“Laird Douglas,” she said courteously, as if the man were conscious of the goings-on in his chamber. Then she picked up the bowl of porridge and abandoned napkin and turned, offering them to Glenna.
Glenna took the sustenance and eased down on to the edge of the mattress. “Thank you.” She was wary of the woman and embarrassed at the hunger that gnawed at her insides, but as if Harriet Cameron sensed as much, she turned back to the wan figure on the bed, her hands on her generously rounded hips, giving Glenna privacy for her first ravenous tastes of the food.
“How long’s the laird been in his state?” Harriet asked, not looking at Glenna.
Glenna swallowed and cleared her throat before answering. “This morn was the fourth day.”
Harriet’s brow lowered on her profile. “He’s nae woken a’tall? Taken nae drink?”
“Nay.” Glenna dropped her eyes to the bowl and scooped another spoonful while Harriet stepped to the bedtable. “I…I’ve bathed his mouth. With spiced wine. ’Twas all I had.” She lifted the porridge to her mouth but spoke before taking the bite. “Your son thought it fitting to drink the last of it himself last night.”
Harriet turned her head quickly, and her face bore an expression of unabashed surprise. Then her features seemed to calm, steel themselves against emotion. “I apologize in his stead, milady. You are welcome to anything I have to replace it, of course.”
Glenna ignored the comment and looked back to the contents of the bowl as she swirled it with her spoon. Her stomach had filled quickly, the few bites settling like thorny rocks.
“It doesn’t matter, though, does it? He’ll die.”
“Have you a priest?” Harriet asked, in one manner ignoring Glenna’s comment, but also confirming it by the very question.
Glenna set the bowl aside on the still coverlet and twisted the linen cloth between her hands. “There is Dubhán. The hermit monk who lives along the cliff. He sees to the graveyard. The…the burials.”
“Thanks be to God for that, at least. With your permission, I’ll send for him this afternoon.”
Glenna’s throat constricted. “Nay,” she rasped. “Da doesn’t want that. He renounced all religion after my mother died. He—” Glenna stopped, shocked at how readily she seemed to want to share with the woman the horrible memories bubbling up in her own mind—the pounding on the keep door, Dubhán’s voice calling out for mercy the day the villagers began to die…
Glenna took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t want Dubhán’s blessing.”
Harriet winced. “But, milady, his soul—”
“Nay. He is still laird here, no matter what your son says. I will obey his wishes.”
“Of course, milady. Of course. I didna mean to add to your upset. I’ll visit this Dubhán myself soon and take him a basket of food. Beg your pardon, milady, but I’m supposing his supplies match your own?”
Glenna felt her face heat. “Dubhán looks after himself.”
“I see. Well,” she sighed. “There’s likely naught I can do to save your da, you ken, but I might be able to give him a mite o’ comfort.” Harriet looked to Glenna. “If milady wishes.”
“It doesn’t matter what I wish,” Glenna replied bitterly. “As soon as the rain stops, Tavish Cameron would see us tossed out on the road.”
Harriet Cameron looked at Glenna for a long moment while thunder rumbled gently. “It’s still rainin’, is it nae?”
Glenna nodded dumbly.
“And your da still lives. Let me help you while I can.” She paused. “You might think Tav is only hard-hearted and cruel, but he isna. His mind is foremost for business. And for the time being, his business is Roscraig.”
Glenna felt her temper flare. “Roscraig doesn’t belong to him.”
“That isna my argument to make,” Harriet rejoined gently. “And I willna play you false by saying I doona think my son deserves what his own father has given him. But I would ask you: if you could choose, right now, between Roscraig and your da, which would you have?”
Tears came into Glenna’s eyes, extinguishing the fire that wanted to blaze inside her. “Of course I would have my father.”
“Aye. And so, for now, you have the privilege of choosing which battle you fight. Tavish never had a choice.”
Glenna lifted her chin. “That isn’t my doing. If anyone’s, ’tis yours.”
The old woman dropped her eyes for a moment, and Glenna felt a prickling of her conscience.
“I’ve never had much say myself over the path I’ve traveled, milady. And so I understand a bit of what you’re feeling now, and I’m sorry for you. But I canna stay Tavish’s hand in what he chooses for Roscraig, even if I had wish to. So if you’d rather I leave you and your da be, I will.”
