Chapter Twelve
She shouldn’t be here, not at this time of day.
Now was the time she should have stayed by Hamish’s side, but Hamish slept as if dead.
When she checked on Paiden, saw that he remained the same and that Beth was taking care of him, Ailsa knew she couldn’t just hide inside the room. Something had to be done.
That something led her to these rooms down below the keep.
Mostly they were open spaces: coffers made empty by Hamish’s poor choices, a few stocked with wine for celebrations only and then this room...
the one worth any value at all. Shelves upon shelves of scrolls and journals.
Costly items and for years it had been suggested they be moved to the chapel.
Hamish, greedy man that he was, insisted they be kept under his domain.
They were worthless in trade, but a source of vain pride.
For her, they were priceless. In here were kept all the healers’ journals; Rhona’s was the thickest and most worn. The journal should be in her rooms, but even knowing it could mean life or death if a cure was not found quick enough, Hamish had declined her possession.
He’d announced it was done to protect the knowledge, but she knew he did it to retain power over her as he did to everyone, but for her, she believed it was personal.
Hamish had never married, never conceived or at least none outside of Rhona’s story.
Because of that and her father’s ancestry, it had been expected for her father to become Tanist, even as it was expected that his issue would rule.
Though she was a woman, she was the healer and had retained her own influence with the clan.
Though her purpose was pure, Hamish never saw good in anything or anyone.
Therefore, to show she was lesser than him, he had decreed that she request his permission to enter this room. Permission that couldn’t be granted now. So she had taken his keys and left him in the care of another.
She had the Chief’s keys. Just that alone could earn her punishment. That she left him not in her care as he ordered could earn her death.
But she’d had to come here; there were too many truths needing discovery. She needed to investigate Hamish’s and Paiden’s symptoms, find what could have caused their illness. If it was poison, they should both have died or recovered by now.
Nothing she knew of caused this constant continual sleep. Nothing she knew of caused any sleep like this unless it was taken in massive doses. If that occurred, Paiden or Hamish would have noticed the taste.
Unless...unless they continued to ingest the poison, but how?
And if that was the case, wouldn’t she have noticed it by now?
So either the means of poison was just under her nose and she’d forgotten or it was something she’d never come across before.
Whatever the poisoner gave, if there was a cure to be found, it would be here.
Which led to the next troubling thought. Who would attempt to murder her husband’s friend and the Chief? There was no connection between a Lochmore and a McCrieff who did not know each other.
Having nodded to the guards in the courtyard, Ailsa quietly closed the door.
The first obstacle had been met because they assumed she had the right to be here.
The second obstacle for today was privacy.
An open door would make the room more comfortable with light and fresh warm air, but she couldn’t risk it.
She needed to be left alone for there was more than herbal remedies and tinctures in this room. Here was the reason the chapel wanted possession of the documents: here were official clan announcements, including important births.
She shouldn’t look, didn’t have the right. If what she guessed was correct, what would it prove?
If such a thing had occurred, she couldn’t imagine it being written down.
Though if Hamish had had a child, it would be claimed because Hamish never wanted her father to rule.
If the child was born secretly, then the mother hadn’t claimed Hamish as the father.
Thus, again, there would be no point in writing the birthing down, let alone that the child was given away.
Still, she needed to see. Too much depended upon Rory’s lineage not to.
Ailsa reached for the first flat satchel containing various parchments and unwound the package. Inside was a bound cartulary regarding the building and upkeep of McCrieff Castle. She carefully placed it back on the shelf.
She grabbed the one next to it—this book was on the parish. That, too, she returned. Her eyes roved the shelves. There were other satchels, some bulky, most likely containing scrolls versus books.
None of it was in order. Church lists, with flecks of brittle parchment in pieces too small to read.
Still precious enough that she didn’t dare just toss it to the side.
She could ask for help. There were others here who knew the documents, could probably guess by sight which she needed, but she felt this was something she needed to do herself.
Hours later and Ailsa stretched her arms and back.
She’d stopped long ago placing the cartularies back on the shelves.
At one point, she thought she’d organise it.
Now the room was untidy. Some books hadn’t made it back to the satchels, nor some scrolls, and she stood back and surveyed the room.
As the time crept on, she’d become impatient.
To think to organise it was madness. For now she was tired and carnage laid at her feet.
She was also no closer to the truth. She’d hoped that she could discover something of import on her own.
There was a part of her that purposefully felt she’d been kept in the dark.
Her father overly protective, Hamish controlling, Rhona reluctantly sharing her remedies and hiding secrets until her deathbed.
The records of her birth she found, as for—
‘I thought you’d be in Hamish’s room,’ Rory said.
Ailsa started at the sound of his voice and the closing of the door. She turned to face him. ‘I left.’
Gazing roughly around the room, Rory stepped forward.
She raised her hand. ‘Wait. The documents are scattered.’
‘I can see that. Why?’
‘I was...organising records.’
He’d changed since she saw him last. His clothes different, his hair a bit damp, but it wasn’t simply his physical appearance.
He’d strode from their bedroom full of outrage. She’d expected Rory to return within moments with something from the kitchens and news of a confrontation with her father. Instead, hours later there was a predatory stillness about him.
Shadows played havoc here and she shouldn’t be able to see everything about him so clearly, yet she did.
His dark brown hair was loose and framed his unshaven jaw.
The bristles there darkening and casting him further in shadows.
His eyes just a shade lighter held some burning emotion that shifted too quickly for her to discern.
She wanted to say frustration, but it was held back, simmering too hotly for that emotion.
Nothing of this moment could she fully understand. All she knew with certainty was that he sought her out and found her here...alone.
‘Did you find my father?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t get you food.’
‘I didn’t expect you to.’ She swallowed. ‘Did he have much to say?’
‘What makes you believe I found him.’
That stopped her. ‘You said you’d find him. There’s been some time since then, so I thought perhaps you had.’
‘And you believe I’d do as I’d say?’
What was going on here? So much more under the surface with this man, but what, she didn’t know.
She’d wed him though they approached their marriage differently.
She, trying to protect her people; he, trying to secure the lands owed to his clan.
Then she’d laid with him, bared her body and he had rejected her.
They were strangers with mistrust between them, but still she’d undressed before him, still allowed him in her bed. Accepted his kisses, his touch...and the way he touched. Yet now, she couldn’t understand what he meant then by ‘This is what was meant to be’?
She had never felt such pleasure before, had never allowed herself such vulnerability and exposed her very soul to him.
When he had said those words, had he meant that what she felt, what she perceived they both felt, that was how it was truly meant to be between husband and wife?
Or had he known in that moment he would deny their marriage?
‘Do I believe you’d do as you’d say?’ she said. ‘Within reason.’
His brows drew in. ‘I always do as I say.’
‘You brought me no food and, though vows were exchanged, we aren’t married,’ she said and quickly wished she hadn’t. They weren’t here for that. They weren’t here for anything. Except they said words before her clan and he had never meant them.
‘I met your sisters.’ Rory took another step. This room was meant for papers and perhaps a few people inside, but Rory was so large just that slight step further into the room made it seem so much smaller.
‘How are they?’ she asked.
He reached down and picked up a single parchment, laid it back. Picked up another, then let it fall to the ground. ‘They’re alive and well, if that is what you ask. I think you and your father do not credit them enough with intelligence. I found them rather interesting.’
Suddenly needing more room, Ailsa stepped back.
Rory noted her movement and raised a brow.
What had happened between this morning and now?
Exhaustion had blurred her earlier indignation and anger, but she was still shamed and he was still in the wrong.
Now she felt as if he set a trap and she merely needed to set foot in it.
If he had originally approached her like this, she would never have agreed to marrying him.
‘They are interesting and quite opinionated.’
‘Where is your mother?’
She thought he’d know some of the clan’s interests, but then, when had there been time? ‘Dead. She died giving birth to them.’