“Aislinn,” Cameron said under his breath, testing the Irish name upon his tongue as a sudden commotion erupted at the entrance to the fortress.
Horses neighing.
Guards shouting to raise the massive iron gates.
The distant titter of female laughter. Had the prospective brides that his clan was trying to foist upon him arrived already?
His fists clenching, Cameron hoped that Conall had heard the commotion, too, and had left the training field to dispatch their unwelcome guests back to their homes—
“Och, Cameron, where are you going?” demanded Uncle Torence, who must have heard the ruckus outside from the great hall and rushed to the entranceway. “Will you not greet your honored guests?”
“No!” Cameron roared, his overriding thought to head back to Cora’s suite of rooms—och,Aislinn’ssuite!—and see how she fared.
Did she still sleep like the dead? Had her fever lessened? In truth, he didn’t feel as pressing an urgency for her to say anything now, after what he learned from Finnegan, yet that didn’t stop him from taking the tower steps three at a time.
He felt strangely breathless as he approached her door, and it wasn’t because of exertion.
God help him, did she even still live? He was a warrior as accustomed to death as any other man who lived by the sword—so why was it suddenly so difficult for him to inhale?
He hesitated just outside the doorway, which was so unlike him as well, for a fighter who always charged headlong into battle.
Through the cracked door, he could hear the maidservants’ anxious murmuring, which made his chest grow tight.
Aye, Aislinn must be dead, or else they wouldn’t sound so nervous. Mayhap they feared finding him to give him the grim news?
Forcing himself to draw a steadying breath, Cameron pushed open the door that creaked on its hinges, causing the three maidservants to gasp and spin around from the bed.
* * *
Aislinn winced at the sudden creaking and tossed her head.
What was that grating sound? Like nails driving into her temples, she cried out and tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt leaden. All she could manage was a tiny slit, and she gazed uncomprehending at the trio of blurred figures standing over her—until panic filled her.
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost—saints help her, she was dead and gone to heaven! No, no, she couldn’t have died! How was she to find her father? Her brother? They needed her,they needed her!
Agony as gripping as the pounding pain in her head made her attempt to sit up, only to cry out again as feminine voices shrieked in surprise, and Aislinn fell back onto something plump and soft.
Her eyes half open now as another blurry shape came to tower over her—tall, forbidding, and with hair as black as night and a scowling countenance that made stark fear grip her.
No, no, no, it couldn’t be! Not the Holy Trinity, but Satan himself staring down at her—ah, God, was she to be thrown into eternal hellfire?
Now Aislinn did try to fling herself as far away as she could from the dark apparition only to be thwarted by the heaviness covering her, making her feel as if she were drowning.
Drowning even as she heard a deep male voice commanding someone to fetch the healer, and then a frustrated shout. “By God, tell Tobias his blasted potion isna working!”
Tobias? Potion? Aislinn felt strong hands drawing her back and pressing her shoulders down, and now she screamed, as long and as loudly as she could muster as blackness enveloped her.
“No… no,Papaaaaa!”
* * *
“Go, I tell you! Run!”
Angered that the maidservants had gaped at him like frightened sheep before bobbing their heads and fleeing from the room, Cameron focused upon Aislinn, who had suddenly stopped fighting him and collapsed onto the mattress.
Her chest heaving beneath the nightgown.
Tears once more streaking her pale cheeks.
