My Highland Lover (16 page)

Trulie hopped off the stone, hiked up her skirts, and took off at a dead run. Like hell was she going to sit idly by and watch the madness like it was some sort of show.

Scrawny stable boys staggered through the yard with sloshing buckets of water. Men and women came running from all directions. Some stopped to soak yards of cloth in the troughs then hurried to slap the sopping wet rags against the base of the flames. Rearing horses foamed at the mouth, their eyes rolling white with terror.

Trulie danced around the dangerous hooves of a pair of roans being coaxed to safety by a boy who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old. She ducked underneath the center rail of the wood fence encircling the training paddock. She needed to get close and reach out with her senses. She had to find Gray.

A watering trough nudged up against a side of the building not yet engulfed with flames caught her eye. Yes. Right there. The shadowed corner called out to her like a beacon through the chaos. Trulie’s heart pounded as she backed up against the wall and wedged herself in the dark corner next to the trough.

Trulie blocked out the shouts and screams of the melee. She forced herself to shut away the stench of choking smoke, muddied earth, and manure. She had to focus. Where the devil was Gray? She had to make sure he was safe.

Earlier in the stall, just as she’d blissfully lost herself in the pleasure of Gray’s kiss and the anticipation of what would soon follow, her mind had filled with the vision of the pending blaze. Echoing screams of terrified animals had drummed in her ears. An angry bellow had followed a deafening crash and then her senses had filled with the worst sound of all: cold, hollow laughter. Heartless laughter had blocked all else from her mind. She’d never forget that sound as long as she lived…and she had to make sure the owner of the laugh failed at whatever evil he was attempting. She couldn’t bear to hear it again.

A relieved tingle spread gooseflesh across her skin. There. Gray was right there. Trulie shimmied under a tangle of wagons waiting to be repaired and raced around to the outer back wall of the stable. Her heart fell when she spotted the barricaded doors. Someone had worked hard to ensure an escape out the rear of the building would not be possible.

A crashing woosh sounded as the front half of the thatched roof collapsed inward. Black smoke billowed up past the orange sparks showering through the air. The barred doors of the stable shook as something solid hit them. A horse screamed and the doors shook again.

Trulie covered her ears with her hands. The terror echoing in the animal’s cries broke her heart.

An angry bellow roared just behind the doors right before they rattled with another heavy impact on the other side.

Trulie knew that roar. Gray was trapped with one of the horses.

She had to get that post moved. She frantically glanced around the back lot. The clan was battling the blaze from the front of the stable. There was no time to run for help. It was all up to her. Trulie set her shoulder against the wide oak beam butted up against the door and shoved. It didn’t budge.

“Dammit!” Trulie leaned into it again. No luck. The heavy length of lumber barely shifted with her effort. Time to change strategy. She wrapped her arms around the post and yanked upward. The thing still didn’t move from its wedged position.

Tendrils of smoke escaped through cracks in the rear wall. The fire was slowly eating its way to the back of the stable.

Trulie stepped back one more time and examined the jammed beam of wood. Maybe if she crouched under it and lifted with her legs, she could pop the thing out of the way. Leverage was her only hope.

Just as she was about to crawl under the beam, the doors shook again but they didn’t move with nearly the intensity as they had the last time they’d been struck.

“Gray. Hang on. I’m gonna get you out of there. Just hang on.” Trulie scrambled underneath the six-by-six wood beam. She centered the solid bar of wood down her back and locked her arms against the side of the barn. With a deep breath, Trulie shoved upward as hard as her legs could push. The beam shifted a bit to the side then wedged atop the cross latch set across the door.

“Dammit!” Trulie panted as she staggered a few steps back. She had to do it again. She had to make this work. Trulie stretched the flat of her back underneath the pole. She inched down to the part closest to the ground until her bent legs were effectively wedged between her body and beam. She angled her feet in opposite directions against the pole and kicked upward with the mightiest shove she could manage. A breath of relief exploded from her chest as the beam finally popped free and tumbled down to the ground beside her.

Trulie rolled to her feet and wrestled the cross latch out of the way. She ignored the rough wood splintering into her fingers as she clawed the doors open.

Trulie’s heart nearly stopped as daylight poured into the smoke-filled stable and illuminated the back aisle. The mighty black Cythraul lay motionless, and stretched out on his side beside him, with an arm thrown across the horse’s neck, was Gray.

“You are not going to die on me, Gray MacKenna.” Trulie clenched her teeth and dropped to her knees. Hungry orange flames crackled ever closer as Trulie scurried forward on hands and knees to Gray.

Trulie hurriedly took in the situation. There was no way she could physically drag the man or the horse to safety, and there wasn’t time to run and get help. But if she healed them here—Trulie sent up a silent plea to the Fates to let it be so—if she could heal them, maybe they could reach safety under their own steam.

The fire roared and growled as it ate into the walls. It seemed to laugh at Trulie’s plan to steal the man and beast from its grasp.

Trulie ignored the pulsating heat already stinging her flesh. She turned her back to the inferno and wormed her way between Gray’s side and Cythraul’s belly. Thank goodness she could still see the barest movement of the flesh along Gray’s ribs as he struggled to breathe.

Swallowing hard, Trulie turned and rested her head against the great black horse’s side and listened. She could heal, but she couldn’t raise the dead. She had to make sure she wasn’t too late.

A weak tap beneath her cheek filled her with hope. There was still time. She could pull this off—as long as they both responded quickly.

Trulie rubbed her fingers together. She hadn’t healed nearly as many times as Mairi, but she knew she could do it. She’d confirmed she too was blessed with Mairi’s gift when she’d been able to heal Karma after he had been hit by a car.

Trulie slid one palm up Gray’s side and pressed the other palm atop Cythraul’s neck. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. Now all she had to do was build and release the energy. The gift of the Fates would take care of the rest.

A familiar burn erupted in the center of her chest and radiated out to both arms. The scorching energy squeezed through her veins and surged down into her hands. Trulie kept her eyes shut and controlled every intake of breath as the ache grew more intense. Healing required the most energy of all. More energy meant more pain.

Trulie clenched her teeth, her hands shaking with the growing intensity of the sensation. She had to wait until the proper moment to shoot the energy into her charges. They needed the biggest surge she could propel.

Trulie stretched her fingers wide as blood seeped from her hands. Crimson droplets peppered across her arms, coursing down and dripping off the tips of her fingers as her hands trembled. Just a little more. She bent her head, clenched her teeth, and struggled to keep from passing out.

Now.
Certainty burst across Trulie’s consciousness. A scream ripped from her throat as a blinding white shaft of energy exploded from both her palms.

The bodies of both man and horse rocked with the force of the impact.

Trulie sagged forward, her bloody hands palms up on the ground in front of her. She forced herself up, sitting back on her heels as Cythraul grumbled out an angry knicker and struggled to gain his footing. The great horse rose and staggered the few steps it took to clear the stable door, his long reins dragging in the dirt beside him. His glistening black nostrils flared as he pawed the ground and squealed out his rage.

Trulie pressed her palm to Gray’s cheek. His eyes flickered open, then narrowed as he tucked a finger beneath her chin. “I told ye t’stay in the garden. Yer a stubborn wench who doesna listen.”

“Get up.” Trulie pulled at Gray’s arm. “We’ll talk stubbornness later. You’ve got to get up. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Gray struggled to his hands and knees, then fell back to the ground. He coughed and gagged, his eyes closing as his head drooped to his chest.

“Open your damn eyes. Don’t you dare give up now.” Trulie pounded on Gray’s side as she stole a glance at the wall of flames steadily marching toward them. Shouts of the clansmen fighting the inferno broke through the blazing barrier. “Help us!” she screamed. She couldn’t make the others hear her through the roaring chaos. She had to do something. She couldn’t let him die.

Trulie pounded on Gray’s side again. “You’re gonna burn to death if you don’t open your damn eyes and help me.”

Gray slowly rolled to his stomach and lifted his head. “The reins,” he coughed as he weakly pointed toward the angry black horse still pawing at the ground just beyond the stable.

The reins. Trulie scrambled across the ground, then staggered to her feet. Cythraul reared up, pawing at the air and shaking his great shaggy head as he screamed. Trulie skittered sideways, eyeing the horse’s sharp hooves cutting through the air. She had to get hold of those damn reins.

“Nice horse. Work with me here. Please.” Trulie struggled to keep her voice calm.
Thank God you’re hemmed in.
The small patch of ground behind the stables was blocked off on one side by broken-down wagons and the solid-stone skirting wall on the other.

A black streak sped past her with a warning growl. Karma barked, hopping and dancing around the angry horse. Avoiding Cythraul’s pawing hooves, Karma lunged and caught one of the reins between his teeth. He clenched it tight and started backing up as though playing his favorite game of tug.

Trulie rushed forward grabbed the rein and pulled. “Calm down, Cythraul. Calm down.”

With Karma growling encouragement, Trulie managed to snag the other rein. She pulled hard and inch by inch, and with Karma nipping at the horse’s heels, together, they maneuvered the great beast close enough to get the reins to Gray.

“Here. Wrap them around your hands and hang on.” Trulie shoved the reins into Gray’s hands. She punched his shoulder. “Gray! Do it now.”

“Yer a worrisome wench,” Gray mumbled as he slowly wrapped the reins around one hand, then pressed his fingers against his mouth and blew a weak whistle.

Cythraul’s ears perked forward, then he dug in and backed away from the fire. Gray half rolled, crawled, then finally just held on and allowed the horse to drag him across the clearing. Behind them, burning hay crackled out a whooshing warning as the remainder of the roof plummeted to the ground. Shouts echoed through the bailey as the fire roared hotter. Trulie’s singed hair crackled in her ears. The cloying smell of burnt hair and black smoke gagged her. She turned away and sucked in deep breaths of cold Highland air.

Wiping her bloodied hands against the tattered remains of her shift, Trulie scooted closer to Gray. She pressed her hot face against the clammy coolness of his skin. She closed her eyes against relieved tears as Gray coughed and noisily sucked in a healthy inrush of air.

His strong arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her back against his hard-muscled chest. “Do ye ne’er do as yer told?” Gray growled against her ear.

“Rarely,” Trulie replied as she pulled Gray’s arm tighter around her. Without opening her eyes, she listened hard and scanned the area with her senses. Good. For the most part, the chaos was dying down as the fire destroyed what was left of the stable. They wouldn’t have much time to rest before the clan picked their way around the destruction and discovered them. They best rest with what little time they had. Lordy, she was completely drained.

Gray’s chest expanded against her back with a deep intake of breath, as though he was about to speak. Trulie cut him off with a sharp jab of her elbow. “Not now. I’m worn out. We’ll talk later. Right now, I need a few minutes of peace and quiet before everyone finds us.”

“I’ll be damned if—”

Trulie jabbed him again. “I said hush.”

“Aye,” Gray finally rumbled against the back of her neck with a defeated sigh.

“Aileas stirs unrest against Mistress Trulie.” Colum stopped beside the head table. His hand rested atop the worn pommel of his sword as he scanned those gathered in the hall. Colum stepped closer and lowered his voice as he leaned forward. “She raises questions about the fire and how ye were saved. She stirs suspicion in everyone’s mind. The Sinclair women—they must take care.”

This information nay surprised Gray, nor did he care for it any better now that Colum had voiced it. The familiar revulsion Aileas always triggered soured in his gut. He shifted in the chair and brought his attention to the small cluster of higher-ranking clanswomen gathered across the room. “Perhaps the Lady Aileas seeks to shift suspicion from herself.” Gray’s fists tightened atop the arms of his chair as he watched Aileas. “Or her beloved spawn.”

Aileas’s blotchy face was even ruddier than usual. The furious stirring of her pot of lies had no doubt set fire to her blood. She hunched forward, eyes bulging for want of air as her thin lips moved at lightning speed. Suddenly, she stopped speaking, straightened from the cluster of women, and looked about the room. Her uneasy gaze locked with Gray’s glare.

Aileas scowled right back at him. She widened her stance and squared her shoulders as though preparing to plow across the room. With a challenging toss of her head, Aileas smoothed back the usual web of stringy brown curls wisping about her face. A conniving sneer tightened her mouth as she motioned the group of women to a more private corner.

Gray huffed out a disgusted breath. The women hanging on Aileas’s every word were the usual harpies who caused the most tension within the clan. The bitter females only found happiness when causing trouble for others. Three were widowed. One soon would be. Her frail husband had been ill for months. Gray blew out a humorless snort. The poor man probably prayed for death as an escape from his wife.

The quartet of self-proclaimed
grande dames
stood with plump hands pressed against their bosoms as though they couldna believe Aileas’s latest revelations.
And they shouldna believe ere a word from her lips.
The woman was a lying bitch.

“Have ye warned Granny and bade Coira make certain Trulie kens the danger?” Gray turned back to Colum as he shifted in the chair and forced himself to maintain the controlled air befitting a Highland chieftain.

Colum’s ears flushed a deep red and he fidgeted in place. “When I spoke to Granny Sinclair, the old woman gave me a hard look up and down and asked how I felt about marriage.”

“Did she now?” Gray cast another sideways glance at Colum and chuckled. So Colum was to be Granny Nia’s next target, perhaps? Good. Being chosen by Granny Sinclair was nay so bad—after all, had she no’ matched him to a green-eyed beauty well fitted to his heart and soul? Aye, she’d do Colum justice as well. “And pray tell, how did ye respond?”

Colum huffed in a deep breath then released it with a groan. “I told her I was a man of the sword. I had no time for a wife.”

“And her response?”

Colum shuffled uncomfortably in place while his gaze darted about the room. “She laughed.”

“I see.” Gray did his best not to smile. Poor Colum. The man was no match for Granny Sinclair. He might as well place his sword at her feet and beg for a merciful decision.

“Aye.” Colum bobbed his head faster as if affirming every word. “And then she added that Aileas was…” Colum paused and scrubbed a hand down across his face as though trying to free his thoughts. “She said Aileas better no’ tangle with them because they had trapped worse sore-tailed bears than her.”

Sore-tailed bears?
Gray turned and fully faced Colum. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Colum shrugged and shook his head. “I canna say. Half of what either of those women talk of makes no sense t’me.”

Gray chuckled. Poor Colum. He had to admit he felt the same. He knew the clan was curious about her strange tongue as well, adding weight to Aileas’s accusing stories.

Gray’s amusement drained away as the four shrews and Aileas went silent. They turned as one and trained haughty stares at Trulie as she entered the room with Coira at her side.

Trulie paused, lifted her chin, and scowled right back until Aileas turned away.

Admiration filled Gray as he rose from his chair on the dais. Such strength. Trulie was fearless. Tamhas and Granny had no’ been so far off the mark with their wee matchmaking game.

“And how do ye fare this fine, frosty morning, Mistress Trulie?” Gray knew exactly how Trulie fared this morning. She had been smiling and flushed pink with pleasure when he had risen from her bed after properly thanking her yet again for saving him from the stable fire.

“I am quite well, thank you.” Trulie flashed a meaningful smile back at Gray, which was fully understood. “Colum said we might be of some help to you today.”

Reluctantly, Gray pushed the memory of Trulie sprawled across piles of pillows to the back of his mind. He nodded toward the gaggle of scowling women gathered across the room. “Aye. Today, the hall is open for the airing of grievances. I would like ye to be present while I hear them. I would know yer thoughts of each person once they have spoken. Perhaps ye can discover who set fire to the stable.”

“Perhaps a murderer might be found as well,” Colum said as he scowled first at Aileas and then swiveled to glare at the other side of the room. The long plank tables had been pulled to the side nearest the kitchens. Several men sat scattered among the benches, their weapons laid atop the table beside their tankards as they quietly talked. Sitting alone at the table closest to the corner, Fearghal drooped forward clutching a chipped mug with both hands as though he feared it were about to escape.

Trulie gasped. Her eyes widened and her face paled. She latched on to Coira’s arm for balance as she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

Gray rushed to her and gathered her hands in his own. His alarm deepened at the unnatural iciness of her flesh. “What troubles ye? What has made ye unwell?”

Trulie inhaled a deep, hitching breath and opened her eyes. She leaned in close and weakly squeezed his hands. “I saw…” Trulie stared off into space, her lips barely parted.

“Ye saw what?” Gray gently pulled her closer to the privacy of the dais. “Tell me, love. What did ye see?”

“We can prevent it,” Trulie assured him with a firm nod, slowly blinking both eyes as though she’d just awakened from a trance.

“What?” Gray did his best not to raise his voice. It was obvious the woman was deeply troubled. What the hell had she seen? The last incident she had foretold—the stable fire—had nearly ended him. If there was ill afoot, he needed to know what it was and he needed to know it now.

Trulie wet her lips, took a deep breath, and smoothed her hands back across the sleek darkness of her upswept hair. She glanced quickly around the room, then pointed Coira toward the wide stone archway leading to the kitchens. “Could you please wait for me in the kitchens? We need to look…” Trulie’s voice faltered and she stopped speaking.

“We need t’look for what, mistress?” Coira glanced back and forth between Trulie and Gray.

“Aye, I would hear yer thoughts as well.” Gray took another step closer and set a hand on Trulie’s waist.

“I’ll explain everything once I’m done here.” Trulie smiled a trembling smile and nodded once again toward the archway.

Tension burned through Gray’s shoulders as he watched Coira duck her head and scurry from the room. Pulling Trulie closer, he whispered against her fragrant hair. “What the hell was that about? What did ye see?”

“Nothing I want to tell you about right now.” Trulie took a step back and clasped her hands in front of her. Coldness emanated from the grim look on her face, but at least the color had returned to her cheeks.

Gray scowled toward the archway Coira had just passed through, then turned back to Trulie. “I need t’know if aught is amiss—if trouble is about to befall.”

“It is not going to fall,” Trulie predicted in a firm voice. “I am not going to let it.”

Seething hatred. Jealousy. Loathing. Fear and…secrecy?
Trulie took a step back and peered closer. What kind of secret did Aileas MacKenna hide? Did she really have something to do with the most recent fire, and maybe even the murder of Gray’s parents?

Trulie took a deep breath and concentrated. She wet her lips, amped up her sensors, and braced herself against the wave of negativity battering her like a relentless demon. Lady MacKenna was an unhappy woman. Misery oozed from the woman’s pores like the stench of an unhealthy sweat. It was going to take a lot of work to sort through that emotional mess. No way was Trulie going anywhere near Aileas’s mind. As loudly as Aileas transmitted her foul, septic soul, her mind surely had to be like a tormented level of hell.

Trulie eased down into the chair Gray had placed beside his own and studied the scowling woman. She hadn’t missed the flush of anger staining Aileas’s cheeks when she had joined Gray at the head of the great hall. She smiled at the fuming woman, then bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. How deep a red could Aileas’s face turn? The woman really needed to calm down before steam shot out her ears and the top of her head blew off.

“I feel it unfair that the number of my serving girls has been decreased.” Aileas’s high-pitched voice echoed through the hall with a nerve-grating whine. She twisted her hands in front of her thick waist and swayed back and forth like an oversized pendulum. “My rooms grow shabby with neglect. ’Tis not befitting for the chieftain’s widow.”

“I have not decreased yer household.” Gray blew out an exasperated breath, leaned heavily to one side and nodded to the next individual waiting to speak. “If that be all, Lady Aileas—”

“That be far from all.” Aileas sniffed and lifted the end of her wrinkled nose an inch higher. She stomped her oversized foot so hard her heavy, dark skirts bounced. “If m’servants have no’ been decreased by yer order, I demand to know who has abused such power.” Aileas’s scowl deepened as she swiveled her entire girth to glare at Trulie.

Trulie glared right back and smiled. Aileas reminded Trulie a great deal of the unpleasant Mrs. Hagerty from Kentucky.
I wonder if she’s Hagerty’s ancestor?
The only difference between the two women was that Mrs. Hagerty lifted the art of bitchiness to an almost admirable level. Poor Aileas floundered at the task, landing somewhere between pathetic and easily forgettable.

Sensing Gray’s rising anger, Trulie rested her hand atop his and spoke before he could respond. “Lady Aileas, my grandmother and I assumed you sent those two helpful serving maids to our rooms permanently. Please forgive us if we assumed incorrectly. After all, everyone here is well aware of the caring and generosity of the great chief’s widow.”

Aileas’s jaw dropped and her mouth gaped open. Several rotted and missing teeth did nothing to improve her appearance. Her knuckles whitened as she strangled the bit of white linen clutched between her hands.

Trulie forced herself not to cringe. With teeth like that, Aileas’s breath had to be gag worthy. An errant draft chose that moment to waft through the hall. Trulie blinked hard against the wall of foul air and cursed the luck placing her downwind. She parted her lips and blew out short strained breaths. The rancid odor of Aileas’s unwashed body poisoned the air like a noxious cloud. Holy cow, Aileas was ripe.

“Perhaps I spoke rashly,” Aileas stammered. She slightly turned and darted a glance upward to the gallery and her cluster of friends. “Aye. Now that I think longer upon it, I do remember telling two of the girls to make certain your rooms were suitable.” Aileas stood taller, seeming to grow more pleased with herself as she looked up at the head-bobbing group of women again. “But I assumed the chieftain would see them returned to me once he set ye up in yer own tower—much as his father did for his mother.”

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd gathered on either side of the hall.

“Ye have o’erstepped yer bounds, Aileas.” Gray slammed a fist on the arm of the chair as he lunged up from his seat.

Fearghal clumsily made his way out from behind the bench and table. He teetered to a stop, twisted back and loudly cursed it. After properly denouncing the ancestry of the carpenter who had crafted the bench, Fearghal whirled back around and stumbled forward. He came to an unsteady stop beside his mother. After swiping his face with his stained sleeve, he threw out his chest and took a staggering step toward Gray. “I shall no’ allow ye t’speak to the Lady Aileas in such a manner when ye ha’ the likes o’ that one standin’ at yer side.” He fixed Trulie with a bleary-eyed glare, then punctuated the challenge with a gurgling belch.

“Yer drunk again, Fearghal. How else would ye find the courage to speak?” Gray slowly pulled Trulie closer to his side. “Forgive me,
mo luaidh,”
Gray said softly. “Pray ignore the drunken fool and his mother.”

Fearghal tucked his chin and belched louder. Stumbling a bit to one side, he drew his dirk and waved it through the air. “Wha’ kind of chieftain has his leman sit beside him in great hall? Wha’ kind of chief takes council from a whore?”

Gray drew his blade and lunged forward. Trulie snagged the sleeve of Gray’s tunic and yanked back. “Gray—no!” He didn’t need to kill a drunken fool on her account.

Red-faced, Fearghal spit and sputtered profanity as he struggled to free himself from his mother’s hold. Even Aileas realized her son had gone too far, and was attempting to drag him from the room.

Trulie planted herself in front of Gray. He pushed around her.

“Stop.” Trulie rounded Gray again and flattened both hands against his chest. “Gray. Please don’t.”

Gray grabbed Trulie by the shoulders and set her aside as though she hadn’t said a word.

“Gray, you must stop. Now.” Trulie pushed back into his arms and held his face between her hands. “Let it pass,” she pleaded, searching his eyes for the slightest flicker of reason. Rage simmered in their depths. Thirst for blood turned them an even colder blue. “You’re better than them. Besides, I need to hear everything to gather information. I need to read the room—including them. Please,” she whispered.