Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 (64 page)

The hunt was successful. The hunting party returned to Brathanead with a huge boar. Gillian went to greet the returning huntsman with Bodie at her side. She was as elated as the rest of the clan until she saw her husband. If the huge knot and gash on his forehead were not enough, his face was streaked with dried blood and his left eye was blackening. She rushed to him and put her arms around him. “By the saints, Fingal, what happened to ye? I thought ye said ye wouldn’t tackle the beast bare handed.”

Fingal returned the hug and gave her a quick kiss. “Are ye referring to this wee thump? Aye, well, I can’t rightly blame the beast for this. ’Twas but an accident. The cinch on my saddle gave way. Luckily I landed on my hard head or I might have been seriously injured.”

The men around them chuckled at his jest but Gillian was worried. “Fingal, don’t tease. This
is
a serious injury. Eadoin, please send for Agnes.”

Fingal caressed her cheek. “Really, Gillian, it will be fine. But I wouldn’t say nay to a bath.”

“I’ll arrange for a bath for ye
after
Agnes has seen to yer injury.”

Fingal did not protest when she led him to their chamber, Bodie on their heels. When they entered, Bodie settled into his spot by the hearth while she gathered what she needed to clean the gash. “Fingal, tell me what happened.”

“It is just as I said, Con and I had jumped a fallen tree and the cinch on my saddle broke. I guess it was more worn than I thought.”

Something in his tone of voice concerned Gillian but before she could ask him anything else, Agnes arrived.

“Och, Laird.” She gave a wheezing cough. “The gash isn’t too bad. I’ll put a few stitches in it for good measure.” She coughed again.

Gillian had been so worried about Fingal she hadn’t noticed that Agnes herself appeared pale and drawn. “Agnes, ye don’t look well yerself.”

“Ah, Gillian lass, I feel a bit of a catarrh coming on. ’Tis nothing to worry about.” She coughed again before prodding the wound on Fingal’s head. “Laird, the size of that knot makes it look like ye rattled yer skull but good. Are ye dizzy at all? Can ye see clearly? Did ye lose consciousness when it happened?”

“I’m fine, Agnes. Ye need to look after yerself. I think this bump looks much worse than it is.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Answer my questions.”

Fingal chuckled at her authoritarian manner. “I am not dizzy and I can see fine. I did black out for a moment when it happened but I’ve been fine since then.”

She coughed again before accusing, “Eadoin said ye were dizzy for a while afterward.”

Fingal looked slightly sheepish. “Ah...well, aye. I suppose I was for a few minutes but I’m fine now.”

Agnes frowned. “Laird, ye mustn’t make light of this. A blow to the head is a fickle thing. Sometimes a man can take a blow so hard he lapses into a sleep so deep ye’d believe he’d never come out of it. Then in a few days, he wakes up right as nails with no permanent damage. Yet another man takes a hit that doesn’t even knock him out. He seems fine but days—maybe even weeks—later, he starts complaining of dizziness, confusion or a headache. Then he falls into a sleep from which he never wakes.”

“I’m sorry Agnes. I know head wounds can be unpredictable. But the damage is done.”

“Aye, but if ye take things slow for the next few days and don’t overwork yerself, it likely won’t cause ye any trouble. It’s folks that ignore an injury like this and don’t give themselves time to heal that have more problems.” She was caught by a spasm of coughing.

“Says the woman who should be tucked up in her own bed taking care of herself.”

“Don’t try to turn the tables on me, lad. Do as I tell ye.”

“Agnes, I can’t stay in my bed for the next few days just because of a wee bump.”

Gillian put her hands on her hips and scowled. “Ye can if she says ye must.”

Agnes chuckled. “Laird, ye needn’t stay in bed any more’n I do. Just take things a bit easy. Don’t do any heavy lifting or over strenuous work.”

“I will on one condition—ye do the same.”

She scowled, but after another coughing spasm agreed before stitching his wound. The servants arrived with the tub and water as she worked. “Normally I would have given ye something for the pain, but with a head injury, it is better if I don’t.”

“Don’t worry. If the potion ye brew for pain is anything like Katherine’s, I’d rather take the pain.”

Agnes grinned. “Aye, Katherine MacIan is a smart lass and we use a similar recipe. Find it a tad bitter, do ye?”

“More than just a tad.” As he said that an odd expression crossed his face.

“Is something wrong, Fingal?”

He smiled at Gillian. “Nay, love. It just smarts a bit.”

Agnes finished the last stich and left with another stern warning for him to rest.

When they were alone, he started to undress. “Here, let me help ye.”

He laughed. “Sweetling, undressing is hardly heavy labor.”

She pouted coyly. “But I like helping ye undress.”

“Well then, I certainly wouldn’t want ye to feel deprived.”

She giggled and helped him remove the rest of his clothes. He climbed into the tub, groaning as he sank into the warm water. She took a cloth and gently washed the dried blood from his hair and face before moving onto the rest of his body. “Ye are covered with scratches. Did ye land in a thorn bush?”

“Not a thorn bush, but aye, some fairly heavy underbrush. That was lucky really as it broke my fall. I might have broken something useful—like my neck.”

She knew he was trying to underplay what had happened, but she realized that he could have been killed and she sent up a quick prayer of thanksgiving that he hadn’t been more seriously injured.

She soaped her hands, massaging his arms and shoulders as she bathed him. He closed his eyes, relaxing.

“Do ye like this?”

“Aye, love, I do.”

She slipped her hands lower, washing his belly. Her fingers brushed the long red scar on his side. “How did ye come by this scar?”

His brow furrowed and then he winced and touched the lump on his head. “I must remember not to frown for a few days.”

She kissed his forehead lightly. “Ailsa says kisses make hurts better.”

He cupped her head in his hand and pulled her lips to his, giving her a soft kiss. Letting her go he said, “I think Ailsa is right.

“They also seem to make a man forgetful,” she teased. “I asked about yer battle scar.”

“It was nothing, really. It looks much worse than it was and I can’t even claim it as a battle scar. It happened on the training field well over a year ago now. It was simply an accident.”

“I’m not sure whether ye are very lucky or simply accident prone.”

“Why do ye say that?”

“Well, just in the short time ye’ve been here, a stone from the wall nearly fell on ye. We’ve had a fire. Ye barely missed getting an arrow shot through yer heart and yer cinch broke while ye were hunting today.”

He said, “I would prefer to think of it as lucky,” but again his tone concerned her.

She sat back on her heels. “Something is amiss.”

“Nay, love. Why would ye say that?”

“Please don’t lie to me, Fingal. I can tell. When ye told me the cinch must have been more worn than ye thought, it was as if ye didn’t believe that. And just now, ye said ye would prefer to think of it as luck, yet it seems ye think something else.”

Fingal sighed. “I’ll finish bathing and then tell ye what concerns me.”

~ * ~

Gillian was too perceptive by far. He had hoped not to worry her with his concerns but he now realized he couldn’t keep it from her and maybe it wasn’t even in her best interest to do so. He had more reason than ever to believe that the fire was not an accident. As soon as Agnes had mentioned not giving him anything for pain, he remembered the God awful tasting brew that Katherine had given him when he had been injured the previous year.

The morning after the fire, he had tasted the drops of wine that remained in the decanter. There was a bitter aftertaste that he couldn’t place at the time. Now he knew what it was. The wine had been laced with the ingredient in that pain draft. Dear God, if they had both consumed enough of it, he would not have awakened in time to put out the fire. They would have been killed. Hearn was right.

Gillian didn’t push him for details until he was out of the bath and dressed. When the servants arrived to remove the tub he said, “I haven’t had a chance to get report from Diarmad today. Would ye send up the evening meal and ask him and Quinn Mackenzie to dine with us here?”

The servants agreed and left. Gillian looked irritated. “I thought ye were going to tell me what has ye worried, not discuss the events at Brathanead today.”

“Gillian, I am concerned about several things and I would like them to hear as well.”

“If it is that serious, perhaps we should include Eadoin and maybe the elders?”

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Nay, lass. I would like to just talk with ye, Diarmad, and Quinn for the moment.”

“But why not Eadoin at least?”

“I know this is hard to believe, but I don’t think my cinch breaking was an accident. In fact, I know it wasn’t.”

“And ye think Eadoin is involved?” She looked outraged.

“Nay, love, I don’t. However, I just want to be cautious for now.”

“So, no MacLennans. Perhaps I should leave?”

“Gillian, please. Let me just explain things to the three of ye and we will decide what to do then.”

“Eadoin is one of my oldest friends. I would trust him with my life. Until very recently I would have trusted him more than I would
Eithne MacIan’s son
.”

Her words hurt more than he wanted to admit. He thought she had let go of her anger. He sighed. “I know ye would, Gillian.”

She must have read the hurt in his expression because she immediately became contrite. “Fingal, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I love ye and I trust ye. I just—I just...”

“It’s all right, sweetling, I understand.” He kissed her hand again. “Really, I do.” How could he explain it to her? “Gillian, ye aren’t going to want to hear what I have to tell ye and neither will Eadoin. The fact is someone partially cut the cinch on my saddle. They did it after Hearn saddled Con this morning.”

“Nay, Fingal. Surely ye don’t believe that. Cinches wear down. Have Hearn look at it. He’ll tell ye it was just misfortune.”

“Gillian, love, ’twas Hearn who found the damage. It wasn’t misfortune. The person who did it sliced into the leather behind a worn spot. The damage weakened the cinch enough to cause it to give way under stress. I suspect they intended it to look like an accident.”

“But ye could have been killed. Surely ye don’t think...nay, Fingal, ye can’t think that. Everyone swore their fealty to ye. This is a mistake.”

“I pray God it is. But can ye understand why I want to talk with the people I trust the most first?”

“And ye don’t trust the MacLennans.” The resignation in her voice pulled at his heart.

“I trust ye, and ye are a MacLennan.”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Quinn and Diarmad arrived along with several servants carrying trays of food and two extra chairs.

“Laird, are ye sure ye’re up to this tonight? I can give ye report tomorrow,” offered Diarmad.

“I’m fine Diarmad, and I am anxious to hear about progress on the wall.”

Diarmad frowned but said, “As ye wish.”

They engaged in casual conversation until the meal had been served and the servants were dismissed. Then Diarmad said, “I am fairly certain ye don’t wish to talk about the wall. What has happened?”

As quickly as he could he told them about what Hearn had discovered.

“Cut?” Diarmad asked. “Ye are certain?”

“Aye, there is no question.”

Quinn glanced cautiously at Gillian before asking, “Do ye trust this man, Hearn?”

Gillian’s eyes had been downcast until this and she looked up sharply, waiting for his response. “Aye, I do,” Fingal answered firmly.

Diarmad nodded. “I agree. He seems to be a very good man, Laird. Father Colm often says that children and dogs are the best judges of character. Clearly the hounds trust and obey him, but ye can’t be too careful. Does something else bolster yer confidence?”

Fingal took Gillian’s hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Hearn is singularly concerned about Gillian and her sisters’ welfare. Both Hearn and I believe whoever is behind this may be willing to take Gillian’s life too.”

Gillian recoiled, yanking her had from his. “Fingal, I can’t believe someone is trying to kill ye and now ye are suggesting that they might try to kill me too? That is preposterous. Why would ye or Hearn, for that matter, think that?”

Quinn too seemed shocked. “That does seem a bit of a leap. After all, cutting the cinch to yer saddle would be unlikely to cause Lady Gillian any harm.”

However, a look of stunning realization crossed Diarmad’s face. “The fire,” was all he said.