He blew out a breath. “There is a sickness on Barra, one that is afflicting my people badly. We have tried everything, every healing technique my people know of but naught seems to make a difference.”
As he spoke, the fear he usually kept so tightly controlled bloomed in his gut like a poisonous flower. What if it could not be stopped? What if this were a curse from the old gods as Maggie claimed or a punishment from the new one as Beatrice believed? What if there was nothing any of them—not even a MacFinnan spellweaver—could do?
Rose rested her hand on his forearm. Her touch was warm and soft and sent a strange little tingle up his arm.
“What are the symptoms of this sickness?”
He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to step away, break the contact. He wasn’t used to being touched. “Fever to begin with, then delirium, seizures, and finally death.”
Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head in thought. “Has itever afflicted the island before?”
“Not in my lifetime although there are accounts of such things in the past. Do ye know what it is?”
She shook her head. “Not without examining the patients, although I’ve treated things before that sound similar.”
She sounded so calm. So assured. Could she really help them? He felt a strange sensation uncurl in his chest and it took him a moment to realize what it was.
Hope.
He stepped back, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Aye, well, before ye do anything, getting into dry clothes is probably in order.”
She laughed softly, a light sound like spring rain on a pond. “Yeah, I’m not sure the drowned-rat look will catch on.”
It looked just fine on her in Cailean’s opinion. Her damp clothes, though odd, clung to her in all the right places.
He coughed. “Come with me.”
He turned and led her through the doors into the main hall of the keep. It was quiet at this time of day, but come evening it would be boisterous and full to the rafters—even more so than usual he suspected as everyone would want to get a look at their unexpected guest.
He called over a maid. “Mable, escort Rose up to one of the guest rooms and see she has everything she needs. When ye are ready, come find me and I will take ye to the infirmary,” he added to Rose.
She nodded. “I will.” She hesitated for a moment and then said, “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Rescuing me.”
He flashed an amused smile. “I wasnae about to let harm come to a MacFinnan spellweaver, was I? Ye might have turned me into a toad.”
She waggled her fingers. “If you don’t behave, I still might.”
He found himself grinning despite himself. Rose MacFinnan had an easy-going, down-to-earth way about her that was impossible to dislike. She was, he realized, nothing like what he expected. Warm, funny, and bonny to boot.
“I’ll leave ye to it.”
He turned and strode away. It had been a most strange day. He needed to work off his pent-up energy. He took the steps down to the courtyard two at a time and strode towards the armory, shouting for some of his men to attend him.
He felt the need to swing a weapon.
*
Rose soon realizedthat Dun Mallach was a maze. She’d followed Mable up two flights of steps, through several long corridors and numerous small antechambers, and she no longer had any idea where she was.
The place was large and drafty, but scrupulously clean, with tapestries on the walls and runners along the floors taking away some of the austereness of the stonework. It looked, Rose thought as she trailed along behind Mable, like something straight out of a Hollywood movie set.
Mable finally stopped outside a large, shiny wooden door. “Here we are,” she said, giving a curtsey. “The best guest room in the castle, Lady MacFinnan.” She clasped her hands in front of her and stared at the floor, clearly nervous.
Rose stifled a sigh. Was this how things were going to be? Didn’t these people realize that she was just plain old Rose MacFinnan, a thirty-something divorcee who lived alone, ate microwave dinners, and loved detective movies?
