Awaiting the Wolf Killer Highlander by Alisa Adams
3
Once they had reached the edge of the village and the path before them was clear, they abandoned the cart and walked the rest of the way briskly until they arrived at the gates.
“What is your name, friend, that we may thank you properly?” Edmund asked the man.
“I am called Malcolm Haldane, sir,” he answered with a bow, “and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure was ours indeed!” Sorcha told him, blushing slightly. “If you had not arrived so fortuitously, there is no telling what might have befallen us!”
“In truth, my lady,” he admitted, “it was my very good fortune to find you in a position where I might demonstrate my usefulness. As it happens, I had planned to inquire as to whether your castle might be in need of a guard.”
Edmund and Sorcha exchanged a glance. “Our ranks have been thinning of late,” Edmund said, “which has been something of a concern. As you may have overheard in the village, our clan is currently wracked with a sickness, one which has afflicted many of our guards.”
“We would be honored to have you,” Sorcha interjected, “though I imagine you might reconsider, given the risk of infection to yourself.”
Malcolm shrugged. “If I choose to remain here, yes, I might perish from this illness. However, if I move along, it is almost certain that I will perish from starvation. Between the two, it seems wisest to take my chances with the plague, does it not?”
“Well, when you put it that way, yes, I suppose it does,” Sorcha giggled.
“Before the matter is decided,” Edmund spoke up, “might I consult with you for the briefest of moments, my lady?”
Sorcha allowed Edmund to lead her a short distance away. “Yes, what is it?” she asked. “Do you intend to opine that it is a mistake to hire him on?”
“As a matter of fact, based on his earlier demonstration, I believe he will make an excellent addition to our cadre of castle guards,” Edmund retorted. “I simply wish to confirm that you are offering him this position for the right reasons.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
He raised an eyebrow. “A blind man could tell you are attracted to him. But you know full well that since he is not of noble birth, he would not be a fit consort for you. And since he would be employed as a guard, it would be hugely inappropriate if you were to—”
“Yes, of course, I’m well aware of that!” Sorcha interrupted. “But the fact remains that we require more guards, and here is a man with his wits about him who offers to do the job! I feel it would be foolish to refuse him.”
“Very well, my lady,” Edmund replied, though he did not sound wholly convinced.
They returned to Malcolm, and Sorcha said, “It is settled, then! Welcome to our employ, Malcolm. Edmund will show you to the barracks of the guards and see to it that you are properly outfitted, and I shall look forward to seeing you patrol the ramparts.”
Malcolm bowed. “You are most kind, my lady. You shall not regret this choice, I assure you.”
Sorcha gave him a winning smile. “No, I don’t suppose I shall.”
After this interaction, Sorcha retreated to the room where Aodh rested. She checked his brow once more, changed his bedclothes, and put a cool cloth on his skin. These simple tasks helped to take her mind off what had happened in the village; she was still deeply shaken by the behavior of the townsfolk.
She climbed onto the bed next to Aodh, opened her book of poetry once more, and read aloud to him in the hope that he might hear her and be comforted.
Eventually, the sun set, and Sorcha drifted off, the book slipping from her fingers once more as her head lolled against his. Her dreams were disturbed by images of thrown rocks and angry clan members, of the accusing voice and pointed finger of Ryan McKenna. But then Malcolm appeared, scooping her up in his powerful arms and taking her far away from all of the strife and tumult.
“S-Sorcha?”
The voice belonged to Aodh, and at first, Sorcha was certain that she was still asleep and dreaming he had awakened. But when she opened her eyes, she found that his were open as well. They were glassy and bloodshot, nearly devoid of all sense, but at least he had regained consciousness after such a dreadfully long time.
“Water, please,” he croaked, his lips dry and cracked.
Sorcha ran to fetch the pitcher from the table across the room and brought it to him, gently pouring some water into his open mouth. He nodded after a few moments, and she stopped.
“How do you feel, Aodh?” she asked earnestly. Part of her was tempted to yell for a servant and ask them to summon one of the healers back from the village, but she was too focused on him to do so.
Aodh shook his head. “I…believe I may be…dying, dear sister. I can feel my…body…failing me by the moment…and I fear…that I do not have much longer.”
“But how can that be?” she asked tearfully. “You are awake! You are speaking!”
“Aye, perhaps,” he answered, his breathing slow and painful. “But…I am not…healing, Sorcha.” He put his hand over hers, and she was dismayed to find his touch warmer and more clammy than ever before. “While I slept…I heard…what went on in this chamber. Your sweet voice as you…read to me…and…the voice of an old woman. She was…angry. She blamed this…on…a curse…”
“Superstitious folly,” Sorcha assured him. “You must pay her no mind…”
He coughed, and a few drops of blood pattered onto the sheets and pillows like raindrops. “She may…know more about this malady…than she seems. She may even…have the key…to curing it. You must…try to find her, Sorcha. Not for me…but for the others in the village...”
“But how, Aodh?” she pleaded. “How?”
It was no use, though. He fell into another fit of agonizing coughing, and could speak no more. He could barely breathe.
Just then, Amelia appeared in the doorway, panting and red-faced. “My lady! Please, you must come at once!”
Sorcha followed her down the corridor toward Freya’s chamber, and she was horrified to hear loud coughing emanating from her little sister’s room as well. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, and when she got there, she saw that Freya’s veins were as dark and branching as Aodh’s. Her eyes were watering and rolling in her head as she wheezed and rasped.
“No!” Sorcha wailed. “Not her too!”
“I’m afraid so, my lady,” Amelia moaned, wringing her hands. “She woke up this way, and I do not know what to do! Shall I summon the healers from the village?”
Sorcha’s natural impulse was to tell her yes, retrieve them at once, along with all their potions and poultices—anything that might ease her sister’s symptoms even momentarily—before they advanced to the stage that her brother had.
But what good would it do? The healers had attended to Aodh, and he was still in a terrible state. All that calling the healers would do was make the townsfolk feel even more like Sorcha was prioritizing her own family’s needs over theirs.
She felt so dreadfully trapped and uncertain. It felt like no matter what she did, it led to nothing good.
“No,” she said in a small voice. “I shall tend to her, just as I have my brother.”
“Sister, I am so very tired,” Freya said, closing her eyes and laying her head back upon the pillow. “So dreadfully…tired…”
Sorcha felt helpless and torn. She did not want her little sister to succumb to unconsciousness as Aodh had, but how could she stop such a thing, especially if rest was what Freya’s body required in order to fight off the illness?
It became a moot point within moments as Freya’s eyelids fluttered fitfully, and she began to snore.
There was a knock at Freya’s door, and Sorcha turned to see Malcolm standing there. “My lady, I came as soon as I heard about your poor sister. How advanced are her symptoms?”
“Sir!” Amelia exclaimed. “It is most improper of you to abandon your post, just as it is far above your station to show such familiarity to the lady of the house! The health and affairs of her siblings are none of your concern!”
“It’s quite all right, Amelia,” Sorcha told her evenly. “Please fetch me more water and cloths at once so that I may cool Freya’s brow.”
Amelia looked from Sorcha to Malcolm and back again. “Very well, my lady,” she said uncertainly, withdrawing from the room.
Malcolm seemed taken aback but somewhat amused as well. “Did I overstep my bounds, then, expressing concern for the well-being of the family I have pledged my loyalty and service to?”
“It is not generally our custom to allow our guards to take such liberties,” Sorcha conceded, “but since you are new here, and since you obviously meant no offense, I see no harm in it. To answer your question, her symptoms are bad but still appear to be in their early stages.”
He nodded. “I have only been on guard duty once so far, and already I have seen several of my peers fall ill.”
“And are you feeling any worse for wear?”
“No so far, my lady, thankfully.”
Sorcha raised an eyebrow. “Even so, having seen the effects of this sickness firsthand, I suppose you are probably rethinking your decision to remain with us?”
“Quite the contrary, my lady,” he corrected her with a grin. “If anything, I believe this is evidence that I am needed here and that fate guided my steps in finding this place…and finding you as well, if I may be so bold?”
“Finding me? What on earth do you mean by that?” Sorcha knew perfectly well what she wanted him to mean by that, but she wanted to hear the words come from his mouth.
He put a hand up to placate her. “I do not mean to overstep my bounds! However, I must ask: Do you object to pagan ways and rituals?”
She frowned. “I do not ‘object’ to them, no. In truth, I rarely believe in them, but given the desperate straits I currently find myself in, well, I suppose I can no longer afford to be skeptical of anything that might help, can I?”
“I am glad to hear you say it. You see, my lady, there is a place not far from here where I spent much time some years ago.” As he said this, he reached up to touch the tiny leather bag around his neck. “I obtained this there…a gift of protection from one of the many pagan practitioners who make their home there. It is secluded, as it must be, to hide them from those who would fear their arcane practices and seek to do them harm.”
“And you believe these people might be able to aid Freya and Aodh?” Sorcha asked.
“I confess, I cannot say for certain. But they are wise in their ways of worship, and more than that, the very earth and air of the place are said to be a bastion of healing to those in need of it. Surely, it cannot do either of them any harm to be taken there for a while in order to find out whether they might be restored to full health?”
Sorcha thought it over. She knew that she should be suspicious of this man who had only just come into her life and now suddenly offered secret solutions to her problems.
But there was an undeniably comforting and trustworthy air about him. And he had shielded her from harm the previous day.
Besides, it seemed to her that she had run out of other options.
Even so, she knew certain precautions had to be taken. Her family had been brutalized too many times in previous years for her to blindly trust any outsider, no matter how much she may have wanted to. She would send him on this errand, yes, but she would send someone else as well, someone she trusted implicitly.
“Very well,” she agreed. “You and Amelia will take Aodh and Freya to this place you speak of and determine whether it will indeed rejuvenate them. If it does, bring them back here at once. Am I right to assume that even if this endeavor succeeds, the people who inhabit this pagan land will hardly welcome a procession of other Campbells in need of their ministrations? Even if we promise to compensate them and offer them the full protection of our clan against any who might seek to harm them?”
Malcolm shook his head. “I would imagine not, my lady. They value their privacy above wealth. Above all else, really.”
“Fair enough. Then at least my poor dear siblings’ lives shall be preserved.” She put a hand on his arm. “You have my deepest gratitude for endeavoring to help us, Malcolm.”
He smiled, and the sight of it was so beautiful that it nearly made her swoon.
“It is my honor to serve a mistress as fair as you, my lady.”
