Highland Fire (Guardians of the Stone) Read online

  The woman nodded, looking confused. “A fresh batch, but ’tis yet unfiltered. I was going to begin preserves for the winter store.”

  “Even better,” Lìli assured her. “The mother of vin aigre is the best part. Bring it to me,” she bade the woman. “Along with water.”

  “Water?” the mother asked, looking even more confused.

  Once again Glenna turned her gaze to Aidan, looking for his direction. He had yet to come fully inside, but now he let the door close behind him, shutting out the night air as he met Lìli’s gaze, assessing her. There was nothing she could do if he chose not to trust her, and he had no reason to do so, but she hoped he would. Her eyes pleaded with him.

  With the door closed, the candles no longer flickered uncertainly. Their flames burned tall and strong, illuminating the room somewhat better. Lìli straightened her spine, waiting for Aidan to decide, but it seemed she waited an eternity while he made up his mind.

  “Do as she says,” he commanded finally.

  That was all Lìli needed to hear. She was aware of his lingering gaze, but she had nothing to hide—at least not at the moment. She would never harm an innocent child, no matter what threat loomed before her—in truth, not even to save her own son, for what manner of monster would that make her?

  Killing Aidan dún Scoti was not the same.

  At least that’s how she confessed herself.

  She glanced at the pot hanging in the hearth. “Is that empty?”

  The boy’s mother was still gathering the items Lìli had requested. She placed a bucket of water on the table. “Aye,” she said, seeing the direction of Lìli’s gaze. “’Tis clean as well since he has not eaten since yestermorn. I had no stomach for food myself. Retrieving this bucket of water was the last thing he did for me before he became ill, and then he had no thought for food or drink.”

  Lìli rose from the child’s bedside, taking the small bucket of water from the table where the woman had placed it. Reaching inside, she inspected the sides, looking for slime—any indication the water had been sitting too long. She found none, but just in case she took the bucket to the small pot hanging over the hearth fire and poured the water inside the cauldron, saving a little to bathe the child. It sizzled as it settled into the bottom of the iron pot. Beneath the cauldron, the fire was already burning hot and she lowered the pot into the flames.

  “What are you doing?” the woman asked now, her voice fraught with worry. Lìli took a little bit of the vin aigre from the cask on the table. Making sure she scooped up as much of the unfiltered cider as she could, she poured a goodly amount into the pot, and then looked at Sorcha and said, “Do you recall the smallest of the coffers brought into my cottage?”

  “Aye,” Sorcha said.

  Thinking only of the child lying abed, she sent Sorcha after a small dark brown pouch that contained various medicines.

  “What is she doing?” Glenna asked Aidan once more. “She is making a brew to poison my son!”

  Lìleas turned to look at the woman, meeting her gaze directly, her eyes full of compassion. “You have my word, Glenna, I’llna put anything in your son’s mouth I am no’ willing to drink myself. Dinna worry, I have used vin aigre many times in just this way.”

  Aidan watched her closely.

  She was behaving like a worried mother herself.

  He couldn’t fathom what this new sickness was. The illness had only begun since his return from Chreagach Mhor—first one fell ill, then another, and another followed. The malaise took their young and old so swiftly that there was scarce time to build their pyres before the fever took them. Next, it would seize the healthy among them, withering their numbers as not even their enemies had managed to with their bloodthirsty blades.

  Glenna’s eyes continued to plead with him, beseeching him to intervene—begging him not to take the side of his Scot’s bride...

  In Aidan’s mind’s eye, he saw Padruig Caimbeul looming over his father’s lifeless form, his long gray beard splattered with blood. They had come to Dubhtolargg under the guise of friendship, supping at their tables and partaking of their uisge and then all together had risen up in the middle of the festivities and slaughtered half their clansmen while their noses were still deep in their cups. It was the gravest of transgressions amongst Highlanders, and yet the Caimbeuls had done so with impunity, as though they felt justified in re-enacting the betrayal that had originally brought Dubhtolargg its name.

  In fact, they had not even known about the hidden stone. They had come simply to appease their monstrous pride—to say they had driven the chieftain of Dubhtolargg to his knees. They had raped his mother, as well, and then left her with a babe in her belly. That child was Sorcha, and it was then, on Sorcha’s birthing and his mother’s deathbed that Una had cursed Padruig’s firstborn child. Not even Sorcha knew the truth of her patrimony. His clansmen had kept it from her on pain of death.

  Staring at Lìleas’ back, he watched her tend Duncan, wondering whether she intended to give that poor child vin aigre to drink. Simply the thought of the bitter taste of the rancid wine made his gut churn. Yet his “bride” certainly appeared to know what she was doing. Is this what Una had meant when she claimed Lìleas was to be the salvation of their clan?

  Resigned though she was to his will, Glenna wrung her hands with worry, her attention returning to Lìleas.

  Aidan felt torn, uncertain what to do, or what to say. He had no intention of weakening his position toward Lìleas. Healer or nay, she was still Padruig’s daughter.

  But she continued though she was weary; he could tell by the lines of fatigue in her face. No doubt they had traveled days to reach Dubhtolargg, and knowing how little time had passed since he had sent the messenger back to David with his agreement, there was not much chance they had rested much along the way. Still she had not complained after learning there was a celebration intended to mark their arrival, despite that he had half expected her to behave like an English miss and hie to bed for a week before showing her face again.

  As he watched, she worked without complaint. With the bucket and a rag, she returned to Duncan’s bedside and pulled the blankets down, then stripped the boy to his bare arse. Rising again, she set the cloth into the cask and let pure vin aigre flow over it. Then she returned to the bed, wiping down the boy’s skin again, dipping the rag into the bucket and wiping him again. He didn’t understand any of it, but it made a certain sense. The vin aigre would surely kill anything it touched. When Lìleas was finished with the potion, she stripped the top covers off the bed, and without asking stole the blankets from his mother’s bed, giving the boy dry bedding.

  “Aidan, please,” Glenna begged once more. “The night air will kill my son for certain!”

  Aidan vacillated. Where the hell was Una when he needed her?

  He could not risk second-guessing the old woman, for he knew she held the best interests of their clan. While he might not trust this child of Padruig Caimbeul, he trusted Una without fail. He blew a sigh, and shook his head, holding up his hand to command Glenna to calm herself. “Let her tend the boy,” he commanded. He did not mean to sound so hard and unrelenting, but he could not think just now.

  Glenna obeyed, but her lips trembled and she lowered her head and wept and Aidan cursed profusely beneath his breath.

  Lìli was grateful for Aidan’s show of trust, but her sense of relief was short-lived, for it was only once she had the child completely undressed and was laving his body, cooling it with the water and sponge, that it occurred to her to worry about which pouch his sister would retrieve from her coffers. She was not accustomed to perfidy and did not know how to think like a conspirator! Unlike Aveline, she did not even know how to be a woman, apparently, for neither with the dress that David had given her, nor by her own wiles, could she seem to make the laird of Dubhtolargg look at her with anything less than disfavor. And yet it should not matter how he looked at her, for she was no more pleased with this arrangement than he was.

&nb
sp; But she would be even less pleased—as would he—if his sister returned with the wrong pouch!

  She tried to remember exactly where she had placed the small bag she had sent Sorcha after and hoped it was at the top of her coffers. She had many such pouches, all of them similar in appearance. Only one could see her bound to a pyre and burned alive, for it contained the means to kill not only Aidan, but all his kin as well.

  If that were not enough, there was no way for her to explain away the ring. It was an instrument of murder, pure and simple. Made of bronze in the shape of a five-pronged crown, the ring was designed so that the bearer could quickly dump poison into a cup without ever having to remove it from his finger. She had never seen its like. Inlaid with lovely etchings along the sides, it appeared to be ancient and delicate, but it was deadly and clever.

  She waited with baited breath for his sister to return, laving the child’s body, while trying as best she could to keep her mind off death by fire. Her father had once claimed she would burn upon a stake, like the witch she was. Lìli swallowed hard, terrified that his prophecy would come true.

  His mother had said the boy was unmarked by any rashes, or any lesions that may indicate infection, and he was. Whatever it was that plagued him was invisible to the eye. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, though she had a small amount of willow bark if he awoke in need.

  Dear God, would Sorcha choose the right pouch?

  Lìli had shoved the other down deep into her coffers. In her curiosity, would the girl decide to explore? Would she think to question the hard lump if her fingers encountered it amidst Lìli’s softer garments?

  Feeling Aidan’s presence at her back like a threat in the room, she held her breath, staring at the boy’s pale face, watching him breathe.

  What in God’s name would happen to Kellen should they discover her treachery?

  David would have no use for him, and Rogan would never embrace him truly. If anything, he probably considered her son a threat to his holdings—holdings that he now held only because Stuart was dead, but her son was the rightful heir to his father’s demesne.

  Lìli held her breath so long it hurt—until the door burst open and Sorcha came dashing inside, clutching the bag in her hand. She expelled a breath she hadn’t even realized she held. By the rood, the girl had chosen the correct bag! Taking it from her quickly, Lìli clutched it in her hand for an instant, thanking God—any god, every god—for the reprieve. She swore to be more careful from here forth.

  Fortuitously, this particular bag was filled with various herbs, including rosemary and juniper, which would, when burned, help to purify the air itself. Until the boy awoke, he would not be drinking her concoction of vin aigre, so this must do for now. The sack contained more, but until she knew these people a little better, she would not dare practice more earthy skills.

  As the other occupants of the cottage watched, she crushed the juniper and rosemary together and then set it into a shard of pottery to burn. Then, finding another small piece of pottery that would weather flames, she filled that as well, then lit them both. She didn’t dare meet Glenna’s gaze as the thin ribbons of smoke climbed into the air, and instead she went back to the boy’s bedside, well aware that the door opened, once again letting in a rush of cold air, and then slammed shut. When she turned to see who had come or gone, she met two horrified gazes—neither of them Aidan’s. The look on both Sorcha’s and Glenna’s faces were near mirror images.

  Chapter Seven

  Aidan was no longer certain he was doing the right thing allowing Lìleas to tend Glenna’s son, so he went in search of the only person he knew who could help him decide what to do: Una.

  He knew her well enough to know where she must have gone. She was the only one who dared spend time in that grotto she called the cradle of Geamhradh—Winter.

  His thoughts in turmoil, he made his way over the hillside where the shepherds tended their flocks. None of his clansmen would think to question why there were more men watching over these hapless sheep and goats than was necessary, nor that their shepherds wore claymores strapped to their belts that could slice a man in two with scarcely any effort.

  They didn’t question why, because they knew.

  He passed his captain, seated atop a boulder. Lachlann’s massive sword rested at his feet, the blade reflecting the rising moon, for it was growing dark now. He whittled away at something in his hands, but Aidan couldn’t tell what it was—no doubt one of his wooden carvings. The other “shepherds” were settled at strategic points upon the mount, all of them visible to one another, but not to outlanders who might not know the lay of their land, or the caverns and boulders that pocked it.

  “Ha’ ye seen Una?” Aidan asked.

  “Yup,” the burly warrior replied and pointed up the hillside.

  “That’s what I ken,” Aidan said, and grumbled beneath this breath. Damned old woman! He was saddled with a new bride because of her and she couldn’t even linger long enough to be certain all went as it should.

  He climbed the bluff, all the while cursing to himself, for despite the fact that there were easy enough scrambles along the way up, the path was steep, and not for the first time, he wondered how Una’s frail body could make it up the hillside without putting her out of breath, even in winter with treacherous, icy rocks. Once the snows fell, even the guards kept their vigils from lower upon the hill, yet Una came and went.

  Along the hillside there were a number of smaller caves, but not all of them were so extensive. Only one had suited the purposes of their ancestors, though it seemed as though it had been created precisely for their cause. Aidan made his way toward that one, passing the smaller yawning holes in the rock face that often gave their children sanctuary during summer storms.

  They kept their store for the winter in the entrance to the main cave—all foods that did not necessitate cooler air to keep fresh. But the tunnel didn’t end there. The following cave, naturally formed, full of mist and colder yet, was where they stored more perishable items. And it might seem to anyone who didn’t know better that this cave was where the underground caverns should end, with the mist rising from unseen crevices, but if one looked carefully, or knew exactly where to find it, there was a small hole in the ground and a ladder that descended deeper into a grotto. That was where he would find Una, and then, deeper yet, was where they kept the destiny stone.

  Aidan descended the ladder into the belly of the mountain, and certainly enough, he found Una standing at her worktable staring into her keek stane—a crystal stone she claimed could reveal past and future. As always, the room was shrouded in mist, and cold enough to freeze his bollocks under his breacan.

  Una was so entranced that her staff lay forgotten at her side despite that it rarely left her hand, even whilst she slept. Her keek stane lay cradled in a wooden box, a luminous green crystal that was concave on one side and convex on the other. To Aidan, it appeared like no more than a hunk of crystal, for it never revealed any more than its translucent nature while in his presence. But Una seemed to see things no one else could see in her scrying stone and betimes Aidan could feel it in the air, like a prickling under his skin.

  Una’s eyes had yet to leave her stone, but she waved him into the room. “Come in, come in,” she bade him.

  “I’ve come—”

  “I know why ye’ve come, ye lout. Come in and sit down,” she commanded him as no one else ever dared. “Let me finish, and then I shall speak wi’ ye.”

  Aidan knew better than to argue with this female in particular. As cantankerous as Lael could be, his eldest sister was nothing compared to Una in a fit of pique. The old woman’s temper made even seasoned warriors quake in their boots—especially while standing in reaching distance of her staff.

  Trusting her, and resigned to do as she bade him, Aidan sat beside her at the little table, in the only chair available. Usually, the single chair in the room sat near the braced torch, where she often squinted by its light to read her manuscripts
. The fact that the seat was now at the table only strengthened the impression that she must have known he was coming.

  But of course she would know that. She had led him into this travesty and she knew him well enough to know he would expect her counsel until it was done.

  “I need to know... will the boy die?”

  As a test of sorts, he didn’t tell her who, and wondered if she had remained in the village long enough to learn of Duncan’s illness. Then again, if she knew Glenna’s son was ill, why wouldn’t she come to the boy’s aide? It was Una they all turned to whenever anyone grew ill, for despite her eccentric ways and her moodiness, she held a wealth of healing knowledge.

  Una’s hand froze over the keek stane, where it seemed she had positioned it to either keep out the light so she could better see within or, more likely, to hide the stone so Aidan could not see what was simply not there. She gave him a disapproving glance, as though she’d read his thoughts and said, “Ach, if he does ‘twill save you the trouble of hand fasting and then mayhap your life in the end.”

  Aidan frowned. “What the bluidy hell is that supposed to mean, auld woman? Ye dinna say my life would be at risk!”

  Their relationship was not a simple one. As the woman who had pulled him, feet first, from his mother’s womb, he would love and respect her until the day he died, but it was never certain what mood you would catch her in, and she did not respect him back when he blenched over her bad temper. After many dozen raps upon the head, both when he raised his voice and when he did not, he simply treated her the way she treated him. And thankfully, she never rapped him before his clansmen. Any castigations she deemed worthy of inflicting were always privately done and Aidan realized she dealt all with love, so he abided it.