18. Daughter of the Glen
Daughter of the Glen
How long had they been riding?
It felt like no time at all.
It felt like forever.
Niall’s breath came hard, gasps slipping out of his mouth against his will. He glanced down at Catriona, cradled in his arms. He’d wrapped his own cloak around her to shelter her from the rain, but after hours on the road, the rainwater had begun to soak through. She was pale as death.
No, don’t think that. She’s still breathing.
Her breathing was shallower now. He’d checked her wound, and the bleeding was not too heavy. So long as he didn’t do anything foolish, like remove the dagger from the wound, she should survive a little longer.
His exhausted horse slowed to a canter, then to a limping trot. The poor creature would need new shoes and a long rest.
“The Glen,” Niall said aloud, squinting at the misty valley stretched out before him.
A river snaked through it. Patches of shrubs and trees clustered here and there, casting long shadows. It would be dark soon.
“We’re here, Catriona,” he whispered, gingerly slipping down from the shadows and pulling her tight against him. It was the way a groom would carry his bride over the threshold of their new home. The thought made Niall’s throat tighten.
“Can ye see, Catriona? Can ye see it? The Glen. We are here.”
She stirred a little in his arms, but her eyes did not open.
Am I too late? What now? How can I save her?
Niall gave a ragged, choked gasp, stumbling forward.
A thick, greenish mist coiled over the ground, seeming to creep out from the trees.
In half an hour or so, it would thickly coat the valley like a layer of water, deep and impenetrable.
Slowly, Niall sagged onto his knees, holding Catriona tight so as not to set her down on the cold ground.
Have I failed her?
“Do ye need help, young man?”
He flinched, head flying up, eyes wide.
An old woman stood in front of him. At least, he thought she was old.
It was hard to tell her real age. She could have been between forty and sixty.
Hair done up in countless braids hung out of the hood of her cloak, and her clothes clung around her in rags.
On closer inspection, he saw that her cloak was a patchwork of all different materials, even furs.
It was the strangest garment he’d ever seen.
Stranger still was the fact that there’d certainly been nobody in the vicinity when he sank to his knees, and then ten seconds later, she was here.
“My wife is hurt,” he choked out.
The woman’s gaze dropped to Catriona. Her eyes sharpened.
“Another daughter returns,” she breathed.
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
She shook her head. “I did nae expect ye to.”
Stepping forward, she plucked aside the edge of Catriona’s cloak, exposing the dagger handle sticking out of her side. She clicked her tongue.
“This is not good,” she muttered, businesslike. “But ye did well to bring her here. Now, follow me.”
Without waiting to see if he would obey, she turned and trotted off towards the trees. Niall barely gave himself a chance to think twice. He staggered to his feet, ignoring the twinges of pain in his legs and back from prolonged riding, and followed her.
“Who are ye?” he panted.
“My name is Malvina,” the woman responded shortly.
“That name… I’m sure I’ve heard it before.”
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting in the dark. “Aye. I’m sure ye have.”
“And ye can help her?”
“I can try. Let me think.”
He fell silent after that. They moved through deeper and deeper undergrowth until Niall was forced to turn sideways in order to squeeze himself and Catriona through the trees. At last, they reached a ramshackle hut with such a low doorway that even Malvina had to duck her head to get inside.
Niall maneuvered himself in after her and found himself in a claustrophobic little space, thick with herbs and dried plants hanging from the ceiling.
Various shreds of fabric and fur were pinned to the walls, almost like a covering of tapestries.
Layers of furs likewise covered the floor.
A narrow bed took up the length of one wall, and a scrubbed, chipped wooden table took up the other.
“I have several homes in this valley,” Malvina added, smiling pleasantly. “I live in whichever one suits my fancy. My other shack is leaking, ye see. The roof. Put the lass down on the bed.”
He did so, laying her carefully down on a surprisingly clean and herb-scented bed. Catriona moaned in her sleep, brow furrowing. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead. When he pressed the back of his hand against her face, there was the definite heat of a fever.
Swallowing back a spike of panic, he stepped back.
“Are ye a healer, then?”
Malvina shot him a look, as if he’d made a bad joke. “I’ll do my best. That’s a nasty stab. And the hilt… I know that insignia all too well. Care to tell me why ye got on the wrong side of Laird Farrish?”
Niall stiffened, eyeing her. “I don’t know what ye are talking of.”
“No?” she chuckled, shaking her head. “How’s that boy of his?
Alasdair, wasn’t it? Now, there’s an interesting fellow.
I met his half-brother not too long ago, a boy by the name of Rowan.
Well, not a boy, I suppose. A man. A married man.
Married to her sister,” she added, pointing a grubby, green-stained finger at Catriona.
Niall frowned. “That’s a strange connection.”
“Ye think so? I don’t.”
She began to ferret through the clutter of glass bottles and various boxes, lined up on the countless shelves, muttering to herself and chewing on the side of her thumb.
“I cannot lose her,” Niall found himself saying, drifting over to Catriona’s side once more. “Not after what we’ve been through.”
This is madness. Am I really standing in the hut of some local lunatic, expecting her to save the love of my life?
“Ye love her,” Malvina remarked idly. “And love requires sacrifice. That’s the way of things, I’m afraid.”
He whipped around to face her. “Sacrifice? No. Not this. I won’t give her up. I won’t let it happen.”
She chuckled. “Such fire! Ye remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
She shook her head, eyes glazing over. “Just someone.”
Abruptly, her hands reached out, picking up glass vials and putting them down again, rifling through boxes and tutting to herself.
She picked up a mortar and pestle, throwing in a strange collection of items. A handful of whole leaves went in there, followed by a strange, bluish fibrous powder.
Then red, poisonous-looking berries. Some plants he recognized—lemon balm, sweetgrass.
All in the mortar they went, and she began to grind fervently.
“Four souls scattered by fire,” she whispered, eyes closing. A cloud of bluish powder rose, coating her hands in a faint, silvery sheen. “One who loved an enemy and drowned her clan in war. Another who must choose differently.”
Prickles clambered up Niall’s spine.
“Malvina,” he breathed. “I know who ye are.”
In the space of an eyeblink, the cloudiness disappeared from her face. She shot him a quick, sharp glance.
“What a clever boy ye are.”
“I’m no boy.”
“From my point of view, ye are all boys.”
“I know the stories. I’ve read the chronicles.”
Her eyebrows stuttered up towards her hairline. “From what I’ve heard, ye don’t read much of anything. The MacLeod heir, running so desperately from his destiny. Tut-tut.”
He swallowed. “How do ye know who I am?”
She shrugged wordlessly, and he narrowed his eyes.
“All of this,” he gestured, indicating her, the hut, and whatever potion she was brewing in that pestle and mortar, “is it witchcraft?”
“Don’t be so naive. It’s certainly something ye don’t understand.
Witch is a word given to women who are cleverer than the men and don’t do what they’re told.
” She paused in her grinding, peering into the mortar.
Quick as a flash, she dipped her fingertip in the powder and brought it back to her tongue, tasting.
“Much like the word whore is applied to a woman who refuses to warm the bed of the person who names her as one.”
“I don’t call women things like that.”
“Of course not. The MacAlpin lassies choose their men wisely.”
She marched briskly over to the fireplace, where a small cauldron bubbled politely over the flames. Dipping in a tarnished old ladle, she brought up a little boiling water, pouring it into a wooden bowl. Carefully, she began to apply the powder, stirring as she went.
Niall glanced over at Catriona. Her chest still rose and fell. She was breathing. She was alive, for now at least.
“Ye were the First Daughter of the Glen,” he breathed. “Ye started all of this. The wars began because of ye. The betrayal…”
“Aye, I know,” she interrupted sharply. “I was there, son. I lived through it. I loved recklessly, and now we all pay the consequences.” Her words took on a cold, flat tone.
“History has a habit of repeating itself. And it will do so again if the cycle isn’t broken.
The cycle must break, do ye hear me? It must. And we are running out of time. Her dying will not help matters.”
She punctuated this comment with a jerk of her chin towards Catriona’s still form.
“Can ye save her?” Niall whispered, the words sticking in his throat.
Malvina inspected her handiwork. The water and powder had combined to form a gloopy, glue-like substance in an ugly, pale blue. She gave a short nod.
“Perhaps. Now, out ye get. Wait outside, and I’ll call ye when I am done.”
Niall huffed. “I am going nowhere.”
“In case ye haven’t noticed, son, there’s barely room to breathe deeply in here,” she responded snappishly.
“I need to work. I have a dagger to remove, a wound to sew up, and medicine to administer. I don’t like to be watched.
If ye want my help, ye will wait outside.
Go and see to yer poor horse while ye are waiting. ”
Niall opened his mouth to argue, but Malvina fixed him with a cool, unblinking stare.
“She will be safe with me,” she promised, her voice cool and quiet. “I can swear that to ye.”
He closed his eyes, his heart thumping against his chest.
“Very well. I will be right outside.”
For the first few minutes, Niall did not move a muscle. He stood directly outside, staring at the door, almost holding his breath. He could hear movement inside. The shuffle of feet on the floor, the clink of a spoon, perhaps, on the side of a pestle and mortar.
When his horse came up behind him, nudging the back of his shoulder, Niall nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Sorry, girl,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I’ll take care of ye, eh?”
Stroking her nose, he led her over to where water bubbled through the valley, letting her drink. He rubbed her down as best he could with handfuls of clean, dry grass and made sure she had plenty of grazing room. He tried his best to keep his mind clear as he worked.
Catriona will survive. She must survive.
He never heard the door to the shack open. He was crouched down by the river, drinking himself, when Malvina’s voice next echoed over the quiet landscape.
“She’s awake. Ye can see her now.”
He flinched, scrambling upright, and hurried over to the shack.
“She…” he began, unable to put his question into words.
Malvina nodded. “She’ll live. I have removed the dagger. The wound is sewn up, and there’s no serious damage inside. Nothing important has been punctured. She’ll live.”
He let out a ragged gasp of relief, letting his eyes close.
Malvina stepped out of the hut, patting him on the shoulder.
“Go on in. See her. Talk to her. But don’t delay,” she warned. “Take her to her father. They’ll want to see her… They all will.”
He nodded tightly and dived into the shack.
Catriona sat up on the bed, her face pale. A lumpy bandage was wound around her middle, but there was color in her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. She stretched out a hand towards him.
“Niall,” she whispered. “I was afraid it had all been a dream, and ye were dead after all.”
“Dead? How on earth could I die when ye are here?” he breathed, a smile creeping across his face. “Nay, lass. Even death itself is going to have to wait, because I have plans for us.”
She laughed aloud at that, and he hurried across the shack, kneeling down beside her, and she wound her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.
“I dreamt about the Glen,” she admitted.
“Ye asked to come here. So I brought ye.” He pulled back, grinning at her. “Ye asked to go home, and here ye are. Yer wish is my command, Lady Catriona.”
“Ugh. Don’t call me lady anything, please.”