Seventeen

Callum carried Maggie through the narrow passageway that led from outside the MacLean Castle wall into his solar, lit only by the candle Gavin carried in front of them. He carried her like a bairn, her head resting on his shoulder, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands supporting her under her arse. He was careful not to scrape Maggie’s knees on the stone wall and walked as softly as he could so as not to jar her. She was in enough pain already.

The ride from the hot springs had been hell and should have taken less than two days but ended up taking almost four. They had ridden off the common trails as much as possible and avoided any signs of people, lest they were attacked.

They’d managed to put her shoulder into place once she’d been able to sit up, but not without difficulty. It hadn’t been easy or pain-free, and she lost consciousness in Callum’s arms soon after they’d started manipulating the joint.

That had almost been a relief, and they were able to shove hard to fit the shoulder into its socket. Afterward, they’d braced her hand with sticks and linen strips around her fingers and wrapped her arm in a sling.

Upon finally reaching the castle, Callum had given Drustan and Gill strict instructions about putting the MacLeans on high alert and sent the others through the portcullis. Once they’d disappeared, he and Gavin had taken Maggie through the secret passage directly into the keep.

Her safety was paramount.

“We’re here,” Gavin said. “How do I open it?”

“’Tis like the one at Gregor’s between the kitchens and the storage shed, except the lever is at the bottom. Push slowly. A chest sits in front on the other side. ’Tis on a cloth, but I doona want the stone scraped.”

A second later, he heard a click, and the door swung open. The room beyond was cold and dark, left closed since Callum had traveled out with his men to meet Lachlan over two months ago. It had been a long two months. Both men had gotten married, and Lachlan had avenged his brother’s murder and ensured his wife’s protection. Callum prayed he could avenge his father’s murder soon too, and keep Maggie safe from the traitor in his home.

“Once Maggie’s attended to, we’ll need to plan,” Gavin said. “I’ll warm up the room.”

He went directly to the hearth and used his candle to light the kindling under the piled-up logs. They started to crackle.

Maggie lifted her head slowly from Callum’s shoulder. “Are we here?” she asked.

“Aye, love. We’re in my solar. Gavin’s just lighting the fire.” He leaned against the secret door until he heard it click and then pushed the chest back with his foot. He’d check it later to make sure nothing remained to give the entrance away.

“Can you get the door, Gavin? The key’s in my desk. Underneath where Gregor used to hide his key to keep us out of his uisge-beatha.”

Gavin grinned as he moved to the desk and crouched in front of it, using his fingers to feel for a ledge. “I’d forgotten about that. Lot of good it did him. I doona think he thought it through when he decided to take five boys on as fosters.”

“You were all terrors,” Maggie said. “I remember when you’d come to visit, and the five of you, plus John and Ross, would tear up the keep. Our old steward would run around behind you pulling out his hair. Followed by our housekeeper.”

It pleased Callum to hear the sleepy smile in her voice, and he squeezed her just a little tighter, rubbed his hand gently up and down her back. “You’ve misremembered, Wife, if you think it was just us boys running around. I remember you right there in the thick of things with the rest of us.”

Maggie laid her head on his shoulder. “Probably. I gave our steward and housekeeper many bald patches as well, I’m sure.”

“Found it,” Gavin said. He moved ahead of them to the door and opened it, then returned to the desk to replace the key.

Callum stepped into the dimly lit hallway with Maggie still in his arms. A stooped old man in a long nightshirt stood at the opposite end of the passage, holding a candle and looking concerned. He jumped when he saw them coming out of the solar.

“Laird MacLean?” he asked.

“Aye, Donald. I’m sorry we scared you.”

“For sure, my heart nearly jumped out of my throat. What’s going on? Men are moving around the bailey, and the torches are lit when only sinners should be awake. And who’s that with you?” he asked.

“Laird MacKinnon and Lady MacLean. We need a healer, Donald. She’s hurt.”

“Lady MacLean? Och, is it wee, wild Maggie MacDonnell?” Donald asked as they neared. “She’s always held a special place in my heart. I’d heard Laird MacKay married, but I didn’t know you had as well.”

Maggie lifted her head and smiled at the steward as they passed by. “Good evening to you, Donald. I remember you well, sir. You brought me some oat cookies to fill my belly after my tutor forbade me supper for failing to attend to my studies. I apologize for all the ruckus. ’Tis not my best introduction to Clan MacLean.”

“Doona worry about that, Lady MacLean. ’Tis good to finally have you here, no matter how you’ve arrived.”

“Call for the healer, Donald,” Callum said as he marched to his chamber, “then bring us some food and prepare our room and one for Laird MacKinnon. And we’ll all need water for baths. We are thick with dirt from the trail.”

“Aye, Laird,” Donald said as he hurried to do Callum’s bidding, and despite the late hour and the ruckus in the bailey, his footsteps were lively and his smile happy.

And why not? Clan MacLean finally had a lady in their castle—although Maggie wasn’t like any lady they’d ever seen. Callum had no doubt she’d win over every one of them just like she’d won over his men.

He pushed into his chamber and moved immediately to the bed. It still looked fresh and clean, despite the fact that he’d been gone for so long.

“Can you sit for a minute, love, while I pull back the covers?” he asked her.

“Nay, doona put me between the linens. On top is better. I need to bathe first, or we’ll have dirt throughout our bed.” She stilled, then looked up at him, her skin flushing red over her pale cheeks. “I meant to say, the bed. I doona know where you intend me to sleep.”

Gavin snorted from where he crouched in front of the fire. “Underneath him is my best bet, Maggie.”

Callum looked for something to throw at his foster brother, but he didn’t need to look long. Maggie took an acorn from her pocket and, using her good hand, nailed Gavin in the back of the head with it. Gavin yelped and loosed a string of curses, turning to glare at Callum, who grinned at him innocently.

“It wasn’t me,” he said.

Gavin glowered at Maggie as he rubbed his head. “Och, you’re as bad as all my other sisters-in-law. Amber would twist my stones off in her grip, and Caitlin would look so lovely and confused, like a baby deer, I’d want to drown myself in the loch for being mean to her. Hurry up and get better so I can throw something back at you next time.”

She lay on the pillow atop the quilt and closed her eyes. Callum leaned across her, grabbed the covers, and then pulled them over her. He could see sleep tugging her under, and when she spoke, her words were a bit slurred. “Just so you know, Gavin, I can look like a baby deer too. ’Tis part of my charm. And I’ll use it if you throw anything at me. Drowning yourself in the loch is up to you.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Donald entered, followed by several men who carried buckets of steaming water. They disappeared behind a screen in the corner where Callum’s tub sat. Several women followed after them with trays of food and drink.

They all gawked upon seeing Maggie sleeping soundly on the bed, excited expressions crossing their faces. They broke into a flurry of whispers, and Donald silenced them with a stern look. Aye, Maggie must be tired to sleep through this noise, and without a pain draught, either.

“Laird MacKinnon, I’ve prepared your room and bath across the hall. Would you prefer to eat in here with our laird or over there?” Donald asked.

“Neither.” Gavin swiped a full cup of mead from the tray and took it with him as he walked to the door. “I’ll bathe first and then eat in the laird’s solar.” He looked at Callum. “You’ll join me after the healer’s gone? There’s still much to do.”

“As soon as she’s been tended and is sleeping comfortably.”

He nodded and left, just as the healer, Flora, a kind woman with graying hair and smiling eyes, hurried in with her satchel of tools and herbs. She looked at Maggie. “Well, would you look a’ that. As lovely as a wee lamb and so brave too, if what the men are saying is true.” She moved to the bedside and sat down, patting Callum’s shoulder along the way like he was no bigger than a lad. “Wake up, lassie. Let’s take a look at you so we can get you back to tossing daggers and protecting our laird. ’Tis good to have a smart warrior woman like you leading our clan. Just like our ancestors of old.”

Maggie’s eyes opened slowly, and she smiled at Flora as if she’d just found a long-lost friend, then promptly burst into tears.

“Aye, cry it out, love,” the healer said. “You’re safe here now, home with all the MacLeans.” She’d managed to unwrap Maggie’s many layers with barely a nudge to her body, and Maggie lay on the quilt in just her thin shift, her flood of tears quickly gone. And Callum stood there, helpless to do anything.

He gasped when Flora pulled Maggie’s shift aside and he saw the extent of her injury. The whole side of her body and arm was black and blue, some spots already turning green.

He knelt at her head and stroked his hand over her hair. “Ah, Maggie, love. I knew you were hurt, but I had no idea it was this bad.”

“I’m going to check your head and the rest of your body first, Lady MacLean, then we’ll give you a pain draught and set your hand. With luck, you’ll be back to saving our laird in no time.”

* * *

Callum walked down the passageway toward his solar. Two agonizing hours had passed while Flora worked. He’d watched her examine his wife, then massage Maggie’s shoulder to aid healing in the joint. That in itself had Maggie in tears, even though she never cried out. He’d had to hold Maggie down as Flora had worked through Maggie’s hand from the heel of her palm to the tip of every finger, trying to realign every tiny bone and loosen up the hand, which had Maggie both in tears and crying out.

Pushing open the solar door, he found a tired-looking Gavin sitting at the desk. Drustan sat opposite him, looking like a ghost of himself—pale skin, dark-rimmed eyes, hollow-cheeked.

The same way he looked, Callum supposed. How they all looked after the last ten days.

But he couldn’t repress a shiver as he remembered Drustan calling out to Maggie, thinking in that moment that she was his dead wife, Abigail…and the tormented look in his eyes when he’d returned to reality.

Drustan had always been so stoic. And now Callum had seen him crack. His heart broke for his friend, for what he’d gone through, but at the same time, it made his gut clench whenever he thought of Drustan near Maggie.

Nay, it wasn’t fair of him to think that way. Drustan had survived a crushing blow that Callum couldn’t fathom—losing his wife. He would show his friend some support rather than condemning him, and he squeezed Drustan’s shoulder before he sat down in a chair opposite the desk.

“Is she sleeping?” Gavin asked. “We heard her cry out a few times.”

“Aye. She wouldnae take the full pain draught until the very end.” He shook his head. “Stubborn woman.”

Drustan nodded. “The best ones always are.”

“So that’s why your eye is twitching and a muscle is jumping in your jaw,” Gavin said.

Callum rubbed his finger and thumb over his eyes, then his palm over his jaw. “More than likely. Although having a traitor in our midst and being attacked by more than twenty brigands on my own land is enough to do it too.”

Gavin grunted in agreement as Drustan nodded.

“What do we know so far?” Callum asked.

“No rider arrived from the outpost after the pyre was lit,” Drustan said. “We’ve sent thirty men to investigate. Either they ne’er saw the fire, or the outpost was attacked and everyone killed, or the rider the outpost sent to alert the castle was killed before he arrived.”

“The last option is the most likely,” Gavin added, “but we decided it would be best to send more men just in case. And then they can join in the sweep of the farms and countryside looking for traces of the enemy. There may have been more than just those men who attacked us. If naught else, maybe we can track where they came from and bring relief to the MacLeans they may have hurt—or killed—during their stay.”

“Agreed,” Callum said. He looked at the pile of sealed letters in front of Gavin on the desk. “You’ve written to Gregor and the lads?”

“Aye. I told them to come here, no matter if they’re at Maggie’s castle already. I suggested they leave half the troops there, but to make sure they have enough men with them to fight off any ambush. We need to discuss what was written in the parchments. It’s related to the group who attacked us, I think. Most importantly, we need to identify the enemy. Only then can we understand their motive and what their next step might be.”

“’Tis obvious they want to stay hidden. We need to unearth them,” Drustan said.

“And the traitor in our clan, along with the man who killed my father.”

“Discover the identity of one, and you may discover the identity of the other. You’ll have your justice, Brother,” Gavin said.

Silence fell, each man lost in his own thoughts, before Drustan cleared his throat. “Was there anything else, Laird? I must confess I canna stay upright any longer.”

“Aye, Drustan. Take some time for yourself tomorrow. And Finn, Gill, and Artair too. We all need time to rest and recover.”

“I will. I’m…not feeling myself lately. A few days will be all I’ll need.” He smiled at them as he rose to leave, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

When the door was firmly shut behind Drustan, Gavin caught Callum’s gaze. “He needs more than a few days. Is he ill? What ails him?”

Callum shrugged, feeling protective of Drustan even though he’d wondered the same thing. “I thought you would recognize it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think he’s grieving.”

“Grieving whom?”

“His wife.”

Gavin’s eyebrows shot up. “She must have died o’er twenty years ago?”

“Aye, but…” For some reason, he didn’t want to tell Gavin what Drustan had said after Maggie was hurt. “I think Maggie reminds him of her. It’s become fresh in his mind…his heart.”

Gavin’s eyes filled with understanding, with pity and regret. He raised his hand and rubbed his palm over his badly shorn hair. “Say no more. I know the feeling well.”

Callum sighed heavily, tired beyond measure now, and wished he hadn’t brought up Gavin’s loss. “I do as well, but certainly not to the extent that you and Drustan do. To lose a child as you did or a beloved wife like Drustan did is a tragedy beyond compare. My father had his flaws and lacked judgment in many areas of his life, but he always loved me well. My childhood, even before I was sent to live with the four of you, was happy.”

“Aye, mine too. ’Tis what I had hoped for Ewan, and then his mother had rejected him even before he was born. Now…” His voice broke, and this time, when he rubbed his palm over his hair, he grasped it and pulled it roughly away from his scalp, making Callum wonder if that was why he’d shorn it in the first place. “’Tis the unknowing. He’s alive, I feel it. But is he loved? Is he safe? I willna know until I find him…and then I will kill whoever kept him from me.”

They sat quietly for a moment before Gavin gathered up the letters he’d written and rose from the desk with the candle. “We should sleep,” he said. “’Twill be another long day tomorrow.”

“Aye.” But Callum knew Gavin would work through most of the night, as he always did. Sleep brought him no relief.

Callum trailed Gavin to the door and locked the solar behind them. He slipped the key in his sporran and followed his foster brother to their rooms, where two warriors—men Callum knew well and trusted—guarded his wife. At the door to his chamber, he paused. Without looking at Gavin, he said, “’Tis time we finish this, Brother. You need your son with you, and I need my wife safe.”

“Aye, Brother,” Gavin responded. He sounded bleak, as if he was now doubting that he’d ever find his son. “’Tis time.”

Callum pushed open the door and slid the bar across behind him, taking no chances. He stripped down to his clean shift as he approached Maggie, asleep in the middle of his…their bed. After tossing his clothes across a chair, he pulled off his boots and socks. Drawing back the covers, he crawled in beside her, thankful she’d hurt the opposite side.

He slipped his arm underneath her neck, and when she didn’t seem to be in pain, he edged even closer to fit her snugly beside him. His body stirred, feeling her softness and warmth. She looked so beautiful in the firelight that his heart hurt. He let his mind wander back to their time together at the hot springs. Someday, when the dangers to her and his clan were over, he’d return with her to the pools and do all the other things he’d wanted to do to her in the water.

For now, he could wait. Aye, his wife was on his land, in his home, and in his bed. Life was good. Once she was healed and the traitor in his clan found, they had a whole lifetime for tupping.

If he could just keep her alive until then.