Chapter Five
Frederick strode to the door leading to the Hall and opened it. Rory held back and looked at the woman who would soon be his wife. Her face was as implacable as her father’s. She, too, was a warrior in her own right.
He didn’t touch her, nor did he speak, but when she walked quietly up to him he approved. When they left this room, they would be side by side. The image of them both as one entity would be solidified, the words that needed pronouncement almost redundant.
Their entrance quieted the Hall. All his men were hale, hearty, Paiden’s keen alertness showing though he lounged as if he was relaxed in his own home. He was up to something as usual.
Then Frederick was saying the words with the necessary reverence and Rory ensured his own gaze locked on to as many clansmen as possible in the cramped quarters.
There was surprise by his own clansmen and by McCrieffs.
There was also hostility and defiance, which meant Frederick had kept this secret not only from his daughter, but also from his own clansmen.
The underlying sense of wrongness again clamoured inside Rory.
It was one matter to surprise the Lochmores with an arranged marriage, but such an alliance would have, under normal circumstances, been discussed from every angle with the elders of a clan.
Why would Frederick keep it secret from them?
A trap, but he obtained the prize. He and Ailsa’s marriage had been announced to all and could not be undone.
If he had to sleep with one eye open and keep a guard at his door, if he had to threaten every clansman from now until his death, he would ensure the future he wanted.
Because now that hope he’d been trying to contain expanded inside him.
He’d made this deal on his own, without his family’s approval.
Without his father’s approval. He would argue that he did it for the clan, to secure the land.
He knew the truth—he did it for himself.
When Frederick shoved his hand into the pouch around his waist and cupped dirt in his palm, Rory, without hesitation, accepted the transfer of it to his hand. The dirt was not mere dirt, but McCrieff soil.
More formalities would have to be done, more announcements and ceremonies.
So many more customs to uphold, but this Tanist had the foresight to gather dirt to make the legal gesture of transferring McCrieff land to Lochmore.
By accepting the dried clods, the transfer of land was complete and binding.
Wily warrior. Frederick had expected Rory to agree to his offer and had gathered the soil before the meeting.
But what man wouldn’t agree to it? He almost hadn’t.
He still shouldn’t. Frederick had planned for his daughter to marry the Lochmore Chief’s son, but Rory alone knew that Lochmore’s blood did not flow in his veins and that should have been enough to stop him from marrying now.
Servants were bustling in with freshly filled flagons. Paiden swiped a flagon and a new goblet off the tray to extravagantly pour the contents of a deep rich wine.
His eyes held Rory’s, a mixture of all their years of friendship.
There was no confusion or surprise in Paiden’s eyes.
There was true admiration because Paiden understood the struggle Rory had to prove his worth to his father and to his clan.
He’d been there all the years, had seen his disappointment and regrets.
He’d been by his side today and didn’t flinch when Rory entered the courtyard.
Paiden knew why Rory did it. The question would come later if his father and clan would approve the match.
And Paiden, with a smirk just under the surface as he gave his congratulations, appeared to already relish the upcoming battles.
The rest of the men he’d brought today were divided in loyalty to him and his father, but Paiden would watch his back in the days and weeks to come.
So when Paiden finished his speech and gulped deep from his goblet, Rory raised his cup as well.
But this moment wasn’t only about Paiden or his clan, it was about the two people still standing by his side and Rory turned to his soon-to-be wife and her father.
Frederick was still gazing at the crowd. Ailsa’s gaze, however, was on him.
Steady. Sure. There was hesitancy, but no fear there. In private, she’d given an impassioned speech as to why they should marry and now, after the announcement, it seemed she had not changed her mind.
At that moment, he should have turned again to the crowd, to his clansmen, who were watching, but Ailsa’s gaze did not turn away from him and he was loath to look away.
She seemed to be assessing him, watching him as steadily as he wanted to watch her. He could feel the pull of her in that moment, like a man aware that the sun rose and set, but unable to perceive moment by moment how the day changed from day to night.
Her hair might have been what caught his eye, but it was the emotion in her eyes that snared him. His eyes kept to hers and he didn’t know when the assessment of each other turned from political to personal, but his body felt it. His soul felt it and he could do nothing to stop it.
And he felt himself being lost as he lifted his cup to his lips to acknowledge Paiden’s words when her expression changed. Suddenly. Violently.
Still trapped in the flood of heat in his body, and the tenacious fixation of his thoughts, it took him far too long to register the moment a cry rang out in the Hall and there was a heavy thud. When he swung his gaze to the tables, his own goblet was knocked from his hands.
But the lost goblet didn’t matter because the sound and cry wasn’t of an oak bench tumbling over by the weight of people. It was Paiden, whose body was crumpled to the ground, and the wild circle of both his clansmen and McCrieffs already forming.
On instinct, Rory pounded to the nearest McCrieff, stealing his weapon. Then, with sword drawn, he stood at his friend’s side.
It wasn’t happening. Any of this. All of this. Ailsa couldn’t comprehend what had happened before the Lochmore clansman collapsed to the ground, but the instant his goblet slipped from his grip and his pallor drew white, she did. Utterly and absolutely.
A Lochmore, the one with an easy smile, had swiped a flagon of wine and poured it before the servants finished their service. He’d been first to swallow and first to collapse.
Then chaos. Shouts. Violence erupted in that already strained room.
She shoved Rory’s goblet to the ground, her father’s next as she yelled out to the crowd to not drink any.
She didn’t know if she was heard, but she’d done all she could for others, it was the man who fell who was her only concern now.
Rory was there standing over him. The sword he’d seized cut a wide vengeful swathe around him. The closest to him were the rest of the Lochmore clan. Her own clansmen were standing back, a few with weapons and more reaching for theirs.
McCrieffs and Lochmores in battle in her very home at her very hearth with children around them. She had to reason with them and quick. The collapsed man was prone, panting, his skin beginning to glisten.
Rotten food did not cause this. Poison did. Whatever was given to him was fast, and dangerous, and the small pouch around her waist held no roots to induce vomiting. There was only one way to help him now, but that meant she needed access to him. That meant she needed to argue with a madman.
Rory wasn’t the reasoning giant she’d verbally sparred with just moments before. He was a man, a beast. Thick of bone and looking not quite human. Not the man who had been watching her while her father proposed marriage. Nor the man who courteously escorted her to stand before their clans.
This man was feral and full of rage. She snapped her eyes away from him and surveyed the room.
Her father was already issuing orders, demanding for his men to stand down.
Half of the McCrieffs lowered their swords, but there were a few who kept theirs out and pointed.
Those men did not follow her father’s orders, something that alarmed her, but she had no time for that now.
The man dying on the ground had no time for swords or politics. She had no more moments to waste, but grabbed a servant and demanded boiling water and salt to be brought immediately. By the time it reached her it would have cooled enough to pour down the man’s throat.
A few Lochmores had swords. She ignored them all and put herself between two Lochmores who stood shoulder to shoulder. ‘Let me through!’
No one was listening to her. She shoved the nearest one, but he stayed firm. That man would die without her. ‘Lochmore!’
Eyes flashed to hers. She’d seen animals caught in faulty traps that didn’t kill. Everything about this man reminded her of a tortured animal.
‘Never,’ he vowed.
‘He’ll die.’
‘You intended that, McCrieff. You invited us here. Lowered our guard with fake promises of peace. Fed us poison to destroy us.’
‘Nothing is false here,’ Frederick said. ‘Our truce is true.’
‘My friend at my feet proves your lies.’
The man groaned, clutching his stomach. She only had moments to spare him. She shoved herself forward and made it through the Lochmores, who were taken by surprise.
Rory lifted his sword and stared her straight in the eyes. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
‘You point a sword at a woman?’ Frederick roared.
‘I point at an enemy.’
Ailsa had enough. ‘While you point that sword, he’s dying. I’m not a woman or an enemy right now, Lochmore.’ She indicated the pouch around her waist and spied the water bearer enter the room. ‘I am a healer and his only chance.’
This was ridiculous. She’d been ordered around enough tonight.
Keeping her eyes on him, she moved around the sword, knelt and froze again as she felt the prick of a sword at her neck.
She ignored it. She didn’t care, it wasn’t what concerned her.
Whether she lived or died was a matter of fear, whether this man lived or died was up to her.
Shoving with all her weight to move his body on to his side, she retorted, ‘You can stab me all you want, but I will save this man.’
‘You harm him further and I’ll kill you.’
Save her from men who did not think! ‘Kill me all you want, but help me now!’ Another shove, but he was too heavy. Damn them all. Another shove. Why wouldn’t they help?
A clatter of metal and Rory knelt at her side. ‘What do you need?’
She’d ask him later what changed his mind. For now, she’d take his help. ‘Turn him on his side, stick your fingers down his throat. We must rid him of the wine.’
There were complications when inducing vomiting, but those would have to wait. Rory shoved two fingers. It wasn’t enough. Grabbing the warmed water and salt, she forced it down the man’s throat. Waited, then pressed on his stomach.
Heaves of water, of wine, of food burst out. With a nod to Rory, she pressed again and he shoved his fingers deep. The man emptied his stomach again. Most of it was clear.
Pouring another goblet of hot water, she crushed and threw in mint and clove. Usually so careful with amounts, but now she went by instinct and haste. The man was losing consciousness.
‘Pull him up!’ she ordered Rory. ‘Drink this,’ she demanded and poured the contents down the man’s throat. A moment of relief when he swallowed. After vomiting, she needed to be alert for dehydration.
It would only take moments to know if what she’d done had worked.
She glanced at Rory, whose considerable body was cradled around his friend, the look in his eyes and countenance too vulnerable for the crowd around them, and she drew herself taller to shield him.
When that wasn’t enough, she gripped his arm tight until he looked at her and she showed him where to place his arms.
‘What is his name?’ she asked.
‘Paiden,’ he said and a wealth of information was in that said name. This wasn’t only a fellow comrade of Rory’s, this was his very dear friend.
Ailsa’s first fear was conquered, but there were more. Paiden not rousing being only one of them; Rory holding him and the men surrounding them was another. Here on the floor, her concentration on Paiden and Rory, she could believe there was no one else. But now...
‘He needs a bed.’
Rory shoved his arms under his friend and stopped. ‘Your gown.’
Ruined beyond any recognition. No matter, it wasn’t her best and the chemise was still good. ‘Cut it and secure it. I’ll look at the contents later.’
He drew a blade, and the cloth fell from her body. It was done.
Swiping the ruined cloth and standing on shaking legs, she ignored the murmurs and tense glares assaulting her and faced her father. He stood alone, his body ready to fight as he faced the room and not her.
‘Our guest needs a room,’ she announced. Chin raised, she waited until Rory and another man lifted Paiden from the floor, nodded to Hannah who now held the water, then walked slowly out the side doors and away from the crowd.