Page 5 of The Highlander’s Enchanted Healer (Spellbound Hearts #2)
I rolled my tongue in my mouth, but my mouth felt normal now, the tingling gone.
Murieall and I walked by Craig, whom Ramsey had dispatched to fetch me and bring me to the evening meal.
Pity and a sense of injustice stirred in me for Craig as he strode beside of us.
I would never understand why this kind, loyal man had been demoted to menial tasks immediately after my da’s death when Craig had once served as my da’s right hand.
I considered speaking to Ramsey on Craig’s behalf again but dismissed the thought.
The last time I’d spoken up for Craig, I’d noted that the poor man had ended up cleaning dung out of the horse stalls for weeks.
Ramsey said it was Craig’s loyalty that had gotten him demoted, because the man’s loyalty was and always would be to the memory of my da.
Apparently, Craig had a habit of second-guessing Ramsey.
Though I could see why that would be frustrating—mayhap even infuriating—I knew Craig had the best interests of the clan at heart, and it seemed to me that Ramsey could somehow get Craig to respect his authority while making Craig feel his opinions were welcome.
Apparently, I was the only one who believed that.
Ramsey dismissed me when I spoke of it, my stepmama had told me it was not my place to be concerned with the running of the warriors, and the one time I had approached Craig about it, he had gotten an odd look on his face and then said he would serve wherever he could.
Craig led us through the thick crowd in the great hall, speaking as we wove between the people. “Our table awaits in the far-right corner, beneath the stag’s head,” he said, extending a calloused elbow toward me.
“Thank ye, Craig. I’ll be along momentarily,” I replied.
“Lass, yer stepbrother will nae like that.”
It did not slip my notice that when Ramsey was not in earshot, Craig had taken to referring to him as “my stepbrother” and not laird.
It was yet another reason I believed there was something more to Craig’s demotion in duties and the tension I felt between the men but now was neither the time nor the place to bring this up once again.
I gave Craig a pointed look. “I will deal with Ramsey’s ire, just as ye do.
” I then hitched my eyebrows daring him to pretend Ramsey did not hold anger toward him.
He pressed his lips together, even as the hint of a sardonic smile twisted them. “As ye wish, lass,” he said, turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd in the opposite direction of Ramsey and our appointed table.
“How do ye feel?” Murieall asked beside me.
“Still fine,” I answered as I stared at the spectacle around us.
The MacLeod’s great hall teemed with life—pewter tankards clanging against wooden tables, servants weaving between benches with trays held high, warriors roaring with laughter that echoed off stone walls, and ladies huddled in clusters, their whispers barely audible beneath the din.
Torches in iron sconces cast dancing amber light across weathered faces and battle-scarred hands, while the mingled aromas of roasted mutton, spilled ale, and unwashed bodies hung thick as Highland mist in the air.
“I’m fearful, Elena. What if it was reading my mind that made ye blurt that ye would nae feel bad about possibly aiding in Campbell’s deaths?”
I studied Murieall for a moment, looking for signs of disgust or disbelief, but she had assured me repeatedly, she did not judge me for wanting a life for a life.
“Elena? Did ye hear me?”
I nodded. “We tested it thrice, and I did nae blurt any of my own thoughts again.”
“Aye,” Murieall said, her reluctance obvious, “but just because it does nae occur every time does nae mean it will nae occur again.”
“’Twas a fluke,” I insisted, as I had before when we’d had nearly this exact conversation.
I’d been worried at first. Of course I had, but we had tested it, and there had not been even the slightest tingling in my mouth again.
I couldn’t let fear of something that might never happen again stop my plan for vengeance.
Murieall inhaled a long breath. “If ye say so, but vow to me, ye will be careful.”
“Of course I will,” I assured her.
She nodded, then asked, “Do ye see Freya?”
I shook my head. I’d already looked to the dais, where she should be sitting, as this was her home and her da was laird, but she was nowhere to be seen. “Tell me again what ye saw in the courtyard when we returned?”
Murieall opened her mouth to speak but then pressed her hands to her ears and winced. “The voices are back,” she half groaned, half muttered.
“Who is it now?” I asked, chill bumps peppering my arms.
“My uncle,” she said, swaying where she stood.
I grabbed her elbow to steady her, somewhat fearful that I would hear her thoughts again, but not a word came to me.
I considered that for a moment. In the tent, when I’d heard the ghosts in her head, I’d been trying to read her mind, concentrating on the task.
Looking at Murieall rapidly losing color, I was overwhelmingly glad I couldn’t hear everyone’s thoughts with a mere touch.
I’d not properly thought my wish through, nor had I considered the consequences of it.
It was pure luck that I’d not been cursed as Murieall to hear all the thoughts of the living. That constant noise would drive me mad.
“What does yer uncle want?” I asked.
She splayed her hands helplessly. “I’m nae certain he wants anything.
’Tis just a bunch of rambling currently, and—Oh!
” She squinched her face. “There’s another voice.
And another.” She gave her head a shake.
“Elena, I do nae think I can stay here with the noise of this world, combined with the noise of the dead. I need some time to learn to tune it out. I’m going to my tent. ”
I started to nod but then had a thought. “Do ye think ye could hear any of my family?” Murieall would know who I meant, whom I had lost to the next world who was important to me. My mama, da, brother, and uncle.
“I can try,” Murieall said, looking a tad green as she squeezed her eyes shut.
I stood there, people moving all around us, waiting with bated breath.
After what seemed an interminable silence, Murieall opened her eyes, full of regret, and shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Elena. I do nae ken how to control the voices yet or reach specific ghosts.
Maybe in the future,” she said, helplessness underlying her tone.
“’Tis fine,” I told her, meaning it. “I can nae control my powers yet truly either.”
“Will ye be all right in the great hall without me?”
“Aye. Ramsey and our warriors are here, and Katreine should be here somewhere. Go on.” I waved her away. “Go find whatever peace ye can.”
She nodded, grasped me to her and hugged me tightly. “I hope we do nae live to regret our wishes.”
I had to swallow past the lump of fear suddenly lodged in my throat. “I do as well.”
Murieall’s fingers uncurled from my arm, leaving behind the ghost of her warmth as she slipped away into the crowd.
I stood there with the clamor of voices echoing off the stone walls and gazed into the smoky haze from the central hearth.
Through gaps between servants bearing trays of meat and mead, I spotted my brother’s table—the Gordon clan’s table with its worn oak surface—and made my way across the rush-strewn floor, dodging drunken revelers and hungry hounds.
I didn’t want to sit with Ramsey. I was still irritated at him for not believing I could read minds. When I saw Katreine waving at me from a table filled with women and motioning to an empty place beside her, I nodded and held up a finger to indicate for her to give me a minute.
Within a few strides, I was across the great hall with what I hoped was my most sincere smile and a docile look.
I didn’t normally overly try to please Ramsey, but I knew he was likely still irritated with me as well, and I wanted him to agree to let me sit with Katreine for supper.
As I approached the table, my forced smile faltered as I took in Leon, one of the elders on the council, whispering with my stepmama.
It wasn’t the heads-together whispering I found odd.
It was that Francine’s hand rested on Leon’s forearm in a very intimate way.
My gut knotted. Surely, Leon and Francine had not taken up with each other…
I don’t know why it bothered me so. Da had been dead for quite some time, but I still found the notion of one of his closest advisors in intimate relations with his widowed wife to be repellent.
I mentally chastised myself for my judgment.
I was certain it was simply because I did not care for Francine.
She’d always seemed jealous of my da’s love for me.
Da had said it was in my head, but I had never believed him.
I turned my attention to Ramsey and felt the last remnants of my smile disappear at the rage-filled look on his face. “What’s wrong, Brother?” I asked, standing before him, Francine, and Leon.
All three of them looked up at me at the same time. Francine frowned at me, whereas Ramsey still had the angry expression on his face and Leon got a distinctively uneasy look in his faded blue gaze. “Campbell’s here,” Ramsey snarled.
I stiffened at the news. “Where?” I asked, wanting to finally set eyes on the man I wished dead. I couldn’t believe he’d shown his face at the Samhain festival after six long years of not coming.