Eighteen

Maggie roused from sleep slowly, the sound of birds singing outside the window and Callum breathing softly in her ear bringing her to awareness. Everything still hurt, which she found most annoying, as she’d been in bed, sleeping on and off, for over two weeks. Shouldn’t she be healed by now? Maybe she would be if Flora didn’t keep coming in twice a day and massaging her shoulder and hand, manipulating every joint and muscle before placing the hand in freezing water.

Gah! She hated being an invalid. At least the pain and dizziness in her head and queasiness in her stomach had abated. She’d even managed to eat half her evening meal last night.

Her memories of the ride from the hot springs were a blur of pain and fear—fear that she’d slow the men down and they’d be attacked, that Callum would try to fight while holding her and he’d be killed, that they’d be hiding from the enemy, she would cry out from the pain, and they’d be found. The thoughts kept running riot in her head, mixed up with a haze of pain and sickness.

It had been torturous, nearly as bad as when her mother had been mortally injured falling into the old well. She’d died slowly, painfully, as Maggie, just seven years old, had crouched fearfully beside her in the dark, calling out for help until her voice was hoarse. Finally, her father and brothers had come, but her mother hadn’t made it.

Her father had never been the same.

Even now, Maggie felt that same wave of guilt, regret, and shame well up from her belly. She’d been told many times not to go near the old well, but she’d done it anyway, chasing that beautiful butterfly. She’d never seen one that bright an orange before.

She bit her lip and tried to contain the sob that wanted to burst from her throat, trying to stay silent, to push the feelings away. What was the matter with her lately? She’d lost all control of her emotions. When she and Callum had been making love, she’d been almost frantic, not knowing what to do with the way she was feeling. He’d calmed her, said it was because she felt vulnerable.

Bah! She’d had enough of that. She needed to find her weapons and take charge of her life. Irvin might have run her out of her old home, but she refused to let the traitor in Callum’s clan run her out of her new one.

Gritting her teeth, she edged slowly and silently out of the bed so as not to wake her husband. She stopped to look at him—a beautiful, warrior angel—and felt that fluttering in her chest. Like a bird was trapped inside. With a clarity she’d never known before, she knew she would do anything for him. She would put herself in any kind of danger to save him, even though he wanted to be the one saving her.

She’d start by scouting his castle, planning their escape routes, and planting her weapons. Then she’d find the bloody traitor in their midst. If Callum was right and she’d soon be surrounded by red-headed bairns, she would not abide any threat to them. She just had to look in the places Callum had missed.

She pushed herself up slowly, her arm still in a sling to keep her hand protected and to ease the strain on her shoulder. At least her breath came easier, a sign her ribs were healing, and now that she was up, she realized her shoulder felt better too.

Maybe she wouldn’t stick her knife in Flora the next time the healer touched her. Not that she’d have done it anyway, of course. For some reason, Flora felt like home. Similar to how Callum felt, but different.

Spotting her daggers on the bedside table, she picked up all four of them, wondering where her fourth had come from. She hadn’t seen it since she’d embedded it in one of the wolves that had attacked her. Maybe one of the other men had had it all along.

Hobbling like an old woman, she stepped behind the screen in the corner and used the clean chamber pot as quickly as she could—which wasn’t very quick. If it wasn’t for the fact that she didn’t want Callum to find her squatting there, she might have just stayed. Instead, she took a deep breath and forced herself to stand. When she finally straightened and the pain subsided, she looked longingly at the empty tub.

But she had work to do first.

Crossing to the middle of the room, she looked around Callum’s—their—bedchamber. It was a large, richly furnished room, but it felt as though the fine quilts, intricate woodwork, soft woolen carpet under her feet, and beautiful tapestries on the wall were an afterthought. The room looked lived-in—Callum’s worn-in boots lay carelessly on the rug, and his plaid was draped where he’d tossed it over one of the chairs in front of the hearth. His sword was propped up by the side of the bed, and his daggers took over the table next to it, pushing the finely wrought candleholders and cups to the side.

Even the tapestries on the walls weren’t spared. His saddlebag lay against one of them, pushing it askew.

Aye, he was not a man who put much stock in fine things. Unless maybe they were books. She always remembered Callum in his younger years having a book or parchment of some kind in his possession and taking good care of it.

She looked at the door. That would be the first obvious point of entry for an attack. Where would be the best place to hide daggers to defend Callum and herself if the need arose? She gazed around the room and hobbled to the closest tapestry, lifted it away from the wall, but a sword was already hidden behind it. She looked behind the next tapestry and found two more daggers. Where hadn’t Callum hid weapons?

She crossed to the hearth. If she found some there, she was going to replace his with hers. Aye, one was behind a bowl on the mantel. But had he thought to hide any down low? Or under the chair? Surely she could find a way to secure a weapon under the wooden chair.

She braced her good arm against the stone mantel and tried to lower herself to her knees. About halfway there, her ribs pulled, and she had to let go of the mantel, crying out in pain as she tumbled to the floor.

“Maggie!” Callum yelled, jumping from the bed and racing to her side. He gently helped her into a sitting position. “For the love of Christ, lass. What are you doing?”

“I would think that was obvious, Callum MacLean.”

“You’re lying on the floor, writhing in pain, when you should be in bed, sleeping. How is there anything obvious about that, Maggie MacLean?”

“My daggers,” she said, indicating the four knives scattered on the floor around her. “I was hiding some of them to be safe, but you used up all my spots. So I was checking to see if you’d hidden any in the hearth or under the chair. Men never think to look down low, but if someone has you trapped under them, you willna be able to reach the mantel.”

Callum stared at her, a twitch in his right eyelid and a muscle jumping in his jaw. Apparently, he agreed with the necessity of hiding weapons down low.

He gathered her in his arms, mouth tight as if he was stopping himself from saying something. After carefully lifting her, he walked to the bed and laid her down. Maggie almost groaned in relief, but she didn’t want him to know how much she’d needed his help.

Aye, she was a daft woman.

He sat beside her and clasped her uninjured hand. “Maggie, you doona need to worry about hiding daggers because I’ll—”

“And escape routes,” she interrupted.

“What?”

“Escape routes. I was going to look for them next.” She held her breath and found she was actually enjoying herself, despite the ache in her ribs and hand. She wondered how long Callum could keep calm, and what she could say next to make his eyelid twitch.

He blew out a loud breath and then said something she could barely hear, cursing most likely.

“I willna convince you to let me protect you, will I?”

“Callum, why would I do that? Aren’t you happy to know that I have the ability to protect you? And someday possibly our bairns? I know I froze at the hot springs, but you said you could work on that with me. And if you do, I promise to work on your aim with you.” She kept her face innocent, knowing he’d catch on to what she’d said, to the two different ways her words could be interpreted.

His gaze jumped to hers, so quick and alert. It made her want to sigh and invite him between her legs, to start practicing right then despite her pain.

He leaned forward and bit her neck in retaliation, then trailed his lips upward to suck her earlobe into his mouth and nip it too. “Aye, we’ll be working on my aim, Maggie. We’d start now if not for your injuries. You’ve already done enough damage to yourself this morning.”

She lifted her good arm to pull him closer, but he clasped her hand and drew it to his mouth for a kiss before rising from the bed and retrieving her daggers. “So you want one hid in the hearth and one under the chair?”

And there she went again, wanting to cry. Because he’d put his own feelings aside and supported hers.

She nodded, unable to get words past her tight throat. Then she forgot about anything else but her husband in front of her as he leaned down on his hands and knees, head in the fireplace, and pointed his barely covered arse toward her.

Her eyes widened, especially when his shift rose up and she saw those heavy stones of his hanging down. An excited gasp escaped her lips.

“Quit staring at my arse, Maggie,” he grumbled.

“Then quit waving it in my direction, you daft man.”

He grunted but continued to work in the fireplace, and she continued to stare, wanting so badly to rise from her sickbed and cup those twin, muscular globes. Then slide her hand down and squeeze the other twin globes between them.

The idea filled her with yearning, her blood drumming in her veins, the softest parts of her swelling as heat and wetness gathered between her legs. She raised her hand to her mouth and bit down on her thumb so she wouldn’t moan aloud. It was most unfair that she was finally married to Callum and she could do nothing to slake her need for him.

Well, she could do that. Her hand slid down her body of its own accord, then stopped when he suddenly backed out of the hearth, minus one dagger, and sat back on his heels. “It’s near the front on the left side. Are you sure you want it inside the hearth? If the fire is burning, the metal will heat and burn your hand when you grab it.”

“I’d rather my hand be burned than be dead. Or you dead.”

He scowled, then grabbed one of the intricately designed chairs and flipped it upside down. After a second, he jammed her second dagger into the wood so it lay flush against the seat.

“Use this one instead, if anything happens—not that it bloody well will. Still, I’ll bring the mason in tomorrow and have him craft some hiding spots on the hearth down below. ’Tis a good idea. I should have thought of it.”

“See?” she said, a smile splitting her face.

He grunted, then scanned the chamber as if taking an inventory of all the hidden weapons and hiding places in the room. “Anything else?” he asked, his back to her.

“Aye, a rope. Long and sturdy enough to climb out the window. We’ll store it under the bed. In fact, have one made for every room above the second floor, just in case.”

His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t say no. “I’ll see what we have in storage. Anything else?” He glowered at her over his shoulder. “And it better not be a crossbow, rope, or pulley.”

She’d thought about all the things she’d wanted over the years. It was exciting to think that she could just ask for something and it would appear. At Clan MacDonnell, she’d had to keep everything a secret for so long. “I’ve always wanted a net. A big, sturdy one.”

He spun around, a look of incredulity on his face. “Maggie MacLean, you’ve lost your bloody mind. What in heaven would you do with a net?”

“I doona know exactly, but I’m sure I could drop it on someone. Or maybe jump into it if I had need.” He looked like he was going to refuse her, and she said, “’Tis customary to give your wife a gift when you marry, is it not?”

He threw his hands in the air. “And that’s what you want? Not jewels or fine clothes or even land? You want a big net?”

“Aye.”

He looked heavenward and muttered under his breath before shaking his head and reaching for his plaid. “You shall have your net, Maggie MacLean. My wedding gift to you. And it will be the biggest bloody net you’ve e’er seen.”

* * *

Maggie groaned in pain, her chin raised, her head pressed against the wall as Flora massaged upward from the heel of Maggie’s hand and over her little finger to the very tip—the last digit to be so manipulated. For today at least.

“All done,” Flora said as she reached for a pail of cold water on the floor—freshly drawn from the well and delivered only minutes ago by one of the maids, who was now busy filling Maggie’s tub behind the wooden screen with hot, steaming water.

Maggie relaxed against the pillows propped up behind her and lifted her hand into the pail, which Flora had placed on the quilts. The cold water stung, and she grimaced, but she knew from experience the soaking took the swelling down and relieved her pain for a good, long while—without the use of herbs. Flora also said it quickened the healing.

“How’s your stomach?” the healer asked as she prodded Maggie’s shoulder, which no longer hurt.

“It’s good. The sickness has abated, and the headaches and dizziness have passed. I could have eaten two of everything they brought me for breakfast this morning.”

“That’s good news. A serious head injury can cause lasting damage.”

“And my hand?”

Flora smiled in that tender, understanding way that made Maggie want to curl up in her lap like a bairn. “A full recovery. Your ribs and shoulder too. You’ll be back to tossing daggers and protecting the clan in no time, Lady MacLean.”

A relieved sigh escaped Maggie’s lungs. “All thanks to you, Flora. As much as I’ve hated your treatment at times, I can see and feel afterward how it’s helped.” She wriggled her hand in the water and slowly stretched out her fingers. “And please, doona call me Lady MacLean—at least not in private. It’s Maggie.”

“Aye, thank you, Maggie. I will.” She rubbed her knuckles down Maggie’s cheek. “You remind me of my own daughter. All that fire and passion in your heart and clarity and creativity in your mind. I can only imagine how you must miss your own mother at a time like this. I know she died years ago, but I can tell that she loved you well.”

Emotion rushed upward from Maggie’s chest at the unexpected words, said so gently and lovingly. She pressed her fingers to her mouth to contain the sob, but it was too strong and broke free anyway. Her eyes flooded with tears, and they ran down her face.

“Och, lass. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Maggie lowered her hand and squeezed Flora’s. “Nay. ’Tis all right.” She blew out a breath and tried to smile. “I…I do miss her, even though it was so long ago. She held our family together. Everything slowly unraveled when she left. First my da, then my brothers. It hasn’t been easy.”

“She didn’t leave you, Maggie,” Flora said with just a hint of chastisement. “She died. Believe me, if she could have stayed, she would have. There is no stronger, no more protective love than that of a mother for her child. Someday you’ll find that out. Soon, I hope.”

The tears welled again, and this time Maggie didn’t raise her hand to cover the trembling of her mouth. “Aye, she died…because of me.”

“Nay, not because of you. Because you were her child, a piece of her heart and soul, and it was her right and duty to protect you. Doona take that away from her.”

“But if I hadn’t been—”

“Nay, Maggie. You were a child, doing childish things—exactly as you were supposed to do. And she was your mother, doing everything she was supposed to do as your mother. Everything you will do one day for your child. It was an unfortunate accident, but no one was to blame. Forgive her, Maggie. And forgive yourself.”

Maggie nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Aye, you will. And in the meantime, I will tell you all the dangerous things my children did that almost got themselves killed—and me too as I tried to save them. And all the stories of the other children I treated, and their parents—some who survived, some who didn’t—and you will come to understand that carelessness and disobedience is part of childhood, and rushing to the rescue is part of parenthood. It is a miracle most of us survived.”

Maggie snuffled and laughed at the same time. “Maybe I doona want to be a mother after all. Certainly not if they take after me.”

“Aye, I’m afraid our laird will be assigning numerous guards to each child, and they’ll still get into trouble.”

A knock sounded at the door before one of the maids rushed into the chamber. She bobbed a curtsy to Maggie before turning to Flora. “There’s been an accident in the stable, Flora. One of the grooms was thrown from a horse. They need you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The maid ran from the room, and Flora hurriedly packed up her bag. “Soak your hand for a goodly amount of time, Maggie. At least until the cold wears off. I’ll return to help you in the tub if I can.”

“Doona worry about that, Flora. I can manage.”

It was well past midmorning by the time Maggie stood naked beside the tub, her hair a wild, knotted mess that tumbled over the curve of her behind. She’d dismissed the maids a while ago when the tub was filled, and now she wished she hadn’t.

Not to worry. Maggie could climb into the tub herself, couldn’t she?

She pulled the sling over her head—for the last time, if all went well today—and carefully moved her arm. Luckily, her shoulder didn’t hurt, and she could raise her arm high enough to keep it out of the water. Leaning forward, she braced her hand on the tub’s edge and slowly lifted her leg.

So far so good, but when she tried to swing her leg over the top, she realized she wasn’t far enough forward. She’d just decided to bring her leg down when she heard the door open. Relief flooded through her, and she called out, “I’m back here, Flora.”

She knew it couldn’t be Callum. He had gone to the loch with Gavin for a swim and intended afterward to go to the quarry to look at rock the mason wanted to use to resurface part of the keep. It was an ongoing project that would take years, Callum had said.

She rested her leg on the lip of the tub, knowing that Flora would be able to steady her and help her over. She looked up with a smile as the edge of a woman’s skirt came into view around the corner of the screen. But it wasn’t Flora. Nay, this woman was younger and quite lovely, with fair skin and black hair twisted into an intricate braid. Her age was beginning to show around her sharp, blue eyes.

Eyes that didn’t reflect the cheery smile on her face.

Maggie generally had a good sense about people—although she’d had no idea about the depth of Irvin’s treachery—and her hackles rose immediately. The woman’s smile turned to round-eyed concern as she rushed at Maggie, and there was nothing Maggie could do about it.

“Lady MacLean, let me help you!” The woman didn’t give Maggie a chance to respond as she grabbed Maggie around the ribs and pushed her leg over. Maggie gritted her teeth to stop from crying out, not wanting the woman to know just how vulnerable she was even though the fading bruises on her skin were obvious.

Why didn’t I bring my daggers with me?

“Stop!” she yelled once she had both feet in the water. She breathed deeply and tried to dredge up a smile. “Pray forgive me. I’m afraid I’ve hurt myself on the journey here. Perhaps just let me balance on your shoulder as I sit down.”

“Aye, of course, Lady MacLean.”

Maggie soon sank beneath the water and felt less vulnerable once she was covered, although she knew it was a false sense of security. If the woman intended to harm her, Maggie was at a grave disadvantage.

“I am glad to be able to help. I would have come to pay my respects sooner, but our laird, my cousin, has guarded you these past few weeks like a dragon guards his gold.”

It was a good comparison, but Maggie suspected the woman used it to ingratiate herself with Maggie. What new wife wouldn’t like to think of herself as being as important to her husband as a dragon’s hoard?

“Your name?” she asked. “You said you were my husband’s cousin?”

“Aye, Lady MacLean. My name is Glynis. I am married to Keith, the son of our laird’s mother’s sister.” She picked up a bar of soap and a cloth and held them up for Maggie to see. “May I?” she asked.

The request to tend an invalid in the bath, or to attend one’s lady, wasn’t unusual, and it would have been considered rude had she not offered. But Maggie was hard-pressed to say yes.

All she could manage was a nod and smile before she drew her knees up and pulled her hair over her shoulder. She’d originally planned to wash it, but she had no intention of letting this woman dunk her head under water.

“I canna tell you how excited I am—we all are—to have you here at long last and married to our laird. I’ve been praying all these years for my cousin to honor your marriage contract and finally bring you into his home.”

Maggie let that sit for a moment. It was a well-placed insult to both her and to Callum—bringing doubt to Callum’s character and implying that she wasn’t much wanted by him. “’Twas my understanding there was much distress in the clan after the old laird died. Callum made it clear he would have attended me sooner if not for that.”

“Trouble, my lady? Aye, ’twas a sad day. Some suggested the old laird had jumped, but that was soon put to rest. I’m sure your husband was verra upset when it happened. Everyone grieves in their own time, be it three months or three years. He did come for you eventually. You must take pride in that.”

She noted how easily the words flew off the woman’s tongue, how good she was at hurting and then soothing—one then the other. Verily, Glynis was someone to watch, maybe even to add to her list of possible traitors. Most likely, she was just trying to retain her status as a high-ranking woman in the clan. She was cousin by marriage to the laird. Perhaps she’d thought of herself as the clan’s lady before Maggie arrived and bumped her down the ladder. It would be reasonable to assume she was trying to reclaim her place.

But then again, maybe not. She had a cunning air about her.

Maggie needed to render her words useless and then see what else Glynis would throw at her.

“I am proud,” Maggie agreed with a bright smile. “Thank you for reaffirming how fortunate I am to be married to our laird. He has certainly blessed me by finally making me his wife.”

Glynis’s mouth firmed, and inside, Maggie chuckled. Aye, it would be frustrating to try to hurt someone with your words and have them take pleasure from them instead.

Dipping the cloth in the water, Glynis rubbed it in circles over Maggie’s back. After a moment, she said, “Look how lovely you are, Margaret MacLean. Surely you had many fine men wanting to show you their affection these past few years. ’Tis not easy to be chaste when your betrothed keeps company with others. But that’s all in the past. I’m sure he’s thanking God he returned for you and you’ve forgiven his indiscretions.”

Indiscretions?

Grasping Glynis’s hand with her uninjured one, Maggie let the woman feel her strength. She met her gaze directly. “I thank you for your attentions, Glynis, but my bath is done. I have much to do now that I’m Lady MacLean. And of course, I must practice with my daggers. Did the lads tell you I killed a man who tried to kill our laird? It gave me quite a fright to see Callum so close to harm. I willna hesitate to use my weapons in defense of my family.” She rose from the tub, unaided this time, her shoulders back, her body sleek and strong even though she’d been so badly hurt. “And I think you are mistaken about my husband. Callum assures me of his fidelity these last few years. I believe him.”

Glynis rose as well, and Maggie could see in her eyes that her mind raced and she knew she had miscalculated. She bowed her head and dropped a small curtsy to Maggie. “I have indeed heard you are skilled. The lads talk of naught else. ’Tis a boon to our clan that you are here with us at last.” She stepped to the edge of the screen and bobbed another curtsy. “I shall take my leave and hope to see you at the evening meal.”

After she disappeared around the corner, Maggie moved more quickly than she would have thought possible and climbed out of the tub. She grabbed her drying towel and held it up to her body as she stepped around the edge of the screen, not wanting Glynis to be left unwatched in her bedchamber.

The sly woman was just opening the outer door. Maggie stopped her. “Glynis, have you e’er met my cousin Irvin Sinclair? He is a blackheart and a devil of the worst kind. Soon he will be taken from my castle and hanged for his crimes. ’Tis a bad day to be a traitor.”