Читать книгу: «Highland Sword», страница 3

Chapter Four

Merrick sat brooding while Allegra finished her meal in stony silence. Why should he feel guilty for calling her a witch? Isn’t that what she was? Still, she’d looked so hurt. A hurt that had now turned to stony anger. He couldn’t help comparing that with the way she’d looked when she’d been speaking of her family. There had been such sweetness about her. A light had come into her eyes that made them glow as green as a Highland loch. And for a moment high color had bloomed on her cheeks, making her as fresh and colorful as the flowers in her garden.

It was natural that she missed her family. Didn’t he miss his home whenever he was off fighting a battle? Of course, the choice to stay or leave was his alone to make, and she’d been given no such choice. But this was different. Fate had backed him to the wall and he’d had to fight his way out. If he felt a twinge of guilt about taking her far from her home, he quickly brushed it aside. He couldn’t afford to care about anyone but Hamish. If the witch healed the lad, she would soon enough be back with her sisters in the Mystical Kingdom.

What a strange place it had been. Lush and green, with brilliant flowers that grew taller than a man and the air perfumed like a lover’s chamber. It wasn’t only the air that was sweeter. The light there had been touched with such amazing color, gilding everything with gold and precious jewels. Even the drops of water in the Enchanted Loch had glowed like pearls.

He’d caught glimpses of creatures there that he’d never seen anywhere else in the Highlands. Winged horses, small and delicate, yet big enough to carry a woman or child. At least, he’d thought they were horses. One minute he saw them, the next they vanished from his line of vision. He’d also spotted tiny fairies flitting through the tallest branches of the trees. He’d seen a halo of light around them, and had heard their voices, whispering and giggling. But like the horses, one minute they were there, the next they were gone, and he’d wondered if he’d actually seen and heard them, or if he’d only imagined it.

Then he’d caught sight of Allegra tending her garden, and he’d been oblivious to all else around him. At first he’d refused to believe what he saw. Why would a witch tend a garden in an enchanted land? Couldn’t she simply command that the crops grow, and her wish would be granted? But there she was, lost in her work, giving him time to bask in her rare beauty.

Her gown of rich green, shot with gold threads, appeared to have been spun by angels. It had draped the most perfect body, all willow slender and softly rounded curves. Fiery hair hung down her back in one long fat braid, twined with green ribbons. On her feet had been dainty kid slippers. But the hoe in her hand had been plain and serviceable. And she’d worked it with all the fervor of a peasant. That only added to his fascination.

It seemed incongruous that one so lovely could work until her hands were calloused and blistered.

For a moment he’d been so taken by her beauty, he’d nearly fallen under her spell. But the thought of Hamish, and what he must do to save his son, had hardened his heart.

It had almost happened again just now when he’d carried her to the table. The press of that body to his had him thinking things that were better left alone. Thoughts of lying with her, of pleasuring himself with her, had been nearly overpowering. And when her mouth had barely skimmed his throat, he’d found himself drowning in sensations.

Even now she seemed a contradiction. All buttoned up in that prim night shift, while her hair flowed about her face and shoulders and spilled down her back like a veil of fire.

He would have to remember to protect his heart from this woman. After all, despite her pretense at innocence, this was no ordinary maiden. She would know every trick to steal a man’s mind, his heart and finally his soul. For the sake of Hamish, Merrick knew he had to be strong.

He had no fear of her. After all, he was a seasoned warrior. He knew how to do battle against his enemy.

He looked up with a start when he realized that she’d spoken. “Forgive me. I was deep in thought.”

She inclined her head. “I said now that Cook’s fine meal has restored my strength, I’ll do what you brought me here to do. It’s time I saw to your son.”

He pushed away from the table and snagged his ale before following her across the room. There he slouched in a chaise, his long legs crossed at the ankles, watching with keen interest as she perched on the edge of the boy’s pallet.

She smoothed the balm over the lad’s forehead, then gently lifted his head and spread more at the base of his skull.

Merrick felt his skin prickling, and found himself wondering what it would be like to have her touch him like that. He could almost feel those long, delicate fingers moving over him, caressing, arousing.

Annoyed, he put aside such thoughts to watch and learn the ways of this witch.

She touched her fingertips to Hamish’s temples and closed her eyes. She remained that way for so long, Merrick began to wonder what it was she was feeling. Her expressive face showed such a range of emotions. One minute she was smiling, the next her brow furrowed into a frown of deep concentration. She was relaxed for the space of a heartbeat, and then her face was twisted in pain. So much pain.

Merrick felt a jolt of understanding. Could it be that she was experiencing everything the lad was experiencing?

Suddenly she opened her eyes, staring down at Hamish as she began to chant in an ancient tongue.

The words were meaningless to Merrick, but he found them oddly soothing. Her voice, naturally low in pitch, was mesmerizing. He had to fight the urge to close his eyes and let that rich voice wash over him. Instead he forced himself to study her every move with great care. If she appeared to threaten the lad in any way, he would be on her like an avenging angel.

Her eyes were fixed on Hamish’s face with such unblinking intensity, they seemed to burn like points of flame. The ancient words poured out of her, as from one in a trance.

Abruptly she began speaking to the lad in his own tongue.

“I know you’re torn, Hamish, between your desire to remain where you are, in the company of those who offer you comfort, and to return to the life you once enjoyed. You need have no fear. Whatever harm threatened you has been banished. Here in this place you’re surrounded by people who love you and will look out for your comfort and your security. Your father is right here, eager to speak with you.”

At that Merrick got to his feet and walked to the other side of the pallet, peering down at his son. Behind the closed lids he saw a wild fluttering, as though the lad were struggling against a bright light.

Allegra’s voice remained low and soothing. “It’s all right, Hamish. You can come back now. Come. See your father, who has been waiting such a long time to speak with you. Put his mind at rest now, Hamish. Come home to him.”

Suddenly the lids rose, and the boy’s eyes were open.

The goblet fell from Merrick’s nerveless fingers, splashing ale across the floor as he dropped to his knees with a cry. “Oh, Hamish lad. You’ve come back to me.”

With tears spilling down his cheeks he gathered the boy into his arms and pressed his face into his hair.

Allegra stepped away from the bedside, not only to give father and son the privacy they deserved, but also because the weakness was upon her again. And this time it wasn’t because of a lack of food, or the difficult journey. She recognized this feeling from past experiences. It was simply the price she had to pay for having used her gift. Crossing over into that other side exacted a heavy toll upon the one who was the bridge.

At the dining table she sank onto a chair. Folding her arms on the tabletop, she rested her chin there, taking comfort in the sound of the lad’s first halting words.

“You’re…home…Father.”

“Aye, Hamish.”

“For how long? Just until the next battle?”

“I can’t say, lad. We’ll not speak of such things. For now, I’m home with you. And you’re back with me.” Merrick framed the boy’s face and stared at him with naked hunger. “I feared I’d lost you, lad. Mistress MacDonald told me you fell from a tree.”

“Did I?” The boy thought about it a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t recall.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His father wrapped him in his arms and let out a long, deep sigh. “Nothing matters now that you’re back with me, Hamish.”

The two remained that way for the longest time, with Merrick rocking his son and crooning to him, and the boy holding on to him, taking comfort in his father’s strength.

They looked up as the housekeeper came bustling into the room, followed by several servants. When she caught sight of father and son embracing, she let out a shout of joy.

“Praise heaven, m’lord. Is it truly our young Hamish, awake and smiling?”

“It is indeed, Mistress MacDonald.”

Merrick beamed as the old woman touched the lad’s face, as if to assure herself. Then she promptly burst into tears and had to lift her apron to dab at her eyes.

The servants gathered around, laughing and clapping the lad on the back. Soon, as the word spread, the entire household began spilling into the boy’s chambers, eager to share in the good news.

Mordred and Desmond paused in the doorway.

“It’s true, then.” Mordred’s booming voice had everyone glancing up as he strode forward to lean over the bed and clasp his cousin’s hand. “The lad is back in the land of the living. Isn’t he a welcome sight, Desmond?”

“Aye.” Desmond squeezed the lad’s shoulder.

Hamish pulled away and looked questioningly at his father, who merely gathered him close and rocked him in his big arms.

As more of the household gathered around, Merrick became puzzled by his son’s reaction. Hamish had always been too bold for his own good, climbing without fear, leaping as though he could fly, without regard to the peril. He’d always refused to heed his parents’ cautions, choosing instead to rush headlong through life.

Now he seemed overly shy. As timid as a cornered mouse.

Though the lad seemed pleased to see everyone, he also seemed wary, grasping his father’s hand often. At times, when too many loomed over his pallet at once, he shrank back in fear.

It was, Merrick decided, merely the result of the injury. Soon enough it would pass and the lad would be as before.

He could see the excitement beginning to take its toll. When Hamish stifled a yawn and his lids began to droop, Merrick gave the word to his housekeeper to order the others to leave. At once the old woman shooed them away, though she couldn’t bring herself to do the same. She lingered, brushing back the lad’s hair from his forehead, patting his hand, repeating all the things she’d whispered to him during his long sleep.

“Ye’re back with us now, lad. Truly back with those of us who love ye.” More tears fell from her eyes. But these were happy tears, and her joy was so great she no longer bothered to wipe them away.

Merrick sat beside his son, basking in the glow of sheer relief. He turned to Mordred and Desmond, who had remained. “It’s as if the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders.”

“Aye.” Mordred nodded. “You risked everything, and won the grandest prize of all. Neither the threat of monsters nor the fear of the unknown could keep you from finding the witch and bringing her here to weave her magic.”

The witch.

Merrick looked around and saw that she was seated at the table, her face in her hands. Was she weeping?

He crossed to her and was startled to find her fast asleep. When he touched a hand to her shoulder, she didn’t move.

Puzzled, he laid a hand over hers and drew back in surprise. She was so cold, so still, she could have been carved from stone.

Alarmed, he bent and lifted her into his arms. At once he could feel the cold seeping into him.

“Mistress MacDonald.”

At his shout the old woman looked over, then seeing the lord holding the lass in his arms, hurried to his side.

By this time he was trembling with cold. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt. It seemed to pass in waves through his body from the woman in his arms, leaving him chilled to the marrow of his bones. How was it possible for anyone to be this cold and still be alive?

Was she dying, then?

The thought left him suddenly terrified. What price had he exacted for the life of his son?

His voice was rough with impatience. “Have one of the servants stoke this fire, Mistress MacDonald. Then fetch me the strongest ale we have.”

“What’s wrong with the lass, m’lord?”

“I know not.” He knelt and settled her on her pallet, carefully wrapping her in layers of fur. “She’s so pale, so still. But see? When I touch a finger to her throat, I can feel the pulse there. Though it’s little more than a feeble whisper, it gives me hope that she can be saved.”

Mordred’s tone was incredulous. “You can’t mean it, Merrick. She isn’t like the rest of us. You’d be wise to keep your distance, else you might find yourself bewitched by this creature. Is that what you want?”

“You know it isn’t. But this I know. Because of this woman, I have my son back. Now I must do whatever I can to return the favor. If necessary, I’ll move heaven and earth to see her safe.”

“This is madness.” As Mordred and his brother followed the housekeeper from the chambers, he could be heard muttering under his breath about the fact that his cousin might have already been bewitched.

That had the old woman glancing over her shoulder at the lord, and had the servants murmuring among themselves over the dangerous creature that had been set loose among them.

Merrick seemed oblivious to their comments as he rubbed Allegra’s hands between his while he whispered, “If only I knew the magic that would restore you, lass, as you restored my Hamish.”

All through the night, while young Hamish slept peacefully, Merrick sat beside Allegra’s pallet. Each time a servant entered the chambers to stoke the fire, Merrick would rouse himself to force several drops of ale between her lips.

Was it helping to ease the cold? He thought so. He closed a big hand around hers and wondered whether he actually detected some small change in her, or if he merely thought so because he wanted it to be so.

This woman was his responsibility. Except for him, she would still be living peacefully in her hidden kingdom. He would not, by heaven, desert her in her time of need.

And yet there seemed so little he could do. The fire, the ale, the nest of furs seemed useless against the icy fingers of death that held her in their grip.

At last, desperate to pull her back from this cold abyss, he did the only thing he could think of. He slipped beneath the furs and stretched out beside her, wrapping his arms around her, willing her the warmth of his own body.