True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (10 page)

As if he had awakened, but pretended to be asleep still.

Listening.

What manner of man did not trust those who would assist him? The choice did little to reassure her concerns. She checked his pulse at his throat, but did not comment upon its slightly increased pace. It had settled but now leapt anew.

He had a secret, she would wager.

“I will make him a posset,” she said, watching him carefully. “The recipe will empty his innards quite quickly, which will ensure any poison has no chance to work more deeply.” She heaved a sigh. “I regret that it evokes such a violent reaction, but there is no other way to be sure he is safe.”

He gave no indication that he had heard her, but Isabella was not convinced.

“Fionn, you shall have to endure it.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Helga cleared her throat. “You should cast him from the gates instead, my lady, and bar them against him. He is a hunter; let him heal in the forest he knows so well.”

“It may not be safe to keep him here, my lady,” Fionn agreed.

Isabella could not dismiss her sense that he was listening to her every word. “I fear any chance of safety is behind us,” she said briskly. “Look about yourselves. Seton Manor is a small holding and one that gains its safety by isolation. It is not even fully fenced.”

“The forest provides defense,” Fionn said loyally. “It is not easy to pass through it on the back side of the holding.”

“Passing through forest is this man’s trade,” Helga said, her voice hard.

Isabella nodded. “If this man had wanted to gain entry to our hall, he could have done so before this day and not through the gates.”

“Similarly, if he wished to return,” Helga concluded, folding her arms across her chest.

“Better to know his desire first,” Isabella said and the older woman nodded.

“So, you mean to let him remain?” Murdoch asked from the doorway.

Isabella spun to face her husband, seeing an echo of her own curiosity on his face. He leaned in the doorway, his expression watchful. Isabella knew he would move with the speed of lightning to defend any of them, should the hunter attack unexpectedly.

“I want to know why he came,” she said. “I want to know what ails him. When he awakens, as he no doubt shall after my posset, we can ask him for the truth of it.”

Murdoch’s gaze lingered on the sleeping man. Isabella dispatched Helga to fetch the herbs she needed, and Fionn to his usual duties in the kitchen. With the knights’ arrival, there would be more at the board this evening and more food would need to be prepared.

“What ails him?” Murdoch asked quietly.

Isabella shrugged. “I am not fully certain of the cause or the cure, but he reminds me of you.”

Murdoch held Isabella’s gaze for a long moment, then crossed the small hut with quick strides. He unfastened the lace at the neck of Garrett’s shirt, and spread the cloth wide. Isabella knew he was looking for marks on the hunter’s flesh, the dark whorling marks like the ones that had graced his own skin and indicated the Fae’s possession of a mortal man. The flesh on the hunter’s chest was tanned, but otherwise normal. Murdoch glanced up, a question in his expression.

“His is not a normal illness, or at least not one I recognize,” Isabella said softly. She was aware that the hunter listened intently, even while he feigned sleep. “I believe he suffers from a curse of some kind, which is what reminds me of your situation. And somehow, Annelise is of aid to him.”

“Nay,” Murdoch said, straightening with vigor. “He cannot have come for Annelise. I forbid it.”

Isabella, though, had seen her sister’s expression when the hunter had been overcome. “There are things you cannot change, husband.”

“There are things I will not allow,” he replied, his tone resolute.

“She can be of aid to him, just as I was to you!”

“Nay, Isabella. Annelise is gentle and so shy that it is painful to watch her in society. She needs protection more than any maiden I have ever known.” He must have seen Isabella’s doubt for his voice rose. “I have made a pledge to Alexander!”

Isabella bit her lip. She knew very well how she had saved Murdoch when no other person, man or woman, would dare to even attempt to help him. Could Annelise do the same for this hunter?

Isabella was a healer. If Annelise could cure or even diminish the effects of Garrett’s malady, Isabella did not believe she could obstruct her sister’s choice.

Murdoch clearly saw the direction of her thoughts. He shook a finger before her. “Annelise is not you, Isabella. She has not your fortitude or your nature.”

“We are equally stubborn. Do not underestimate her in that regard.”

“I will not risk her future.”

“Not even if she wishes to take a chance herself?”

“Not even so. This man, be he cursed or no, is not a fitting match for her.” Murdoch’s eyes flashed and Isabella knew her husband’s thinking would not be easily changed. “The hunter leaves at dawn, if not before, never to return to this abode.” Without waiting for her acknowledgement, Murdoch left the hut, striding back toward the manor. Isabella lingered, watching the sickened man.

Who no longer appeared to be ill. He looked like a man asleep, but Isabella knew better.

She also knew her sister. Annelise was quiet and quick to accommodate others, but there was iron within her. It was not often that she set her sights upon some goal, but when she did, Annelise was more steadfast and determined than any soul Isabella had known. Her conviction, once won, was unshakable—and Isabella had noticed her concern for this hunter. She feared Annelise had decided, and Murdoch’s command would make no difference at all.

“Am I right?” she whispered.

Garrett’s eyes flew open, his gaze locking immediately with hers. He spoke quietly, so quietly that Isabella barely heard his words, and truly his lips did not even seem to move. “I would die defending her,” he said with a conviction that echoed Murdoch’s. “For you are more right than you can know.”

“Will you tell me of it?”

He shook his head. “The telling has a high price.” His gaze held hers and she believed him. “I can confess the truth to no one.”

Isabella nodded. It was a curse, then. Her hand fell to the ripe curve of her belly as she considered her choices. She had much more to lose than once had been the case: a husband who adored her, a comfortable home, a babe on the way. She could not take a risk for Annelise as once she might have done, yet at the same time, she could not deny her favored sister a chance at happiness.

“Do you know the cure?” Isabella asked quietly.

He met her gaze. “I believe the maiden Annelise holds the key.”

“I will not stand in whatever path she chooses,” she vowed in a whisper. “But Annelise must choose for herself.”

Garrett nodded, his determination seeming to grow before her eyes.

Isabella touched his shoulder. “You should sleep while you can.”

Garrett smiled, the image of a man refining a plan. He closed his eyes then, as if to heed her counsel, but Isabella did not imagine that he truly slept.

At least not before she left him alone.

*

Garrett lay on the pallet in the small hut at Seton Manor and tried to put his body at ease. He could hear the thoughts of those people in the hall, but they were sufficiently distant that they did not disable him.

Or maybe it was the pool of serenity he sensed from Annelise that allowed him to endure the sound of those thoughts.

The one who despised him had quieted his or her thoughts, which also made the din easier to bear.

Garrett was exhausted beyond belief, but feared that rest in this place might be a foolish choice. He was exposed in this hall and unable to hide. He had spent weeks tracking the wolf, sleeping little as he pursued his prey, and now felt hunted himself. A lack of sleep encouraged such whimsy, but that stab of malice in his thoughts left Garrett unprepared to risk sleep within the walls of Seton Manor.

Instead, his thoughts flew. He had not dared to take the time to grieve for all he had lost months ago, and he had thought even less about the tidings and events that preceded that horrific morning.

He dared not indulge his memories yet, but he thought again of Mhairi’s tale.

How could he be the son of a laird?

How could a laird have denied his own son and never sought him out in twenty-five years? The tale defied belief, so Garrett had gone in search of the truth. Mhairi had named his father as Laird of Killairig, so Garrett had journeyed to that keep.

Only to be mocked, ridiculed and cast from the gates in shame. Even his curse had been more vehement in that place than ever before, as if his own mind mocked what he wished to believe.

What if Mhairi’s tale were true?

Perhaps Garrett had abandoned the battle too soon. In truth, he had not intended to abandon it fully, but had returned home in search of more detail, only to find himself upon another, grimmer quest.

Annelise brought him clarity. Garrett knew what he wanted. He wanted to have Annelise by his side forever. He wanted to sip of her lips and feel that welcome tide of mingled desire and relief flood through his body. He wanted to feel invigorated and be strong, and he wanted to ensure that she was treated with the honor she deserved.

He knew that Mhairi and Seamus would have loved her, too.

Garrett wanted to leave Seton Manor with Annelise as his wife. This was the conundrum. On the one hand, he knew that her family history was what allowed her to consider an unconventional choice. She might even be able to make her peace with his curse, or figure out its symptoms without him telling her of it. She eased his malady greatly, whether she could heal it fully or not. The solace was enough for Garrett.

Yet she was nobly born and had at least one knight seeking her hand. No man of sense would choose a hunter over a knight as a spouse for a maiden in his care. He did not blame Murdoch for his doubts and indeed, he admired that the laird of Seton Manor took such responsibility for the welfare of his wife’s sister.

But if Garrett truly was heir to Killairig and could prove it with Annelise by his side, his dream had a fair chance of success. The notion grew in appeal the more he thought about it, leaving him too excited to rest.

How could he prove the identity of his father? It seemed one man’s word against Mhairi’s and the laird’s view would undoubtedly prevail in his own holding.

How could he go to Killairig with Annelise, if he had to go there to win the right to ask for her hand in the first place? He doubted mightily that Murdoch would willingly let her accompany him, no matter how noble the cause, and Garrett would not dishonor his maiden by stealing her away.

It was a riddle with no solution.

It was as the afternoon shadows were drawing long that Garrett realized he was not the only one troubled within these walls. He heard the thoughts of the creatures not far from his hut.

The goats had not been milked. Garrett turned his attention to their discomfort and impatience. He was accustomed to listening to the thoughts of goats, though that realization prompted an unwelcome memory.

It made sense that the milking had been delayed. There were guests arrived in the hall. Seton Manor was a small keep, and Garrett would guess that servants were few. Whoever milked the goats each evening must have other labors to perform on this day.

He could help.

He was not a man who liked to be idle, and it was possible that the laird might look upon him more favorably if he showed himself to be useful.

Garrett could only imagine that it would serve him well to have Murdoch Seton an ally rather than a foe.

Elizabeth missed her siblings.

She never would have imagined it possible. As youngest of eight siblings, Elizabeth had spent most of her life yearning for a moment alone.

Now that she had solitude aplenty, she found it less desirable than she had always imagined.

She and her four sisters had shared a room all their lives, at least until her older sisters had married and left Kinfairlie. As the youngest girl as well as the youngest of all, Elizabeth had lost every battle and every claim for supremacy. Madeline was the best horsewoman, Vivienne was the most daring, Isabella was the most indulged when she insisted upon remaining abed on cold mornings and Annelise did the finest embroidery.

Alexander was the oldest and the heir, although one would never have guessed as much in their younger years. He had always been first with a prank and the one who could be relied upon to enliven even the most tedious day. These days, it seemed his life was naught but tedium, for he was laird himself. To Elizabeth’s surprise, Alexander seemed to relish his responsibilities, for he had even taken to spending time with his ledgers. That pleased Anthony, the castellan, a great deal, but Elizabeth found it a dull choice.

Alexander’s wife, Eleanor, was a fine woman and one Elizabeth liked very well, but their two young children consumed much of her time. She also was a healer, who had taught Isabella her skills, and much concerned with the welfare of all within Kinfairlie’s village. Elizabeth helped Eleanor on occasion, but even that was a lonely business. When she delivered a posset to the baker for the lady of the manor, there was much gratitude expressed but not much conversation. She was of the family of Kinfairlie, and thus to be treated with respect and deference.