Dullas stared at Gray’s open hand as though she just realized her chieftain stood before her. Her thin brows arched higher and her hands gestured faster. “Ye must be careful, great one. The measure must be true or will cause ye great harm.” Her thick hands opened and closed with an excited frenzy. “Aileas telled me of the weak heart in yer great chest. Ye best allow me to mix the herb lest it cause ye harm.” Dullas tugged at the drawstring bag around her neck and nodded to herself. “I telled Aileas I would speak to the chief. I telled Aileas I would make ye whole.” Dullas sadly shook her head. “Aileas never believe a thing I say about me lovely plants.”
From the way Dullas squinted up at him, Gray wondered if the poor woman could see at all. A mixture of pity and anger rushed through him. He hoped Aileas was currently toasting in the hottest part of hell. He could not fathom how Dullas could possibly undertake something as complicated or wicked as poisoning. He frowned over at Cook. “What tasks have ye this woman doing?”
Cook made a face as though she understood exactly what Gray was wondering. “Dullas knows every herb there is, my chieftain. She knows their every use. None here have ever found an herb or plant in existence that she canna identify and nurture into growing. I swear I never seen anything like it. The woman can barely figure out how to tie her apron but put her in an herb garden and ye will find none better.”
That wasn’t exactly what he wished to hear. Gray turned back to Dullas. “Are ye loyal to yer chief, or are ye bound to the wishes of yer sister and yer father?” Dullas’s future depended on the answer she gave and what Trulie discovered when she studied Dullas’s intentions.
As if she already knew Gray’s plan, Trulie eased up beside Gray and looped her arm through his. He smoothed his hand over hers and hugged her against his side. Her touch steadied him, soothed him, and assured him he was on the right path.
“Dullas.” Gray waited until the woman finally turned her head toward him. “I would ken where yer loyalties lie. MacKenna Keep can be yer home forever or ye can be sent back to yer father.”
Dullas frowned and tilted her shaking head to one side like a dog listening to its master. The tip of her tongue darted across her lower lip as her gaze shifted to Trulie’s face. Without a word, she fumbled around her neck until her stubby fingers closed around the hair necklace. She yanked it off over her head in a series of awkward, jerking movements. “Here,” she croaked as she held out the stained drawstring bag to Trulie. “Take care and measure well or will do chieftain harm.” Then she pointed a shaking finger at Trulie’s stomach. “I ken the herbals ye need to help the bairn grow strong and healthy. If Herself will tarry just a bit, Dullas will gather the best leaves for a fine tea.”
Dullas turned to Gray and shook her head as she ran a shaking finger along the scar across her face. “Father hurt Dullas.” Her gravelly voice trembled as two big tears squeezed out and rolled down her face. “Beg ye, my chieftain. Beg yer leave to stay here and serve ye.”
Gray closed his hand around the bag Trulie held and nodded his approval. A glance down at Trulie’s face told him without a doubt that Dullas had passed the scan of her intentions. Dullas had never been a true threat.
“What did she say?” Cook waddled closer, straining to see Dullas’s face as the shaking woman shied away.
“She fears I will send her away because Aileas was her sister,” Gray lied.
Dullas ducked back into her cap and pulled the brim well over her face.
Cook’s mouth pressed into a frowning line. “Shall I have her packed up and sent back to her father?”
“No,” Trulie chimed in at the same time as Gray.
Gray patted Trulie’s hand as he repeated, “No. Dullas is welcome to stay in the MacKenna kitchens as long as she likes. This is now her home.”
“Ye best be thanking yer chieftain,” Cook urged with a jerking nod in Gray’s direction.
Dullas’s limp bonnet flopped as her head bobbed up and down. “Verra grateful, my fine chief. I thank ye kindly,” she croaked out strong and loud as she turned and shuffled back to her room filled with racks of drying herbs.
CHAPTER25
Apleading whine escaped Karma as he propped his wet muzzle atop Trulie’s shoulder. Trulie rolled back on her heels and swallowed hard. The combined aroma of wet dog and whatever rotted thing Karma had rolled in pushed her stomach dangerously close to reversing gears and tossing up her breakfast.
She pressed her lips tighter together and rubbed her mouth against her shoulder. Maybe she would feel better if she did puke. Nausea was torture. She pushed herself to her feet and rubbed her fists against the small of her back. What a way to feel on her wedding day—an ever-present urge to gag and a dull throbbing ache in her lower back, as though her body was about to snap in two. What a lovely day this was going to be.
Karma looked up at her with sad, brown eyes. His tail swished back and forth in the tub with aplease don’t be mad at mewag. Trulie clamped her mouth shut tight as she poured another bucket of water over the dog’s back. Her lungs burned for want of air as she tried to speak without inhaling his aroma. “You know you’re going to get a bath whenever you roll in something dead. If you don’t want a bath, stop rolling in stuff that stinks.” Trulie held onto the side of the wooden tub as a violent gag nearly knocked her off balance.
This was ridiculous.Wedding or no wedding, she was done. She felt terrible and would be better off if she just went back to bed. She pointed toward the far side of the garden. “Go lay down under those shade trees. You’re just going to have to stay in the garden until some of youreau de stinkwears off. No wedding feast for you.”
Karma immediately leaped out of the tub and shook what appeared to be gallons of water out of his fur.
“Karma!” Trulie shied away from the curtain of water a second too late.
“Trulie Elizabeth Sinclair, I cannot believe you’re out here washing the dog on the morning of your wedding day.” Granny appeared in the doorway, one fist on her hip while she pointed at the inside of the keep. “Get in here right now. Your own bath is ready and time’s a wasting.”
Trulie silently wished she could just stretch out in the shade with Karma and take a nap. Karma might stink, but he was a lot quieter than Granny. That patch of cushiony moss beneath the oak looked extremely inviting.
“Trulie—now.”
Trulie massaged the back of her neck as she obediently turned and followed Granny. Maybe a nice, long bath would make her feel better. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck from side to side. She must’ve slept crooked or something. Every muscle was stiff. Visions of porcelain tubs and pulsating showerheads with steaming-hot jets of water flitted through her mind. A wistful sigh escaped her as she rounded the corner and faced an oversized wooden tub. For some odd reason, the niceties of the future had been foremost in her mind the past few days. “Not exactly a spa with jet sprays is it?”
“What has gotten into you today?” Granny scowled at her as she added another bucket of steaming water to the tub. “You have been in a foul mood ever since you lifted your head off your pillow. This is your wedding day. You should be happy.”
Trulie wasn’t about to complain to Granny about not feeling well. Heaven forbid the woman brew up another nasty remedy from ingredients Trulie probably didn’t want to know about. She best blame her mood on the latest gossip from the keep. At least that reason wouldn’t trigger some sort of noxious tea. “Colum told Coira the priest doesn’t approve of us.” There. That should give Granny something to chew on. Unfortunately, Trulie had no doubt it was true. The old familiar weight of being the odd one out blackened her mood even further. She thought she had escaped that when she decided to leave the future.
