Chapter Nineteen
They had been climbing a narrow mountain road—or at least Mari thought it was a road, but there was really too much snow to tell. She hoped the horse knew where it was going. Several times she averted her eyes when they came dangerously close to what looked like deadly drops. Far below, she could see the glistening waters of Loch Shiel, the sun reflecting off the ice crusting its edges. It couldn’t be too much farther. She wrung her hands nervously. What would she find?
A short time later, Jamie stopped the sleigh just outside the old curtain wall that remained standing in front of the medieval castle that was Ian’s home. A stable boy came running to take charge of the horse as Jamie jumped off the driver’s seat to help Effie and Mari down. “The sled canna go farther since Ian keeps the courtyard cleared, but ’tis nae a far walk.”
Mari stood rooted to the spot, feeling like she had stepped backward in time. This was where Jillian lived? In front of them was an actual portcullis, its iron gate raised, and she could see the cobblestoned courtyard. Beyond that, a massive stone structure rose four stories high, a turreted tower on each end. She half expected to see archers appear between the merlons and embrasures that linked the two towers. “It’s like something out of the King Arthur legends,” she said as they began to walk toward the castle.
“I dinnae think Arthur ever rode this far north,” Jamie answered, “but Norman knights did under the banner of the Earl of Sinclair.”
“How old is this place?”
“It goes back to the 1300s.”
“Oh, my,” Mari exclaimed and then froze in her tracks again. Ian was walking toward them, his face grim. Mari’s heart fell to her feet. Was Jillian…
Jamie reached for her hand and wrapped his big one around hers, his fingers warm and strong. For once, she was grateful for his strength. She swallowed hard. “Is Jillian all right?”
“Nae,” Ian answered, and Mari felt the blood drain from her face. Only Jamie’s arm around her waist kept her from falling.
“She is nae well.”
Relief flooded Mari, dizzying her. She collapsed against Jamie. At least Jillian was alive.
Jamie glared at his brother. “Ye are frightening the lass to death. Can ye nae explain yerself?”
“Aye,” Ian replied as he turned to lead them to the massive oak doors of the keep. “Infection set in from a cut Jillie got—’tis a long story—and she was fevered for a fortnight. Bridget said the Crone of the Hills brought poultices to draw it out, and that was what kept Jillie from death.”
“Crone of the Hills?” Mari asked.
“I will explain it to ye later, lass,” Jamie said. “So why is Jillian nae well then?”
“’Tis the bairn,” Ian answered.
Mari felt lightheaded again. Jamie must have noticed because he put a reassuring arm around her waist once more. “Did she lose the babe?”
“The bairn lives according to Bridget, but Jillie has nae recovered. She is weak and lies abed when she should be walking about, gathering her strength for what lies ahead.”
Beside them, Effie snorted, and everyone paused to look at her. “Just goes to show what a man knows about child birthing. If Jillian lost a lot of blood, it would be dangerous for her to move about. The babe could be harmed.”
Ian appraised her, his dark eyes growing darker. “Ye are a midwife?”
It was an intimidating look, but Effie held her own. Mari almost smiled. Perhaps being accustomed to one bossy MacLeod had given Effie courage, for she returned Ian’s look.
“I have done my share in helping with births. I will take care of Jillian.”
“Ye will have to fight Jillie’s maid, Darcy, to do that.”
Effie sniffed. “That silly Irish girl is here?”
Ian’s face softened, and Mari thought she saw a corner of his mouth twitch. “Aye, she is.”
This time, Mari did smile. Darcy was Effie’s nemesis, not that she meant to be. The girl was only two years older than Mari and a bit of a free spirit who liked having fun, especially if involved members of the opposite sex—and she didn’t mind expressing her thoughts any more than Effie did.
“But ye will have to get past Bridget first,” Ian added, “and that isna always easy.”
Jamie laughed. “Ye are putting it rather mildly, brother.” He turned to Effie. “Our sister would make a good warrior. She gives no quarter.”
Effie eyed the front door and lifted her chin. “Hmmph!” she said.
