CHAPTER 10 #2
“Do you really think we would stand a chance attacking in the thick of this storm, while the MacDunns are warm and dry inside those walls?” demanded Robert. “Only a fool would send drenched men into battle, half blinded by darkness and rain.”
“We should have attacked yesterday, when the tower was afire,” Giles mused, shifting uncomfortably on his horse. “It would have been easy to overwhelm them while their castle was burning.”
“And every able-bodied man was fully armed and primed for battle,” drawled Robert sardonically.
“I would prefer not to march in while MacDunn’s warriors are gathered outside training.
Besides, we had no way of knowing how serious the blaze was.
Given how quickly it was subdued, it seemed little more than a blocked chimney. ”
“So when are we going to attack?” Derek asked impatiently.
“When I give the order,” snapped Robert. “Now return to your positions.”
The three warriors eyed each other sullenly, then turned their horses back toward the camp.
Derek was anxious to claim his betrothed, while the others hated MacDunn for stealing their witch and killing their clansmen.
Vengeance and the brutal restoration of MacSween honor were uppermost in their minds.
Robert had made it clear that they could do whatever they wished with the MacDunn women, but the witch was not to be touched.
Instead, she and Isabella were to be brought to him, so he could take them back to their holding.
The moment he had the stone, he would make himself ruler of all Scotland.
As for Gwendolyn, he would relish breaking her before her death.
“This is a sad chamber,” said Gwendolyn, vainly trying to warm her hands by the fire.
“Do you think so?” Morag leaned back in her chair and gazed around.
“I have always thought it is a very pretty chamber, myself—much nicer than that tower room. On a fine day those arched windows let in a wonderful amount of light. Of course you’d never know it, with this terrible storm still raging outside.
” She slanted a meaningful glance at Gwendolyn.
“I didn’t start this storm, Morag.”
“Never said you did, did I?”
“I am not entirely in control of the weather, you know.”
“Of course you aren’t.”
Gwendolyn sighed. A violent storm had been raging for two days now, and the MacDunns were convinced that she was the cause of it.
She didn’t like the cold, gloomy weather any more than they, although it was certainly reflective of her mood.
Until she was trapped in that fire, she had not understood the extent of the MacDunns’ hatred of her.
She had known they feared her, but it had never occurred to her that they might actually try to murder her.
The intensity of their loathing cut her deeply, since she had foolishly allowed herself to think that the MacDunns had been gradually starting to accept her.
She had been wrong. The MacDunns were no more accepting of her than her own clan had been.
Now that she understood how much they wanted to be rid of her, she had to leave.
But who would look after David after she was gone?
she wondered desperately. What if he suddenly fell gravely ill again?
Elspeth would clamp on to him like a giant leech, tormenting him with her foul methods, blissfully trying to purge Gwendolyn’s evil from his tiny body.
Poor David would be helpless to do anything except lie there.
He would feel abandoned by Gwendolyn. And if he died, what would happen to MacDunn?
She knew Alex well enough to understand that for all his strength, the death of his son would devastate him.
He might descend into the refuge of madness, never to emerge again.
How could she leave them knowing this? She pulled the plaid draped over her shoulders tighter, feeling alone and confused.
“Perhaps the sadness you feel comes from within,” suggested Morag quietly.
Gwendolyn considered this a moment, then shook her head.
“I have felt sadness in this chamber from the moment I stepped into it. The space is heavy with unhappiness—it is in the walls, the ceiling, the floor—in the very air. And the room never feels warm, even when the fire is blazing.” She rubbed her chilled hands together. “To whom does this chamber belong?”
“No one. It once was occupied by MacDunn’s wife, Flora. She died in here.”
So that was the misery Gwendolyn sensed. MacDunn’s wife had lain here in hideous pain, knowing she was going to die and leave her husband and child alone. No wonder her anguish had seeped into these heavy stone walls.
“Did Flora not share MacDunn’s chamber?” she asked.
“She did until her illness confined her to bed. After that the healers said her chamber must be sealed from the ill effects of too much light and outside air, and filled with healing smoke. Flora did not want Alex to endure the constant heat and haze, so she asked to be moved into a separate room next to his. But Alex stayed in here with her every night despite her protests. He told her he could not sleep without her, making it seem like she was helping him by permitting it. I believe it made him feel better, to hold her safe in his arms at night, trying to protect her,” she reflected quietly.
“It certainly comforted Flora. Toward the end, when it was obvious that nothing more could be done for her, Alex cared for her during the day as well. He knew Flora might leave him at any moment, and he wanted to be with her when the time came.”
Gwendolyn considered this in silence. Because Alex never spent any time caring for David, Gwendolyn had always assumed that he had no practical experience dealing with the misery of illness, other than as a helpless, tormented witness.
But after the fire, when he had tended her and cleaned up after her with calm, gentle skill, she had realized she was wrong.
MacDunn was all too familiar with the duties of ministering to the sick.
And he had learned them in this very chamber.
“Is that the bed Flora died in?” she asked, studying the elegantly carved piece in the center of the room.
“No,” replied Morag. “Flora’s bed was draped with a splendid yellow canopy that MacDunn had specially made for her.
The underside was embroidered with mountains, and wildflowers, and a little waterfall that seemed to splash right down the end of it.
He wanted her to have something pleasing to look at as she lay there.
But the healers kept her room so smoky and dark, ’twas difficult for her to see it.
Flora never let MacDunn know this, however.
” She smiled sadly. “She told him she had memorized every flower and blade of grass, so she could see them even when her eyes were closed. She was a sweet girl, Flora was. The clan adored her.” Her expression grew distant.
And she was obviously very much loved by MacDunn as well, mused Gwendolyn. “Why doesn’t MacDunn keep the bed in here, Morag?”
“After she died, MacDunn ordered it burned.”
Gwendolyn regarded her in surprise. “Why? Did he fear it might harbor her illness?”
“No. He said he couldn’t bear to look upon it. It made him think of Flora’s suffering.”
Gwendolyn reflected on this a long moment before quietly stating, “He loved her very much, didn’t he?”
“Aye. He did. And Flora loved him. That’s why it’s been so difficult for them to say good-bye.”
“Do you mean because MacDunn still talks to her?”
Morag hesitated. “Aye,” she murmured, turning to gaze at the fire. “That’s what I mean.”
“ ’Tis good to see you’re up, Gwendolyn,” said Clarinda, waddling in with an enormous tray. “Look, I’ve brought you a wee bite.”
“Really, Clarinda, you shouldn’t be carrying such heavy things,” scolded Gwendolyn. She rose to take the tray from her, then regarded the food piled high upon it in astonishment. “Are there others coming to dine with me?”
Clarinda seated herself. “Only me. And Morag may also wish to have something.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Morag, reaching for her staff. “I’m busy working on a new cream to smooth out wrinkles, and it’s time to add more fish oil. If it works, I will give you both some. It is never too soon to begin caring for your skin,” she advised, disappearing out the door.
“There is enough food here to feed a small army!” Gwendolyn exclaimed.
“Or one extremely pregnant woman.” Clarinda laughed, reaching for a fat, roasted chicken leg. “I don’t know why, but I find myself absolutely ravenous these days. Cameron says if I continue to eat this much, there won’t be any room left inside me for the bairn!”
“You’re looking very well. Your time must be near.”
Clarinda daintily licked her fingers. “I believe so. Which is why I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better today. I was hoping you would help me when this bairn finally decides ’tis time to come out and see the world.”
“I—I cannot, Clarinda,” she stammered. Gwendolyn had no knowledge of how to birth a bairn and could not pretend that she did.
Also, she had resolved to leave the MacDunns as quickly as possible—perhaps tomorrow.
“Elspeth wouldn’t permit me to attend. I’m sure she believes having a witch present at a birth will only bring evil. ”
“It doesn’t matter what Elspeth believes. She won’t be there.”
“But Elspeth is the clan healer. She delivers almost all the MacDunn bairns, does she not?”
“She does. But not this one. You are going to do it.”
Gwendolyn stared at her, speechless. The magnitude of what Clarinda wanted her to do was overwhelming.
Caring for a dying child whom no one else had been able to help was one thing, but birthing a tiny babe was another matter entirely.
She could not feign knowledge or experience in such a serious matter—not when Clarinda’s very life, or her child’s, might depend on it.
“I cannot do it, Clarinda,” she said, her voice apologetic. “I have never birthed a bairn before.”