Chapter 15
In contrast to the previous night, Kirsten had a deep and restful sleep.
Her dreams were so peaceful that she did not remember what they were about.
She rose with a yawn and a long stretch of her arms and back.
The blanket fell away from her body as she rose, and she looked over at her husband, smiling.
Desire flared in her body. She wanted to share in the delights of passion again and hoped that he had recovered well enough from battle that he could rouse his desire.
She placed a hand on his chest and idly stroked his chest hair, dragging the tips of her fingers up and down the middle of his chest. She leaned down and whispered sweet nothings in his ear before planting soft kisses down his neck, moving towards his cheek, and finally brushing her lips against his.
She expected to feel a murmur of arousal and a hand wrapping around her body, ready to pull her close, but he continued to lie still. Warm breath slipped through his lips, but he would not wake. Kirsten pressed her hand more firmly against his chest, but still, he did not come to consciousness.
“Marcas,” she said, softly at first, but then she repeated it, her voice rising in volume and worry every time she spoke his name.
She took hold of both his shoulders and shook his body in an effort to rouse him, but nothing seemed to work.
Her hands roamed around his body, inspecting the cuts and bruises that peppered him, but none of them seemed to be anything more than a cosmetic wound.
She placed a hand upon his head to check his temperature, but didn’t even feel a clammy sheen of sweat.
He should have been able to wake up, but it was as though he was lost in sleep.
Had something else happened in battle? Had this blow from a mace somehow hurt his innards?
Kirsten had no idea what was going on. She shook him even more vigorously, and then did the only thing she had left to do.
She cried for help.
Her voice was shrill and trembled with worry.
She cried for help over and over again until the doors burst open and burly guards rushed in, their bodies primed for battle, their weapons drawn, ready to defend their laird and lady, but no weapon could help them with this.
As soon as the door opened, Max rushed in along with them, a blur of dark fur.
He whimpered as he jumped on the bed and started to lick Marcas’s face frantically, as though that would be enough to wake his master.
When Max realized that wasn’t working, he slumped down, depressed, beside Marcas.
Kirsten watched this and thought back to the previous night when Max had been so agitated.
“Ye knew something was wrong, and I didnae listen.” Her voice cracked with emotion as she placed her hand on Max’s head and ruffled his fur.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook her head.
The guards looked at her expectantly. “He wilnae wake up,” she said in a trembling voice.
She did not take her eyes off her husband.
One of the guards ran from the room immediately, and word soon spread throughout the castle.
It only took moments for Roderick, Moira, and a healer to enter the room.
Roderick and Moira looked devastated. Roderick’s face was drawn, and there was a stern, flinty look in his eyes.
Moira looked much like Kirsten did. Her eyes glistened with tears, and the fear was plain on her face.
She groaned when she saw Marcas and rushed to his side.
“What happened?” Moira asked.
“I dinnae know! He just wouldnae wake. He said he was tired and he fell asleep…and he wilnae wake. I hae tried everything!”
“Let me hae a look at him,” the healer said.
She was an old woman with a hunched back and gnarled fingers.
She carried a pouch that was slung over her shoulder.
She smelled like the forest, all flowers and herbs.
Her hair was white and hung from her scalp like webs.
Her skin was wrinkled, but her beady eyes were active and inquisitive.
“Now, give me some room tae work,” she said.
Moira moved away, but Kirsten hesitated.
The healer looked at her and spoke gently.
“Even ye, my lady.” Kirsten nodded and felt her hand being tugged away by Moira.
“And ye tae,” the healer said, directed at Max.
Max looked up at her and then jumped off the bed, dropping to the floor as close to his master as he could be.
The guards formed a barrier outside the door so nobody could peek in, while two remained by his bed.
Roderick stood beside the door, his body tense.
Moira pulled Kirsten to the side of the room and clung to her desperately.
“What happened? What could hae done this?” Moira whispered.
“I dinnae know. His wounds…he said he was fine. Maybe he was wrong.”
“He’s still breathing, though. That haes tae be a good thing, yes?”
“Aye, but if he cannae wake…what good is breathing if he cannae wake up?” Kirsten voiced her fear. Moira didn’t have an answer for her. The young women supported each other. Kirsten could feel how Moira trembled.
“It’s just like before. I cannae lose anyone else,” Moira whispered, her gentle voice so heavy with dread.
Kirsten’s heart went out to her. She, too, knew the fear of losing someone.
The thought of becoming a widow before she had even mastered becoming a wife was abhorrent to her.
All the plans she had made in her mind, the future she had dreamed for herself and Marcas, would all be for naught if he died now.
She didn’t know how she would be able to cope with that.
It shouldn’t have been this way. She had just begun to get through to him, to make a connection with him, and now he might well die.
“I failed him, Moira. It’s my fault,” Kirsten said. “I’m a horrible wife.”
“What? Ye cannae say that. How could ye hae known?”
Kirsten turned her face towards Moira and spoke the terrible truth that plagued her.
“Max knew. Last night he was pawing and whimpering as though something was wrong. Somehow he could tell that Marcas was nae well, but we didnae listen. We put him outside, and I just ignored him.” Kirsten raised her hand to her mouth. Moira grabbed it and held it firmly.
“Ye couldnae know. And Marcas didnae know either. Let’s just hope and pray that there is a way back for him.”
They looked at the healer. She was hunched over Marcas’s prone body, inspecting him and sniffing him.
Kirsten did not know the ways of nature or medicine, so the things the healer did were strange to her, but she did not question the old woman.
A healer was one of the most respected positions in any clan.
Their methods were passed down from generation to generation, an ancient wisdom that could not be denied or ignored.
Kirsten looked at Roderick and wondered what was going through his mind.
He had already seen some of his family pass before his time.
The Monroe name was one of the most prestigious in the land, but at this moment, it seemed to be cursed.
She was glad of his presence, though. If the worst happened, he would know what to do. At least she could rely on him.
The moments before the healer spoke were fraught with tension.
All Kirsten wanted was for her to turn around and say that he was in a deep sleep because he was so exhausted from his efforts in battle.
Kirsten could have coped with being seen as a fool if it meant that Marcas was well.
But when the healer turned around to address the room, Kirsten could tell that it was bad news.
Somewhere in her heart, she knew something was terribly wrong.
“I’m afraid our laird hae been poisoned,” she said in a soft voice, but the words she spoke were not soft at all.
They stabbed at Kirsten’s heart, and the strength fled from her knees.
She buckled and only managed to steady herself on the table.
Her head bowed, and a gasp rushed from her mouth.
Moira let out a sob. Roderick frowned, and the guards muttered to each other.
History was repeating itself. On a day so close to the anniversary of his mother’s death, Marcas had been poisoned too, and it was all Kirsten’s fault because she hadn’t listened to Max.
Guilt plagued her and forced her mind into a senseless swirl of chaos.
All she could think about was how Max had tried to warn them but they hadn’t listened.
They had just shoved him outside. How could she dare call herself his wife when the dog could take better care of Marcas than she ever could?