Page 51 of Duncan

Meg had understood why her da had sold her and her sisters to slavers. Their crops had failed twice, and the money he’d received for them would settle his debts and keep him and his sons from starving during the winter months. Men never cared for nurturing anything but their bellies, cocks and purses. She had not expected her situation to improve, but when the ship from Éire had struck the shoals and sunk in mid voyage, she knew at least she’d not suffer as a slave. Listening to her sisters scream in terror as water flooded the hold, however, had made her curse the sea for choking the life out of them all.

Then Merrick had come and saved her from drowning, dragging her away from the corpses of her little sisters and taking her up to the air. She still had not forgiven him for that.

Next to the embers of the day’s fire, Meg curled up, covering herself with the plaid she’d filched from the stronghold. She had not struck Nicole Fairburn hard enough to kill her, so she would quickly recover from the blow. She knew the woman had not seen her, nor had any of the guards, so she did not have to worry about punishment from the laird. Tomorrow she would surely be saner, and could leave to travel back to the MacKay farm, and return to her duties there. Perhaps she would look for a husband among the unmarried men in the nearby crofts. A husband and perhaps some bairns would do much to keep her–

Darkness swept over Meg, and a strong arm jerked her to her feet.

“Get off me.” She struggled, trying to twist out of the grip he had on her throat, only to go still as she saw black eyes glaring at her from inside the inky cloud of blackness. “Chieftain? Let me go.”

“I smelled you in the passage.” Shaw shoved her to the ground as his tattoos absorbed all the blackness radiating from him. “’Twas you struck Mistress Fairburn from behind, like a facking coward. Why?”

“I dinnae ken.” All the fight went out of her. “I cannae control myself. A terrible rage comes over me, and I attack before I think. I cannae recall all that I do in such a state. I dinnae remember hurting her.” She swallowed a sob. “You should slay me before I kill someone.”

For a moment the chieftain looked as if he might just do that, and then he hauled her to her feet.

“Look at me.” When she did, he turned her face to one side, peered into her eyes, and then lifted up her hand. “You didnae break her skin when you struck her. What made your fingers bleed?”

“My flesh crawls and itches every night.” She drew up her sleeve to show him the way she’d scratched herself.

“You must see the healer.” He clamped a hand around her wrist and jerked her along with him as he strode toward Dun Ard’s back gates.

All along the way to the infirmary Meg thought of a dozen excuses to explain her frightful deeds, but after what she’d confessed to Shaw, he’d never believe them. A small part of her—a very small, foolish part—wanted to wrench free of him and run. That same outlandish seed of defiance also wanted him to give chase, catch, and hurt her.

“You shallnae run,” Shaw told her, as if he could see inside her head. “You ken Duncan. He shall help you.”

“’Tis no cure for madness.” She stopped in front of the infirmary’s open door, and the wildness ebbed again, leaving her exhausted. “’Tis kinder end me, Chieftain.”

The chieftain put an arm around her. “’Twas what they said of me, Meggie, and I proved them wrong. So shall you.”

Inside they found the clan’s healer seated and studying a scroll so old the edges flaked bits onto his work table. When he looked up he eyed Shaw before standing and coming to Meg.

“She’s bespelled,” the chieftain told him. “Give her a calming brew, and permit her tell you all.” He glared at her. “Dinnae run from him or I’ll beat your skinny arse.”

As soon as Shaw left, Meg considered asking the healer to give her a different potion, one that might calm her into a shroud. Her longing for death was nothing new; she’d wanted to end herself ever since Merrick had declared his love for her. Yet to die without learning what had driven her to hurt others seemed just as unbearable as clinging to her hopeless love for the Finfolk king.

Duncan brought her over to a chair rather than his treatment table, and pulled up a stool for himself before he regarded her steadily. “Do as Shaw said, lass.”

Meg wondered where she could start, and then she recalled he had been the first to suffer at her hands. “’Twas me pushed you off the cliffs the night Mistress Fairburn arrived on Caladh. I saw you from behind, and then shoved you over the edge. I like you, I vow I do. I’d been at odds with myself all day, and just couldnae resist. After, such pleasure came over me, ’twas as if I’d finished eating a grand meal.”

She told him how she had set up a hiding place for herself some days before the attack, and the often unbearable itching spells that had afflicted her. Eating gave her no pleasure any longer; she hardly slept an hour without waking and pacing the floor. She admitted to attacking Nicole, although she still had no memory of a reason, as before with him. Finally she showed him her bloodied fingers.

“Today they hurt me as if someone drove splinters under the nails.” She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t she dropped her hands. “Either the chieftain’s right and I’ve been bespelled, or I’ve gone mad and done such myself, Healer.”

Duncan rose and went to the wash stand, where he soaked a cloth with water from the jug. When he returned to his stool he held out his hand. “Permit me clean the blood from your fingers. I wish see what’s amiss.”

She almost laughed out loud. “I confess to coshing your lady love, and you’d wash my hands?”

“I could take revenge for your harming me and Mistress Fairburn, but ’twouldnae tell me why you did such. Mayhap we should find the cause first.” He looked into her eyes. “Trust me and give me your hand, lass.”

When she reluctantly extended her arm, he gently wiped the blood from each finger before inspecting the nail. By the time he finished and reached for her other hand she thought she would scream with frustration.

“You grow agitated again, aye?” His eyes narrowed. “What do you wish do now?”

“Hurt you.” The words rasped as they came from her, and she struggled to say the rest as her body began trembling violently. “I can hardly speak.”

“Dinnae fight me.” Duncan lifted her off the chair and put her on his table, pressing her back until she lay writhing. Quickly he tied down her arms and legs with strong cords, and then went to the cabinet where he kept the Fae objects he collected.

By that time Meg began uttering rough, low grunts as the dreadful itching came over her. Because she couldn’t scratch herself, she then shrieked with fury, and then the healer came back and fastened an etched stone on a leather thong around her neck. The moment the cool stone touched her skin the itching, fury and shaking stopped.