next, and supervised the laundress. After an early dinner, she went to the stillroom to work with her herbs. There was much to be done there. She still hadn’t extracted all the willow juice from the bark they had collected and intended to finish the task today.

She worked steadily until her eyes began to droop. Because she hadn’t slept much the previous night, she decided to sit down and rest her eyes while the juice was draining from the willow bark. Within minutes she was asleep.

Blair knew not how long she slept, but she was awakened by frantic voices screaming inside her head. Dense smoke filled the stillroom as fire licked at the wooden frame of the little building. Flames blocked the door—there was no escape there. Heat seared her; smoke choked her. She looked toward the only window in the room, and her heart sank. It was too high for her to reach.

She backed up against the rear wall as the flames crept closer, devouring everything in their path. Then the thatched roof caught fire and Blair realized she was doomed. She was living her worst nightmare. Her breath came out in quick little gasps as she tried to draw air into her seared lungs.

Suddenly her fighting spirit took over, and her gaze returned to the window. Spurred by desperation, she rolled a barrel beneath the window, then prayed to the spirits to protect those she cared about. As for herself, the one person who could save her was too far away to hear her plea. She hoped Graeme’s kinsmen had noticed the fire and were fighting to keep it from spreading to the kitchens. For herself, she feared it was too late.

The window was small, but it was her only hope. Climbing atop the barrel, she grasped the frame, pushed open the shutter and pulled herself up. Unfortunately, she lacked the strength to lift herself up and out to safety, but she was grateful for the breath of fresh air when none was to be had in the burning building. Flames licked at her skirt and singed her legs. Pain seared through her as she opened her mouth and screamed.

Graeme pushed his mount ruthlessly. It was nearly dark and he was anxious to reach home. The pain in his gut had intensified, reinforcing the premonition of danger at Stonehaven. It wasn’t like him to ride his horse so hard, but he could almost hear Blair’s voice begging him to make haste.

Relief flooded through him when he saw Stonehaven’s towers rising in the distance against a darkening sky. “We’re nearly home!” Graeme called to Heath. “I’m going to ride ahead.” Since his steed was more powerful than Heath’s, he quickly outpaced his cousin.

Then he saw something that made his heart leap into his throat. A thin spiral of smoke rose into the air above the keep. Fire was a hazard everyone feared. It could devour a man’s home, his possessions, and the lives of innocent people.