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A ileana pounded the last of the dried marigolds into dust before carefully brushing the powder into the curved stone vessel that rested on the table.

Bridgid handed her a flagon of good wine from the storehouse, and Aileana poured until only two finger widths of space remained at the top of the bowl.

For the final ingredient she added a bottle of vinegar to the mix and stirred them all together.

Word of the plague had spread up from the south, and this mixture was the only one Aileana knew of that might spare the inhabitants of Eilean Donan.

“Cover this and let it sit in a cool place for three days before straining it,” she told Bridgid. Wiping the back of her hand across her brow, she shook her head. “With luck, I think it’ll last until the threat of the plague passes.”

“I don’t think it’ll matter, missy. Some of the men are saying they’ll drink no more of your brew,” Bridgid complained. Concern wrinkled her brow. “They’re claiming that nothing will be stopping the sickness if it means to take us in its clutches. They rejected my tonics for the same reason.”

Aileana’s lips tightened. The marigold formula couldn’t help anyone if they refused to swallow it.

She thought for a moment. “It is true we cannot make them drink anything outright, Bridgid…” She nodded toward the pot of oats bubbling on the kitchen fire. “But we can fix it so they’ll be getting some anyway if we don’t mind being a bit sly about it.”

Bridgid’s wiry curls bobbed as she nodded. “I ken your meaning missy, and I think it’s a good plan. I’ve always hoped to find another woman who’d be willing to stand up and help me keep the menfolk in order. Most times they don’t know what’s best for themselves anyway.”

Bridgid heaved the bowl into her arms, heading for the cellar, and Aileana allowed herself a brief smile.

That was as close to a compliment as she’d received from Bridgid, but it gratified her to know that she’d made progress in the two weeks since Duncan returned from raiding the MacLeods.

And she’d been true to her word with him, making only those changes that she thought would improve the lot of the clan.

He’d seemed tolerant of her decisions, if not appreciative.

He’d even agreed to swallow some of the marigold tonic himself just a sennight ago, before he left on another raid against the neighboring MacLennans.

She recalled the pleasant surprise she’d felt that morn when Duncan had insisted on viewing her herb collection; he’d listened to her describe each plant’s use with careful attention, then he’d complimented her on the variety she’d managed to gather in so short a time.

He’d left shortly after that, and she’d realized that she felt empty.

Like the sun shone dimmer and the wind blew colder.

Almost as if, God help her, she missed him.

Her erratic emotions were due to the change of seasons, she decided. The skies rumbled with gray clouds more often than not this late part of September, and a chill had settled over the moors.

The early frosts were making forays to the wood and glen more difficult, and she’d been forced to accept that her store of herbs was as full as it was likely to be until the spring thaw.

Still, after combining her fresh gatherings with Bridgid’s old ones, Aileana thought they’d have enough to get through the harsh winter season and the threat of plague.

With a little extra industry, a rich bed of soil could be cultivated in the castle yard before the snow flew, making it ready for a spring planting.

But it wouldn’t wait long; more digging needed to be done, and the old bed, unused for many years, thirsted for a proper weeding and turning of soil.

Letting her gaze drift over the kitchen, Aileana gathered a bucket and the small basin of live plants she’d gleaned from the forest floor.

As she collected the items, she allowed herself a flicker of satisfaction.

This room, at least, glistened with cleanliness and order—something it had sadly lacked when she arrived.

But the castle yard called her to more work.

Tucking her braid more firmly beneath her head cloth, Aileana trudged outside.

And as she dug her shovel into the ground, she promised herself that she’d tease some order from the tangled patch of earth before the sun set on Loch Duich or wear herself out in the trying.

Just two nights later, Aileana heard the cries she’d been dreading; they rose in a frightening crescendo throughout the castle keep, urging her from her pallet. Bridgid burst through the door to the bedchamber moments after she’d pulled her tunic over her head.

“The plague, missy—it’s upon us. Come with me if you will, for I can use your help in treating them that’s afflicted.”

A cold blade of fear pierced Aileana. It was confirmation of what she’d already suspected, but her hands trembled as she straightened her overskirt. “Aye, I’ll come. Who’s been struck with it?” she asked as she followed Bridgid through the door and down the hall.

“Inghin’s boy came down with fever yesterday, but now he’s shaking and out of his mind, and he’s got the swelling on his neck and below his stomach.”

Aileana bit her lip and nodded. It boded ill. She walked more quickly next to Bridgid, silent now in the chill of the yard. If it was as Bridgid described, the disease had progressed rapidly; little would be left for them to do to save the lad.

Worried faces peered out of shutters and doors as they made their way through the castle village, and the smoky scent of banked fires filled the air.

Aileana ducked her head to follow Bridgid into a cottage near the far edge of the settlement.

In the moment it took to get her bearings, she noticed several things.

A low keening rose from the far end of the room, and she saw the laundress, Inghin, crouched there, rocking back and forth over a slender form on the pallet.

A few other village women huddled in the dark corners of the hut.

They sat peering into the smoky gloom, likely braving the contagion because one of their near kin had been stricken.

“William, laddie, wake up for your mum!” Inghin’s voice cracked with desperation. But the boy remained unresponsive except for a faint moan as he thrashed his head on the straw pallet.

Bridgid moved forward. “Let me see him, Inghin. We’ll try to help if we can.”

The woman twisted around, her eyes red-rimmed with fear and grief, lighting with wildness the moment she caught sight of Aileana standing behind Bridgid.

“You,” she rasped. The word rang with accusation.

Her brows drew together in a sneer, and she spit a curse.

“Why are you here, except to gloat over your work, witch? Damn your soul to the flames, MacDonell. Your cursed sister sent you to finish what she started—it’s you who’s killing my boy, and I’ll see you dead for it!

” She lumbered up from her knees, trying to lunge at Aileana, but Bridgid darted forward to hold her back.

Bridgid eased the woman onto a stool and murmured to her in soft, soothing tones. At last Inghin bent over and began to sob, and Bridgid hugged her tight. After a few moments, the bailie lifted her head to direct Aileana toward the sick boy.

“See what you can do for him, missy, while I care for his mam,” she murmured. “Never mind what Inghin said. It is her worry speaking, nothing more. She’ll be glad for your help in the morning.”

Blindly, Aileana nodded. She tried to force the numbness from her limbs and the nausea from her throat, but it kept closing in on her, the woman’s words wounding to the bone with the hatred that filled them.

William moaned again, but this time his entire body stiffened and he started to convulse.

Without further thought Aileana rushed forward.

Foamy spittle flew from the boy’s lips as he jerked and twisted in her grasp; her hands felt seared with heat where she touched him, and she knew that if they didn’t bring his fever down, William would die before dawn.

“You,” she called to an old woman huddled near the door, “bring me a bucket of cool water from the loch. Hurry!”

Wordlessly, the woman shuffled to her feet and scurried off, her eyes looking as though they might pop from their sockets.

Aileana held onto William until the shaking stopped, then she leaned back on her heels and peered around the tiny room again.

Her gaze met the dark eyes of a boy who seemed but a shade younger than the sick lad.

But when she looked at him, he skittered farther into the shadows.

Aileana gestured for him to come back into the light.

Reluctantly, he obeyed, standing on shifting feet in the smoky fire’s glow. His hands twisted behind his back, and he looked down, trying to avoid Aileana’s stare.

“What’s your name, lad?”

“Evan,” he mumbled, still looking down.

“A fine name, Evan,” she murmured. She paused before adding, “But mayhap not the name of the man who’d perform the kind of great deed I’ll be needing to help save young William here.”

At the mention of great deeds, Evan’s head snapped up. “I can do many things! Better’n most!” His eyes welled with tears. “And I’ll do anything to help my brother. On my word of honor!”

Aileana’s heart twisted. She hadn’t meant to make the boy feel guilty.

But she had wanted to incite him to cooperate, and the quicker the better.

Striving for a more understanding tone, she said, “I don’t need anything that is bad, Evan, only something necessary to help your brother’s heart beat strong.

Can you get it for me? It’s something you’ll be needing help to carry. ”

Evan nodded, his eyes alight with the understanding that his would be a serious mission.