Chapter 7

7

C aitlin, still pale and weak, stood clutching the framework of the door. Her hair was loose and wild like a collar of storm clouds around her face and neck. Her green eyes were still fever-bright, the lingering effects of the healing touch.

Douglas stepped toward the cottage but Moira blocked his way. When he tried to go around her, she grabbed his wrist. Pol came to her side to stop the younger man’s escape.

“Ye must keep yer knowledge to yerself, Douglas. No one, no’ even Caitlin, can ken about ye, and where ye come to us from. No one. Do ye understand me?”

Standing where she was, Moira could feel the pull between them, a force not yet at its full strength. Douglas’s gaze never left her daughter.

“Ye dinna remember where yer from, the blow to yer head haes confused yer thoughts and memories.”

He once more tried to evade her, shaking his hand to free him from her grasp, but this was more than just her and her family involved. The Fates were in this and would not be ignored.

“Dinna mistake my words, Douglas MacKendimen. There will be a reckoning if ye ignore my advice.”

He shuddered at her words and finally gave her his attention.

“Did you say a reckoning?” His eyes, those MacKendimen blue eyes, darkened to almost midnight as he focused on her.

“Aye, I did, lad. We will finish our talk later but in the meantime, say nothing to Caitlin or anyone else who happens along. We will put together a tale to satisfy all questions.”

He nodded briskly and she dropped his hand. Pol stepped back and she turned to look at Caitlin. The lass looked near to fainting. Moira hurried to her side and felt Douglas move with her step by step. Pol was but a step or two behind both of them as they reached her daughter. She was faster than either of the men.

“Come, lass, ye need a bit of tea.” Taking hold of her under the arm to give support, Moira guided Caitlin back into the kitchen area of their cottage. Pol pulled a bench closer to the long table and they placed Caitlin on it. She was not quite herself yet; this healing had taken much from her. Each was different but each the same in that she paid a price for the gift bestowed on her.

Since Pol now stood behind Caitlin, Moira went to her worktable and chose the herbs she needed from her jars and jugs. Mixing them in a small earthen cup, she walked to the hearth and took water from a boiling pot over the low fire. She offered a prayer under her breath as she mixed the powders and the water. She watched the swirling liquid until all was dissolved and then offered it to her daughter. The herbs would help restore her strength. Caitlin took the cup and sipped it slowly. No one uttered a word until Caitlin finished the drink.

“Do ye feel better now, lass?” Moira watched Douglas out of the corner of her eye, he’d seemed completely overwhelmed since the moment Caitlin appeared in the doorway. He’d never taken his eyes from her. He’d started toward Caitlin more than once and then stopped. Now he approached the table where Caitlin sat, this time making it to her side.

As she watched, he raised his hand to Caitlin’s face, gently touching her cheek, then sliding his fingers up to her forehead, testing the same way she would for the heat of the fever or the clamminess of illness. His eyes revealed surprise when he put his flesh to her daughter’s.

Good.

After a moment or two, he lifted her hand into his and encircled her wrist with his fingers. Caitlin didn’t seem to fight or question his actions. Her face was still pale and empty. This healing took much from her and she would need more time to recover from it.

Douglas raised his arm and gazed at his own wrist and then shook his head. The area where he glanced was paler than the skin around it—that’s where he wore that strange piece of jewelry. She’d taken everything he wore from his body while he slept. No one else in the clan could be allowed to see those things. Too many questions. His shaking head told her he realized that it was missing. What did it have to do with her daughter’s wrist?

“Her heartbeat is slow, too slow,” he said, looking right at her. Heartbeat? In her wrist? She could feel the beating of the heart in the chest or sometimes in the neck, but she’d never found it elsewhere. There would be much to learn from this one.

More importantly, she heard the tremor in his voice. Linked, oh, aye they were linked, this one and her daughter. Even better....

“The tea I made for her will help that. It will bring back her strength,” she explained.

“What is in it? Is it the same that you made for me?” She winced at the tartness in his question.

“Nay, lad, the brew I gave to ye was to make ye sleep. The one for Caitlin will restore her strength—she haes already slept enough.”

“Tell me what you put in it.”

Even Pol heard the challenge and anger in Douglas’s voice, for he straightened to his full height behind their daughter with his fists and jaw clenched. Douglas acted as one whose orders were never questioned, a man of authority. Mayhap physicians in his time all acted this way? Nay, he had the same attitude and stuffiness that his father had carried as well. He would learn, the Fates would teach him their lesson.

“Some herbs that strengthen the heart, others that clear the head. Nothing that would harm my daughter, ye can be sure.” She let the tone of her voice carry her displeasure at his.

He faltered. His words tripped over one another and she could see him realize his place and the situation around him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t, I mean...” He stepped away from the table, looking from Pol to Caitlin and then to her. Douglas let go of Caitlin’s hand and backed away until he bumped into her worktable.

“Mam, Douglas has been through much in these last few days. Leave him be.”

Her voice cut through every bit of confusion in his mind and soul and spoke to him. He’d heard this voice countless times before—like a siren’s call in the night. He’d know it anywhere. He leaned against the workbench for support. It was real, she was real.

Of course she couldn’t be. A rational part of his mind rebelled at every piece of information, every bit of explanation that Moira and Pol had provided him with. Maybe he lay somewhere in a coma from the head wound and this was his brain’s unconscious wanderings? He shook his head against that thought.

If this was a dream or some dreamlike state, it was as real as, well, real life. Icy rivulets of water ran down his back from his still-wet hair. The wool plaid rubbed against his naked skin. His bare feet felt the cold dirt floor and goose bumps rose on his legs and chest from the chilly breeze that swept through the cottage’s open door.

Too real to be anything else.

Suddenly, the world around him began to spin. His lungs tightened, drawing in no air to clear his head. He had to get away from this. Away. He looked at Moira, then Caitlin, then Pol. Everything, everyone felt so real to him. An awareness of this truth swirled around him until he was overpowered by it.

Get away, his brain screamed. Get away!

And, having never before experienced a panic like this, Douglas obeyed, running through the open door and out into the yard. Looking left then right, he spied a pathway leading away and he followed it. A few moments later, Douglas left the forest behind and entered a clearing. The sight before him brought him to a dead stop.

The path split into three more and each one went in a different direction, but any of them would have taken him into the village that lay before him. The smells of animals and their droppings assaulted him. Geese clucking, pigs snorting and sheep making that irritating baa sound surrounded him. He saw too many cottages to count; most of them were smaller than Moira’s but of similar design.

And, on the other side of the village, away in the distance, but close enough to give him a glimpse of its true size, stood a castle. Not the one he knew from Dunnedin, but one he’d seen portraits of in the old family histories. It looked just like the original one, built long before Wallace and Bruce had entered into Scotland’s politics. And, of course, his reason and common sense told him it was not possible.

His eyes and soul told him a different story.

It was then that the mutterings of people nearby pierced through his confusion and disbelief. They stood with dumbfounded looks on their faces, staring at him. Douglas almost laughed out loud at the situation. He didn’t know who was more bewildered—him or those around him.

They’d ceased their labors where they stood, gaping openly at him. He touched the plaid around his waist to make sure he wasn’t again naked. His mishaps with fastening the plaid securely were known throughout the clan. But, no, the belt and length of wool were still in place and snug around him.

Then, he really began to look at the villagers. Men, women and children all appeared healthy and well fed in spite of their rough and rugged faces. Even in the brisk autumn air, most were barefooted and without outer cloaks. Goose bumps raised on his own bare skin as he felt a cold breeze rushed over him. He’d left Moira’s in such a rush, he was barefoot and without a shirt.

A few men nodded greetings to him and he returned the gesture. Several children crept a bit closer then ran away to find a hiding place behind the skirts of some women watching him. A smile threatened as he watched their antics. The women wore expressions that ranged from fear to suspicion to open appraisal of him. Some were so straightforward in their staring, he was tempted to blush!

Someone clearing their throat behind him grabbed his attention and he turned around quickly, coming face-to-face with Pol. Well, almost face-to-face. Pol still had at least five or six inches on him.

“Come, lad, Moira says not to overtax yerself yet.” Pol encircled his upper arm with one hand and pulled Douglas back toward the healer’s cottage. Douglas tried to pull away but the man never faltered in his hold.

“Is all well, Pol?” one of the men called out.

“Oh, aye, ’tis well. The lad is no’ yet recovered from the blow to his head,” Pol called out in answer, waving his free hand at the man who’d asked. Douglas noticed much more sympathy in their glances at him. Moira warned him not to answer any questions and to play up his injury and confusion. Pol had obviously been sent on her orders to bring him back.

“Come, lad, let me help ye back to Moira.” Pol’s voice was raised artificially high so that all around them could hear clearly. Douglas realized he had no chance... yet.

“I’ll come with you,” he whispered so that only Pol heard.

“Without a fight?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

Apparently pleased with his response, the older man released Douglas’s arm and stood aside for him to pass. Douglas took the first step back along the path into the forest.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me?” A few seconds more and he could’ve... could’ve what?

“Aye, lad, I do. But Moira begged me to bring ye back to her.”

“Begged you? I can’t believe that woman has ever begged in her life.” In all truth, he couldn’t. Moira had a certain strength of personality that wouldn’t allow her to beg for anything. He knew that about her in just the few minutes they’d spent talking.

Pol’s laughter filled the air around them and echoed back at him from the forest. “I see ye ken my Moira already.”

Douglas stilled. He realized that he’d actually been thinking about Mairi but the similarity between the two women struck him yet again. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“Dinna fight me, lad. Moira needs to talk wi’ ye afore ye go into the village and keep.” The man took hold of him again.

“I’m not fighting you. Now, let me walk by myself.” He shook his arm free of Pol’s grasp and strode down the path under his own power.

“If ye will go on yer own, I will tend to my other duties.” Pol tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, asking for Douglas’s cooperation.

“Fine. Go do whatever you need to do,” Douglas agreed, waving the other man off. It was only a few more paces until Moira’s cottage would come into view anyway. Pol watched him take another step or two and then trotted off back toward the village. Douglas returned, as he’d agreed, to Moira... and to Caitlin.