Page 36 of The Mad Highlander
“ M ark me words, Olivia, Edan’s alive, and he will return. I ken he’s alive—I can feel it in me bones!” the old lady spoke with fierce conviction as she lifted her head from her pillow, her dark eyes blazing in her pale, wrinkled face.
“I’m sure ye’re right, Greta, dear,” Olivia, Lady of Aberfeld Castle, lied through her smile, trying to gently free her wrist from her grandmother-in-law’s surprisingly strong grip.
But Greta did not let go. Instead, her fingers tightened. “I dinnae care what the damned council says, and neither should ye. Edan’s alive all right, and when he gets back, he’ll make the lot of those traitors on the council pay for their betrayal,” she hissed.
“Aye, I have nay doubt he will,” Olivia lied again, growing increasingly worried by the hectic red patches that had appeared on Greta’s pale, wrinkled cheeks. The woman looked feverish. “Now, ye must try to calm down. ’Tis nae good for ye to get so excited. If ye carry on like this, ye’ll make yerself ill,” she warned gently, anxious to placate the old woman.
Finally, Greta released her wrist and laid her night-capped head back on the pillow. “Let everyone else say that Edan’s dead if they like, but we both ken they’re wrong.”
“Aye, that’s right,” Olivia murmured, rubbing her wrist, despising herself for telling yet another lie while believing quite the opposite.
Edan’s been gone a year, and he’s nae replied to me letters for over nine months. If he was alive, he’d have sent word. There’s nay other explanation for it. The council is right. He must be dead!
But she could not bring herself to admit that to Greta, who had never stopped believing that her grandson would eventually come home.
“That’s why ye must stay strong, Olivia,” the old lady was saying in the same urgent tone, breaking into Olivia’s guilty thoughts. “Dinnae let the council bully ye into betrayin’ Edan in this shameful way. Nay matter what else happens, when that sleekit weasel Nurkirk proposes to ye on the morrow, ye must refuse him. Tell him ye already have a husband.”
“Ye can be sure I will, Greta dear,” Olivia said, smiling down tenderly at the woman she had grown so close to. “Now, will ye stop worryin’ and get some rest? I promise ye, there’s nay need to fret about tomorrow at all,” she added, her smile concealing her discomfort.
As she tucked the coverlet around Greta’s frail body, she glanced over at Megan, her lady’s maid, who was standing on the other side of the bed with Jane, Greta’s devoted maid. Megan’s pointed look skewered her lies, twisting the knife of guilt in Olivia’s heart. But Megan knew Olivia was only lying to avoid upsetting Greta, whom she considered her own flesh and blood.
“Sleep well now, dearest,” Olivia said finally, bending to press a small kiss to Greta’s lined brow. “Goodnight.”
“Aye, thank ye, lassie. I hope ye can get some sleep tonight as well,” the old lady replied, smiling up at her so sweetly that Olivia feared her heart would break. “Ye’ll need all yer strength to do battle on the morrow, eh?” Greta added, her eyes twinkling with determination.
Olivia managed to hide her doubts and fool Greta long enough for her and Megan to leave the bedchamber. But once they were in the privacy of her own chambers, she dropped the pretense.
“I hate lyin’ to her like that,” she said as Megan helped her out of her gown and petticoats and into her nightdress.
She sat down on the stool in front of her dressing table while Megan brushed out her hair.
“I hardly recognize meself,” she remarked sadly as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. “I look drawn and pale, and I have dark circles under me eyes. All this worry is makin’ me look old.”
If only Edan had never gone away and was here to protect me. All this would never have happened.
“Nay, Me Lady, ye’re still as bonny as ye ever were,” Megan remonstrated kindly. “But even so, I’m worried about ye.” She put down the hairbrush. “Ye look a bit tired, is all. But that’s hardly surprisin’, seein’ the circumstances. Ye havenae said anythin’ to me about it, but I can tell ye havenae been sleepin’ very well lately.”
“Ach, I’m all right, Megan. There’s nay need to worry about me.”
“Wheesht, ye cannae fool me, Me Lady. I ken ye have a whole host of worries on yer shoulders, what with the council wantin’ ye to say that Laird Aberfeld’s dead and that ye should wed Laird Nurkirk in his place. That’s enough to keep anyone awake all night.” Megan cast Olivia a sympathetic glance in the mirror. “But I can tell there’s more to it than that. Will ye nae tell me what’s been keepin’ ye awake? Maybe I can help ye.”
“Bless ye, Megan,” Olivia replied softly, ruing her inability to hide anything from the eagle-eyed young woman.
Of course, Megan was right. There was something else troubling Olivia. But it was something so disturbing that she hesitated to share it with anyone lest they think her mad.
“I only want to help ye if I can. Please, tell me what’s troublin’ yer sleep so much,” Megan pleaded.
Olivia stood up and slipped into the robe Megan held up for her.
Should I tell her? What if she thinks I’m daft?
But one look at Megan’s face, her freckled brow creased with worry, convinced Olivia to confide in her.
“All right, I’ll tell ye. But ye must swear to keep it to yerself. I dinnae want anyone to think I’m losin’ me wits,” Olivia said, tying her belt tightly around her waist and going to sit on the edge of the bed.
“I swear,” the maid replied without hesitation, starting to tidy the things Olivia had taken off. “Even though I’m a wee bit insulted that ye feel the need to ask me that.”
“Sorry,” Olivia offered. ‘’Tis nae that I dinnae trust ye, but I’d prefer to keep it between us two.”
“Me lips are sealed, Me Lady.”
“All right. I’ll tell ye. Nearly every night for the last two weeks, I’ve been havin’ the same dream.”
Megan stopped what she was doing to look at her mistress, her eyes full of concern mixed with curiosity.
“And ’tis so vivid that it feels real, like ’tis really happenin’. And it always ends with me wakin’ up with a start. And after that, I cannae shake it off me mind, and ’tis impossible to get back to sleep again,” Olivia explained, relieved to be able to share her secret with someone she could trust.
“What is the dream about, Me Lady?”
“’Tis night. I’m alone in a dark forest, somewhere I dinnae recognize at all. I’m lost, and I cannae see a way out, and I start panickin’. Because the forest feels evil, like the trees and the darkness are closin’ in on me, suffocatin’ me, and if I dinnae get out, I’ll die.”
Megan gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Ach, Lord above, Me Lady, that’s terrible!” she exclaimed. “It sounds more like a nightmare than a dream. But what happens then? Did ye manage to escape?”
“Well, I’m runnin’ about in a blind panic, tryin’ to find a way out. But there’s nay path or track to be seen, and the darkness is pressin’ in on me. Then, when I can run nay more and I feel like I’m about to take me last breath, I see a light comin’ towards me through the trees.” Olivia paused, the indelible memory unfurling vividly in her mind’s eye.
“And what happens then?” Megan asked, clearly riveted.
“The light keeps comin’ and growin’ brighter like someone is comin’ towards me with a lantern. But the light is so bright that I cannae see a thing. I ken I should be scared, but me panic’s suddenly gone, and I’m nae afraid at all. I just stand there, starin’ at it, like I’m waitin’ for whoever or whatever it is to arrive. Then—and this is the really strange part—’tis like the light opens a way between the trees, and standin’ there in front of me is an enormous white hart, with a full crown of antlers this wide.”
She demonstrated the unusual width of the stag’s antlers with her hands and looked at Megan questioningly. “What do ye think it means?”
“I dinnae ken yet,” Megan replied, her brow creased in thought. “It depends. What does the hart do?”
“It just stands there, and I can see ’tis its coat that’s shinin’ so brightly. Och, ’tis beautiful, Megan. The most beautiful beast I’ve ever seen, a truly magical creature of the forest. It comes slowly towards me, and its black eyes are so gentle, like its tellin’ me nae to be afraid, as if it wants to comfort me.”
Olivia could feel the same sense of wonder just describing the fabulous beast as she did seeing it in the dream.
“It comes right up to me, and when I reach out me hand, it nuzzles me fingers like a dog. Then, it turns and leads me down the path, and I ken it’s showing me the way out of the forest, and that I’m perfectly safe as long as it’s with me. That’s where the dream ends—in a burst of light.”
She looked at Megan, about to ask her what she made of it. But the broad smile on the maid’s face and the excitement in her eyes told her there was no need.
“Why, this is truly amazin’, Me Lady! And ye’ve had this dream every night for the last two weeks, ye say?”
“Aye.”
“And the same thing happens—the white hart comes and leads ye out of the dark forest every time?”
“Aye. Is that important?”
“Why, I should say it is! A white hart isnae like any ordinary stag, is it? In real life, ’tis very rare that anyone ever sees one, and then ’tis very lucky, indeed.” Megan sat back down and looked earnestly at Olivia.
“But that’s just superstition, Megan,” Olivia said, knowing full well that superstition was the glue that held Megan’s world together. They differed greatly in the store they set by it.
“Nay! A white hart is a good omen, nay question about it. The fact that the beast appears in yer dream can only mean one thing.”
“And what is that?” Olivia asked, intrigued yet skeptical at the same time.
Megan smiled happily. “It means, Me Lady, that great changes are about to happen to ye!”
“Well, I could have told ye that meself. Of course, great changes are comin’. Me husband’s dead, and the council wants me to marry another man in his place!” Olivia told her, disappointed.
She had hoped for some explanation for the dream that made sense, or at least comforting words, not superstitious nonsense.
“But do ye nae see, Me Lady?” Megan argued, seemingly undeterred by Olivia’s skepticism. “The white hart only brings tidings of good things, nae bad. The dream is tellin’ ye that whatever ye think is goin’ to happen, somethin’ is goin’ to come into yer life and change it for the better.”
But, however much Olivia would have liked to believe Megan’s claim, she remained unconvinced. “Well, ’tis a nice thought. And thank ye for listenin’ to me, Megan. I ken ye’re only tryin’ to help,” she said.
Though she had dismissed Megan’s words, they rang in her ears long after the maid had retired and she was lying restlessly in her bed, plagued with anxiety about what the morrow and Laird Nurkirk’s proposal would bring.
Mentally and emotionally exhausted by a looming reality far more terrifying than any dream, it took a long time before her mind quietened enough for her to doze off.
She had no idea how long she had been sleeping when she was suddenly jerked from her slumber by the unmistakable sensation of someone getting into bed next to her. Disorientated, thinking she was dreaming, she opened her eyes and turned her head to see who or what on earth it could be. What she saw next to her in the bed, outlined by the fire’s red glow, was so unbelievable, so frightening, she could only gasp as the breath was torn from her body.
A man was in her bed. A huge man, so real that she could sense his warmth, smell his musky scent, feel his weight pressing the feather mattress down, and hear it making the bed frame creak. As if that were not terrifying enough, when she glimpsed his face in the hellish gloom, she realized he was looking back at her—with the face of a monster!