To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull series) (17 page)

Then it was no longer the sound of a bell at all but a chorus of voices chanting
Witch, Witch, Witch
in her mind as she was lost to a vision.

Ronan was once again walking away from her on the beach, only this time he did look back. With a cruel sneer twisting his features, he laughed and called her a whore
.

She did not know herself as she succumbed to the doubt her vision implanted in her heart. She beat her fists against his chest and cried out, “You’re a bastard—a liar.”

“Shoney, what is the matter with you?” He lay atop her, pinning her arms above her head. Still, she continued to thrash and scream.

“Shoney, you are crazed. I cannot do this right now. Do you not hear the alarm?” he exclaimed as he jumped to his feet, looking in the direction of the village.

On her hands and knees, she grappled with her clothing. “The only alarm I hear is the one in my heart telling me you have no honor.”

“You speak of honor when my village may be under attack, and yet you would delay my return.”

“There will always be a bell or a council meeting,” she shouted. She felt her eyes fill with tears, but she did not care. She was tired of being tossed aside. She was tired of hiding.

“You are ashamed of me. If you truly loved me, you would fight for me, for us.”

“You doubt me even now?” he grabbed hold of her arms. “You will be my wife. You will bear my children.”

“You are lying to me and to yourself”, she cried.

“I should not have to keep defending my life to you. You know I have my duty.” She winced as his grip on her arms tightened. “What more do you want from me?” he scowled.

She reached for his hands and clutched them tightly. “I want you to aid your family and your people. I want you to ride hard and answer the call of the alarm, but take me with you.” She began to pull him in the direction of the village. “Come Ronan. Let us ride now, together.”

“No, Shoney, ‘tis too risky. The village may be under attack.”

“In case of an attack is why you should bring me now. Ronan, I can fight—you know my skill with a bow.” But before she could finish her defense he interrupted.

“Never, Shoney. You will never fight. Perhaps you are right and at one time women were indeed warriors, but that time has long since passed.” He bent his head and brushed her lips with a kiss. Then he started toward his mount.

“Ronan”, she called after him.

He turned and faced her with fire in his eyes and said, “Enough, Shoney. I must go.” But she ran ahead and stood in front of him, blocking his path.

“I am a healer. Ronan, please take me with you. You will need my skill if any within your clan has suffered injury.” Her voice was pleading, and she hated the sound of it, but she was desperate to be included. He gave her no quarter as he grabbed her shoulders and lifted her out of the way.

“The bell rings, and I must answer its call. I will return to you this night, to this very place.” He cupped her face and kissed her slowly. “I will not fail you”, he whispered.

 Then he was gone.

Chapter 15

From a distance, Ronan could see the village was not under attack. People were walking to and fro, going about their usual business. He even saw children at play. Everyone seemed oblivious to the constant clanging. Never had the bell been rung for so long. Urging his mount forward, he galloped into the village and did not wait for his horse to stop before he jumped down. He called out to all who stood by, “What danger is there?”, but no one replied.

“What is the matter with everyone”, he growled. “Why does the bell toll?”

Argyle approached him and rested his frail hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “’Tis your mother, lad. She has taken ill with a mysterious malady. She is weak like one who has been sick for weeks or months.”

“You must be mistaken, Argyle, for I saw my mother two evenings passed, and she was quite well.”

“I have seen her with my own eyes, lad. She is as I say. Morna does not know what ails her nor does Father Colin. She has been bled, but her condition seems grave.”

He could not believe his mother was as ill as Argyle described. Just the night before last at supper, she was laughing and calling out jests with their company. Argyle must be mistaken, but why would he lie? One thing he knew for certain was that he would never make sense of the matter with the endless ringing of the blasted bell.

His hands flew to his ears. “Damn it, why does that bell still ring?”

“Your father hopes the bell will draw the good Lord’s eyes so that he might look upon his daughter and heal her. The bell will ring until she is well again.”

Argyle’s words caused a shiver to creep down his spine. He knew his father would not have made such a command if his mother’s condition was not desperate. He looked imploringly to his old friend, expecting to receive some words of comfort—perhaps there was hope—but the old man only shook his head. He backed away from Argyle and then ran toward Dun Ara Castle. As he entered the small baily he saw Aidan.

“Ronan, at last, we have been scouring the moors and forest for you,” he said loudly. Then he spoke for Ronan’s ears alone, “What took you so long? Do you know how hard it was to secure your privacy in the midst of a search party?”

“I do not want to talk about that now. Tell me, Aidan, is my mother’s condition as Argyle described?”

“I am sorry, Ronan. She is lost to fever.” Ronan raced toward the keep as Aidan called after him, “Prepare yourself, my friend, she suffers.”

He rushed to the large doorway leading into the great hall. Then he sprinted up the stone stairs, taking three at a time. Outside his parent’s rooms sat Father Colin. The priest rose. His short hair stood straight on end from his hands pulling on the red strands with worry. A fleeting look of relief passed over his thin face as he saw Ronan, but his expression soon settled back into grim lines.

“It is good that you have come, Ronan. Your father has wondered if your presence might help. Her condition is grave, my boy, but perhaps you might bring her some peace.”

Ronan was stunned by his first view of Anwen. He froze in the doorway as a great fear crept into his heart. His kinsmen had tried to warn him, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of his mother’s body soaked with sweat and tears and writhing in agony on his parent’s bed. He looked to his father whose haggard appearance made him seem older than his forty-nine years.

Nathair had yet to notice Ronan’s arrival. He was kneeling beside his wife, trying to still her trembling form. Ronan heard his father’s soft whispers crooning to the woman he loved. As if sensing Ronan’s presence, Nathair’s head snapped toward the door. Ronan saw a steady flow of tears drip into the MacKinnon’s beard. He rushed to kneel beside his father.

“Look to our lady, to my Anwen. Look at what has become of her.” Ronan took hold of his mother’s hand.

“Mother, I am here now.” Her black hair, drenched with sweat, clung to hollow cheeks as pain stricken eyes sought his own.

“Nachlan, is that you”, she wheezed. “Nachlan, where have you been? I have waited supper for you.”

“Your son, Nachlan, cannot be here, mother. ‘Tis me, Ronan.”

“Who are you?” she cried. “Help me, Nachlan. Please help me. The pain is so great.”

A broad hand gripped Ronan’s shoulder. “She is lost to the fever, son. She does not know anyone. I was hoping…” Nathair choked on his words, letting them trail off.

His father had prayed for his swift return, believing Anwen could never forget her only living son. Ronan stood, filled with resolution.

“Father Colin”, he called, “have you sent for the Abbot?”

“Dugald and Guthrie sail for the Isle of Iona even as we speak.”

He nodded his approval and turned toward the door. “Father, I will return presently. Remain by her side. If she becomes lucid, she will be frightened if you are not here.”

“Wait”, Nathair called. “Where are you going?”

“I will be right back, but I must speak with Aidan.”

“Aidan cannot help, Ronan. No one but the Heavenly Father can help her now.”

“There is one, father—a healer with skills that surpass our own. Aidan will sail without delay.”

“And this healer, she will come to Mull without sending word or warning first.” Nathair ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “What if she refuses him?”

Ronan turned back and looked his father straight in the eye. “She will sail willingly with Aidan, or, at my command, he will bring her bound and gagged if need be. But by my word, father, she will be here before nightfall tomorrow.”

Chapter 16

Shoney sat unmoving beneath their tree and watched Ronan’s departure. The sun blazed high in the sky above, shining brightly on the hilltop where he would appear again. She wondered what ills he faced while she sat discarded and useless. She knew he did not intend to wound her, but like her mother warned, he would not, or rather could not, uphold his vows. She did not doubt the goodness of his intentions, but despite what he believed, he was as likely to control the minds’ of men as he was to control the tides. He would never truly be hers.

The sun descended from the sky, and still she sat motionless and ever waiting. The world around her was painted in the gold and pinks of sunset, and with the approach of twilight, she silenced the debate thundering in her mind. He vowed to return to her by nightfall, and this small promise she knew at least he would keep. As the moors changed from green to purple, she was filled with anticipation. The moon rose high in the sky, and though there was no sign of Ronan, she kept her faithful vigil.

But the night could not last forever, and as it grew old and anguish filled her sedentary bones, uncertainty crept back into her heart. Regardless of whether or not he kept his word this night, she knew tomorrow would only bring more broken promises. She would never be accepted by the clan, and he would never give up his family and position for her. He was duty-bound as the future laird. He would sacrifice his own happiness for the greater good of his people. It is what he had been trained to do; it is what he believed was right.

Her instincts commanded her to stand and walk away, but she refused to take her eyes from the hilltop for even a moment. The love she bore him was so great. She felt it alive deep within herself. Without him she was lifeless, soulless—a vacant mass of flesh and bone. Surely, if he endured even a moment of the pain she felt, he would come back to her and fight for her.

“It would be him against the world”, she said out loud.

How could she ask that of him? But, equally, how could he ask her to give up her beliefs and the very name her mother gave her?

The darkness began to recede, and the first morning bird sounded
.
The Skylark’s song twisted her heart as it marked the true passing of night. Only then did it become unbearably clear that their promises to each other had been made in vain. Sooner or later, Ronan would chose his destiny, and it would be one in which she played no part.

For the first time since Ronan’s departure, she shifted her gaze and stared at her empty hands. She hung her head and felt a rush of pressure surge from deep within her body. It traveled the length of her abdomen and into her throat, pushing against the walls of her mouth until she finally opened her lips and let go an earsplitting sob. A flurry of birds filled the air, jetting out of the tree branches as they fled from her deafening cry.

She felt a cool rush of air on her face, and once more, she heard the whispers on the wind—soft feminine caresses from a long descent of ancestral women who had also loved and lost. Driven by the strength in their voices, she stood and shook Ronan from her skirts. Her legs protested the sudden movement, but she welcomed the pain; it was a reminder that she was indeed alive and very much in possession of name and of soul. She would return home, and she vowed never again to deny her instincts or the wisdom revealed by her visions.

From her satchel she withdrew the Witch’s cloak. She fanned it over her shoulders and pulled the hood low over her head. The fabric was thin, but it felt like stone across her back. It was her weapon in a battle that ended centuries ago; a battle she single-handedly still waged against an entire kingdom. Her mother refused to give her allegiance to the Scottish King, and Shoney would not fail her.

She assumed the gait of a crippled hag. Ronan may know her as Shoney, but as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was the Witch of Dervaig. He would never sweep the cloak from her shoulders, allowing her to stand with pride. And she would never be content masquerading as a Scottish lass or as his secret whore.

Trails of tears coursed down her cheeks; try as she might, she could not stop crying. Her vision was blurred by the endless pools filling her eyes, which caused her to stumble and trip so that she need not feign the Witch’s gait. Finally, she arrived home, and as the door shut behind her with a loud thud, she prayed to the Mother of all to give her the strength to do what she must—she would leave him before he left her.

She hung the cloak on its peg and began to pull off her clothing.

“No, don’t do that”, someone cried.

Shoney whirled in the direction of the voice and saw the shadow of a man in the far corner near her pallet. She lunged for her sword.

“Reveal yourself, fiend.” Her voice sounded courageous to her own ears, but inside she quivered with fear. From out of the shadows strode Aidan with his hands raised above his head.

“’Tis only me”, he said. “I’m sorry to have caused you such alarm. I’ve been waiting for you since last evening, and I’m afraid I fell asleep over there and did not hear your arrival.”

He walked toward her, cautiously eyeing her blade. “I spoke hastily to ensure you stayed altogether garbed in my presence. Ronan has a mighty temper and would cut the eyes from my head if I ever saw you…well…you know.”

She watched a smile briefly flit across his features, but it soon passed, replaced by a soberness that surprised her. The brief occasions she had met Aidan he seemed to take nothing serious, except of course the risks which Ronan and Shoney were taking to be together.