Sweet Revenge

"Should we put her back in the tub?"

  Morag hesitated, then glanced at him. "Did she regain her senses?"

  "Nay. I lost mine," Galen muttered.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing. She did come about a bit," he admitted reluctantly. "Do ye wish to bathe her again or not?"

  "Nay. Not just yet. I'll watch to see what happens for now."

  Nodding, Galen turned and headed straight for the door. "I'll be about me business then. Call me if there is any change. My servants are at yer disposal."

  Morag waited until the door had closed before allowing the laugh she had been holding back to flow. Fell in the tub, indeed! He was no better a liar than her girl was. His lips had been red and swollen and his manhood had been poking his wet plaid out so far she could near look beneath it.

  Shaking her head, she turned to glance down at the naked woman on the bed, taking in the signs on her of what had transpired. Kyla's lips too were swollen and rosy, as were her breasts, which were still erect as she lay in silent slumber.

  "Wore ye out, did he?" she commented dryly, then sighed and sank onto the side of the bed to brush the hair from her ward's sleeping face. "Let us hope he fires ye so when yer alive and kicking, else we may have a problem on our hands." She shook her head. "He forgets I am Scottish if he thinks I don't know he wed ye soon as the ship landed. 'Tis all they're talking about down there. So much for my plan to keep ye free of such a bond til ye were back on yer feet. Yer married, lass. Like it or no, our course has been changed. Let us hope the seas here aren't as rough as the waters into which Catriona would have tossed ye."

  Chapter Four

  Kyla stared at the bed drapes overhead and sighed impatiently. She had awoken earlier with a horrendous headache, a terribly dry mouth, and feeling as weak as a puppy. Morag had been bending over her at the time, a relieved smile on her face and a wonderfully cool tankard of meade in hand for her. A bland broth had followed and Kyla had swallowed every last spoonful, then dropped back into an exhausted sleep.

  Now she was awake again and had been for an hour. Only this time, Morag was sound asleep on a cot beside the bed. Kyla was loath to wake her. Judging by how she felt, she knew she had been dreadfully ill and that meant her maid had probably been nursing her and most likely getting very little sleep herself.

  Morag had given up her position as lady's maid to Kyla's mother when Johnny was born and devoted herself to the chore of nursemaid. From then on she had fretted over first Johnny, then Kyla, too, like a mother hen over her chicks. She had tended various childhood injuries, seen them through myriad illnesses, held them as they sobbed out their sorrows, soothed their worries, and always had satisfactory answers to childish questions like, "What holds the sun in the sky?" Unfortunately, at the moment Kyla had quite a few questions she was dying to get an answer to. Where she was, for instance, but Morag was not awake to answer.

  She peered about her for the hundredth time and ground her teeth together. This was not her room. Even more confusing, it was not any of the rooms in Forsythe keep. She had no idea where she was. She also had no idea why she had been so ill. What illness had she had? Was Johnny struck down with it as well? Those were only a few of the questions whirling in her head. She had at least a hundred more and every second that Morag slept brought her another. Kyla had half a mind to get up and find out the answers for herself.

  That, she decided suddenly, was a fine idea. Pushing the linens aside, she slid her feet off the bed, pushed herself to a sitting position, then eased herself slowly to the floor, grabbing at the wall as the room swayed dizzily around her.

  She used the wall for support until the room stopped it's mad spinning, then used it to brace herself as she walked to the chests resting a few feet away. She had recognized them as her own on first awakening and was reassured by their presence. Wherever she was, she had her belongings with her. Quite a few of them, too, she noted now, quickly counting the chests. Good God! It looked as if she had brought everything she owned.

  Pausing by the larger of the chests, she opened the lid, then knelt to rifle through it. Most of the gowns were too wrinkled to even consider, but she chose the best of the bunch, a dark blue one with a cream trim. She considered taking the time to find a fresh under-tunic and accessories to wear with it, but decided she was too weary for such effort and the under-tunic she had awoken in would have to do. That decided, Kyla eased onto the edge of the bed and began struggling into the outfit. She actually worked up a sweat simply getting dressed. That was distressing. It showed just how weak she truly was.

  Her gaze moved to Morag, a frown briefly tugging at her lips. If her weakness had not suggested to her that she had been desperately ill for a length of time, Morag's exhaustion would have. For as long as she had known her, the old woman had been the lightest of sleepers, awaking at the slightest whisper of sound. However, Kyla had done a great deal of huffing and puffing while trying to dress and the woman had not even stirred. Morag was dead to the world.

  Kyla glanced toward the bed, briefly considering giving up this foolish escapade and collapsing back into it's welcoming softness. Then she shook her head and made her slow unsteady way to the door.

  Her first sight of the hallway outside the chamber told her a great deal...and very little. One look assured her that she definitely was no longer at Forsythe. She'd thought that perhaps Catriona had redecorated one of the rooms of the castle and had had her placed in it to convalesce--Catriona had changed a great many things since marrying Kyla's brother. That was not the case, however, for the hall was not one she recognized.

  Biting her lip, she hesitated briefly, then slid cautiously out of the chamber she had been sleeping in. She quietly eased the door shut before heading toward the end of the hall at a slow shuffle. A moment later, she found herself at the top of a wide set of steps leading below. Pausing there, she listened to the noise rising up to her, slightly reassured by various spurts of lighthearted laughter and bits of jovial conversation. Then she realized that the bits and pieces of discussion she was listening to were in Gaelic; worry drew her brows together again.

  What the Devil was she doing in Scotland?

  Or was she?

  Mayhap she was listening to the conversations of Scottish visitors in an English manor, Kyla thought, but discarded the notion at once. She had been standing there for several minutes now and had yet to hear one word of English. It was more likely that she had finally set out to visit her mother's family.

  Aye. That made more sense, she decided. It would even explain why she had brought so many clothes with her. The muscles in her shoulders relaxed somewhat at this explanation. She had been planning such an outing since she was a little girl and had always intended on staying for an extended visit. She had simply never gotten around to going.

  Kyla had been thinking about it a great deal lately, though, what with Johnny being newly married. She had felt to be crowding him and his new bride, a feeling that was aggravated no doubt by the fact that she found she did not care overly much for her new sister-in-law. The woman was pushy, overbearing, and just plain nasty. But she was also sneaky enough to hide these less attractive traits from her new husband. Unfortunately, Kyla was not as skilled at prevarication as her new sister-in-law; Johnny had seen right through the friendly facade she had tried to present. He had been quite hurt, and it had put them at odds of late.

  Catriona, she thought now on a sigh. Even the name sounded bitchy to her.

  Pushing such uncharitable thoughts aside, Kyla ignored the twinge in her back that had begun as she was dressing and pasted a smile on her face as she started down the stairs. She was determined to enjoy this visit. She had looked forward to meeting her mother's family all of her young life. She had started a correspondence with her uncle, the chief of the Fergusons, and his wife when she was twelve. Ever since receiving their warm response to that letter, she had been daydreaming about a visit with them and how it would go. Oddly enough, not in one single dream had she imagi
ned spending the first part of it in a sick bed.

  Determined to turn this visit around, Kyla managed the stairs at a slow pace with one hand merely trailing along the wall. She was halfway down before she saw anyone and that was just a servant rushing in the front door and hurrying past the staircase to disappear from view into the unseen part of the room below. After a couple more steps, Kyla spied another person. This time it was a man-at-arms, and he saw her as well. His reaction upon spying her was as shocking to Kyla as her presence apparently was to him. He took one look at her, froze in his path to the keep doors, crossed himself, and turned to bellow toward the part of the room Kyla could not see. That shout was enough to bring all conversation in the room to an immediate halt.

  Despite his reaction, Kyla continued down two more steps until she could see into the rest of the great hall. It was the nooning hour and the trestle tables were crowded with people sitting down to eat, but not one of them was eating just now. They were all staring at her with varying expressions of shock. Some, like the man-at-arms, looked quite dismayed. Others looked simply startled. She was just becoming a bit concerned by that fact when they all seemed to rise as one and move toward her.

  Kyla had the sudden urge to turn and flee back up the stairs. Unfortunately, she did not think she could manage them in her weak condition. Just descending them had made her frightfully tired. Her head was spinning, her stomach roiling, and her back seemed to sting more with every passing moment. That being the case, the only option open to her was to face these people dead-on.

  Determination buoying her up, she raised her chin and managed two more steps before pausing again, too discomfited by the very stillness of the staring people before her to continue. They hardly seemed to be breathing, she noted with a frown as she peered over the crowd, taking in their long hair and plaids. She was definitely in Scotland. That much was obvious. Unfortunately, she had no idea what her aunt and uncle looked like, so had no idea if they were present.

  "Good morrow?" she said at last when her nerves seemed stretched as tautly as the silence around her.

  "Good morrow," they answered as one.

  Shifting uncomfortably, Kyla hesitated, then descended the last three stairs to stand on the floor. She released the wall as she did lest they see her weakness.

  "Mistress, shouldn't you be abed..." someone asked fearfully.

  Kyla started toward the trestle tables, her gait as unsteady as a drunkard's. The crowd pressed a step closer, seemingly eager to catch her should the necessity arise.

  Kyla noticed that everyone had moved nearer, worry on their faces. Their collective behavior was making her distinctly uncomfortable. It was almost as if they were all privy to something she should know but did not. Doing her best to ignore these discomfiting thoughts, she straightened her shoulders and continued toward the table, concentrating on keeping her gait steady and straight.

  She was weaving like a drunken doxy. Robbie was just wondering if he would be overstepping himself to pick her up and cart her to the table, when she stumbled. Several people reached out quickly to steady her, but he himself drew her arm through his own and half supported her the rest of the way to the table.

  "Thank you, sir," Kyla murmured as she settled on the bench.

  "Robbie."

  Kyla peered up at that. "Robbie?"

  "'Tis my name."

  "Oh, aye. Of course." She smiled at him uncertainly, acutely aware of the sudden murmuring that had now started up around them.

  Casting a silencing glance toward the others, Robbie shook his head. It would not do for her to overhear the speculation the others were openly indulging in regarding her presence of mind. Or lack of it, as the case may be, he thought on a sigh. He wished Galen were here to handle this situation. Had Lady Kyla waited a bit longer, or even had she come down a few minutes earlier, mayhap he would have been. But just a few short moments before her appearance, Gavin had sent word that Duncan had returned from taking the message to Shropshire and had arrived on the mainland shore. Galen and Tommy had gone down to await the boat Gavin had taken over to pick the other man up.

  Leaving him in charge, he supposed with a sigh as he turned back to peer curiously at his new mistress.

  "Do ye no' remember me?" he asked expectantly after a moment. Kyla raised her eyebrows, a slight frown curving her lips.

  "Remember...?" she queried uncertainly.

  Nodding, he prompted, "I be the one ye stabbed."

  Her jaw dropped at that, partially due to what he had said and partially due to the way he said it. He had spoken as if announcing a sacred honor.

  Thinking she must have misunderstood, Kyla shook her head faintly. "I...I am sorry. What did I do?" she asked in disbelief, frowning as the murmuring around them became a buzz and Robbie's expression became worried.

  "Ye stabbed me, my lady. Right here."

  He was gesturing to his chest and Kyla paled, unsure what to say to that. But when she shook her head in denial, he nodded at once with firm certainty.

  "Aye, ye did. With yer dirk. Don't ye remember?" he asked, definitely looking worried now. "Ye jumped me," he prompted. "Knocked me right off the cart, ye did, and plunged yer dirk right here." In his distress, he jerked his shirt out of his plaid, displaying a rather nasty, jagged wound that was unbound and still healing.

  At his words Kyla was on her feet at once, but the sudden motion simply set the room to spinning and forced her back to her seat. "I am sorry," she said faintly at last, unsure what to do or say. She had no recollection of what he was claiming she had done and simply could not understand why, rather than being upset, the man seemed pleased as he imparted such information.

  "Nay. No need to apologize, me lady. 'Twas an honor."

  Kyla's head began to swim at that announcement. Trying to retain her composure, she finally asked, "Where are your laird and lady?"

  "Yer our lady, me lady."

  She turned in confusion to the man who had spoken.

  "I be Angus, me lady. Do ye remember me?"

  "I...Nay...I-I am sorry," Kyla repeated, her mind still stuck on the confusing claim that she was their lady. She was sure she had misheard him, but before she could clarify what he had said, the keep doors burst open.

  For a moment, with the sunlight pouring in behind them, Kyla could not make out who was entering. It was just long enough for her to grasp at the hope that the newcomers might be her aunt and uncle and that they would bring some semblance of sanity to this situation. Then the door closed, her eyes readjusted, and she saw that those entering were both men and far too young to be her uncle. The one in front was tall with an angular face and long, fiery red hair. He also, Kyla noted, had wide shoulders and well-formed legs. She found him oddly appealing.

  Frowning, she glanced toward the shorter man, quickly noting his equally healthy physique and that his hair was dark before they both spotted her and slowed. They had nearly stopped walking altogether when the shorter man's face suddenly became animated with something akin to worship. Rushing forward, he crossed the great hall quickly and dropped to one knee before her, holding his hands out as if offering a wondrous treasure.

  "Yer necklace, me lady. I guarded it well. Yer brother is safe."

  Frowning, Kyla reached for the gold he offered her, her other hand going to her throat as she recognized her jewelry. "My locket."

  "Aye." The man before her smiled widely. "Lord Shropshire recognized it and went at once to Forsythe. He sent a messenger back to tell me that yer brother still lives. He promised to see that it remains so--and that all is sorted out."

  Kyla peered at the man in confusion, his words not really making any sense to her. Johnny? Safe? From what? She swayed on the bench slightly, then eased back to lean against the table for support. But pain immediately shot up her back and she stiffened, a rush of scenes flashing through her head. She could hear the clash of metal against metal, see swords glinting in the sunlight as they met. Her brother's scream of agony ripped through her he
ad, accompanied by an image of him grabbing a sword that lanced him through his chest. A blade rose in the air over his fallen body, the ground rushed by beneath her feet, then the searing pain in her back worsened a thousandfold.

  Crying out, Kyla tried to reach behind her to stop the agony, but there seemed to be no muscles left in her arms...nor the rest of her body for that matter, she realized. She slid toward the floor.

  "Is she all right?"

  His face tight with concern, Galen pushed his way through the crowd to his wife's side as that question was repeated by seemingly one and all. He had seen the memories return to her and realized only then that she had not recalled them on awakening. He had started forward at once, but by then it was too late. She had already been crying out and sliding from the bench to lie in the rushes on the floor.

  "She came below all on her own, me laird," Robbie told him anxiously, moving out of the way as Galen reached his side.

  "I don't know where she got the strength," Duncan murmured. Kneeling on her other side, he picked up the necklace from where it had fallen to the floor.

  "She didn't recall me," the bigger man added reluctantly now, worry obvious in his tone. "Ye don't think the witch was right and the fevers rushed...it along, do ye?"

  "I don't know," Galen muttered grimly as he checked her swiftly for injury. Reassured that she bore no new wounds from her adventure, he lifted her gently.

  "We shall have to watch over her," someone murmured. "'Tis plain she doesn't know what's good for her."

  "Aye. She should have stayed abed."

  "'Twas brave of her to try it on her own," Duncan said defensively.

  "She is too brave for her own good," Angus muttered. There were many murmurs of agreement to that, but Galen ignored them as he carried his wife from the room.

  "Damn me, I knew she would do something like this," Morag paused in her headlong rush as she spotted Galen carrying her charge up the steps.

  "Where were ye?"

  The maid flushed under the accusation in those words, shame filling her voice as she admitted, "I fell asleep."

  Galen opened his mouth to berate her, then recognized the exhaustion lining her face. She had sat awake with Kyla for a good week now. Swallowing back his condemnation, he merely strode past her and down the hall.