Chapter 6 #2
A cold sense of dread filled the pit of his stomach.
Nor could he recall whether there was a special lass in his life.
He didn’t think so. Surely he’d remember someone as important as a bride.
But he vowed he would not risk hurting Ailsa if he wasn’t free to care for her as she deserved.
As she had cared for him. He must wait until he knew who he was and whether he was betrothed or married.
He couldn’t stand the thought of betraying any lass.
Not Ailsa, and especially not any lass he loved enough to wed.
That certainty reassured him. Whoever he was, he cared about the women in his life.
Whoever they were. If there were any. Or if there was one.
But for now, he’d been standing long enough to feel his breath grow shallow and his legs weaken. He donned his clothes, sat on the bench and dried his feet, then put on his boots. “Yer souter did a masterful job of cleaning and repairing them,” he remarked. They’ve no’ looked this good in years.”
“Years? How many?”
He shook his head and shrugged. “I’ve nay notion. It just felt like the right thing to say.”
“How do ye feel?”
“Clean, thank ye, and tired. A cup of that ale wouldna go amiss, I think.”
She retrieved one and handed it to him. “Do ye feel up to something more than broth? I can ask Cook if she has any stew.”
“Aye, that would help.”
“Dinna move. I’ll be back before ye ken I’m gone.”
Little chance of that, Anders thought as he watched her exit and close the door behind her.
She’d been away from him only for seconds, and already he missed her.
What was happening to him? Was he simply grateful for her care?
Or was there more to the desire for her he felt every time he looked at her, or heard her voice?
He rested his head on the wall at his back and closed his eyes, trying to remember a lass, any lass, from his life before he arrived here.
Any clue that he would be free to pursue Ailsa.
In a moment, he glimpsed a lass with chestnut hair toss a hawk into the air, but his memory followed the flight of the raptor and didn’t return to the lass, so he never got a clear look at her face.
Suddenly, he saw himself. But the memory, or the vision, was strangely …
wrong. He saw the man clearly, as if he was looking at another person, not the imperfect view of himself in the distortion of a polished metal mirror or a reflection at the edge of a loch.
What did that mean? Who were these people?
The door opened, breaking his concentration.
Ailsa entered with a tray, the mouthwatering scent of rich meat stew reaching him immediately.
She set the tray on one of Maighread’s tables and beckoned him over.
“Come, eat. This will make ye feel better. Cook guarantees it.” The scent of the stew was all the invitation he needed, but Ailsa’s grin had him on his feet faster than he thought himself capable.
After he ate, Ailsa toweled his hair dry and combed it out, another pleasure but one that nearly put him to sleep. She stood with him and walked a few circuits of the chamber at his side.
“I’d take ye outside,” she said, “but I’d have to explain about ye to more of the clan.
They ken someone was carried in, but since ye ken so little about yerself, there’s been naught to share with anyone else.
Rumors are swirling though, as ye might imagine.
And another dozen lads and lasses saw ye today. ”
Anders wished he had more to tell her, enough that he could be seen with her without causing comment.
“Besides,” she continued, “if ye are seen walking about, Da may decide ye belong in the dungeon or out of Sinclair altogether. Maighread doesna think ye are ready for either. So, we’ll keep ye safe in the herbal as long as we can.”
Anders was grateful, but the prospect of spending long days ahead within these four walls was as unwelcome as the notion of being consigned to a cell in the dungeon.
Still, he saw the wisdom. He hadn’t recalled enough to be certain anything he said would not make his situation worse.
With Ailsa’s help, he had to believe he’d soon be himself again.
Whoever that was. Memories had come to him in his dreams, even day dreams he had to content himself with when he was left alone in the herbal.
With no clothes, he had no way to leave it until now, and there was a guard on the door at all times.
As grateful as he was for the care he’d been given, he wondered how long he could stand to remain here.
“Do ye recall where yer home is?”
“South, I think,” Anders told her as they made another circuit of the chamber, a frown of concentration revealing his struggle to dredge up memories.
“Nearly all of Scotland is south of here,” she chided, then smiled, letting him know she was teasing. “That’s a lot of countryside for ye to claim.”
“Mayhap I am the lost and forgotten king of Scotland.”
She snorted at that.
He looked out the open window at the low hills in the distance and the edge of a cliff and the water below it on the opposite side of the window’s view.
The light was turning golden, a sign that the long, late summer day was near its ending.
He turned his gaze back to her. “’Tis so beautiful here, I canna think why I would wish to leave. ”
He hoped his expression would tell her he wasn’t talking about the scenery.
Stellan and his men rode into the MacKay bailey in late morning.
The stable lads took their horses, freeing Stellan to collect the herb packets his men carried and take them to the MacKay healer, then search out Seamus.
He didn’t have to look far. Seamus walked into the herbal as Stellan was finishing with the healer.
“There ye are,” Seamus said by way of greeting and clapped him on the back. “I was told ye had arrived.”
The healer told Stellan, “We’re grateful for the supplies ye brought. I’ll get to work.” She stepped to one of her tables and began breaking the packets’ wax seals and dumping their contents into a large wooden bowl.
Stellan looked from her to Seamus. “Is Anders here?”
“Nay. Why would he be? Did he come with ye? And get separated from ye?”
Stellan frowned at that news. Seamus didn’t know about the race. He couldn’t. Stellan and his men had left the morning after Seamus’ courier had brought the news. The courier was still at Sutherland, as Mariota’s guest, or perhaps on his way home to MacKay.
Stellan noticed the healer’s interest, so he told both of them what her request had sparked, and that Anders had chosen to sail to MacKay.
“That’s daft,” Seamus exclaimed. “And bloody dangerous.”
The healer stopped what she was doing and joined them. “What happened on yer way that ye think he’d arrive first?”
“We were delayed by a mudslide after the storm two nights ago,” Stellan told them.
“We wouldha been here yesterday but we had to make our way around it. With good weather and favorable conditions in the Pentland Firth, Anders should have beaten us here. But perhaps they had to put in somewhere along the way because of the same storm that delayed us.”
Seamus’ expression turned serious. “We havena seen him yet.”
Where was Stellan’s twin? If only their boyhood connection was still strong.
But it wasn’t. It had become tenuous, strengthened only by extremes of emotion or danger.
He hadn’t felt Anders reaching out to him with a sense of peril.
That gave him some comfort. Perhaps they’d been delayed by the storm two nights ago and put into shore to wait it out.
If the seas were still too rough to attempt the Pentland Firth, waiting was their wisest course.
That, or turning for home, depending on Stellan and his riders to reach MacKay.
Not knowing rankled. Something Stellan couldn’t name told him there was trouble.
“Ye’ll stay for the night,” Seamus offered as he gestured for Stellan to precede him out of the herbal. “Have a few good meals and a night or two in a soft bed before ye return to Sutherland, aye? Perhaps tomorrow will see Anders’ birlinn arrive.”
Seamus’ offer made sense, and after nights of camping in the wind and rain, the idea of a night in a warm bed tempted Stellan.
His men deserved the same indulgence. But he couldn’t ignore the sensation in his gut of some nameless trouble tied to Anders.
“We’ll impose on ye for a meal and a change of horses,” Stellan agreed as they entered the great hall and the scent of roasting meat and watered ale hit his nostrils, making his stomach growl, “but I’ll feel better if we ride east along the coast and see if we can spot them. ”
“If ye go too far, ye’ll find yerself in Sinclair,” Seamus warned while gesturing him to a seat with the rest of his men and signaling for a meal to be brought to them.
“I ken it, but that border is more than a day’s ride away—nearly three to Sinclair’s Girnigoe Castle, aye? We’ll chance it. I dinna like that Anders is late.”
Seamus nodded. “I dinna recommend crossing the border into Sinclair.
The auld laird isna a friend of yers—or mine.
Or any of the northern clans, truth be told.
He looks to Orkney and the Norse rather than his closer neighbors.
While ye search, I'll send a man to Sutherland to tell yer da what ye are doing.”
Stellan almost told him not to, but if anything had gone wrong, their father would have to be told.
He’d be furious, and Mariota would be frantic without some news if he and his men didn’t return on time.
He’d promised to be back in her bed in a sennight or a wee more, but now he didn’t know when they would be able to return home.
“I appreciate the offer, Seamus. Da and Mariota will, too. Thank ye.”