The Fraser Bride (33 page)

“Unusually quickly. I feel quite hale. Mayhap ‘tis the air here at Evermyst that makes me feel so fit.”

She lowered her eyes to her plate and hoped with all her soul that Meara could not hear the wild hammering of her heart. But there was little hope of hiding the blush of her cheeks.

“You must make certain to get enough rest,” she murmured to her pudding.

“Not to worry,” he said. “I am very fond of me bed … now.”

She all but squirmed beneath his hot gaze and struggled to speak with some semblance of normalcy. “The babe was not fitful, then?”

The slightest corner of a smile lifted his lips. It captivated her, pulling her gently under his power. ” ‘Twas not the babe so much as another who kept me awake,” he said softly.

Suddenly her mouth felt hopelessly dry.

“Mayhap, if you have a moment this eve, you could come by and see wee Mary.”

“Mary?” she whispered.

“Aye. I have named her after a bonny lass I once knew. Should you have a moment, you might grant her your blessing.”

Say no!
her conscience warned. “When?” she breathed.

“I but wait,” he said, leaning closer.

“More mead, me laird?” ‘Twas Ailsa, determined to try again.

“Nay.” He drew his gaze from Anora and stood. “Me bed waits. Good eventide to you, Ailsa. Me lady.”

“Good eventide,” Anora said, and refused to look at either his retreating back or Ailsa’s peeved expression.

* * * * *

Neither did she look directly at Isobel when the girl came to her chambers some time later.

“Me apologies for me lateness,” she said, but Anora brushed away her regrets as Isobel helped unlace her gown.

“Do not trouble yourself, Isobel. In truth, I am so tired I could sleep fully clothed.”

“Mayhap you will not require me presence again tonight, then. Seonag’s babe has a bit of a fever. She asked me to help see to him.”

Hope leapt in Anora’s heart. “By all means, Isobel. See to your duties elsewhere.”

In just a few minutes, Anora was alone in her night rail. She paced the floor with bare feet, impatience burning at her, but she must wait until the castle slept.

* * * * *

Hidden away in a small alcove, another woman waited. In her hand she held a clay vessel, and in the vessel was a small amount of pig’s blood. Seduction had not been successful in manipulating MacGowan, but the blood would do the trick. It had worked on the Munro and it would work again. But for now, she must wait until the castle slept.

Ramsay opened his eyes. What had awakened him? The babe? Anora? Had she come?

He sat up swiftly. Morning light streamed through the narrow window. He scowled at it. Morning? Already? And wee Mary hadn’t cried? He turned nervously toward the cradle only to find it empty.

His gut twisted as he sprang out of bed and glanced wildly about the room, but logic seeped slowly into his groggy mind. Someone had come to feed her. Surely that was it. Still, he swept his plaid about his bare waist and rushed down the stairs. One glance about the hall told him the babe wasn’t there. It took him a few minutes to reach the kitchens, but even before he arrived, he heard the baby’s cry.

Although he slowed his steps, he could not do the same with his heartbeat, but when he passed beneath the kitchens’ mortared arch he immediately saw the infant’s wizened face peering over Stout Helena’s shoulder.

‘Twas a cozy scene that met him. A homely fire crackled in the gigantic hearth. The soothing scents of warm bread and saffron filled the air. A trio of maids had abandoned their cutting board to croon over Mary while Tree swiped a fritter from a scolding matron, and the friar filled his mouth with the same.

At the first sight of the babe’s rumpled face, relief swamped him in a frantic tide. He shushed it with manly stoicism. ‘Twould not, after all, be terribly impressive if he burst into tears at the sight of the wee lass.

“So, Helena,” he said, making certain his tone was firm, “you be the one who filched me bairn.”

A handful of women stopped their cooing long enough to glance toward him. Stout Helena turned with a sheepish smile.

And Clarinda screamed. A dish shattered against the stone floor.

“Merciful Jesus!” Helena gasped and clutched the babe to her bosom as if to ward off a ghost.

“What is it?” Ramsay rasped.

“Senga,” Clarinda whispered.

“She is angry.”

“What’s that?” he growled.

“Your throat, me laird,” Helena gasped. “It has been cut.”

“The devil it—” he began, but as he raised his hand to his neck, he felt a line of dried liquid stretched across his flesh. When he brought his fingers away, he saw that they were dark with … “Blood,” he whispered.

Near the far side of the room, Tree stumbled abruptly backward as Isobel crossed herself and Anora rushed into the chamber.

“What’s happened? What is—” Her gaze grew wide as it fell on him. Her hair was a wild cascade of gold about her shoulders. “MacGowan!”

“Senga has visited him,” Clarinda whispered.

Ramsay scowled at the speaker and rubbed his fingers absently together. ” ‘Tis not me own blood,” he soothed, and Anora’s gaze went to his face as her delicate hand fluttered to her own neck.

The babe squawked once.

“He is chosen to die,” someone whispered.

“Nay!” Anora’s tone was sure, her expression hard. “No one shall die; ‘tis naught but dried blood. Helena, see to the babe. Tree, take a basin of water to MacGowan’s chamber.”

“You are right,” Ramsay said. ” ‘Tis naught but a wee bit of dried blood, easily remedied. No need to bother Tree—”

” ‘Twas superstition that took my mother,” she said. Her gaze caressed him for the briefest of moments. “I’ll not have it take you. Go, please, be rid of the evidence before others see.”

He nodded once. “If you wish it, me lady.”

She turned slowly away. “Isobel …” Her gaze met the maid’s. “Come with me,” she said, and in an instant they were gone.

Ramsay watched the empty doorway in bemusement. A dozen odd nigglings tickled his mind, but in a moment they vanished, folded beneath a score of others.

What went on here? Did someone mean to frighten him off? Had an intruder breached his quarters and somehow streaked his throat with blood? Certainly he would have awakened. Then again, he had not awakened at all during the night, and surely the babe had cried. Why had he slept so soundly? The previous night in Anora’s arms had been wondrously wearing, but that hardly explained the situation.

“Helena,” he said, and watched her faded eyes widen as he turned toward her. “I’d have a word, if I may. In me quarters.”

She pulled her brows high with obvious misgivings, but nodded just the same.

They walked side by side up the stairs in silence while the baby mewled a half complaint. He reached for her, and though he thought for a moment that the stout matron would not relinquish her hold, she finally did, handing him the babe with obvious regret.

Ramsay snuggled the child against his chest, hiding the blood on his neck as he glanced toward the other.

“Do I frighten you, Helena?”

She pursed her pale lips and thrust out her impressive bosom. “No man frightens me, me laird. Only the devil himself … and …” She stopped and glanced sidewise at him, past the babe’s small bundled form.

“Senga?”

“Aye,” she said, nodding her gray head.

” ‘Tis the shade I wish to learn about,” he said. “Do you think it was she who left this blood upon me?”

She crossed herself nervously. ” ‘Tis her mark.”

“She left it on the Munro.”

“On the Munros,” she corrected. “First the old man. Then the sons.”

“Sons?”

“Aye. ‘Twas the elder of the two who first be-came … enamored with me lady. She wanted naught to do with him, what with the cruelty he had shown her mother, but her father …” She shrugged as if loath to say ill of the dead. “You must understand, the Munros be powerful neighbors. ‘Twas little more than a year past that they invited me lady and her sire to their keep. He’d been ill for some time by then. Mayhap that made it even more difficult for him to remain unimpressed by their strength and wealth. Feasts fit for the king, they had. A hundred candelabras made of gold. A host of soldiers, each brawnier than the last. Still …” She sighed. “The lass could not forget her mother and turned aside Cuthbert’s suit.

“Raids followed. Sheep were slaughtered, cattle stolen, and … well, ‘twas then that Deirdre fell and not much later that we learned she was with child.

” ‘Twas drunk, Cuthbert was, when he arrived on the firth that cold winter’s day. Drunk and declaring that he would have our Anora, whether she be witch or saint.” Helena shook her head, her expression solemn. ” ‘Twas a fool’s errand to try to climb the Myst to her chambers, but a fool he was, and as a fool he died.”

“And he was marked with the blood?”

“None here saw the body, but ‘tis rumored that he was.”

“And Innes Munro?”

“While me lady was gone, he moved into her chambers and awoke with the same stripe of blood.”

“But he is not dead.”

“Nay, for he was wise enough to leave.”

They stood in Ramsay’s room in silence for a moment. “Do you think I will die, Helena?”

She raised her solid jaw and looked him square in the eye. “When you first came, I knew there would be trouble.”

“Why is that?”

“At the start I thought ‘twas because of the prophecy. I was sure that you, like the others, did not have the required attributes. But then you bested the Munro. Power, you had. But peace also. And cunning. But kindness?” She paused, and when she turned her gaze on the bundle in Ramsay’s arms, her old eyes filled with tears. “Well, mayhap you have that too, and if you are loved by none other …” She tightened her mouth and lifted her plump bosom even more. “Well, the babe will surely remember your deeds.”

He smiled a little for her pride, then lifted his hand to his throat. “Who has done this?”

“Senga—”

“Let us assume that ‘twas not a spirit, but a person of flesh and blood.”

The old matron scowled. “Think you that someone here wishes you harm?”

He shrugged, glanced at the babe’s sleeping face, and bent slowly to place her in her cradle. “When did you fetch wee Mary?”

She looked a bit sheepish. “I am surely not the type to interfere,” she said. “But she was crying, and you were fast asleep.”

“At what hour?”

” ‘Twas some hours afore dawn. I had not yet heard the third bell of nocturne. When I reached your room, the cradle was still rocking, so I knew you must have just seen to her, yet she was still hungry and you were fast asleep, so I took her to me own chamber to care for her. I meant to replace wee Mary in her cradle, but when I returned to her room, you seemed so exhausted, and she was so peaceful in me arms—”

“And you saw nothing amiss? No one in me chambers? No one in the hallways?”

“Nay. Who would wish you harm?”

“I was about to ask that very question of you.”

“You’ve bested the Munro. Who here will mourn that?”

“Surely Deirdre was not alone in her adoration of them.”

“Deirdre’s mind had turned septic.”

“She hated me. Who else might feel the same?”

She shook her head.

“Another of Anora’s suitors, mayhap?”

“I know of none.”

“No one who adores her?”

“In truth, me laird, you’ll find no dearth of folk at Evermyst who adore—hey now!” she said, turning her attention toward Tree as he sloshed water out of the rim of the basin he carried. “Mind the floor.”

“Me apologies,” Tree said, skittering his gaze to Ramsay’s throat, then darting it away.

Ramsay scowled at the lad’s nervousness and cleared the room as quickly as possible. He needed to be alone to ponder, to unlock the mysteries of Anora and her Evermyst.

Despite the morn’s odd opening, the day passed without mishap. Evening came, and though some turned spooked eyes on Ramsay, none spoke to him. He cared not, for it gave him time to observe and contemplate.

The serving maids avoided him, and Isobel seemed to shrink into her drab oversized gown anytime he happened to glance in her direction. Even Ailsa seemed leery, though she finally ventured near.

“Mead, me laird?”

“Me thanks,” he said, lifting his mug. “I’ve a question for you, Ailsa.”

She started slightly, her dark brows drawn together. “What’s that, me laird?”

“Have you lived here all your life?”

“Why do you ask?”

He smiled, hoping to put her at ease. ” ‘Tis just this,” he said, and leaned slightly closer, “I fear the folk of Evermyst think me destined to die by a ghostly hand. I was hoping one who had been birthed elsewhere might not share those same beliefs.”

“I am not a Fraser by birth.”

“Oh?”

“Nay, I married into this clan when I was but—”

“MacGowan.”

He turned breathlessly at the sound of Anora’s voice. Ailsa curtsied briefly and hurried away.

“You are well?” Anora asked. She spoke softly, but there was no need, for he sat virtually alone at this table.

“I am well,” he replied, his voice just as quiet. “And you?”

“I need to speak to you. Alone. Wait a while, then meet me in the solar,” she said, and was quickly gone.

Ramsay remained in the great hall for a time, sipping his mead and watching, until finally, when he thought none would connect his departure with Anora’s, he left.

The solar was a high chamber with an iron bound door that stood open. On fine afternoons, sunlight bathed the room in golden hues, but it was dim now. Yet when Anora turned and the candlelight glistened off her gilded hair, the chamber seemed bright as midday.

“Ramsay.” His name sounded like a prayer on her lips, so sweet and breathy that for a moment he could not move. ‘Twas Anora who rushed across the floor to close the door and press her back to its heavy timbers. “I feared …”

Sweet Almighty, she was beautiful, small and fragile and lovely—yet not fragile at all, and she cared for him. He could see it in her sapphire eyes. “Feared what?” he asked, and allowed himself one step closer. He would not rush her, would not undo any small trust he might have gained.