Chapter Nineteen
They had been climbing a narrow mountain road—or at least Mari thought it was a road, but there was really too much snow to tell.
She hoped the horse knew where it was going.
Several times she averted her eyes when they came dangerously close to what looked like deadly drops.
Far below, she could see the glistening waters of Loch Shiel, the sun reflecting off the ice crusting its edges.
It couldn’t be too much farther. She wrung her hands nervously. What would she find?
A short time later, Jamie stopped the sleigh just outside the old curtain wall that remained standing in front of the medieval castle that was Ian’s home.
A stable boy came running to take charge of the horse as Jamie jumped off the driver’s seat to help Effie and Mari down.
“The sled canna go farther since Ian keeps the courtyard cleared, but ’tis nae a far walk. ”
Mari stood rooted to the spot, feeling like she had stepped backward in time.
This was where Jillian lived? In front of them was an actual portcullis, its iron gate raised, and she could see the cobblestoned courtyard.
Beyond that, a massive stone structure rose four stories high, a turreted tower on each end.
She half expected to see archers appear between the merlons and embrasures that linked the two towers.
“It’s like something out of the King Arthur legends,” she said as they began to walk toward the castle.
“I dinnae think Arthur ever rode this far north,” Jamie answered, “but Norman knights did under the banner of the Earl of Sinclair.”
“How old is this place?”
“It goes back to the 1300s.”
“Oh, my,” Mari exclaimed and then froze in her tracks again. Ian was walking toward them, his face grim. Mari’s heart fell to her feet. Was Jillian…
Jamie reached for her hand and wrapped his big one around hers, his fingers warm and strong. For once, she was grateful for his strength. She swallowed hard. “Is Jillian all right?”
“Nae,” Ian answered, and Mari felt the blood drain from her face. Only Jamie’s arm around her waist kept her from falling.
“She is nae well.”
Relief flooded Mari, dizzying her. She collapsed against Jamie. At least Jillian was alive.
Jamie glared at his brother. “Ye are frightening the lass to death. Can ye nae explain yerself?”
“Aye,” Ian replied as he turned to lead them to the massive oak doors of the keep. “Infection set in from a cut Jillie got—’tis a long story—and she was fevered for a fortnight. Bridget said the Crone of the Hills brought poultices to draw it out, and that was what kept Jillie from death.”
“Crone of the Hills?” Mari asked.
“I will explain it to ye later, lass,” Jamie said. “So why is Jillian nae well then?”
“’Tis the bairn,” Ian answered.
Mari felt lightheaded again. Jamie must have noticed because he put a reassuring arm around her waist once more. “Did she lose the babe?”
“The bairn lives according to Bridget, but Jillie has nae recovered. She is weak and lies abed when she should be walking about, gathering her strength for what lies ahead.”
Beside them, Effie snorted, and everyone paused to look at her. “Just goes to show what a man knows about child birthing. If Jillian lost a lot of blood, it would be dangerous for her to move about. The babe could be harmed.”
Ian appraised her, his dark eyes growing darker. “Ye are a midwife?”
It was an intimidating look, but Effie held her own. Mari almost smiled. Perhaps being accustomed to one bossy MacLeod had given Effie courage, for she returned Ian’s look.
“I have done my share in helping with births. I will take care of Jillian.”
“Ye will have to fight Jillie’s maid, Darcy, to do that.”
Effie sniffed. “That silly Irish girl is here?”
Ian’s face softened, and Mari thought she saw a corner of his mouth twitch. “Aye, she is.”
This time, Mari did smile. Darcy was Effie’s nemesis, not that she meant to be. The girl was only two years older than Mari and a bit of a free spirit who liked having fun, especially if involved members of the opposite sex—and she didn’t mind expressing her thoughts any more than Effie did.
“But ye will have to get past Bridget first,” Ian added, “and that isna always easy.”
Jamie laughed. “Ye are putting it rather mildly, brother.” He turned to Effie. “Our sister would make a good warrior. She gives no quarter.”
Effie eyed the front door and lifted her chin. “Hmmph!” she said.
Darcy gave Mari a cheeky grin and helped Jillian to a sitting position in her bed before leaving the bedchamber.
Mari pulled a chair near Jillian and managed a smile that she did not feel.
Never in her entire life had she seen her sister look so frail and weak.
And, save for the bruises she’d suffered from the old marquess, Mari couldn’t really remember a time when Jillian had even been ill.
“I do not look so good, do I?” Jillian asked, her voice a mere whisper of her normal self.
“You look fine,” Mari lied and picked up Jillian’s hand. “You will be fine.”
Jillian attempted a smile. “I could always tell when you were lying.”
Mari felt tears sting her eyes. “You are alive, that is what matters—and the babe too.”
“Yes, there is that,” Jillian replied and placed her hand on her extended belly. “I do not think I could have forgiven myself if the babe had died.”
“Ian told us what happened. It was not your fault you fell.”
“Brodie—Bridget’s husband—told me I should have waited for him to return and not gone after their uncle and his brother, but I had to know what they were planning.
” She paused, collected her breath and managed to speak a bit louder.
“You have no idea how much those two hate the English. Please be careful.”
“I will. Surely they would not dare hurt either of us?”
“Not directly. Ian would have their heads. They are conniving, though.” She paused again, gathering her strength.
“I am not so sure Duncan and Broc did not intend for me to overhear them talking about the plans to attack Countess Sutherland’s escort to lure me out in the dark of night.
They knew both Shane and Brodie were gone. ”
Mari felt shocked. “You carry Ian’s child. The heir to the clan, if that is the right term to use.”
Jillian nodded. “Precisely. An heir that would be half English.”
“But that…that is murder.”
“Someone would have to prove that. It was their luck that I managed to stumble and fall on my own. Who knows what might have happened otherwise?”
“Why hasn’t Ian made them leave?”
“He wanted to. I told him it was wiser pretending we did not suspect anything. The blizzard was a blessing because the passes were blocked and the countess turned back to London. However, if we keep Duncan and Broc here, we can know if they make any other plans that would put Ian’s lands in jeopardy. ”
“But you may be in jeopardy.”
Jillian managed a genuine smile. “I take it you have not met Bridget yet?”
Mari shook her head. “Jamie directed me straight here.”
Her sister eyed her curiously for a moment but merely said, “Bridget keeps a close eye on who comes near the stairs. I am never left alone. If Ian is not here, Darcy is. She can scream bloody murder louder than anyone I know.”
Mari laughed, beginning to finally relax. “I remember. It always makes Effie cringe.”
“Did Effie come with you?”
“Of course. I could not have stopped her even if I had wanted to.”
Jillian lay back on the pillows. “Things are going to get interesting around here.”
Mari was beginning to see what Jillian meant when she descended the stairs and headed for the sound of loud conversation coming from down the hall.
She entered an open door to a room that was probably as close to a parlor as a medieval Scottish castle got.
Flames of blue, red and orange burned brightly in the huge hearth along one side of the room.
Various animal furs were scattered on the stone floor in front of the fire and several large, comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs were in close proximity.
Tapestries depicting hunting scenes lined the walls, probably to keep the damp cold of the stone out as much as for the artistry of the weavers.
Effie and Darcy stood glaring at each other, both of them with their hands on their hips while two identical-looking girls with strawberry hair sat on a horsehair sofa watching them with huge, green eyes.
“I’ll not be letting ye take over the care of me mistress,” Darcy proclaimed loudly. “I am doing just fine.”
“Yet Jillian lies ill,” Effie retorted.
“’Tis no’ my fault.”
“I did not say it was,” Effie replied, “but I know how distracted you get when there are men about—”
“Nary a man has distracted me,” Darcy sputtered.
“Ladies.” Mari moved closer, hoping she could interject some sort of peace. “I have just talked with Jillian. While she is weak, the worst seems to be over.” She turned to smile at the twins, who were staring at her. “My sister seems to be well taken of.”
The girls looked at each other and both of them nodded. “Aye,” one of them answered, “the Crone o’ the Hills healed her.”
“Who?” Effie asked.
“Our faerie,” the other twin said.
“Your what?”
“Our faerie,” the second twin repeated earnestly.
“Hmmph!” Effie folded her arms across her chest. “Children should not be told such stories. Faeries do not exist.”
Both twins’ eyes rounded. “But she takes care of the MacLeods when one is in need,” the first twin said.
“Cousin Jillian has seen her,” the other one added. “Ye can ask her.”
“Perhaps we can wait with that,” said a female voice from the doorway. “Our guests are probably quite tired from the journey. Why don’t the two of ye go find Jamie?”
“But—” one of the twins started to say before the other gave her a poke in the ribs with her elbow. The first one frowned, about to return the gesture when the woman in the doorway cleared her throat. Both girls jumped up and hurried out without another word.