Chapter 9 #2
The tunnels? Aiden’s breath caught in his chest. Dear God.
Was it possible she’d discovered the tomb and become trapped inside?
He tore out of the room and raced across the close.
Diving into the tunnel, he jogged down the narrow corridor to the cave, leapt over the flour sacks, and turned the winch.
When it was locked into place, he ran for the end of the tunnel and pushed at the great granite slab.
But it would open only partway. Something was blocking its movement.
“Isabail,” Aiden called. “Move aside. I cannot open the door if you remain there.”
No sound came from the pitch-black interior of the tomb.
“Isabail?”
He leaned in as far as the slab would allow and listened carefully. Was that she sound of her breathing? He couldn’t be certain. “Isabail!” he called loudly.
Still no answer.
Striding back to the tunnel, he snatched one of the torches from a wall bracket, then returned to the tomb.
He shoved the torch through the narrow gap in the door, lighting the passage beyond.
And spied a hand. Her hand. The long, elegant fingers that were uniquely Isabail’s.
She was on the floor directly behind the door.
If he forced the door open, he would crush her.
“Isabail, you must move,” he urged. When that didn’t work, he allowed the tightness in his gut to bleed into his voice. His words came out cold and clipped. “Get up, Isabail. Now.”
Even that had no effect.
Her hand lay there, still as death.
Placing the torch in the nearest wall bracket, Aiden steadied his thoughts. To free her from the tomb, he had to move her, willing and able though she might not be. He lay facedown on the stone floor, wedged as far as he could through the opening, and took her hand.
It was cold.
Aiden’s heartbeat slowed. Once before, when he was a wee lad, a man had gotten trapped in the tomb.
Not one of his kin—they knew better—a traveling minstrel who’d heard the legends of an ancient Pictish treasure and decided to try his luck.
They found his body three days later and buried him in the mountains.
Pushing that thought aside, Aiden tugged gently on Isabail’s hand, pulling her to one side.
His position was awkward and the gains he made were slow, but eventually he could see her blond hair through the gap.
With the majority of her body clear of the stone slab, he was able to open it all the way.
He snatched her to his chest.
“Isabail,” he commanded. “Wake up.”
Her head lolled against his arm. Was she . . . ? No, he refused to believe she was dead. He bent an ear to her mouth, hoping for evidence of the sounds he’d heard when he first found her. Surely she was still breathing.
The faintest of breaths stirred the hairs at his temple. He surged to his feet, with Isabail’s chilled body clamped to the warmth of his chest, and sprinted for the tunnel entrance.
“Beathag!” he yelled as he entered the busy close. “Fetch me Ana Bisset. Quickly!”
He advanced to the large cooking fire, hoping to warm Isabail’s ice-cold body. The heat from the stoked coals drew beads of sweat to his forehead, but he remained there until Beathag returned with the healer.
“Blankets!” Ana demanded, pointing to the ground before the fire. Women offering blankets appeared swiftly, and when a suitable bed had been laid, she waved to Aiden. “Lay her here.”
He did so, parting with her reluctantly.
Isabail’s face was as white as her hair. Not a mote of color graced her lips or her cheeks—her skin was like marble.
Ana did not ask what happened. She simply closed her eyes and placed her hands on Isabail’s cheek and chest. After a long moment, punctuated only by the heavy thuds of Aiden’s heart, she sat back.
“Well?” he demanded.
Ana lifted her gaze to Aiden and gave him a look he didn’t care for. “She is alive,” the healer said, “but something is wrong.”
“Something is wrong? What am I to make of that? Fix it, then. Heal her.”
The redhead rose to her feet. She cast a glance at Niall, who had shouldered his way through the crowd around the fire. “I’m not certain she can be healed. I saw a similar case once—a child who fell into the pond and was found sometime later.”
“I will not accept that,” Aiden said. “Heal her.”
She nodded. “I will, of course, do my best.”
Her response was too tentative for Aiden’s liking.
To him it already carried the suggestion of failure.
And the notion of Isabail never again opening her eyes, of never again facing him with stiff shoulders and a brave stare, pinched his chest so painfully he could barely breathe.
“If you can heal her bloody dog, you can heal her, too. No excuses. You will heal her. Now tell me what you need.”
Niall stepped forward, his gaze firm and his stance clearly protective of Ana. “Not everyone can be saved. That is God’s will, not the healer’s.”
“Step aside and let Ana do what she must,” Aiden ordered his brother.
“If anyone needs to step aside, it’s you,” Niall responded, remaining at Ana’s side.
“Cease, both of you,” said the healer. To Aiden, she added. “Clear the inner close, and I’ll do everything I can to save her.”
It was an easy enough request to fulfill. Aiden barked an order to all those hovering in the close, and a few moments later, the courtyard was empty . . . save for Niall, Ana, Aiden, and Isabail.
“You must leave too,” Ana told Aiden.
“Nay.”
Niall grabbed his sleeve. “Come, brother. Let us leave her to her work.”
Yanking his arm free, Aiden cut his brother a cold stare. He’d left Isabail alone, locked in the tomb for hours. He was not about to leave her now. “I said nay.”
Niall and Ana exchanged glances.
“Go ahead,” Niall encouraged.
Ana shook her head.
“All will be well,” Niall said. “You’ve nothing to fear.”
She glanced at Aiden and snorted. “He is full of anger and hate. I have everything to fear.”
“Enough blather,” Aiden said, his gaze falling to Isabail’s pallid face. “If she dies while you debate who stays near the fire, I swear I will run you both through. Heal. Her.”
“This is on you,” Ana said darkly to Niall.
She dropped to her knees and rolled up her sleeves. “I need a bucket of cold water and uninterrupted silence.”
Niall fetched the water and placed the bucket next to her. He gave Ana’s shoulder a quick squeeze before crossing to stand at Aiden’s side.
It would have been a comfort to have him there if his brother’s hand hadn’t been firmly positioned on the hilt of his sword. Apparently, his brother was prepared to take a stand between him and the healer.
The redhead rubbed her hands together, then placed one of them on either side of Isabail’s head. Bowing her head, she appeared to be praying.
Aiden had no issue with an appeal to God for help.
For centuries, his family had honored both the pagan gods of his ancestors and the Christian God preached by Saint Columba.
But as Ana remained silent and still for painfully long moments, making no effort to bleed Isabail or create a healing poultice, he grew impatient.
“Hold,” Niall whispered. “Look at her arms.”
Aiden’s gaze slipped to Isabail’s arms, but the sleeves of her gown hid them from view. Then he noticed Ana’s arms.
“Sweet Danu.”
A ruddy pattern of swirls and dots was growing like a mystical vine down both of Ana’s arms. Aiden had never seen anything like it, and as the vines crept over the backs of her hands, reaching her fingers, he took a step forward. They would soon be touching Isabail’s flesh.
Niall’s hand flattened against his chest, staying further movement. “Have faith.”
It took all of Aiden’s willpower to resist the urge to throw off Niall’s hand. His heart pounded in his chest with a fear like he’d never known before. But he trusted Niall. And he desperately needed Isabail to awaken.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, he subsided and allowed Ana to work her magic. And it was clearly magic. But if this was what it took to bring Isabail back from the brink of death, so be it.
Ana removed one hand from Isabail’s face and sank it into the bucket of water. A few minutes later, she switched hands. A wince flickered across her face, and she began to shiver uncontrollably.
Niall tensed.
Aiden could see that his brother wanted to go to Ana, to hold her, but he did not. He waited, as impatient as Aiden, for the healing to take its course.
Finally, after a long, unbearable length of time, Ana dropped both hands to her sides. She appeared utterly drained. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and Aiden swore she’d gotten thinner in the hour or so she’d taken to complete the healing.
Niall rushed forward and dropped a blanket over Ana’s shoulders. Displaying more tenderness than Aiden had ever seen, Niall scooped the redheaded healer into his lap and sat with her before the fire, her body cradled against his chest.
“Is it done?” Aiden asked hoarsely.
Isabail still had no color, and he feared the worst.
“Aye,” murmured Ana from the depths of Niall’s arms. “I’ve done all that I can do.”
“Will she awaken?” he asked brusquely.
“I believe so. Let her rest.”
The promise of a happy resolution seemed weak, but Aiden chose to believe in it. He gathered Isabail and her blankets into his arms and strode toward his chamber. Just before he left the close, he called back to his brother, “The door to the tomb is open. Seal it as soon as you’re able.”
* * *
Isabail awoke with a scream on her lips.
“Hush,” said a familiar deep voice that vibrated against her cheek. MacCurran. “You are safe.”
Midafternoon sunlight poured into the chamber through an open-shuttered window, creating a thick stream of golden air, which highlighted every mote of dust in the air. The dark void was gone, and the steady beat of MacCurran’s heart had replaced the unbearable silence.
Safe.