Page 71 of Devil Black

Lachlan got at once to his feet. “I will go as swiftly as I may.”

Dougal reached out and grasped Lachy’s arm. “Thank you.”

“She will survive it, man.”

“If she lasts the next few hours, ’twill be due to Meg’s magic. I will then be in debt to my sister—a frightening enough thought.”

“It is, that.” Lachlan could not but agree.

He went out, leaving Dougal to brood at the fire alone, the victim of his thoughts, dark and fierce. He thought of what Isobel had said about Aisla, and the room from which she had escaped. The blood pounded in his ears. He had already lost the child Isobel carried. If he lost his wife as well, MacNab would have a heavy price to pay.

“And you will pay it,” he said aloud to the shadowed room. “That I do vow!”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“The Lady uplift thee, the Lord defend thee; strength flow to you from the winds that cleave the world, the fire that purifies us, the water that speaks to us, and the earth itself, clothed in beauty. Vigor return to thee, and may those I sue banish all harm. Awake!”

The words drummed in Isobel’s ears, interrupting a dream of pain, and called her from the far darkness. The summons possessed power she could not deny, and she came back to her body the way one returns to a dwelling after a long absence. It felt changed, not quite as she remembered. Her limbs felt light, her flesh insubstantial. All the agony she had known was gone.

She drew a breath that felt like the first she had taken in a long while, and opened her eyes. A face hung above her, one she remembered seeing often between the flickers of nightmare—with deep, black eyes tilted slightly at the outer corners, pale skin, and a wealth of black hair, now tumbled and untidy. Isobel knew those eyes, intent and unsparing, as well as the touch of the hands, hard and competent.

“Meg,” she said, only it did not come out sounding so much like a word as a hoarse croak.

Meg smiled, reached out and touched Isobel’s brow, and Isobel saw unexpected kindness in the dark eyes.

“So,” Meg said, “we have our answer. How do you feel?”

“Awful. Weak, and strange. Where am I?”

“Your own chamber, safe.”

“What happened to me?”

“Do you not remember? No matter. You are back with us now.”

Meg turned away, and Isobel heard her whisper, apparently to someone else in the room. Her sense of hearing seemed more acute than her other senses. The rest came in pieces that did not seem to belong to her. The bed beneath her—her own bed, yes—felt like an illusion. Pale daylight stole over the windowsill that she could just see. She felt too weak to turn her head.

“Dougal?”

At the name, Meg turned back to her. “He is waiting below. I will bring him, but first, have you any pain?” Meg touched Isobel’s stomach gently. “Here?”

“Not now. Why?”

Meg’s expression tightened. “You had a fall and have been unwell.” She turned once more to the other person in the room. “Nell, let us change these linens again. We will not have her greet her husband decked in gore.”

When the other woman leaned over her, Isobel recognized Meg’s tirewoman. Her confusion increased along with her sense of unreality. She barely felt the movement as they shifted her in the bed, stripped off her night rail, and washed her body, tussled with the linens, and dressed her again.

“Drink this,” Meg told her then.

Suddenly, Isobel thirsted unbearably. The contents of the cup—not water—tasted sharp and bitter but refreshed her.

“There, now.” Meg smoothed her hair on the pillow.

“What day is it? How long have I been ill?”

“A while. You journeyed far. Do not think on it now. I will bring your husband.”

Isobel heard her hurry away, heard Nell move about the chamber, then voices and more footsteps, including some that made her heart leap in her breast.