“For what reason?”
With his arms firmly around her, he took the reins and nudged his horse into a gallop. As he ducked a low-hanging branch he. brought his mouth close to her ear. “You will save my son, who is gravely ill.”
She looked over her shoulder in alarm. “I can try. But many things are beyond my power.”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “Hold your tongue, woman. I’ll not listen to your feeble protestations of weakness, for I’ve had a taste of your strength. Know this. Whatever fate the lad suffers, so shall you. If he lives, I give you my word, I will return you to your people unharmed. If he dies, you will never see your home again, for you will join him in death. You’d be wise to heed this warning. My justice will be swift and sure.”
Allegra shivered as the wind whipped her hair and stung her eyes. She could feel the darkness closing around her, chilling her blood. Could almost taste the bitterness that lay like a festering wound around this man’s heart.
She was in the clutches of a madman. And she feared that regardless of the fate of this man’s son, she was already doomed.
Merrick looked down at the woman in his arms.
Now that sleep had finally claimed her, he was free to study her without her knowledge.
The bruise that had marred her temple was already fading, though just hours ago she’d had a lump the size of a hen’s egg.
She didn’t look like a witch. In fact, if he didn’t know about her, he would think her a highborn woman. She was a rare beauty, with that unblemished skin lightly bronzed by sunlight, and hair the color of flame. When first he’d seen her working in her garden, her hair had been neatly plaited in a fat braid that fell below her waist. Now her encounter with the stormy loch had tossed her hair into wild disarray. It spilled around her like a veil, skimming the backs of his hands like wisps of finest silk.
Her gown was still damp, clinging to her body like a second skin. It was woven of exotic cloth that seemed more suitable for royalty. His gaze was drawn to the opening at her neckline, and the darkened cleft between high, firm breasts. The rush of beat to his loins caught him by surprise. Since Catherine, no woman had caused him even the slightest interest. But then, he told himself, this wasn’t a woman. She was a witch. It was only natural that she would try to ensnare him in one of her spells.
His fingers tightened on the reins and he nudged his horse into a run. Let the witch sleep if she chose. As for him, he was driven by but one desire. To get her to his fortress as quickly as possible.
As the horse’s hooves beat a steady tattoo along the rock-strewn forest trail, he whispered one thought like a litany.
Please. Let me be in time to save Hamish.
The loss of Catherine had been painful enough. Without his son, he would prefer death to the life of unending pain he knew would be his.
* * *
Allegra awoke to the sound of shouting. She glanced around in confusion, trying to make sense of the many strange sights. The Highland meadow looked much like the one in her Mystical Kingdom. Fields of heather waving in the breeze. To one side a waterfall spilling down hundreds of feet into a rushing stream. In the distance, tidy little cottages, and in the fields, flocks of sheep grazing on hillsides. But here were so many people. Men on horseback, others driving teams pulling wagons filled with hay and grain. Women staring down from upper windows, or glancing up from their chores as they wielded buckets and brooms, often with chubby infants at their hips. Children chasing each other around in fields, many of them pausing to stare at the man and woman as they passed.
“What is this place?”
“The village is called Berkshire. My home is Berkshire Castle.” He pointed, and Allegra could see the turrets in the distance.
“A castle. Are you a lord?”
“I am.” He spoke the words abruptly, as though they were distasteful to him. “Lord Merrick MacAndrew.”
As they made their way through the village Allegra could see the people watching. But though they seemed respectful enough, they held their silence. No one called or waved. There were no greetings exchanged between the lord and his people.
Was their silence due to the fact that they shared his fear for the life of his son? Or was there more going on here?
She sensed one emotion stronger than the others among these strangers. Fear. Of her? Or of their lord?
Puzzled, Allegra sat up straighter as they approached the place Merrick MacAndrew called home. Berkshire Castle was a natural fortification, built high on a hilly piece of land, making a secret approach impossible. With its back to the mountain, there was but a single way to enter the portals.
As they drew closer, Allegra thought it an imposing structure, with its high towers and guards posted at the gates. Once they were inside the courtyard, a pack of dogs set up a ferocious barking. As Merrick stepped down from his steed they circled his feet, tails wagging, tongues lolling. He reached up and lifted Allegra from the. back of the horse. Seeing the way she shrank from them, he issued a sharp command and they fell silent.
Gingerly she reached down to touch the ruff of a dog’s neck, but quickly stepped back when it bared its fangs and snarled.
Even the dogs, it seemed, were ill-tempered here in this place.
“M’lord.” The door opened and the housekeeper stepped out. “Praise heaven, you’re alive. The rumors have been...” She stopped, then tried again. “I see you’ve brought...” She stared at Allegra as if seeing a ghost.
“I’ve brought the healer.” To Allegra he said, “Mistress MacDonald is housekeeper here at Berkshire Castle.”
Under other circumstances, the sight of the old woman would have brought a smile to Allegra’s lips, for she was no bigger than a child. The hem of her dress brushed the ground. The apron encircled her tiny waist two or three times, and. was held in place by an enormous sash.
Merrick’s tone was abrupt. “Is there news of Hamish?”
The old woman shook her head sadly.
Merrick closed a hand around Allegra’s wrist.
“There’s no need to prepare a chamber for this woman. Until my son recovers, she will not be allowed to leave his side.” His tone fell, for Allegra’s ears alone. “Don’t bother with any of your tricks, woman, for you’ll never be out of my sight.”
The housekeeper paled and backed away as they started toward her. When Allegra walked past her the old woman crossed herself and grasped the door for support.
Once inside, Allegra had a quick impression of soaring ceilings and great wooden stairs. Of tapestries lining the walls, and hundreds of candles blazing in chandeliers overhead. A dark space filled with gloom that no light seemed to penetrate. The oppression of this place weighed heavily on her.
There was no time to look around or sort through the source of the darkness, as Merrick kept a tight hold on her wrist, hauling her quickly up the stairs and along a hallway until he opened a door to a chamber.
Once they were inside a servant looked startled before making a quick bow and slipping away, leaving Merrick and his captive staring at the pale figure in the bed.
“This is my son, Hamish. He took a fall and later became feverish. Since then, he hasn’t left his bed. Heal him.”
Instead of obeying, she merely looked down at the lad. So pale. So still. “How long ago did this happen?”
Merrick shrugged. “A week. Perhaps two.”
Allegra arched a brow. “So long. And where were you, my lord?”
His scowl deepened. “On the field of battle. Dispatching invaders. When 1 returned home and learned of this, 1 vowed to find someone who could save him. Now do it.”
They both looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps. A tall, sandy-haired man paused on the threshold. His eyes widened in surprise. “Merrick? Cousin, the servants told me you were back.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you actually reached the Mystical Kingdom and lived to tell about it?”
“I’ll tell you everything later, Mordred. Right no
w I must see to the healer.”
Another man lumbered through the doorway and stood gaping at Allegra. Taller even than Merrick, his shoulders wider than a broadsword, he appeared to have hastily thrown on his tunic, which was unfastened, and his boots, which hadn’t been laced. To Allegra he was truly frightening to behold. His eyes seemed vacant. His speech, when he finally found his voice, was that of a child. “You’re back, cousin?”
“Aye, Desmond. With the healer.”
Allegra shivered as the three men studied her.
There was darkness here. Evil. It seemed to be all around her. It was new to her. And frightening. She’d heard about the darkness that could poison a man’s heart and soul. But until now it had been something she’d heard about only from her mother and grandmother.
Merrick’s tone deepened. “You heard me, woman. See to my son.”
Struggling to ignore the men, Allegra turned her
back on them and sat on the edge of the lad’s pallet, placing her hands on either side of his head. At once she felt the heat of his fever rush through her, almost searing her flesh.
She closed her eyes, trying to sort through the jumble of images that flitted through his mind and into hers. So many people and events moving through his young mind. It left her weak, and more than a little dazed.
“Who is the beautiful golden-haired lady who hovers nearby?”
Desmond gasped and turned to his brother, who cautioned him to be silent.
Merrick’s face twisted into a ravaged mask. “You see Hamish’s mother?”
“If she has eyes the color of the sky, and a half-moon scar above one brow, then I saw his mother for a moment before she disappeared.” Allegra fell silent, attempting to concentrate, despite the distractions. There was such heat here. It was much more than mere fever. But what stoked this fire? Fear? Dread? An evil potion?
“I’ll need willow bark. Essence of balm. Wood anemone and cool water from a Highland stream.”
Merrick struggled to rein in his impatience. “I saw you heal yourself, as well as my steed, with nothing more than a touch. What need have you of these things?”
“There is more here than a fever. More than a mere tumble from a tree. Your son lies gravely ill, my lord. Do you wish him cured, or merely brought back from the edge of death?”
Without warning his hands closed around her upper arms, dragging her to her feet. His face, inches from hers, was tight with fury, his breath hot against her cheek.
“I didn’t risk life and limb to spar with your tart tongue, woman. You’ll get everything you need. But never forget, if I find you playing me for a fool, I’ll see that you pay dearly.”
He released her and turned on his heel, shouting for the housekeeper, who came running.
“Our healer desires willow bark, essence of balm, wood anemone and cool water. See that they are brought to her at once.”
“Aye, my lord.”
He turned to Allegra, who hadn’t moved. “Will you require anything else?”
“That’s enough. For now.” Trembling from his touch, she turned her back on him and settled herself once more beside the boy. She knew if she were to check, she would find bruises on her upper arms. The lord’s hands were strong enough that he could easily snap her bones with but a single touch.
There was such violence in him. Though he kept it in check, it was there, bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening at any moment to boil over, scalding anyone who got too close.
Was his anger the cause of so much darkness in this place? Or had the darkness caused his anger?
She needed to put aside her fear of the lord if she were to open herself to the needs of his son. Still, it was disconcerting to have the man here, hovering about, weighing her every move. He was a distraction. One she could ill afford, especially since she was having such trouble concentrating.
The lad’s mother was no longer in the land of the living, but was now on the other side. Of that Allegra was certain. But from the troubled look in her eyes, it had not been a peaceful passing. Perhaps, Allegra thought suddenly, the lord had had a hand in her death. That would explain why she hovered so near, wishing to protect her son from the same cruel fate.
Allegra laid her hands on the lad’s head and closed her eyes, struggling to shut out the man and his problems while absorbing the boy’s pain. At once she was thrust back into a Highland meadow. She had a sense of the boy’s voice, high-pitched with excitement. Hamish climbing. Laughing as, surefooted as a mountain cat, he moved from branch to branch. Allegra felt the momentary distraction. Was it a flash of memory? Something or someone just above him, hidden in the branches? Whether it was man or beast, it seemed dark and frightening. Had he been startled? Pushed?
She probed deeper. The glint of murky liquid in a silver goblet. A muffled gasp. Then the image was gone and there was a quick little skitter of fear as the lad’s foot slipped, and he realized he’d lost his grip. Then he was tumbling, head over heels, toward the ground.
She absorbed the jolt as he landed in the grass and lay watching the sky above him spinning in dizzying circles. Allegra felt the room spin and wanted desperately to press a hand to her stomach. But she dared not let go of the lad now, when they were so closely connected.
Again something. A flash of memory. A face peering down at him. A whispered voice that sent icy chills along the lad’s spine. Then, before he could hold on to it, the memory was gone.
Ever so slowly the clouds came into focus, and then he was struggling to sit up.
Allegra’s own mind settled.
“Hamish?” It was a feminine voice. “Are you hurt?”
“Nay.” He got to his feet. “Want to climb again?”
He shook his head. “I must go home.”
“Not yet. Come. We’ll climb higher.”
“Nay.” He refused, though he knew not why. He knew only that he had to go home. Now. This instant, while the fear had him by the throat. He struggled for a reason. “Mistress MacDonald said Cook was making biscuits the way I like them. Drizzled with honey. I mustn’t be late.”
Hamish started toward his father’s fortress in the distance.
Allegra wondered at the sudden flare of heat as the boy had another flash of memory. Just a flash, but it was enough to cause a spark of absolute terror. The spark flared into flame, burning so brightly it obscured all thought but one.
Danger. Danger. He had to get home at once. Then he was running. Running so hard, so fast, his heart was thundering, and the breath burning his throat. There was but one thought Allegra could discern. He had to get to his father’s home. There was something important he had to tell him as soon as he returned from the battle. His very life and that of everyone here in the castle, depended on it.
Allegra looked up at a commotion in the doorway as the housekeeper directed servants to set up a table beside the boy’s pallet. At once the connection was broken, and the boy’s thoughts scattered and fled and were lost to her. She took in several deep breaths to calm her racing heart.
“We fetched what you’ve asked for.” The tiny woman was out of breath from her hasty climb.
“Thank you.” Allegra sighed. Now she would have to begin again.
As she let go of the boy’s hands and sat back, she glanced at the housekeeper and had to turn away to hide the sudden smile that threatened.
The poor woman was too terrified to enter the room. Instead she’d remained in the doorway, calling out her directions while holding on to the door. Perhaps, Allegra thought, she meant to slam it in her face if threatened with harm.
The servants looked equally afraid, working so quickly they nearly knocked each other over in their desire to escape.
At least, she thought, there would be few interruptions. Except, of course, for Lord Merrick MacAndrew. He was now pacing back and forth in front of the fire, a goblet of ale in his hands.
He paused to stare at her, and she felt as though she were staring down the devil himself. Such anger there. S
uch darkness.
He drained his goblet, then resumed his pacing.
It was then she noticed that his cousins, Mordred and Desmond, had also remained. Both men were seated in the shadows, their gazes narrowed on her with fierce concentration. Perhaps they thought to protect the lord from the wicked witch.
This was, she feared, going to prove to be a very long night. And with each passing minute, she could feel her strength ebbing.
Chapter Three
Allegra was grateful that the others had finally vacated the lad’s chambers. Now her only distraction was Merrick MacAndrew, who hovered over her like an avenging angel.
She ground the willow bark into a fine powder, then sprinkled it into a goblet of water before holding it to the lad’s lips.
At once Merrick was beside her, clamping a hand on her wrist. “Hold, woman. What is this thing you give my son?”
“A potion for the fever.”
“Before it passes his lips, you will taste it.”
She was already shaking her head. “1 have no need...”
His fingers tightened on her flesh. “I said, you’re to drink first.”
“Very well.” She took a taste. “And now will you waste precious hours waiting to see if I die, before allowing me to minister to the lad?”
Merrick’s frustration came out in a hiss of breath.
“Enough of your insolence, woman. See to him.”
Very gently she held the goblet to the boy’s lips and watched with satisfaction until it was empty. Then she turned her attention to the balm and wood anemone, grinding each into powder.
With each twist of her hand, as she worked mortar and pestle, she could feel her strength being drained.
Merrick studied the concoctions with a wary look.
“What do you hope to do with these weeds?”
“They are herbs. Wood anemone alleviates swelling. As for the sweet balm, I’ll use it to help the lad sort through his thoughts. He seems confused.”
Merrick’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve read his thoughts?”