“It doesnae matter now.” Her aunt waved it away. “What matters is that I was safely tucked in bed until the potion wore off.” She nodded again and relented. “I must admit ‘twas a good rest.”
“I imagine ‘twas,” Rona said. “Mistress Mórag has a way with herbs.” She tilted her head in question, anxious to get to the root of things. “And it verra much matters who swept ye up when ye...what? Swooned?”
“I grew sleepy.”
Liar. The truth of it was in Brighid's less-than-direct gaze. “Och, nay, ye swooned!”
Brighid looked anywhere but at her. “I might have teetered a wee bit.”
“Teetered?” Aaron admonished appearing at the threshold of a nearby door. “Ye flat out fell, lass. Lucky for ye, I am as sprite as ever in my old age and got to ye in time.”
He cut a fine sight in his MacLomain colors, his typically unruly hair combed back neatly. In fact, if Rona did not know better, she would say he and Brighid looked a smidge more done up than usual. But then, that made sense considering what had happened.
Could it be romance was finally getting around to blossoming properly?
“Ah, soyewere my aunt’s dashing hero!” She gave her aunt a cheeky grin and winked. “Thank goodness Aaron was there and carried ye off to bed so readily.”
“I did do that.” Aaron puffed up some before he sensed more to their exchange and narrowed his eyes. “Where I then left her of course.”
“After a time,” came a soft, knowing voice from ahead. “But ‘twas good of ye to sit by her bedside and watch over her as ye did.”
Rona kept her expression well-schooled when Mórag appeared out of a dark room ahead. She had always been a slight woman, but her proud disposition once made her seem taller. Now it was clear that illness and the loss of so many had taken its toll. While still beautiful, her blonde locks were prematurely white and her fragile bones near skeletal on her sunken frame.
“Mistress Mórag, ‘tis so nice to see ye again.” Rona curtsied. “Thank ye for yer hospitality and for yer concoction. It verra much helped.”
Upon the death of Laird Keenan MacLauchlin’s mother, his aunt Mórag rose in station and became the castle’s matriarch. Until such time, of course, that Colmac married or Keenan returned and took a wife.
“Welcome, Rona.” Mórag’s steady, offsetting gaze remained on her. “My son is glad to see ye again.”
Not her, then? Just Colmac? Mórag had always been different. Haughty because she was the former chieftain’s sister but also a touch withdrawn. Now she just seemed haunted. Not entirely present. As if she still stood at death’s door, her last breath but a moment away.
“I am glad to see Colmac as well.” Rona lowered her head in respect. “And so verra sorry for the loss of yer good husband and my dear friend and betrothed, Bróccín.”
“Aye,” Mórag whispered, her eyes suddenly vacant where moments ago they were lit with wisdom. “He misses ye, lass.” Her gaze drifted. “They missed ye something fierce.” She blinked several times then gestured down the hall. “Go, be amongst my people. For the Hogmanay comes soon and with it, a final farewell.”
Then, just like that, she vanished back into her chamber.
Rona, Brighid, and Aaron glanced at each other and frowned before Aaron ushered them along.
“What did she mean by that?” she whispered to Brighid. They started down a wide stone spiral staircase rimmed on one side with arrow slit windows. “Did it not sound as if she means to harm herself?”
“It didnae sound promising.” Her aunt cast a look over her shoulder at Aaron. “What think ye? Should we tell the laird?”
Rona sighed and shook her head rather than correct her aunt about Colmac’s status yet again.
“I think we should mind our own business for now,” Aaron replied. “Fear naught. Colmac keeps a close eye on his ma.”
“Does he then?” Rona asked.
“Aye.” Aaron nodded, clearly impressed. “He’s a good lad seeing not just to his ma’s needs but the clan’s. Trying to return things to normal when ‘tis clear he’s suffered as much as the lot of ‘em.”
He truly had. She’d seen it on his face when they spoke earlier. She got the feeling he rarely confided in anyone, so she was glad he felt comfortable enough to share what he had been through. The awful road he’d been down since the illness. She had wanted to comfort him. Wrap her arms around him. But she saw the hesitation in his eyes. His need to keep his distance even as he sought the friendship that was once theirs.
Surely, only ever friendship, right? He had never expressed any deeper feelings.
Except, that is, for what she had glimpsed that one time years ago.
Yet based on his behavior afterward, she assumed it must have been her youthful and very hopeful heart at work. The same heart that sped up now at the thought it might not have been her imagination that night.
