Chapter Nine
It was midmorning by the time Rose woke the next day. She blinked gummy eyes open, yawned wide enough to crack her jaw, and then stretched her arms over her head. Then she went still, waiting for the hangover to hit her. What had possessed her to drink whisky last night?
But to her surprise, there was no headache and her stomach felt fine.
Not entirely trusting this, she sat up gingerly, swinging her feet around and placing them flat on the cold stone floor.
Nope. Not a hangover in sight. In fact, she’d slept so well that she felt great, far better than she had any right to.
The sea air must be agreeing with me, she thought. Or this place.
Or Cailean, a traitorous little voice whispered in the back of her head.
She shut that voice down immediately. She really did not want to go there.
A twinge of guilt went through her. She hadn’t meant to sleep late as this meant she’d lost valuable time that could have been spent looking for the cure for the sickness. But there was nothing she could do about that now.
Someone, probably Mable, had been in while she slept and left a clean set of clothes, a basin of water, a stick of lavender soap, and a cloth on the stand by the window.
Rose rubbed her face, pulled herself to her feet, and padded over to it.
The water was freezing cold. She would like nothing more than a hot, steaming bath, but for now, she contented herself with a cold wash.
Once this was done she even managed to get dressed without help, for which she felt ridiculously pleased with herself.
Maybe I’m getting used to this time, she thought. Maybe one day I won’t quite stick out like a sore thumb.
She threw open the shutters onto another bright, breezy day.
The sun was high in the sky. Oops. The MacFinnan spellweaver sleeping late?
Not a good look. She blamed Cailean for that.
If he hadn’t plied her with whisky, she would have been up hours ago.
No doubt he hadn’t slept in, despite staying up late and drinking enough to sink a barge.
She pulled the bone comb Mable had provided through her hair, squared her shoulders, and strode out of her room. Today was a big day. Today was the day she would begin figuring out how to combat the curse.
She called in at the kitchen and begged some cold pie off the cook for breakfast and wolfed it down while on her way to the infirmary.
Once there, she found that Drew’s condition had remained unchanged, and also that three more people had been admitted overnight.
An examination of each revealed they had the same sickness that Drew had, all burning with fever, all unresponsive to her questions.
A twinge of dread went through her. Whatever this sickness was, it seemed to be getting worse. All she could do was put them into the same comatose state as Drew.
Leaving the infirmary under Maggie’s and Beatrice’s supervision, she made her way to her study, lost in thought. As she pushed through the door, she jumped in surprise when she discovered somebody was already in there waiting for her.
Cailean was leaning over the desk, his palms placed flat on its surface as he examined the map spread across the top.
Rose stopped dead. “Cailean. You startled me.”
He straightened, brushing a wisp of dark hair out of his face. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and beneath his plaid his linen shirt looked a little rumpled. Perhaps he had a hangover after all.
“My apologies,” he murmured, his dark eyes finding hers. “But I thought ye would want this right away.”
He had a leather satchel dangling from his hand which he placed on the desk and opened. He pulled out a thick wad of parchment.
“What’s that?”
“The records ye asked for. From every settlement on Barra, detailing the numbers who became sick in each.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You’ve collected all that already? But I thought that would take ages!”
“It did,” he said, his voice sounding slightly amused.
“I sent riders out yesterday, straight after we got back from North Cove. They worked through the night and have been returning all morning, the last of them around half an hour ago.” He glanced at the wad of parchment.
“I hope this provides what ye need, lass.”
“So do I,” she muttered.
He placed the bundle on the table. “Aye, well. I’ll leave ye to it. Let me know if ye need aught.”
He turned to leave, but Rose caught the sleeve of his shirt. “You know, this would go much more quickly if there were two of us working on it.”
Anyone could help her with this task, of course. Maggie, Beatrice, even Catriona. But it was Cailean’s company she wanted.
He glanced down at where her hand grasped his sleeve and then up into her eyes. She couldn’t read the look on his face but something in the way he watched her made her heart beat a little faster. Oh hell. He was the laird for God’s sake! No doubt he had a hundred things that demanded his attention—
“All right,” he said softly.
He held out a chair for Rose then sank onto the stool opposite.
“So how do we do this?” he asked.
Rose took the bundle of folded parchment and split it into two piles, pushing one across the desk towards Cailean.
“Simple. For each settlement we need to count how many people fell sick and put a marker for each case next to the settlement on the map.”
“To what end?”
“Like I said, I’m hoping it will show us a pattern. Is the sickness concentrated in one area? Are there places that have escaped it all together? That might allow us to find where the curse originates from.”
His expression turned fierce. “Aye, I would dearly love to find the origin of this curse. And whoever who created it.”
His voice was low and dangerous, leaving Rose in no doubt as to what he would do to such a person. Not for the first time, she found herself glad they were on the same side. Cailean, she suspected, would make a formidable enemy.
She did not reply. Taking a quill and dipping it in the inkpot, she read the first report then marked on the map where it recorded cases of sickness.
In this way, each settlement on the map began to have a tally chart marked next to it, allowing her to see at a glance the concentration of cases across the whole island.
She and Cailean worked in companionable silence, neither speaking.
Rose found herself glancing at him as they worked.
It seemed odd watching him doing such a mundane, clerical task.
To Rose’s mind he was more suited to the outdoors, to the moors and mountains, the sea and the cliffs, rather than sitting in this cramped study, reading reports.
Still, she mused, being laird of this island undoubtedly involved much more of this kind of work than she realized. Cailean certainly seemed at home with it as he read each report carefully before adding his notes to the map.
Rose wasn’t sure how education worked in this time, but it was clear that Cailean was well educated.
Some of the books on the shelves were written in French and Latin, suggesting he could read both.
She watched as he leaned forward and made another notation on the map.
She couldn’t stop a smile spreading across her face.
The stool was way too small for his large frame, and he looked faintly ridiculous perched there with his knees practically around his ears.
“Something amusing, lass?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not at all. You carry on. After all, you look so comfortable.”
Cailean glanced at the stool on which he perched. “I get the feeling ye are making fun of me.”
Rose widened her eyes and put her hand over her heart in mock innocence. “Me? I wouldn’t dream of it. But seriously, you could have had the chair. This is your study, after all.”
“And ye are a MacFinnan spellweaver,” he countered. “And ye’ve already threatened to turn me into a frog.”
Rose laughed. “It was a toad, actually. And that was only if you didn’t behave yourself.”
His expression turned grave. “And have I? Behaved myself?”
Rose nodded somberly, mirroring his expression. “You have been the picture of the gentlemanly host.”
Cailean blew out an exaggerated breath. “Thank goodness for that. I dinna much fancy life as a toad. Too cold and slimy. And besides, my people would likely skin me if I dared to offend a MacFinnan spellweaver. In case ye hadnae noticed, they hold ye in high esteem, lass.”
Rose snorted. “Why do I get the feeling you’re now making fun of me?”
“Not at all. They do hold ye in high esteem.” His eyes met hers across the desk. “As do I.”
Rose said nothing. It was there again, that something in his eyes that had been there last night. But last night he was drunk and he wasn’t now. A tingling sensation went through her, and she felt heat rushing to her cheeks.
She cleared her throat and looked down at the map, suddenly realizing there were no more reports to read. The map of the island was now covered with lots of little tally charts. Rose swallowed. There were an awful lot of them.
She rose to her feet so she could get a better look at the map and Cailean came to stand beside her.
“So many,” he breathed.
“So many,” she echoed.
How was she supposed to fix this? The curse was a magic strong enough to affect an entire people and she was a thirty-something divorcee who just happened to have a few tricks at her disposal. How could she expect to make a difference?
A hand settling on her shoulder startled her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes or clenched her fists until Cailean rumbled, “Relax, lass.”
She let out a slow breath, trying for a calm she didn’t feel, and forced her attention back to the map. There were cases of sickness all over the island as she’d expected and they were concentrated along the coast, again as she’d expected considering this was where most settlements were found.