Ruth Langan - Highland Sword

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. Such 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.

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. “I 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?”

“That is not my gift. But there are a few thoughts mingled with the pain, which I can discern. Perhaps it is the blow to the head, or perhaps there is something that is still causing him such fear, it blocks all else, even the healing.”

Merrick’s voice lowered with feeling. “Can he hear my voice?”

For the first time since encountering this angry man, Allegra saw a glimmer of the depth of his pain, something he’d managed to keep from her until now. “I know not. Who can say what those on the other side can hear?”

“The other side?” He blanched. “Is he dead, then?”

“Nay, my lord.” Seeing his pallor, Allegra was quick to explain. “He is not dead, but he has slipped far away from this life.”

“Why?” The word came out in a croak of misery.

“Some go there because it is a place of healing. Others go to prepare themselves for a life far different from the one they know here.”

“You’ll not let him go, do you understand?” Again his fingers tightened on her wrist, and she felt the mixture of anger and frustration pulsing through him. “Cast a spell, or do whatever it takes to keep him with me. If you fail, woman, you know what will happen.”

“Aye.” She snatched her hand away. “You’ve made that perfectly clear, my lord. Now I suggest you tend to your son.”

“Tend him? How?”

“Speak to him, as a father speaks to his son. Call to him. Let him know you are here, waiting to welcome him back from his sojourn to that other place. Urge him to come back to you.”

For a moment Merrick merely glowered at her. Then, putting aside his anger at the woman, he knelt beside the bed and touched a hand to the lad’s forehead.

His voice, when he finally spoke, vibrated with feeling. “Hamish, lad. I’m here now. Nothing can harm you, son. Nothing. Let go of your fears and come back to me. Please, Hamish. I need you here with me. You’re all I have in this world now.”

Allegra stood to one side, watching and listening in amazement. When Merrick MacAndrew spoke to his son, he became a different man. The brute who would force his will on others disappeared beneath the guise of a loving father. But she sensed that this was no mere playacting. The love this man felt for his son was a living, palpable thing.

Still, she would do well to remember that this was no gentle lord, but a coarse brute. And she had the bruises to prove it.

Shivering, she walked to the fire and stood with hands outstretched. But even this close, the warmth eluded her. The dizzy feeling that had come over her when she’d touched the lad was with her still. She felt light as air. As though, unless she anchored herself, she would float clear up to the rough wooden beams of the ceiling.