His expression hardened. “No. I will keep myself distant from him. For his own protection.”
“Ye care about everyone in this clan.” How could he not see the insanity of what he said? “I have seen the way ye are with everyone from the lowliest servant all the way up to Jasper. They dinna appear cursed. What ye fear is not reasonable.”
“Ye dinna understand.” He stepped away from her, went to his chair, and collapsed into it. “My dying mother placed this curse upon my head. This fear of mine is not imagined.”
Sensing he needed to share this deeper glimpse into his plight, she moved to the chair beside him and sat. “Why would a mother do such a terrible thing to her own son?”
He stared off into space, seeing nothing. “Toward the end of her life, she reverted to the old ways. Dangerous ways.”
“I dinna understand.”
“By the time I became a man”—he drew in a deep breath and blew it out—“she had become troubled. Her mind was not right.” He slowly shook his head. “She walked the halls at night, never sleeping, and began calling herself an oracle. A practitioner of the ancient ways.” He shifted and locked eyes with her. “She dabbled in the darkest mysteries of the spirit world. Curses. Sacrifices. When people died, the clan demanded that my father and I end it.”
Lorna rested a hand on his arm. His tense muscles rippled with the pain of his story. “If ye dinna want to go on, ye dinna have to,” she said quietly.
He scooped up her hand, pressed a kiss to it, then rubbed it against the soft springiness of his short beard. “No. I need to speak of it.”
She squeezed his hand and waited for him to continue, dreading what he was about to say.
“Before we lit the fires for her burning…” He paused, frowning as though trying to remember the horrible day. “She uttered words I had never heard before. Babbling that made no sense.” He paused for a drink of wine, then stared down into the cup. “As the flames rose around her, she laughed and proclaimed that whoever I loved would die before I did.” After another drink, he slid the cup back to the table. “She cursed me to outlive every love I would ever know and die alone in a bed cold as stone.”
The terrible tale both astounded and terrified her. His mother’s insanity mistaken for witchcraft? And then they put the poor woman to death? How could they bring themselves to do that?
She struggled to think of something to say. He and his father had apparently done what they felt they had to do, but it was so hard to comprehend. It also reinforced that she needed to watch what she did and said. Her life depended on it.
But her heart went out to him. This era’s lack of knowledge about mental illness had not only cost him his mother, but also any peace he might know for the rest of his life.
“Words only have power if ye believe in them,” she said. She squeezed his arm, wishing she could help him overcome the ugliness of his past. “A curse canna touch ye if ye dinna give it that power.”
“It has already touched me thrice, my brave mouse.” He pushed up from the chair, walked behind it, then leaned against its ornately carved back. “I have learned my lesson.” He bounced a fist atop the wood and gave her a smile that held no happiness. “Thank ye for calming my rage. Lady Murdina may stay the remainder of her thirty days.” He huffed a bitter snort. “Besides, knowing Jasper and the solicitor, if I pass on her, the next one will be even worse.”
The hopeless despair in his voice made her want to cry, and she prided herself on never giving in to tears. Blinking against their threat, she went to his side. “Bad things happen to good people. Not because of curses, but because the world just sometimes…sucks.” She knew that terminology wasn’t good, but what else could she say? “We live in a broken place, and all we can do is grab every minute of joy that comes along. It hurts like the devil when it leaves us. But at least we can enjoy it for a little while, ye ken?” She took hold of his shoulders and ridiculously tried to shake the miserable man. “Dinna fear the joy. Ye have to hold tight to it and squeeze every bit of wondrousness out of it that ye can.”
With a sad smile, he cupped her face in his hand again. “Go to yer rooms, wee mouse, before ye make me care about ye even more and risk yer life.”
“Ye are a fool,” she whispered, wanting so badly for him to open his eyes and see.
“Maybe so.” His hand dropped away, and he walked off, leaving her there, watching him make his way out of the room with a determined stride.
A frustrated huff escaped her, and she shook her head. “Why will he not see?”
“What is it ye wish him to see, Mistress Lorna?”
With a squeaking gasp, she whirled around. Jasper stood within an arm’s length of her. “Bloody hell, Jasper! Are ye trying to scare me to death?”
He chuckled. “Nay, mistress. I merely returned to ensure ye were unharmed.”
“The chieftain would never hurt me.”
The war chief grew serious. “The man has been under a great strain the past several years.” He resettled his footing and glanced around, as though uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “He is a good man, mistress. But then, his mother was once a good woman.”
“Just because she lost her mind doesna mean he will.” Lorna refused to dance around the subject. “And I dinna think it verra nice or loyal for ye to be speaking about him in such a way.”
Jasper glared at her, clearly perturbed. “Dinna question my loyalty to my chief. Not ever. I will serve the man until my dying day.”
“Good.” She didn’t care that she had irritated him. It wasn’t the first time and, more than likely, would not be the last. “If ye dinna mind, I shall bid ye goodnight. It has been a verra long day, and my bed is calling.”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he offered his arm. “Allow me to escort ye, mistress. As atonement for rubbing yer fur the wrong way.”
