Chapter 26
Victoria dreamed of a moonlit lake that glossed her body in silver as she swam through the breathtakingly cold water.
She dreamed of a cèilidh where shapes blurred around her and lively music played, though distorted, as if she were hearing it from underwater.
She dreamed of shadows attacking and wet grass soaking through a wedding dress, and of her lithe body swaying to the rhythm of guiding hands on her hips, and the brush of someone kissing her lips.
“Ingrid! Ingrid, I think she’s waking up!” A voice pierced her strange dreams, her heavy eyelids struggling against the weight of slumber.
Someone shook her gently by the shoulders, the jolt of it dragging her further and further from the realm of peculiar things and thoughts that blended into one another.
Yet, she did not know if she wanted to emerge from that whirling realm, some inner sense compelling her to stay in the darkness a while longer.
“Victoria? Victoria, can you hear me?” The voice belonged to Kristin; the sound of it opened Victoria’s eyes at last. She would not have been much of a friend if she had not responded when the woman called to her.
The dim light of lanterns illuminated a vaulted ceiling and a large stone room with six narrow beds arranged within it, including the one Victoria was in. It smelled of herbs and earth and wood smoke. The mattress beneath her was not nearly as comfortable as the one in her bedchamber.
“I kent it wouldnae be long until ye awoke,” Kristin said in a voice so relieved that Victoria felt a little relief too. “Ye gave me quite a fright when ye keeled over like that. I thought ye’d been caught by a blade or somethin’.”
“I do not know what happened, in truth,” Victoria admitted, for her head was a little foggy.
She looked toward the figure in one of the opposite beds, the graying hair and pale face bringing back an immediate tide of memory. Her father had a knife in his back. Charles was on the ground, dying, but not without one last act of violence against the woman he could not possess.
“The Earl is dead,” Kristin said with a nervous smile.
“The mercenaries left shortly afterward. One or two dared to ask who would be payin’ them what they were owed, but our soldiers saw to it that they were booted out without a single coin.
It’s over, Victoria. Ye’ll never have to worry about him hurtin’ ye again. ”
There should have been more relief upon hearing that, but Victoria could not feel anything.
Where she had previously thought of all the ways she wished she could take revenge on Charles, there was just a sea of nothingness, as though his death had cleared out that corner of her mind and left numbness behind.
“Ingrid, could ye come and take a look at her?” Kristin called out, and a thin woman with braided gray hair came bustling out of the dim shadows of the room and up to Victoria’s bedside.
The woman put her hand on Victoria’s brow and frowned. “Nay fever. Glassy eyes, aye, but that’ll be the shock. These southerly lasses daenae have the same constitution; they faint at the sight of fightin’ and blood.”
Victoria narrowed her eyes at the woman. She did not appreciate anyone talking about her as if she were not there, even if she felt like she was not there.
“My father,” she croaked, her voice still thick with sleep. “Is he…?”
The healer glanced back at the figure in the bed opposite. “He lost a fair amount of blood, and the wound was awkward.”
It did not sound like good news. Underneath woolen blankets, Victoria clenched her hands into fists and braced for what she was certain was coming: the confirmation that her father was dead, and now it was up to her to figure out the future of her family’s security.
“I see nay reason why he shouldnae live,” the healer continued with a shrug. “Once he’s awake, I’ll ken more, but I’ve assuredly seen worse.”
Victoria blinked slowly. “He will live?”
“Aye, seems so,” the healer replied. “As for ye, ye should lie back and rest some. I’ll fetch ye a cup of medicinal tea, which willnae taste nice at all, but it’ll set ye right again.”
She walked off without waiting for any sort of reply and began humming to herself from the far side of the room, where she stooped over a simmering pot. The tea in question, presumably.
“He will live,” Victoria whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, her gaze fixed on that fragile body in the bed.
She had never seen her father look so peaceful or so weak, tucked up like a child.
“He will live.”
As soon as he received the news that Victoria had woken up, Arran hurried through the hallways to reach her. He had held a vigil by her bedside through the night and would have remained there if the duties of his lairdship had not finally forced him to leave her.
There had been a Great Hall to put back in order and punishments to be delivered to the guards who had permitted the Earl of Ashbrook and his meager band of mercenaries to enter the castle in the first place.
Not to mention the gaping hole where the old escape tunnel had been, the trapdoor was blown wide open with some kind of canister.
That was how Charles had entered without being noticed, while the rest of his party had ridden up to the rear of the castle, using a half-forgotten doorway. Also destroyed.
He burst through the door to the healer’s quarters and slowed his pace as he approached her bed. Relief flooded his chest as he saw her sitting up and sipping a cup of tea. Kristin was beside her in the chair where he had spent most of last night, with Ruby fast asleep in his sister’s arms.
“Ye took yer time,” Kristin said without the usual note of humor in her voice; this sounded forced, as if to keep up appearances.
He glared at her regardless. “I was tendin’ to the holes in our defenses.”
“Aye, well, I ought to be on my way.” Kristin rose from the chair. “I havenae had breakfast yet, and if I daenae eat, then this wee one willnae get all fat and happy.”
Victoria shook her head quickly, swallowing her mouthful of tea. “You do not have to leave, Kristin.”
“I do. I’ve a lot to be gettin’ on with,” Kristin replied as she reached over and patted Victoria gently on the arm.
“It’s good to have ye back with us. I’ll come and see ye again when I’ve had somethin’ to eat.
In the meantime, ye get some rest, else Ingrid will knock ye out with one of her brews.
And ye, braither, daenae talk to her for too long or aggravate her. She’s had a nasty shock.”
As if Arran were not already aware of that. He knew his sister’s words came from a place of care toward Victoria, but he did not need her to speak to him in such a patronizing tone.
Kristin vacated the room before he could scold her, leaving him alone with Victoria.
She looked exhausted despite the fact that she had been unconscious all night, and there wasn’t much color to her face, as though yesterday had drained her.
Even so, she remained the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen.
He just wished she might turn and show him a smile so that he could be certain she was all right.
“How are ye feeling?” he asked as he went to sit in the chair.
He considered perching on the side of the bed, but something about her stiff demeanor made him think twice. Something was wrong with her, and though it might have seemed strange to hope for such a thing, he prayed it was just because of the shock of everything.
“Mostly alive,” she replied flatly as she brought her cup to her mouth and took a lengthy sip, almost too long, like she was using the diversion to avoid speaking to him.
His attention flitted to the curled-up figure of her father in the opposite bed and remembered what he had rehearsed while Victoria had been out cold.
“I’m sorry that yer faither ended up like that,” he began awkwardly.
“It wasnae me intention for him to be hurt. I didnae even see the dirk until I took it out of yer faither’s back. ”
Victoria stared dead ahead, her blue eyes vacant. “But it was not your concern either.”
“Pardon?”
“My father’s welfare—it was not your concern, either.”
He frowned and looked to the healer as if she might be able to help him, but Ingrid was too busy pounding some sort of herb with a pestle. “I assure ye, I care very much that he was harmed. Me only intention was to kill the Earl.”
He was about to say more about the situation and how it had managed to get somewhat out of hand, but she interrupted before he could.
“I am aware of that now in a way I was not aware earlier,” she replied with the same flat tone.
“Your only intention was to have your revenge, regardless of what the cost might be. I should have known when you refused to even consider an alternative, and while I am not sorry that Charles is gone, I am sorry that I allowed myself to be a pawn in your game of vengeance.”
Had she hit her head during the brief fray at the cèilidh?
Had she knocked her head when she fainted, and he had not been able to catch her in time?
He did not remember an injury and could not see one on her now, but perhaps it was hidden beneath her sleep-messy hair.
It had to be something that was temporarily making her take leave of her senses because none of this behavior made sense to him.
“With respect, lass, ye were the one who suggested making yerself a pawn,” he said carefully. “Ye wanted to be the bait.”
She smiled a cold, unnerving smile. “Have you so quickly forgotten how all of this began? From the very beginning, I was the bait; I was your pawn. You would not have taken me from Charles’ manor if I had been of no importance; you said it yourself.”