Authors: Stephanie Sterling
Everything appeared much the same as it had when he left. The guards were still on duty outside, and there was still an eerie hush about the place. No one was mourning yet. The Laird was still alive. Roan walked quickly passed the guards, and through Graem’s private chambers towards his bedroom, ignoring the curious stares he was receiving. He couldn’t ignore Isla’s cry when she saw him however.
“Roan, yer face!” she gasped, rushing away from Graem’s bedside, where she had been tending the old man. Bridghe was staring at him worriedly too. The doctor, who was also there, harrumphed, and turned his attention back to his patient.
Roan raised a distracted hand to his cheek. “Tis naught,” he murmured, shrugging off his wife’s concern.
“Tis nae naught!” Isla insisted. “Here, let me see.” She tried to drag him towards the light coming from the window, but Roan wouldn’t budge. He was staring at the still figure lying in the bed. “Who did this?” Isla hissed, but again her husband ignored her distress.
“How is he?” he whispered instead.
“Sleeping,” Bridghe whispered, which was followed by a grunt of disagreement from the bed.
“Sir?” Roan said, stepping forwards and moving towards the Laird. “How are ye feeling, sir?” he asked in concern.
Graem coughed and smiled weakly. “Better that I look, one would hope.” He paused to catch his breath after speaking, and beckoned Roan forward with a frail wave of his hand. “Ye did what I asked?” he inquired breathlessly, letting his eyes shut as he waited for the answer.
“Aye, I did, sir,” Roan nodded. He looked to the doctor, to see whether or not it was all right to continue. The older man shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that he didn’t think it would make very much difference. “The man who we originally imprisoned, Ian Cameron, has been released and found innocence of the charges laid against him, sir,” he explained.
Roan heard Isla quiet little,
thank God
, behind him. He watched a look of gentle peace relax the Laird’s face also.
“However,” Roan was forced to continue. “We have found the culprit.”
Graem’s face lost its calmness. “Who was it?” he demanded, and tried to sit up. The doctor hurried forwards to stop him from over exerting himself, and shot a fierce glance of warning at Roan.
“Tavish MacEantach, sir,” Roan said calmly. He heard his wife gasp for a second time.
“So it was one of the Cameron men after all?” Graem sighed, sinking back against his pillows with an air of defeat about him.
“Aye, sir,” Roan nodded unwillingly. He didn’t want the old man to blame himself for what had happened… not when Roan feared that it was
his
fault. “But MacEantach is unhinged, sir. I dinna think the fact that he’s a Cameron had too much bearing on what he did.”
The doctor snorted, but Graem looked just a little less grim. “I see,” he sighed. “Tell me, Roan, how are the others who’ve been struck down?”
Roan opened his mouth, but he didn’t actually have an answer to give. He didn’t
know
how anyone else was. “I’ll go and find out for ye, sir,” he said, bowing his head.
“Wait, let me see to yer face first,” Isla said, hurrying after him.
“Isla, tis naught,” he repeated his earlier protest, but he let her push him down into a chair in the Laird’s formal chambers, before she darted away to find some fresh water and a clean rag.
“Tavish did this, dinna he?” she whispered, her hands trembling with anger as she gently washed away the dried blood and cleaned the wound, while her husband tried not to wince. Roan didn’t need to answer her question. “Bastard,” she hissed, which made her husband start in surprise, and then chuckle at her decidedly unladylike language. Isla blushed. “Well, he is!” she argued, sighing as she studied the cut. “It does nae look too deep,” she declared. “It should nae even leave a scar once tis healed.”
“Nae?” If anything Roan actually sounded disappointed. “I’ve always thought I’d look rather dark and menacing with a scar.”
Isla rolled her eyes. “Ye manage to look dark and menacing without one, when ye want,” she whispered silkily, and then she leant forward to pop a kiss on the end of his nose, which Roan turned to his advantage, gripping her by the waist and pulling her down onto his lap.
Roan kissed his wife soundly before releasing her. “I have to go,” he apologized. Isla nodded her understanding.
“Let me come with ye? I can help,” she said quickly, following her husband as he made for the door.
Roan opened his mouth to tell her no, that it would be safer for her to stay put, but something in her face told him that she wouldn’t listen. Perhaps she could help after all? Roan didn’t know how bad things were, but a spare pair of hands never seemed to go amiss in times of trouble.
“All right,” he agreed. “But ye’ll stay close to me. Dinna go wandering off.”
“Aye, sir,” Isla gave a little smile.
Roan caught hold of her hand and led her out of the Laird’s chambers. They walked through the corridors of the castle until they reached the great hall, which was being used as a hospital. There were at least a hundred people who had eaten the poisoned porridge that morning at breakfast, mainly the servants and laborers who had to be up and working earliest. They were all laid out on mats on the floor, writhing and groaning, while a few healthy members of the castle tried to do what they could to help.
“Oh my!” Isla gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “I had nae idea so many have been affected!”
“Nae,” Roan agreed with a worried frown. He ran a distracted hand through his already disheveled hair. One of the women who had been looking after the sick, a plump woman in a fine dress, bustled over. “How many aunt?” Roan asked hoarsely.
“Ninety-eight cases in total, Roan.” The lady looked exhausted. She bowed her head for a moment. “A dozen have already been taken from us,” she said, her voice shaking. “The elderly mainly, but there were a couple of wee bairns that dinna make it.”
Roan turned away from the women and curse under his breath. “What can I do?” he asked, his eyes burning as he looked around at his kinsmen.
“And me?” Isla said quietly, stepping out from behind her husband. “Let me help too.”
Roan’s aunt gave her a surprised look, but she nodded her head. “Aye lass, we need all the help we can get.”
..ooOOoo..
Isla worked doggedly for hours without a break. She couldn’t bear to see the suffering that surrounded her, and did everything in her power to alleviate it as best she could. A few of the young, strong men and women who had taken ill showed signs of recovering, but the elderly, and the very young, and those who had were already ill beforehand, worsened as the day wore on.
“Ye should rest, lass,” Roan’s aunt said. It was hours after dark, but Isla shook her head. The older lady hadn’t stopped, and neither had Roan, nor had many of the other people helping. She wasn’t going to be the first.
“In a minute,” she murmured, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and then turning her attention back to the woman she was tending.
No one seemed to care that she was a Cameron anymore. There were a few snide comments, a few nasty looks, but on the whole those who needed it gratefully accepted her help. She could barely put one foot in front of the other by the time Roan came and told her it was time to leave.
“Nae, I need -”
“Ye need to look after yerself too,” he murmured. Isla sighed, but she knew he was right. Women from the village and the farms had heard about the trouble and arrived at the castle to help, so there were fresh nurses to tend the sick. Besides, she wouldn’t be any help at all is she collapsed from exhaustion.
“Yer coming too?” she asked.
“I want to see the Laird first, but ye go on up.”
Isla shook her head. “Nae, I will go with ye.”
“Isla -”
“Or, maybe I could see Ian while ye visit the Laird?” she said instead.
“Isla, I just want ye to go to our room, ring for a meal, and get some rest,” Roan sighed wearily.
Isla opened her mouth to argue again, but Roan had been through so much and he looked as exhausted as she felt, that she bit her tongue for once and nodded her head.
“I will nae be long,” Roan promised. “Unless -” but he couldn’t finish that sentence.
Isla gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and walked with him until they reached the foot of the staircase where their paths parted. She felt guilty once she reached their chamber and slumped into a seat by the unlit hearth. It was several minutes before she could muster the strength to ring for a maid, and it was several more minutes before anyone answered the call.
Isla didn’t recognize the young woman who came to see what was needed, but she did notice that the girl was the most polite MacRae servant that had ever waited on her apart from Liane. Isla bit her lip and worried for her own maid. She hoped that the young girl hadn’t been struck down. She hadn’t seen her in the great hall.
“Would ye like me to light the fire for ye before I go, mistress?” asked the maid.
“Oh -” Isla looked at the unlit hearth, a fire would be nice, but she was absolutely famished, and she was sure that Roan would be more in need of food than warmth when he returned. “Nae, nae thank ye,” she said with a small smile. The girl nodded and curtsied and then went on her way.
Roan arrived not very much later, although Isla had dropped off to sleep and was dozing in her chair. She started awake at the sound of her husband striding across the room. She could tell just by looking at his face that Graem was still alive. She couldn’t tell how much longer that might last.
“How is he?” she asked quietly.
Roan sank down beside her before answering. “Fighting,” he murmured, “but he’s fading.”
“I’m sorry,” Isla whispered. It was all that she could think to say. Roan gave his shoulders an odd, halfhearted shrug. “Ye and Laird MacRae, ye - yer very close are ye nae?” she asked gently.
“Aye,” Roan breathed. “He’s been like a father to me.” Isla nodded silently and nestled closer to her husband, letting him know that she was there if he wanted to say more, after a few minutes he did. “He taught me a lot of what I ken.”
“After yer own father died?” Isla asked softly.
“Aye,” Roan looped an arm around her shoulders. “Once I’d lost him, and my brother, Graem was the only man who dinna mind having me around. I learned everything from him, really.”
Isla wound her arms around her husband’s waist. “He does nae have any sons of his own?”
“He does nae have any children of his own. I think tis why he took me under his wing like he did.” Isla nodded again, and looked up expectantly at Roan’s face. “He loved his wife very much, and they wanted naught more than to have a child -” he paused and frowned. “But twas nae to be,” he finished sadly. “He could have tried to have a child with another woman - I ugh -” he looked suddenly sheepish. “I heard him and Maisie talking about it once.”
“Roan MacRae!” Isla giggled. “Were ye eavesdropping?” She didn’t think that she’d ever seen her husband squirm before.
“I was ten years old!”
“And ye understood what was being said?” Isla looked shocked, and then she laughed again. “Ye did start yer - um- education in such matters early, dinna ye?” she teased.
“I was trapped under a desk at the time,” he grumbled, looking decidedly put out.
“Dare I ask why -”
“Nae! Ye dare nae,” Roan interrupted sharply. “Suffice to say it was acutely embarrassing for an impressionable ten year old to hear the Laird and his wife professing their love for one another,” he grunted.