Page 28

It was as she suspected. The owner of the irritating giggle sat perched on Duncan’s lap, tipping her head back to laugh and offering him a calculated view of her two greatest assets; the ones that wobbled only inches from his face.

Aileana’s jaw clenched, and she darted back into the kitchen, uncorking the pot’s lid as she went.

Though it wouldn’t hurt them, a good dose of this herb would ensure that Duncan and Nora wouldn’t soon forget this night—or the view from inside the confines of their privy chamber.

She quelled the tiny prickle of guilt that remained. This was war after all, she reminded herself, and everyone was entitled to use the weapons at her disposal. Nora might have cannons, but Aileana had artillery enough to fell an entire clan.

With a purposeful step, she marched to the trenchers, sprinkling a generous amount of the herb on a portion of stew that she would personally deliver to Duncan, for he and Nora to share when the meal was served in a few moments.

Aye, Duncan MacRae was going to feel the sting of her weapons this night.

It would be the first attack in her methodical assault against his manly arrogance and pride.

The man was doomed to submit sooner or later.

For no matter how long it took, she intended to make this a fight to the finish.

Dawn’s pink light pierced the window hangings in Duncan’s bedchamber, making Aileana sit up on her pal let.

He still hadn’t come to bed. Worry creased her brow, and her imagination took flight.

Was he too sick to climb the stairs? Had she been so eager to dispense justice that she’d laid it on with too heavy a hand?

Shaking her head against such nonsense, Aileana rose and dressed.

She knew without a doubt that she’d been careful with the herb.

Neither Nora nor Duncan would have gotten much sleep last night, but they certainly wouldn’t have suffered any danger. Just a bit of restorative purging.

A scratching at the door made her jump. Bridgid’s red face appeared in a splinter of light as she entered the chamber. The candle she held cast her features in an almost eerie glow, and Aileana’s stomach flopped. Something must be wrong.

“Missy, it’s the MacRae. You’d better come. I just found him out in the yard. He’s holding his stomach and looking awful gray.” Bridgid’s eyes rounded further as she whispered, “Heaven preserve us, do you think it could be the plague again?”

Relief bubbled so swiftly in Aileana that she almost laughed aloud. But she schooled her face into a somber expression. “I don’t think so, Bridgid. It would be unlikely, with symptoms such as those. Does he have the fever?”

Bridgid shook her head. “Not that I can tell, though it was hard to be sure, seeing as how he growled like something from a cave when I tried to touch him.”

Aileana wrapped her plaid round her shoulders and nodded. She followed Bridgid into the hall, asking innocently, “Are any others afflicted?”

The bailie nodded. “Aye, but only one. Nora MacKenzie has taken ill, though I’m not sure how bad. It’s what made me think it might be the plague again, passed from one to the other, since she and Duncan have been spending a fair amount of time together, and—”

Bridgid clipped off her comment and glanced to Aileana.

Embarrassment mottled her skin a more fierce crimson than usual.

“I meant nothing by saying that, missy, and anyway, it’s no shame upon you if Duncan prefers—” She shook her head as she searched for the words, “—well if he wants to be spending his nights with another, then—” Bridgid clamped her mouth shut and made a strangled, coughing noise.

Aileana tightened her fists, savoring the knowledge of her revenge more fully. “It doesn’t matter, Bridgid. Where the MacRae chooses to sleep is his concern.” She lifted her chin and muttered, “But his illness is mine. I’m eager to examine him and ensure—I mean check his level of discomfort.”

Bridgid nodded and hurried along with her until they reached the door to the yard. “He’s out there, leaning against the wall.” She gestured in the direction and scurried off, murmuring something about looking in on Nora as she left.

Aileana barely paused before marching into the yard and around the corner.

She searched the dusky, pink-tinted gloom, trying to find Duncan.

A low groan drew her gaze to the spot. He sat on the ground, his back against the wall.

Even in the low light, Aileana could see the gray cast to his skin and the sheen of sweat on his face.

His head was tilted back, his eyes closed.

“Duncan?” She stepped closer to him. A tiny stab of shame pricked her. Swallowing, she said more loudly, “Duncan, can you hear me?”

“Aye, I hear you,” he growled under his breath. “But don’t come too near me, unless you want to share in whatever’s gripping me in its jaws.” He groaned again, wincing as he bent forward. His arm clenched around his middle. “It’s got me in the gut.”

Aileana took another step toward him, ignoring his weak gesture warning her away. “Don’t worry; I’ll be fine.” Her lips pressed together with guilt she refused to voice. “Can you stand?”

Duncan swung his leonine head, peering at her through tendrils of lank golden hair. His mouth was tight with pain.

“Stay away, Aileana. I’ll not have you falling sick again.” He grimaced. “Don’t make me move to stop you.”

Ignoring him, she leaned over and reached out to help him up. As her fingers grazed against the iron-hard muscles of his arm, he stiffened.

“Nay, I said!”

His command reverberated off the walls of the courtyard, making her jump back. A flare of anger shot through her, and she planted her hands on her hips. “Dragon’s breath, Duncan MacRae, stop pretending to be so noble, and let me help. I’m not like to die from what ails you.”

Her breath caught as he lifted his head in a slow, deliberate motion. His silver stare pinned her to the wall as he ground out, “And how would you be knowing that?”

Her cheeks heated and she looked away, stomping over to the well to draw a cool bucket of water.

She didn’t trust herself to meet his gaze.

“I know enough of healing illnesses to be sure that it is nothing too serious. Even if I did take sick, it would be over in a day. Your discomfort will fade as quickly if you heed my advice.”

She knew that he stared at her, until, from the side of her vision, she watched another pain wrack him. Seeing it, Aileana rushed forward and tipped a ladle full of water to his lips. “Drink, but just sips. It will help what’s in you to be flushed out.”

Duncan grunted in response, but he drank. When he’d had enough, he waved her away. “Send Kinnon to me. I’m going to my chamber, and I don’t want you helping me to get there.”

“Nay. I’m here. I’ll do it.”

He took a deep breath, his hand clenching his belly. “Do as I ask, Aileana. I’ll need his strength to help in dragging me up the steps.” When she bristled, Duncan tipped his head back and groaned again. “Christ, lass, don’t make me beg.” His skin took on a greenish color, and his lips tightened.

Another lance of conscience stabbed her.

She took two steps backward, driven away by the unfamiliar tone of pleading coming from this strong, unyielding man.

There he sat, the giant felled by little David’s slingshot.

Yet somehow, she didn’t think that God was on her side as He’d been on David’s.

He wouldn’t support the kind of trickery she’d used last night.

Duncan’s eyes opened, and Aileana’s breath caught, so strong was the entreaty in his iron gaze. She could resist no longer. Without another word, she dropped the ladle into the bucket and ran to the kitchen, holding her hand to her breast as if that would help to still the pounding of her heart.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to feel guilty. Duncan deserved it. He’d disregarded her feelings; he’d led her down a merry path, kissing her when she was ill, then denying it later. He and Nora deserved every pang they felt until the herb’s effects wore away.

Then why did she feel as if she’d driven Duncan’s claymore straight into her own heart?

The question reverberated through her mind with the incessant clang of a kirk bell. But before she would allow herself to consider the inevitable answer, Aileana threw a baleful look at the herb pantry and hurried into the great hall in search of Kinnon.

A soft tittering from the left side of the table drew Duncan’s attention.

Two of the MacKenzie women sat, heads together, whispering behind their hands.

Every now and then one of them glanced at him and fluttered her lashes before falling into a fit of giggling.

It was beginning to rake his hard-won calm like the sting of nails down his back.

Shoving his broth away with disgust, he pushed himself to his feet. He knew the root of their laughter; it had been building since he fell ill yesterday. Everyone believed that Nora MacKenzie had finally enticed him to her bed…and that she’d given him a dose of sickness in return.

But he knew better. He knew the real culprit.

Duncan pushed himself to his feet and stalked to the hearth, his gaze narrowed on the object of his thoughts.

He watched her fiery head tilt forward, her teeth flashing as she laughed at some bit of witticism one of the others offered.

She was entirely too jovial. A complete change from the solemn, somber Aileana he’d come to know after the plague.

And he could think of only one possible reason for her sudden transformation.