After a long silence, he murmured, “I am glad, then, for your peace of mind, lass. Would that I shared it.” Pushing himself from the bench, Kinnon bowed again. “I’ll be taking my leave now.” He looked up long enough to fix his gaze on her, ensuring that she caught the import of his next words. “But know that if you ever wish my advice or support, I’ll be more than willing to give it.”
After he left, Aileana sat stone still. Dragon’s breath, she must be as transparent as water. Kinnon had known her dilemma just by looking at her. The sorry truth was that ever since she’d recovered from the plague, she’d pined after Duncan, and jealousy had been gnawing at her with every additional moment she’d been forced to watch Nora MacKenzie fawn over him. It was enough to make her almost regret having nursed the woman through her illness. Worse still, the wretch was lapping up Nora’s attention like a kitten with a dish of milk.
Pulling her gaze from that disturbing scene across the hall, Aileana stared into the roiling flames on the hearthstone. Their twisting gyrations matched her emotions perfectly. Hot, angry, and uncontrolled. She couldn’t continue this way much longer, else before long her mood swings would reveal her feelings to every inhabitant of the castle.
She needed to distance herself from Duncan and this unexpected hold he seemed to have on her emotions. Now, before it got any worse.
But how?
Running away from Eilean Donan was out of the question. Though that kind of separation was sure to ease her suffering in time, she couldn’t risk the damage she might cause to her clan or to Gavin if Duncan chose to retaliate for her breach of their bargain. She tipped her head to the side, leaning the weight of her chin onto her hand. She could try to force Duncan to admit he’d kissed her when she was sick. By using every feminine wile she possessed, she might be able to make him forget the existence of any other woman save her. She could tempt him and tease him until…
Aileana’s cheeks burned hotter than the flames on the hearth as she brushed the wild notion aside. Even if she wished it, she knew in her soul that she could never be so bold when it came to such things. She knew nothing about seduction. Those kinds of triumphs were reserved for a few select women. Women with more obvious physical charms, and the ability to carry on suggestive repartee and exchange flirtatious gestures.
Women like Nora MacKenzie.
Branding her rival with a stare sharp enough to draw blood, Aileana sagged backward. She snuggled her plaid tighter around herself. Self-pity was useless. She’d learned that long ago in the bitter solitude of her bedchamber at Dulhmeny. When Father imposed especially harsh dictates on her, she’d avoided wailing and tears, instead waiting for Gavin or Robert to sneak to her window or door. Then she’d sprung into action.
Action…
That was it. She needed todosomething. Something she knew that she could do well.
She swept her gaze over Duncan once again, her eyes narrowing as she saw where his large, gloved hands rested. Something clicked inside her, then, propelling her to her feet and across the hall. She spared barely a glance at the revelers, escaping under the wide, stone arch to climb the stairs to her bedchamber. Once there, she stretched out on her pallet, letting her mind drift toward the thoughts she’d had on her first night at Eilean Donan so many weeks ago.
Thoughts of revenge.
At first, dredging up those memories stung like a handful of salt on an open wound. But as each inspiration returned full force, a heady lightness filled her. She wasn’t powerless. She could do something to ease the suffering she endured thanks to Duncan MacRae and his insensitivity. And the first revenge she took against him would give balm to this most recent wound. Or to be exact, the wound he’d allowed Nora MacKenzie to help inflict on her.
In an instant Aileana leaped out of bed and splashed water on her face. There was no time to waste. Supper was almost over. With a last pat to tuck several unruly waves of hair into place, she raced down the stairs. No one saw her as she ducked into the kitchen; holding her breath in a prayer that her luck held, she slipped into the pantry.
Cool dark surrounded her, thick with the tangy scent of herbs she’d put up for the coming winter. Squinting to see the earthen jars, Aileana fumbled and stood on tiptoe, almost knocking the marjoram to the floor before she found the correct pot. Her hand closed around the vessel, exploring its cool contours, and she suffered a moment’s hesitation about using its contents. Never before had she called upon her knowledge of herbs for anything other than aiding the ill.
A woman’s laughter rose above the din in the great hall, drifting to Aileana’s ears. She stepped into the light of the kitchen and peeked through the archway at the festivities still raging across the threshold. What she saw made her eyes sting, and her fingers tighten round the pot.
It was as she suspected. The owner of the irritating giggle sat perched on Duncan’s lap, tipping her head back to laugh and offering him a calculated view of her two greatest assets; the ones that wobbled only inches from his face. Aileana’s jaw clenched, and she darted back into the kitchen, uncorking the pot’s lid as she went. Though it wouldn’t hurt them, a good dose of this herb would ensure that Duncan and Nora wouldn’t soon forget this night—or the view from inside the confines of their privy chamber.
She quelled the tiny prickle of guilt that remained. This was war after all, she reminded herself, and everyone was entitled to use the weapons at her disposal. Nora might have cannons, but Aileana had artillery enough to fell an entire clan.
With a purposeful step, she marched to the trenchers, sprinkling a generous amount of the herb on a portion of stew that she would personally deliver to Duncan, for he and Nora to share when the meal was served in a few moments. Aye, Duncan MacRae was going to feel the sting of her weapons this night. It would be the first attack in her methodical assault against his manly arrogance and pride. The man was doomed to submit sooner or later. For no matter how long it took, she intended to make this a fight to the finish.
Dawn’s pink light pierced the window hangings in Duncan’s bedchamber, making Aileana sit up on her pallet. He still hadn’t come to bed. Worry creased her brow, and her imagination took flight. Was he too sick to climb the stairs? Had she been so eager to dispense justice that she’d laid it on with too heavy a hand? Shaking her head against such nonsense, Aileana rose and dressed. She knew without a doubt that she’d been careful with the herb. Neither Nora nor Duncan would have gotten much sleep last night, but they certainly wouldn’t have suffered any danger. Just a bit of restorative purging.
A scratching at the door made her jump. Bridgid’s red face appeared in a splinter of light as she entered the chamber. The candle she held cast her features in an almost eerie glow, and Aileana’s stomach flopped. Something must be wrong.
“Missy, it’s the MacRae. You’d better come. I just found him out in the yard. He’s holding his stomach and looking awful gray.” Bridgid’s eyes rounded further as she whispered, “Heaven preserve us, do you think it could be the plague again?”
Relief bubbled so swiftly in Aileana that she almost laughed aloud. But she schooled her face into a somber expression. “I don’t think so, Bridgid. It would be unlikely, with symptoms such as those. Does he have the fever?”
Bridgid shook her head. “Not that I can tell, though it was hard to be sure, seeing as how he growled like something from a cave when I tried to touch him.”
Aileana wrapped her plaid round her shoulders and nodded. She followed Bridgid into the hall, asking innocently, “Are any others afflicted?”
Thebailienodded. “Aye, but only one. Nora MacKenzie has taken ill, though I’m not sure how bad. It’s what made me think it might be the plague again, passed from one to the other, since she and Duncan have been spending a fair amount of time together, and—”
Bridgid clipped off her comment and glanced to Aileana. Embarrassment mottled her skin a more fierce crimson than usual. “I meant nothing by saying that, missy, and anyway, it’s no shame upon you if Duncan prefers—” She shook her head as she searched for the words, “—well if he wants to be spending his nights with another, then—” Bridgid clamped her mouth shut and made a strangled, coughing noise.
Aileana tightened her fists, savoring the knowledge of her revenge more fully. “It doesn’t matter, Bridgid. Where the MacRae chooses to sleep is his concern.” She lifted her chin and muttered, “But his illness is mine. I’m eager to examine him and ensure—I meancheckhis level of discomfort.”
Bridgid nodded and hurried along with her until they reached the door to the yard. “He’s out there, leaning against the wall.” She gestured in the direction and scurried off, murmuring something about looking in on Nora as she left.
