Chapter 4
Catriona angled her chin to the left and tilted her head back. She lowered her handheld mirror to better examine the spreading bruise along her jawline. The salve of arnica had faded the angry coloring a small amount but not as much as she'd hoped.
Spoiled wicked bastard.Catriona flinched as she pressed her fingers against the angry purplish spot and worked her mouth open and closed. At least the blow had been glancing, or it wouldha broken bone or cost her teeth. She stared at her reflection in the small oval mirror framed in wood, pondering the mess life had become of late.
“I fear I can no longer protect them, Mother,” she whispered to her downcast reflection. “Not from Calum.”
Calum had grown too cruel and calculating. To maneuver his edicts to protect the clan, as Mother had done with Father’s demands for so many years, would prove impossible. Once Mother had died, Catriona had accepted the task as her own. She’d been a bewildered fourteen-year-old lass, but she’d promised Mother, sworn on her heart even that she’d carry on the protection of Mother’s clan. So, she’d done it. What had helped her the most was that Father’s health had faded as soon as Motherhad died. In fact, Gordon Neal had sworn his ailments were because of the curse Margaret Neal had placed upon him with her dying breath. 'Twas rumored Mother had been a white lady. Catriona knew in her heart the rumors to be true.
If only I’d inherited her gifts.Catriona stared at the bruise along her jaw.Oh, what a curse I’d place on dear brother.
Calum wasna in poor health and his evil grew stronger every day.
Catriona placed the mirror face down on her dressing table, then pressed her hand atop it, closed her eyes, and whispered a desperate prayer, “Show me how, Mother.Show me so I dinna fail ye in the keeping of my promise.”
A light tap on the door interrupted her. Catriona rose from the small upholstered stool, pressed a hand to the taut ties of her bodice, then hurried across the room and opened the door. “Aye?”
Jenny, Sawny’s older sister and according to Cook, the best kitchen maid in the keep, stood with hands clasped in front of her narrow aproned middle, squeezing her fingers so hard that her knuckles shone white. Jenny’s pale blue eyes rounded wide and Catriona heard her faint gasp before Jenny dropped her gaze to the floor and curtsied. “Sorry to bother ye, m’lady, but Mrs. Aberfeldy sent me to fetch ye if ye be well enough to come downstairs.”
“Of course, I'm well enough. What a curious thing to say.” Catriona joined the young girl in the hall and closed the door behind her with a firm thud. She would assume her normal duties as though nothing had happened. 'Twas the only way to keep the rumors held to a manageable level.
The keep was a community all its own—a giant beehive with every individual connected to the other. When excitement occurred, frenetic whispers hummed from the highest turret down to the dirt floor of the root cellar. If the gossip remained unchecked, it would seize control of the keep.
She smoothed her apron over her wool skirts, then checked her pockets to make sure she had her essentials. Knife. Kerchief. Aye, she had them all. With a decisive nod to herself, she hurried to catch up with Jenny. “Has Mrs. Aberfeldy seen to our guests and their breakfast?”
Jenny paused mid-step and gave her a sideways glance as though pondering what should or shouldn’t be said. “All but one, m’lady.”
“What do you mean ‘all but one’?”
“The big one, Master Alexander MacCoinnich, willna eat nor allow anyone but yourself to see to his bandages and bedclothes—so he said.” Jenny scurried faster. “He’s another reason Mrs. Aberfeldy sent me to fetch ye.” Jenny lowered her voice, glancing behind them as she slowed her steps then cast a fearful glance around the curve of the stairwell. “She fears he’s gone mad with the fever again—or taken by demons. The man's ranting has grown verra loud.”
Catriona hated that Alexander had witnessed last night’s humiliating display of brutishness. His roaring battle cry and calling his brothers to arms had echoed off the walls. And afterward—she cleared her throat and hitched in a quick breath. His kindness afterward had triggered a tender fluttering beneath her breastbone she had no right to feel. Fool she was. The man would leave as soon as he healed. He was a mercenary. Mercenaries didna tarry anywhere verra long.
She couldn’t resist the faintest of smiles. Aye, but Alexander MacCoinnich was an honorable man. She almost ran down the last of the stairs, waving Jenny toward the kitchens as she headed to the center of the hall. “Thank ye, Jenny.”
Jenny responded with a curt bob of her head, then darted off to her duties.
The servants storing away the visitors’ pallets and setting up the tables for the morning meal shot startled glances her way. Their gazes lingered over-long on her face. Catriona's jaw throbbed. 'Twas as though their stares were prying fingers poking and prodding her bruise.
She lifted her head and set her teeth.Let them stare. I’m no’ afeared.She focused her attention on the cluster of individuals milling about Alexander’s sickbed. If not for the fact that Alexander's ranting sounded quite lucid, angry but lucid, Catriona would have felt concern.
She clapped her hands and raised her voice to be heard above their arguing. “Oy! Oy! What be the problem? The din ye’re making will surely cause an avalanche on the mountain. Quiet with ye now, aye?”
Alexander’s kin split as clean as the Red Sea had parted for Moses. They stepped away from his bedside, relief shining on all their faces.
Catriona shooed them away. “Go now. See to your own meals. Your food grows cold.” She drew closer to the bedside and fixed Alexander with a stern look she usually reserved for her little brothers when they misbehaved.
Such fire snapped in the man’s eyes. Catriona could understand why Jenny and Mrs. Aberfeldy feared him crazed with fever or mayhap even riddled with demons.Dark eyes just a shinin’, they are.Last night she’d thought them black or perhaps the richest brown, but that was in the shadows. This morning they were the deepest blue fringed in white—as though mimicking a night sky filled with angry lightning. “I would think ye’d want your dressings changed. Do ye not? Since your fever’s broken, ye willna have to endure any more of Elena’s poultices and if ye behave, we’ll see to sitting ye up in a chair, aye?”
“I wish them changed by you. No one else.” Alexander glared at her, then his gaze settled on her bruised jaw. “And I mean to horsewhip that bastard as soon as I’m able, ye ken?”
“So ye said last night.”And I’d pay a hefty bag of silver to watch ye, my fine warrior.Catriona turned away, half-fearing her thoughts would show in her eyes. She pulled her smallsgian dubhfrom its sheath within her pocket and set to cutting the dressing away from Alexander’s shoulder. “I appreciate the sentiment, Master MacCoinnich, but dinna trouble yourself. My brother isna worth your efforts, aye?”
He caught her wrist and held it above the dressings she was trying to cut away. “I’ve asked that ye call me Alexander, ye ken?”
“Aye, that ye have,Alexander. I’ll do my best to remember.” The uncharacteristic heat of a blush warming her cheeks, Catriona busied herself sorting through the assortment of jars and bottles on the bench beside her.Stop being the fool,she scolded herself. Land sakes, ye’d think she was a lass mooning after a laddie. She plucked up a small jar from the bench and turned back to him, determined to stop acting so silly. “I’ve a salve for your wrists. I’m sorry the ties chafed ye so.”
Alexander gave her a dubious look. “'Tis no' that rotted dung again, is it? If so, I’d rather leave them to heal in their own good time.”
