CHAPTER 7 #2
If the clan still believed she was the cause of his suffering, no one openly accused her of it.
In fact, most of the MacDunns simply avoided her.
It was clear they still feared her, for they quickly left a room or scurried down the hall if they saw her approaching, especially if it was dark or stormy outside, which made them wonder at her mood.
But for the most part the clan seemed to have accepted her presence as a necessary evil.
Only Clarinda, Marjorie, and Morag did not seem concerned that she was about to cast some hideous spell over them.
Of course Morag fancied herself as a seer and probably thought that since she had not foreseen Gwendolyn harming her, there was no danger in their relationship.
Marjorie was devoted to David, and although she was uncertain of Gwendolyn, she had made it clear that she wanted to help tend the lad. Clarinda, however, was a mystery.
Clarinda was the only person who not only showed no fear of her, but actually seemed to enjoy her company.
Every afternoon she waddled into David’s chamber and sat with them, chatting away as she carefully stitched some tiny gown or miniature stocking.
Although Gwendolyn enjoyed her company, she was not so foolish as to let herself think that Clarinda actually considered her a friend.
People didn’t make friends of witches, because witches were inherently wicked and could never be trusted.
But Clarinda’s gentle, warm presence was like a ray of light in the otherwise gloomy castle, and Gwendolyn found herself looking forward to sharing her days with both David and Clarinda.
MacDunn, however, was another matter.
She had scarcely seen MacDunn since the day she found him addressing his clan in the great hall.
She was relieved that their paths rarely crossed.
Her body still stirred from the memory of being held hard against him, his mouth plundering hers as she wrapped her arms around him.
She could not account for her shockingly wanton behavior when she was alone with him, both in the forest and in his chamber.
No man had ever dared touch her, no doubt fearing she might suddenly transform him into a toad or cause his manhood to shrivel up and fall off, as she had boldly threatened Brodick.
Her childhood isolation had effectively crushed any illusions that she might marry someday and have a family.
No man would ever want her as a wife. And she could not bear the thought of sentencing an innocent child to an existence like hers, forever tormented as the progeny of evil.
Men’s lack of interest had suited her fine.
It was better to live chaste and alone, where she had no one to worry about but herself.
Once she had agonized over the fate of her father if something happened to her.
Now there was no one who would mourn her passing, no one who would even shed a tear at her demise.
It was a lonely realization, but it was also somewhat liberating.
She was responsible for no one.
By contrast, MacDunn’s responsibilities to his clan were immense.
He was always working with his people—settling disputes, inspecting the cattle and the crops, overseeing new fortifications to the castle, orchestrating the production of weaponry and the preservation of food for storage, and of course leading his men in training.
His warriors staged regular mock attacks on the castle, analyzing every possible weakness of the forbidding fortress and developing a strategy to strengthen it.
At first Gwendolyn had assumed these exercises were part of the clan’s regular training.
But one day she had overheard two men complaining about MacDunn’s arduous new regimen and the fact that it was her presence that had instigated it.
It was a cold reminder that Robert would eventually come for her.
In the beginning she believed the overwhelming burden of seeing to the demands of his clan kept MacDunn from spending time with his son.
He saw David but once a day, and the visit was brief and oddly formal.
MacDunn would calmly ask Gwendolyn how his son was faring, and then he would study him a moment, as if he did not quite trust her report.
Once he was satisfied that the lad was in no imminent danger, he would turn abruptly and leave, as if there were matters of greater importance that commanded his attention.
Not once had Gwendolyn seen MacDunn share a gentle word with David, or tenderly lay his hand upon his cheek, or bend and kiss his smooth brow.
MacDunn’s brusque demeanor with the lad bewildered Gwendolyn.
She remembered the intense pain that had shadowed his eyes when he first introduced his suffering child to her.
At the time she had believed his devotion to David was overwhelming.
But as the days progressed and MacDunn’s visits grew increasingly curt and strained, it became apparent that he barely knew the lad at all.
She began to wonder if MacDunn’s determination to save his son was not motivated by love, but by the more pragmatic necessity of preserving the life of the next laird.
“Good day, Gwendolyn,” said Robena, entering the chamber bearing a tray. “I came to see how David fares.”
Like MacDunn, Robena had also made a habit of visiting David once a day.
She seemed to be fond of the lad and was always concerned about his progress.
Although she had initially made it clear she did not support Gwendolyn’s methods, she appeared to have accepted MacDunn’s decree that Gwendolyn was now in charge of David’s care, and was invariably polite to her.
“He is sleeping,” Gwendolyn murmured softly as Robena set her tray on the table.
“How is he?”
“He is well for the moment,” Gwendolyn answered carefully. “I am going to let him rest awhile, and then I will try to get him to eat something.”
Robena went over to the bed and studied him. “He looks terribly pale.”
“He has been ill for many months, and he has not been outside since early spring,” Gwendolyn pointed out. “It is not surprising that he has no color.”
“Perhaps not,” Robena allowed. She adjusted David’s blankets, pulling them up to his nose, then moved over to the tray. “Clarinda mentioned to me that you had not had anything to eat since early this morning. I have brought you some bread and fruit.”
Gwendolyn regarded her in surprise. Robena was not in the habit of worrying about her welfare.
“The bread was freshly baked this morning, so it is still soft,” she continued, filling a goblet with wine.
“That was very thoughtful of you.”
Robena smiled and offered her the goblet. “Here.”
Before Gwendolyn could wrap her fingers around the cup, it slipped and fell into her lap, drenching her in wine.
“Oh!” exclaimed Robena. “I’m truly sorry, Gwendolyn.”
Gwendolyn stood and stared ruefully at the huge crimson stain spreading across the gold fabric of her gown.
“If you take your gown off right away and rinse it in cool water, the wine may not set,” Robena advised helpfully. “It would be a shame for the garment to be ruined, especially since Morag has kept it all these years. It must have been one of her favorites.”
She was probably right, Gwendolyn realized guiltily. Morag had carefully preserved this gown since her youth, so it was obviously precious to her. Gwendolyn dreaded the thought of having to tell her that it had been ruined.
“Why don’t you go up to your chamber and change, and I will watch David for you while you tend to your gown?”
Gwendolyn hesitated, uneasy at the thought of leaving David with Robena. “But if he wakens—”
“If he wakens and needs something, I will fetch you. In the meantime, you must change out of that wet gown and see if it can be saved.”
“Very well,” said Gwendolyn reluctantly. She moved to the bed and drew back the blankets Robena had swaddled over David’s face, so he could breathe fresh air once again. Then she went to the door. “Thank you, Robena. I won’t be long.”
“Take as much time as you need,” Robena said amiably, settling into her chair. “I’ll be here when you return.”
Gwendolyn hurried along the corridor and up the narrow staircase to her chamber, anxious to be out of her wine-soaked gown.
As she pushed the heavy door open, she noticed a note lying on the floor.
Remembering the ominous contents of the last missive left for her, she picked it up with a degree of trepidation.
Dear Gwendolyn,
You must come to my chamber immediately. I have had a vision that I must warn you about.
Morag
Gwendolyn smiled. When she first met Morag she had thought the elderly woman was simply pretending to have these mystical visions.
It seemed a harmless enough deception, and since Morag had conveniently assured the MacDunns that Gwendolyn was a witch with great powers, Gwendolyn saw no reason to challenge her feigned abilities.
But it was becoming clear that Morag actually believed she could see things that others could not.
Gwendolyn laid the note on the table and quickly stripped out of her gown.
She placed it in the stone sink and carefully poured water from a jug over the wine stain, watching as the clear water turned crimson and drained away.
Once the worst of the blot was gone, she plugged the sink and drenched the skirt with fresh water.
Robena was probably right, she decided, briskly rubbing the fabric between her fists.
If the gown soaked awhile, the stain might not set.
After she visited Morag, she would fetch some fresh water and wash it again, she decided, putting on her green gown.