“What the hell does that mean, Aunt Gracie?” Alasdair bellowed, blushing at his crudeness a moment later. “Sorry, Auntie. I shouldn’t yell or curse. My thanks for coming so quickly.”
“I understand your concern, Alasdair,” she said, setting her hands on his towering shoulders. “I think he’ll be fine, he just cannot move. I don’t know what’s wrong with his leg or hip. We need Jennie.”
Aunt Jennie was his grandsire’s youngest sister, one of the best healers in the land.
The two lairds were on patrol, so Alasdair made a decision. “Alick and Els, we must go after Aunt Jennie. We have to do everything we can for Grandsire.”
A voice called out to them then, quiet but steady. “Alasdair?”
He hurried around the partition and knelt next to his grandfather’s bed, pleased to see him awake. “Grandsire, is there something I can do for you? We’re going to get Aunt Jennie. Aunt Gracie doesn’t know how to help you.”
“Let the other two go for Aunt Jennie. You must go afterher.” He closed his eyes and panted as if in severe pain. “Alasdair, please. This is just my old bones squawking at me like a hooded crow, naught to concern yourself with, but what I’ll tell you is more important. I had a dream. You must go.”
“Where? I’ll do whatever you like.”
“The lass from Clan MacLintock. You must help her. She’s in grave danger. I don’t know…” He paused and sucked in a deep breath, holding it before he let it out again. “I don’t know what is happening, but you need to go to MacLintock land. Finnean came to me in my sleep and told me that his daughter needs our help. You must go at once.” He wiped the sweat on his brow away with a sigh.
“Was there something else he said? You don’t usually sweat like that, Grandsire.”
The man closed his eyes in resignation, pausing for a few moments before he opened them again. “He said she’s in danger. Someone means to kill her. You must go.” He was silent for a moment longer, then he glanced over Alasdair’s shoulder and smiled. “And you must take her.”
When Alasdair glanced behind him, he saw his cousin Dyna, her nearly white hair pulled back in a tight plait, her light blue eyes filled with fear. “Grandsire? What’s wrong? I heard you fell.”
Their grandfather panted and held his breath again, his eyes fluttering as if he struggled to stay awake. Suddenly, they opened wide, and he said, “Promise me, Alasdair. Promise me you and Dyna will go to MacLintock land and save Emmalin.” Hisvoice slowed. “Promise. Let the others go for Jennie.” His eyes fluttered shut again.
“Grandpapa!” Alasdair shouted, not caring if he was bothering the man. When the old man opened his eyes again, he said, “I’ll do it. I promise, but you must also promise me.”
His grandsire met his gaze. “What?”
“Promise me you’ll not die while I’m gone. Promise me! I am not ready to lose you. Not yet. It’s too soon.” He squeezed his grandfather’s hand, doing his best to keep him alert. He’d never let on how important this was to him, but he needed his promise.
The sly old man shut his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, there was a twinkle in them. “Wise arse,” he whispered. “Go.”
Alasdair couldn’t help but smile.
Chapter Nine
Emmalin meets the man her father told her to trust more than any other—Alex Grant.
Alasdair and Emmalin walked past them, to a chamber at the end of the hall. It had a wide doorway, much wider than she’d ever seen.
He noticed her stare and explained, “It was built as a healing chamber. The doorway was widened to make it easier to carry people inside. I have two aunts who are renowned healers and many cousins who are learning. We’ll step in to see if he’s still awake.”
As soon as they entered the chamber, a booming voice called out, “I’m here by the fire, waiting for you.”
Alasdair took Emmalin by the hand and led her to the small hearth on the outside wall. An older man sat in a chair with a fur across his lap, a long stick resting on the floor next to him. “Grandsire, this is Emmalin of Clan MacLintock.”
“Come near the fire so I can see you, lass.”
She moved closer to greet him, reaching for his hand to give it a squeeze. His strong grip surprised her. After hearing the story of the man’s fall, she’d thought to see a decrepit old man with a grizzled beard, but this man was anything but decrepit.
Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone had heard tales of the legendary swordsman and chieftain.
“Alex Grant. I was a friend of your sire’s. He was a fine man. I’m sorry you lost him.”
“My thanks,” she mumbled, not sure what else to say to him.
“Sit down, please.” He motioned to one of the empty chairs beside him. She sat, taking in the great man’s presence. Her father had loved to tell the tale of how the great Alexander Grant had come to their rescue many years ago. A neighboring clan had threatened the MacLintocks without just cause, and the famous leader had come to help them, along with warriors who had upper arms three times the size of MacLintock soldiers and unrivaled fighting skills. They’d made quick work of their attackers, sending them off in a fright. The two men had remained in occasional contact ever since. Her sire had respected the man more than most.
