The Witch and The Warrior (30 page)

“Of course you aren't.”

Gwendolyn sighed. A violent storm had been raging for two days now, and the MacDunns were convinced that she was the cause of it. She didn't like the cold, gloomy weather any more than they, although it was certainly reflective of her mood. Until she was trapped in that fire, she had not understood the extent of the MacDunns' hatred of her. She had known they feared her, but it had never occurred to her that they might actually try to murder her. The intensity of their loathing cut her deeply, since she had foolishly allowed herself to think that the MacDunns had been gradually starting to accept her. She had been wrong. The MacDunns were no more accepting of her than her own clan had been.

Now that she understood how much they wanted to be rid of her, she had to leave. But who would look after David after she was gone? she wondered desperately. What if he suddenly fell gravely ill again? Elspeth would clamp on to him like a giant leech, tormenting him with her foul methods, blissfully trying to purge Gwendolyn's evil from his tiny body. Poor David would be helpless to do anything except lie there. He would feel abandoned by Gwendolyn. And if he died, what would happen to MacDunn? She knew Alex well enough to understand that for all his strength, the death of his son would devastate him. He might descend into the refuge of madness, never to emerge again. How could she leave them knowing this? She pulled the plaid draped over her shoulders tighter, feeling alone and confused.

“Perhaps the sadness you feel comes from within,” suggested Morag quietly.

Gwendolyn considered this a moment, then shook her head. “I have felt sadness in this chamber from the moment I stepped into it. The space is heavy with unhappiness—it is in the walls, the ceiling, the floor—in the very air. And the room never feels warm, even when the fire is blazing.” She rubbed her chilled hands together. “To whom does this chamber belong?”

“No one. It once was occupied by MacDunn's wife, Flora. She died in here.”

So that was the misery Gwendolyn sensed. MacDunn's wife had lain here in hideous pain, knowing she was going to die and leave her husband and child alone. No wonder her anguish had seeped into these heavy stone walls.

“Did Flora not share MacDunn's chamber?” she asked.

“She did until her illness confined her to bed. After that the healers said her chamber must be sealed from the ill effects of too much light and outside air, and filled with healing smoke. Flora did not want Alex to endure the constant heat and haze, so she asked to be moved into a separate room next to his. But Alex stayed in here with her every night despite her protests. He told her he could not sleep without her, making it seem like she was helping him by permitting it. I believe it made him feel better, to hold her safe in his arms at night, trying to protect her,” she reflected quietly. “It certainly comforted Flora. Toward the end, when it was obvious that nothing more could be done for her, Alex cared for her during the day as well. He knew Flora might leave him at any moment, and he wanted to be with her when the time came.”

Gwendolyn considered this in silence. Because Alex never spent any time caring for David, Gwendolyn had always assumed that he had no practical experience dealing with the misery of illness, other than as a helpless, tormented witness. But after the fire, when he had tended her and cleaned up after her with calm, gentle skill, she had realized she was wrong. MacDunn was all too familiar with the duties of ministering to the sick.

And he had learned them in this very chamber.

“Is that the bed Flora died in?” she asked, studying the elegantly carved piece in the center of the room.

“No,” replied Morag. “Flora's bed was draped with a splendid yellow canopy that MacDunn had specially made for her. The underside was embroidered with mountains, and wildflowers, and a little waterfall that seemed to splash right down the end of it. He wanted her to have something pleasing to look at as she lay there. But the healers kept her room so smoky and dark, 'twas difficult for her to see it. Flora never let MacDunn know this, however.” She smiled sadly. “She told him she had memorized every flower and blade of grass, so she could see them even when her eyes were closed. She was a sweet girl, Flora was. The clan adored her.” Her expression grew distant.

And she was obviously very much loved by MacDunn as well, mused Gwendolyn. “Why doesn't MacDunn keep the bed in here, Morag?”

“After she died, MacDunn ordered it burned.”

Gwendolyn regarded her in surprise. “Why? Did he fear it might harbor her illness?”

“No. He said he couldn't bear to look upon it. It made him think of Flora's suffering.”

Gwendolyn reflected on this a long moment before quietly stating, “He loved her very much, didn't he?”

“Aye. He did. And Flora loved him. That's why it's been so difficult for them to say good-bye.”

“Do you mean because MacDunn still talks to her?”

Morag hesitated. “Aye,” she murmured, turning to gaze at the fire. “That's what I mean.”

“ 'Tis good to see you're up, Gwendolyn,” said Clarinda, waddling in with an enormous tray. “Look, I've brought you a wee bite.”

“Really, Clarinda, you shouldn't be carrying such heavy things,” scolded Gwendolyn. She rose to take the tray from her, then regarded the food piled high upon it in astonishment. “Are there others coming to dine with me?”

Clarinda seated herself. “Only me. And Morag may also wish to have something.”

“I'm afraid not,” said Morag, reaching for her staff. “I'm busy working on a new cream to smooth out wrinkles, and it's time to add more fish oil. If it works, I will give you both some. It is never too soon to begin caring for your skin,” she advised, disappearing out the door.

“There is enough food here to feed a small army!” Gwendolyn exclaimed.

“Or one extremely pregnant woman.” Clarinda laughed, reaching for a fat, roasted chicken leg. “I don't know why, but I find myself absolutely ravenous these days. Cameron says if I continue to eat this much, there won't be any room left inside me for the bairn!”

“You're looking very well. Your time must be near.”

Clarinda daintily licked her fingers. “I believe so. Which is why I'm so glad to see you're feeling better today. I was hoping you would help me when this bairn finally decides 'tis time to come out and see the world.”

“I—I cannot, Clarinda,” she stammered. Gwendolyn had no knowledge of how to birth a bairn and could not pretend that she did. Also, she had resolved to leave the MacDunns as quickly as possible—perhaps tomorrow. “Elspeth wouldn't permit me to attend. I'm sure she believes having a witch present at a birth will only bring evil.”

“It doesn't matter what Elspeth believes. She won't be there.”

“But Elspeth is the clan healer. She delivers almost all the MacDunn bairns, does she not?”

“She does. But not this one. You are going to do it.”

Gwendolyn stared at her, speechless. The magnitude of what Clarinda wanted her to do was overwhelming. Caring for a dying child whom no one else had been able to help was one thing, but birthing a tiny babe was another matter entirely. She could not feign knowledge or experience in such a serious matter—not when Clarinda's very life, or her child's, might depend on it.

“I cannot do it, Clarinda,” she said, her voice apologetic. “I have never birthed a bairn before.”

“That's all right,” said Clarinda, helping herself to an enormous chunk of bread. “I intend to do the actual birthing. I just need you to help me through it. Perhaps you can cast a spell to ease the pain, or make the birth go a little faster.”

Gwendolyn shook her head. “There must be someone else within the clan who can help you.”

“I don't want anyone else. I want you.”

“But I can't—”

“I cannot do this alone, Gwendolyn. And no one else would dare accept, for fear of angering Elspeth, and then she might refuse to care for them or their families when they needed her. If I am left without someone to help me, Elspeth will step in when I am overwhelmed with pain and unable to send her away. Do you understand?” She laid her hands protectively over the enormous swell of her stomach. “I could not bear to have her near, telling me how God is punishing me for my sins by giving me pain. And if anything were to happen to the bairn and she wouldn't let me see it—” She broke off suddenly.

Gwendolyn lowered her gaze. She could not bear to see Clarinda upset.

“I'm asking you to help me, Gwendolyn,” Clarinda said, brushing away the tears welling in her eyes. “I need you to be with me when I am powerless to help myself. If you are truly my friend, you cannot refuse me. I would not refuse you if you needed me.”

If you are truly my friend.

The words seemed strange to Gwendolyn, for she had never had a friend. No one in her clan had ever been willing to associate with her. After all those years of rejection and isolation, she had accepted the fact that there would never be anyone in her life except her father who would care for her. Yet here was Clarinda, who had never shown her anything but kindness and concern, asking for her help. Warmth suddenly flooded through Gwendolyn, dispelling the chill that had seized her these past two days. Seeing that Clarinda had started to tremble, Gwendolyn silently rose from her chair and draped her shawl over her friend.

“We will bring this bairn into the world together, Clarinda,” she told her, kneeling so she could wrap her arms around her. “I swear to you I will not leave your side.”

Clarinda regarded her uncertainly. “You're sure?”

Gwendolyn pressed her cheek against the soft auburn fall of Clarinda's hair, like a mother comforting a child. “I'm sure,” she whispered softly.

         

“The storm has finally broken,” Owen announced with relief. “The witch must be feeling better.”

“A foul tempest, that was,” said Lachlan, carefully measuring a draft of his latest potion into a cup. “By all the saints, she must have been furious.” He cautiously sniffed his drink, then wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“I believe I would have been furious as well,” said Marjorie, “had someone tried to burn me to death in my own chamber!”

“It was a black day for our clan,” fretted Reginald, polishing his sword with an enormous rag. “Nothing honorable about sealing a woman in a burning room. A right nasty way to kill someone—even if she is a witch.”

“And I suppose it would be more honorable to tie her to a stake and set her afire?” challenged Clarinda. “With everyone there to watch?”

“Dear me, no,” Owen assured her, looking horrified. “Witch or not, I could never sanction anyone doing such a terrible thing.”

“Nor could MacDunn,” added Morag. “That is why he saved her from the MacSweens.”

“The question is, who banged her on the head and set her chamber afire?” wondered Munro.

“Why don't you tell us, Munro?” Robena suggested, her voice sharp with accusation. “You've hated her from the day she dropped that pot on your head.”

“I would never do such a thing!” Munro's eyes bulged out of his round face. “I have no reason to want her dead.”

“You said she looks like an old toe to you,” pointed out Lachlan. “Any man might tire of looking at something like that.”

“She isn't nearly as hideous as I once thought,” Munro quickly assured them. “Actually, there are moments when she is almost comely.”

“I've thought that as well,” agreed Owen brightly. “Of course, she's not nearly as comely as you are, Morag,” he quickly amended. “No one is.”

“Really, Owen,” said Morag, flustered. “What a ridiculous thing to say.”

“MacDunn was in a rage when it happened,” said Farquhar. “He has vowed to find the culprit who did it.” He took a deep swig of ale before finishing, “I'd not want to be anywhere near when he does.”

“He has also said that we are all to keep a careful watch over her and ensure that no more accidents happen,” added Ewan.

“What an excellent idea!” said Owen, rubbing his hands together. “I would be happy to look after the lass. I shall begin straightaway.” He took a few steps, then stopped and turned. “Where, exactly, is she?”

“She has gone outside with David,” said Lettie, adjusting her baby onto her shoulder.

“Outside?” said Owen. “Dear me. I don't believe I want to go outside. All that bright sunshine—”

“Outside?” thundered Reginald, sounding appalled. “By God, the MacSweens could come at any moment!” He threw down his rag and hurried toward the door, dragging his sword with him.

         

“Are you all right, David?”