Page 20 of Highland Spirit

“Ye? Have ye done this before?” Ethan stood up and perused the woman.

“I can do it,” she said, pulling a needle and thread out of her bag.

Ethan waited for her to say something else to him, but she didn’t. Why had he somehow expected her to apologize for Alana leaving him at the altar? Even if not, a simple I’m sorry for what my sister put ye through, would have been appreciated.

Several servants followed them into the room.

“Finn, bring me a rag and water to clean her wound. Hurry,” said Kirstine.

“Aye,” answered the boy, rushing to the washstand.

“Why are ye all here at Blackbriar?” asked Ethan curiously. “And how long have ye been here?”

“I’m goin’ to have to ask ye to leave the room now,” said Kirstine, ignoring his questions altogether. “All of ye will have to leave while I sew up Alana’s wound.”

“Is Alana’s husband in the castle?” asked Ethan, not knowing if he wanted to stay if the man who stole Alana from him was here. There had never been talk of Alana having another lover, but if she left him at the altar and had a daughter, it was apparent that it was so. If Ethan ever saw the man, he’d probably want to kill him for taking away the only girl he’d ever loved.

“I dinna have a da,” said the little girl named Isobel, crawling atop the bed with the doll in her hand.

Ethan wickedly felt relief that he wasn’t going to have to meet the man who bedded Alana and sired her daughter. By the little girl’s remark, it sounded as if he were dead, and somehow Ethan didn’t care. Still, his heart went out to the girl for her loss. His eyes fastened to the doll she held, and Sophie’s sad wailing echoed in his head.

Isobel might not have a father, but Sophie didn’t have a father or a mother. Her pain had to be worse. Ethan needed to get the doll from Isobel because that was the only thing that was going to bring comfort to the little girl back at the MacKeefe camp. But now that he knew Isobel no longer had a father, he didn’t have the heart to take the doll from her. He was in a precarious predicament and wasn’t sure what to do.

“I see,” said Ethan, feeling like a black-hearted devil for not only feeling satisfaction knowing the man who stole his bride had passed away, but also for contemplating stealing from a child. What was the matter with him? Soon, he’d be no better than Alana’s no-good father who stole the MacKeefe’s herd on his daughter’s wedding day. “I’ll be in the great hall waitin’ to hear about Alana’s state,” said Ethan, turning and walking to the door with his dog following. He couldn’t stay in this room a moment longer.

“I’m sure Alana will be all right. She’s a strong lass and a survivor,” Kirstine said from behind him. “Now, everyone out, so I can get to work.”

As Ethan and Caleb exited the room, Isobel ran up and tugged on Ethan’s wet cloak.

“My name is Isobel,” she told Ethan. “And my dolly’s name is Annabelle.”

“Well, hello, Isobel,” said Ethan. “And also Annabelle,” he said, smiling and nodding at the doll. “I’m Ethan, and I’m glad we’ve finally been properly introduced. Can ye show me how to get to the great hall?”

“And also, where we can get some food?” added Caleb, rubbing his belly.

“Sure I can.” She surprised Ethan by reaching out and taking his hand. Her hand was so little and frail that he was afraid he’d smash it or break her bones with his rugged, strong grip. He had to be careful around her. “I like ye,” said the girl with a wide smile, admiring Ethan. Part of him felt happy that Alana’s daughter liked him. But another part of him felt sick. Did he really want the admiration of a child that was another man’s but should have been his? It hurt to think what a child created by him and Alana might have looked like. He could only wonder if they would have had a son, or mayhap a daughter as cute as Isobel.

“Well . . . I . . . I like ye, too,” said Ethan, figuring he was going to have to win the girl over if he was going to talk her into giving up the doll. He felt awful about all this. But if he went back to the MacKeefe camp without the doll, Hawke and the others were going to have his head.

“Is that the doll we’re lookin’ for?” asked Caleb in a mere whisper as they headed away to the great hall.

“Aye, I think so,” Ethan answered, feeling like such a traitor as he held the hand of the girl and led her to the great hall like he was leading a lamb to slaughter.

“Ye’re no’ really goin’ to take it from her, are ye?” asked Caleb.

“It’s no’ hers,” he answered softly so the girl couldn’t hear him. “It’s Sophie’s doll and Isobel is naught but a little thief.”

“Well, what are we goin’ to do about it?” asked Caleb.

“I dinna ken yet, but we’ll come up with somethin’,” answered Ethan, already devising a plan to get the doll and get the hell out of there before he had to deal with another ghost – this time a ghost of his troubled past.

* * *

When Alana’s eyes flickered open, she saw Ethan holding her daughter’s hand as they left the room. “Nay!” she blurted out, sitting up quickly, wanting to go after them.

“Lay down, Alana,” commanded Kirstine, holding up a threaded needle. “I need to sew up the gash on yer head. But I’ll never be able to do it if ye willna stay still.”

Terrible pain shot through Alana’s head and she suddenly dizzied. “Kirstine, Ethan is takin’ Isobel away from me. Ye’ve got to stop him!”