CHAPTER 5 #2
“I don’t think you should be bled again for a while,” she decided. “But your body cannot get well if you do not eat, so that is something you must try to do, whether you are hungry or not.”
“Eating makes me feel worse,” he protested.
“But eventually it will make you feel better,” she countered. “So when you eat you must think of all the things you love to do when you are well, like riding and swimming, and spending the day hiking in the mountains.”
“I’m not allowed to do those things.”
“You’re not?” she said, amazed. “Why not?”
“I’m not allowed to tire myself.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a weak constitution,” he repeated. “Like my mother.”
“I see,” said Gwendolyn, although in fact she did not.
From the time she was a little girl, she and her father would find happiness in the pine scent of the woods, or the bracing feel of a cold wind blasting against a mountain.
Her father had loved the glorious beauty of nature and encouraged Gwendolyn to know it and embrace it as a friend.
Perhaps he foresaw that as she got older, she would have no friends among her clan.
“Well, then, what things do you enjoy doing?”
David thought for a moment. “I like listening to stories.”
“So do I,” Gwendolyn admitted enthusiastically, pleased that they shared this in common. “My father was a wonderful storyteller. When I was a little girl we would sit together by the fire and he would tell me tales about terrible dragons and savage warriors. Does your father do that?”
“My father is laird.”
Gwendolyn regarded him blankly.
“A laird has many duties to his clan,” he elaborated. “He doesn’t have time for telling stories.”
She supposed that might be true. “Then who tells them to you?”
“My mother used to. Before she got sick and went to live in heaven. And Elspeth does, sometimes,” he added. “But hers are not the same.”
No, thought Gwendolyn acidly, I’m sure they’re not.
“If you like, while I am here, I will tell you stories,” she offered.
A spark of pleasure lit his eyes. “Really?”
“Most of the stories I know are scary, though,” she qualified, sensing this would appeal to him.
“I like scary stories,” he assured her eagerly.
Gwendolyn cast him a doubtful look. “Are you sure? I don’t know. Maybe I should just tell you the one about the beautiful princess who lived in a magnificent pink flower, with petals as soft as feathers—”
“That’s a story for girls,” interrupted David, rolling his eyes in disgust.
“You can’t be certain of that,” Gwendolyn chided, feigning offense. “Maybe the princess gets swallowed up by a giant rat who chews her into little bloody pieces.”
That idea seemed to please him. “Does she?”
“Of course not. Princesses are never killed. That’s the rule.”
“And that’s why it’s a story for girls,” grumbled David. “Or babies.”
“I can see you are not going to be easy to please,” Gwendolyn observed, sighing. “What kind of story would you like?”
“Tell me a story with a monster in it,” he suggested.
“Very well.” She thought for a moment. “My father used to tell me a really terrifying one about a great, black monster who was bigger than this castle. His teeth were long and sharp, like a thousand jagged swords—”
“What are you trying to do,” demanded an infuriated voice, “kill the lad?”
Startled, Gwendolyn looked up to see Elspeth standing in the doorway holding a tray, her face twisted in outrage.
“How dare you open these windows—don’t you realize a draft could kill him? Close them at once!”
Gwendolyn remained seated, regarding Elspeth coolly. “Laird MacDunn has entrusted me with his son’s care, Elspeth,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Thank you for bringing up his tray. You may leave it on the table.”
Elspeth stared at her a moment, speechless with disbelief. She recovered her tongue quickly enough, however. “I will not let you do this,” she snapped, banging the tray down on the table and stalking over to the windows. “You have been told the boy must be kept warm—”
“Your methods have not cured him, Elspeth,” Gwendolyn pointed out, rising to face her.
Although she had no direct experience with healing, she had studied her mother’s notes extensively.
Her mother had been a skilled healer, and she never advocated entombing someone in a hot, foul-smelling room as a cure for illness.
“From now on, David’s room is to have light and fresh air,” Gwendolyn instructed.
“And there will be no more jars of burning herbs left in here.”
If she had suggested David be dropped stark naked into an icy well, she did not think Elspeth could have looked more appalled.
“I will speak to MacDunn about this, witch,” Elspeth vowed. “I will not stand by and let you kill the lad for your own evil purposes—”
“Go ahead and speak to MacDunn,” Gwendolyn interrupted. “And he will tell you that I am in charge of David’s care and that you must heed my instructions.”
In truth she was not entirely certain about that. MacDunn might find her methods questionable and decide to side with Elspeth. But this was not a moment to show doubt or weakness.
Elspeth’s small, dark eyes narrowed. “We shall see,” she declared ominously, then hurried from the room.
Gwendolyn forced a smile to her lips and turned to David, who was staring at her in awe.
“I’ve never seen Elspeth so angry,” he murmured.
“She won’t stay angry for long,” Gwendolyn replied dismissively, trying to alleviate his concern. She was accustomed to the contempt of others and did not let Elspeth’s animosity trouble her.
“Now, let’s see if we can’t get some of this food into you while I finish my story,” she said, picking up the tray.
David shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” He closed his eyes.
Gwendolyn set the tray down and went over to him.
The boy still looked pale and ill, but he seemed more comfortable now that he was no longer sweating beneath his coverings or choking on foul air.
She reached out and gently brushed a damp lock of hair off his brow.
He was warm, but he did not seem as feverish as he had been when she touched his face yesterday.
Encouraged by that, she sat in the chair and prepared to watch over him as he slept, feeling strangely protective of her helpless charge.
“She is going to kill him!”
“She is the devil’s spawn!”
“You must stop her, MacDunn, before it is too late!”
Alex pressed his fingers hard against his pounding temple and sighed.
He had spent most of the day training his men and inspecting the defenses of the castle.
The MacSweens could attack at any time, and it was his duty to ensure that his clan and holding were secure.
The MacSweens were a formidable enemy, but like any attacking army, they were finite and tangible.
Unlike sickness and disease, they could be anticipated and, with adequate preparation and training, ultimately vanquished.
It had felt good to focus his attention on the complex logistics of battle and defense.
The fortification of his home had demanded his full concentration, and therefore freed his mind, however fleetingly, from the anguish of contemplating his dying son.
After leading his men in a grueling session of training, Alex had ridden hard across his lands for several hours, trying to escape all thoughts of David, especially the unbearable helplessness he felt each time he laid eyes upon the suffering lad.
He had ridden high into the heather-caped mountain that had been Flora’s favorite.
When he reached the crest, he flung himself down from his horse and fell onto his knees, his breathing ragged and his despair almost overwhelming.
Once he had mastered his emotions, he stretched out on his back and stared at the sky, taking some comfort from the knowledge that Flora was watching him.
He talked to her awhile, and although she did not answer him, he found her silent company soothing.
When the blue sky above him turned smoky orange, he mounted his horse and thundered toward the black fortress of his home.
He sensed his calm was brittle, and so he rode hard, trying to exhaust himself so that when he returned to the castle he could simply retire to his chamber and escape into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Instead he entered his home to find this wildly agitated gathering of clan members, eagerly waiting to tell him that Gwendolyn was in the process of murdering his son.
“She waved her arms and the windows flew open, filling the chamber with freezing air,” continued Elspeth, flailing her fleshless arms around as she re-created the scene for her deliciously horrified audience.
“Then she blew softly into the hearth, like so…” she puckered her thin lips into a tiny, dark hole, “and the enormous fire roaring in it was instantly extinguished, just like that.” She snapped her fingers for effect, startling everyone.
“Dear God,” murmured Robena, glancing anxiously at Alex.
“I fell on my knees and begged her to stop,” Elspeth went on, her voice rising to a wail.
She refrained from actually falling to her knees as she said this, but did clap her bony hands together to demonstrate how she had pleaded.
“I told her the poor lad would surely die from the bitter cold, and asked how could she not take pity on such an innocent soul? And the witch just laughed a terrible, wicked laugh, and told me to get out or she would kill me, too!” She made a quick slicing motion across her throat.
Alex leaned back in his chair and continued to massage his temple, idly wondering how much worse his headache could become. Already it felt like someone was hacking at his skull with an ax.
“Don’t forget about how she stripped poor David of all his blankets, leaving him to lie naked and shivering on the bed,” prodded Robena.
“And how she cast a spell causing the containers of burning herbs to fly out the windows, so that nothing could keep her from doing the devil’s work!” added Marjorie.