And then there was him. Cailean.
The memory of his mouth on hers struck like a match against her skin. The roughness of it. Theneed. The way their kiss had drowned her in one sudden rush of heat and hunger that she had been powerlessto control.
She touched her lips without thinking, her fingers grazing the place where his kiss had lingered.
What was happening to her? Why was she allowing herself to feel these things? She was newly divorced, for pity’s sake! This was the last thing she needed!
But she wasn’tallowinganything. The things she felt in Cailean’s presence were not a conscious choice. They were instinctive, primal almost, and she couldn’t do a damned thing to stop them, no matter how hard she tried.
Damn it all!
Her calm broken, she washed herself and stood up, dripping. Grabbing one of the large cloths Mable had left as a towel, she wrapped one around her hair, another around her middle, and stepped out onto the cold stone floor. Shivering a little, she exited the bathing chamber and slumped into a chair in the bedroom that faced the roaring fire. Chin resting on her hands, she stared into the flames as if she’d find the answers to her conundrum written in the writhing orange tongues.
She was startled from her thoughts by a knock on the door. “Just a moment!” she cried, looking around for where she’d dropped her clothes.
The door swung open. Rose gave a little yelp and pulled the towel tighter around herself.
“Ach, dinna fash, lass,” came Maggie’s voice as she stepped inside, breezing in like the start of a storm. “Ye dinna have aught I havenae seen many times before.”
The woman closed the door behind her and lowered herself into the seat opposite Rose, letting out a groan as she did so.
“Ah, that’s better. My old bones do ache so in this damp weather.” She fixed Rose with her piercing blue gaze. “The laird said ye wished to speak to me. That ye wanted to know about some of the old tales?”
Rose nodded, pulling the towel tighter. “It was something Seamus and his daughter said today in the village. They asked if we’d seen the stormlights out at sea and then told me a story about a sea god and goddess.”
“Ah!” Maggie held up one finger. “Now that is an old tale, older than the stones beneath this keep, almost as old as the bones of the island itself.”
“Could you tell it to me?”
Maggie’s expression shifted. She cocked her head at Rose. “It’s a long time since anyone showed any interest in the old gods. Beatrice’s new god’s hold strengthens and the old ways are slowly being forgotten. Why the interest now?”
“Because I think you might be right,” she said. “I think thereissome truth to these old stories and that the sickness is something to do with the old gods, just like you claimed.”
Maggie blinked, studying Rose closely. Then she breathed out slowly. “Then we are in bigger trouble than I thought. The old gods can be as capricious and cruel as they can be generous. Are ye sure ye want to go down this route?”
“I have to. Please. Tell me what you know.”
She listened intently as Maggie began to speak in a low, rhythmic voice, relaying a tale similar to that which Seamus and his daughter had told her that afternoon but different in several aspects. In Maggie’s story, there was no curse involved. Instead, when the god became jealous of the goddess’s love for her people and threatened to hurt them, the goddess confined him in a prison beneath the waves. The stormlights were indeed the god’s rage and grief leaking out from his prison.
When she finished, Rose didn’t speak, and silence reigned in the room, the only sound the crackle and pop of the fire between them. A prison. And a god’s curse leaking out from that prison. Was that what was powering the magic that was bringing the sickness?
“But why now?” Rose asked, looking up at Maggie. “If this tale is as old as you say it is, why has the sickness come into being so recently?”
“I canna answer that question,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “Although the tale goes on to say that the goddess, saddened by the loss of her love, began to fail. While she lived, the prison stayed strong, but finally, she succumbed to her grief and died. Perhaps that is why the god’s rage and spite now leaks out to curse us.”
Rose’s mind whirled with possibilities. Could this be it? Could this be the clue she’d been looking for? And if so, what could she do about it? They were talking about the power of a god! How could she hope to counter that?
But it was more to go on than she’d had to go on this time yesterday. Now, at least, she had a place to start.
And it started with finding that prison.
Chapter Thirteen
Cailean glanced atthe early morning sky. It was filled with dark-gray clouds from end to end and the wind was blowing in off the sea, bringing with it the scent of another storm on its way. Wonderful. As if they needed more rain and mud to contend with.
“Barrels of oats and spare blankets,” he said to the man guiding the carthorses. “See that they are well tied down, Aiden. The last thing we need is losing half the load to a ditch.”
As he watched the cart trundle out of the gate, he rubbed the back of his neck. His limbs felt heavy and his eyes grainy. Sleep had escaped him for most of the night and now he was paying the price. Perhaps he ought to have Maggie mix up one of her sleeping drafts. He winced at the thought. They tasted like horse piss, and he wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t their main ingredient.
