15

Enter the Witch

Three months later:

It took several weeks for the herb woman's daughter, Zelena Miller, to arrive at the secluded Highland residence where she had learned from a few of Rab's former university friends who sometimes visited her for cures and once or twice for some romp in the hay that the young doctor lived. It had been many years since she had seen Rab Carlyle, yet she had not forgotten the shy medical and legal student, the first boy she had ever wished to bed. However, she had not reckoned with Rab's principles, nor with the fact that he was too honorable to ever sleep with a lass for mere sport and not marriage. In the years since Rab had left Edinburgh, Zelena had continued her mother's herb business, adding to it some small charms, potions, and spells on the side. She also had invited many a comely lad to her bed, and none had refused her.

Zelena was pretty, with her wild red hair and deep green eyes, her milk white skin, kept so by a special lotion, and she had ample curves where women were supposed to. One of her lovers had referred to her as a handful for any man, and she had quickly learned the pleasures of bedsport, while making certain none got her with child. Clever and witty, she also made certain that she attended Mass every Sunday, paying lip service to the Christ, since in her heart Zelena was not of that faith, but worshipped instead the dark goddess, Hecate, She of the Triple Face, as well as Morrigan, the Celtic goddess of battle and death.

Only those who sought her knew of her dabbling in the black arts of sorcery, spells of binding and enchantment, and rituals at moon dark to harm those who could pay her price. But despite her lovers and her livelihood, Zelena thought often of Rab Carlyle, the one man she had never been able to coax into her arms, and in her mind she had invented a kind of fable, that the young man had loved her but because of his position had not been able to consider her as his lady. In her mind, she built the fantasy into a tale worthy of the best storyspinner. Rab had been betrothed to some noble woman, and so he was not free to love Zelena, but if she could convince him otherwise, he would put aside this lady and take Zelena to his bed—first as his mistress, and later as his wife, if she could manage to rid him of the troublesome lady.

With this goal in mind, she set out for the Highlands, after speaking to one of Rab's university mates, and receiving directions to Carlyle keep. As she journeyed, she spoke to a few pilgrims and travelers, and discovered that the object of her affection, if he could be called so, had recently been wed to a Lady Mirabelle Fraser, by the queen's command.

Zelena gritted her teeth. An irrational hatred of this lady Mirabelle filled her heart, as she imagined this unknown woman sharing Rab's bed, perhaps getting children with him. That place should belong to her! She had loved him first! And she would have been promised to him if not for the fact that he was a laird's son and she but a common miller's daughter. Zelena conveniently ignored the fact that had her father, Jonathon, lived still, and not been killed in an accident at the mill, she may well have been married herself to someone in Edinburgh by now, the match arranged, as was proper, by him. But Jonathon had died when Zelena was but a child, and Cora had never seen fit to arrange a match, instead filling her daughter's head with strange notions. Cora had told Zelena that she could choose her own man, and taught her a few spells to bind a man to her when she found one she wanted.

For some reason, perhaps because he was the son of a clan chieftain, though not one of the major ones, and perhaps because he didn't seem as attracted to her as she felt he ought to be, Zelena had decided the one for her was Raibeart Carlyle. No man she wanted had ever refused her before. This one wouldn't either, she vowed. After all, what did some milksop mealy mouthed pious lady have over her? A title, lands, and money, she snorted. But those things paled in comparison to what Zelena had—a sensual earthiness and the ability to make a man forget his own name in the bedroom. Or so her paramours had claimed. Zelena vowed to make Rab forget he ever had a wife.

But her spells could not reach so far here in Edinburgh, so she decided to travel to where he was and attempt to recall to him the affection he had once held for her. It was her steadfast belief that he had harbored a sweet affection for her and had only suppressed it because he knew he was of a different social class. Once he saw her again, however, she was certain he would recall what they had once been to each other.

Then she would have everything she ever wanted. Rab would love her and give to her anything her heart desired. At last she would be the woman she had always knew she could be—the lady of the manor, and no one would ever say her nay or look down on her again once Rab made her his wife. Which he would do, not just because of the spell she intended to bind him with—but because he loved her and only her. It never occurred to her to think that he might love his new wife, the wife that he had been commanded to marry. Or that her interference could bring about disaster for both the Carlyles and the Frasers. Zelena, despite her pretentions, did not care to understand the workings of the nobility and indeed cared only for one thing—her own desires.

And she desired Rab Carlyle greatly.

Carlyle Keep:

Belle was excited for today was the day that her cast would finally be removed and she could begin to walk again on her mended ankle. She was bit nervous, wondering how much muscle tone she had lost while her ankle had been healing, but her husband assured her that she could regain it with special exercises he had devised for her, and soon she would not need the aid of a crutch.

She woke earlier than was her usual wont, though not quite early enough to catch her husband, who tended to wake almost with the birds, and was already in his infirmary, tending to the few patients he had from the night before.

There were some castlefolk down with bad coughs and raspy throats, though Rab didn't think it was all that serious, still he had quarantined those who were showing symptoms to avoid an outbreak of whatever malady this was, and was currently giving them cherry bark cordial and tea with honey and lemon with some goldenseal.

After the events that culminated in the death of Hepzibah Stuart, there had been no more outbursts from the tenants against any of the Carlyles or Belle. Due to Rab and Archie's staunch defense of her, many of the people who had been previously stirred up against her changed their tune after seeing how Belle worked tirelessly to run the keep and to help out the crofters and families. Much of her duties were making sure each family had enough to eat and were well supplied with wool, wood, and other necessities. Belle also tended to their livestock when required, despite her infirmity, and it soon became a common sight for the keep's lady to be seen examining a nanny goat whose udder had become infected or a pony or mule's strained tendon, or helping a dog with a sore paw or a bird with an injured wing.

Though some still muttered about her oddness, they were slowly accepting her as one of them, and found her as engaging and concerned about them as the Lady Ceri had been before her. They also thought she was good for their sometimes too serious tanist, and made him smile more than usual of late.

Besides her duties with the crofters, Belle had set aside certain days to teach Neal, and together with Rab, managed to give the lad a very thorough education in Latin, history, classic literature, composition, botany and biology. Though the last two were mostly Rab's venue, and he did most of the instructing, leaving the arts to his wife, whose avowed bookish pursuits made her an ideal tutor in those subjects.

Both were pleased with the boy's efforts, and Neal seemed happier with them than he ever had with Master Stuart.

She rose from her bed, and using her crutches adroitly maneuvered over to her washbasin and began to wash her face and hands, trying to wake herself up.

Soon after that came a tap at the door and Moira's voice calling, "'Tis just me, milady."

The door was pushed open and her friend and handmaid entered, carrying a tray with breakfast on it which she set on the small table. She was accompanied by Lily, who had dishes of milk and shredded chicken for the cats, who darted from under the bedhangings to meow about her feet pitifully.

The girl chuckled, saying, "Wheest, now, ye wee beasties! Dinna fash yerself, it's comin'!"

Lily set the cats' dishes down beside the hearth, and Raine and Rumple ran to them, eating their portions like starveling waifs.

"Thank you, Lily," Belle said, hobbling hastily to the table and propping her foot upon the stool Moira had placed there for it. "Has the Carlyle broken his fast yet?"

"Och, nay," Moira replied. "Rabbie allus has naught but some strong tea in the early morn before he sees patients. 'Tis only after that he eats, the stubborn man!"

Lily bobbed a curtsey and said, "Begging yer pardon, milay, but the Carlyle told me to tell ye he'd be up shortly to break his fast wi' ye."

Belle smiled as she took the cover off the tray. "That's good, Lily." She poured herself some tea and fixed it while Moira went to lay out her clothes and Lily made the bed and swept the hearth.

As Belle sipped her tea, she wriggled the toes on her injured foot, and thought what a relief it would be to get this cast off at last. This week alone the itching had driven her insane! But Rab had told her to be patient, that the itching was a good sign, it meant she was healing well. Belle had told him rather tartly she would have preferred if her body let her know this some other way, and was there nothing he could do for it?

Regrettably, Rab admitted there was nothing he could do until the cast came off, then he would wash the foot and put salve on it. Until then he distracted her by reciting poetry and telling her silly stories, playing chess and draughts, and playfully tickling her when she guessed his riddles wrong.

Belle thought that never had she been so happy to be wrong about a person in her whole life. Far from the "beast" she had first thought her husband, one of the rough and rowdy Carlyles, who had been clan enemies of the Frasers over a jilted bride generations before, Rab Carlyle had the hands of a healer, the soul of a poet, the sharp wits of a lawyer, and the stubbornness of all his kin. He was no crude barbarian, but a learned man who had been to far off Edinburgh to study law and medicine, knew Latin and Greek and some Arabic, could ride a horse like a Saracen, and argue the breeches off you like the best barrister from London. He could sometimes show a black temper, but only when someone he loved was threatened, and he was loyal to friend and family alike.

She had at first been fearful and apprehensive about him, but after he healed her of her fever and set her ankle and brought her to his home, treating her with compassion and like an equal, despite the fact she was a woman, she found she had grown at last to love the gentle unprepossessing man she was handfasted to. Or at least she thought she did. Because she had never been in love before, and she hoped that the shy fluttering of her heart and the rapid flush on her cheeks and rush of desire meant she was in love with her physician husband.

She also hoped that he was growing to love her also, and not unhappy with the bride Queen Mary had chosen for him. Belle had tried her best to be both a helpmeet and a confidante, running the keep as her mother had instructed her, striving to prove herself one of the Carlyles now, despite the long enmity between her family and his.

She wriggled her foot again, thinking once this wretched cast was off, she could resume all her duties soon, and truly become mistress of Carlyle keep.

Rab's soft tread upon the stairs and appearance in the doorway brought forth a smile of such radiance from Belle one would have thought the sun had come out of the sky. "Hello, dearie!" he greeted, smiling his shy earstwhile grin. "Are ye that glad to see me or glad to be havin' the cast off that much?"

"Both!" she declared, joy shining from her indigo eyes.

"Ah, then let us eat an' we'll go down to the infirmary, for I dinna want to keep ye waiting, mo cridhe," he said tenderly, then he entered the room and sat down beside her to eat, chuckling when wayward Rumple pounced on his feet.

Removing the cast took the work of a few moments with a sharp pair of shears and a small hammer, then Rab carefully unwounded the bandage around her ankle and gently felt it. "Does this hurt?" he asked as he pressed certain spots.

"No. It's a bit tender but it doesna hurt," she replied honestly.

"Good. How about the itching?"

"Umm . . ." she flexed her foot. "It still does." She reached down to scratch it and he caught her hand.

"Nay, dinna do that. I'm going to wash it with some soap and water and put salve on it. The skin's dry, ye ken, from being wrapped all those weeks." Rab explained.

Then he fetched a basin and cloths and set about doing as he had said.

Once he had washed, dried, and applied a soothing salve of marigold, lavender, and tansy to her foot, he put a sock and then her other shoe on it. "There! How's that feel?"

"Much better, Rabbie!" Belle sighed in relief that the horrid itching was gone.

He took her hands. "Good, good. Now, shall we try to stand, dearie?"

Slowly, he helped her to her feet.

And for the first time in twelve weeks, Belle put weight upon her ankle again.

"How's that feel?" Rab asked, his mouth inches from her ear.

"It feels . . . all right," she murmured. "But a little strange."

"Yes, well, remember, ye've been favoring the foot so . . . shall we try a step? Easy now," he cautioned, as Belle tried to walk and stumbled.

Luckily Rab caught her in his arms.

As his strong sinewy arms closed about her, Belle felt a shock like lightning run through her, like a fire in her blood that did not burn. Their eyes met, and she saw, to her astonishment, the passion he felt for her, it echoed her own, and without conscious thought or action she lifted her lips and met his.

She kissed him long and deeply, as a woman who thirsts for water, she drank in the taste of him, slightly sweet with honey from the herbal tea he habitually drank, his kiss setting her alight like an oil soaked torch, igniting a flame she knew could only be put out one way.

Rab had not been expecting the kiss, he had intended to steady her and then continue to help her walk, but it would seem his headstrong wife had other ideas . . .ones he didn't mind indulging in at all.

Drawing back slightly, he returned her kiss, his mouth hot upon hers, his own body on fire with need, and only his iron self control prevented him from hauling her into one of the alcove beds and making her his wife in all ways.

"Hey, ye gonna come up for air, Rab, or can ye now breathe like a fish?" Neal queried impudently from the doorway. "I thought ye were supposed to take the cast off this morn, not play knights and damsels wi' her!"

Belle wanted to sink into the floor, disappear, or pass out from shame. Although she wasn't quite sure what she had to be ashamed about, since it was perfectly normal for a wife to kiss her husband.

Rab inhaled the wrong way and began coughing.

Neal snickered, his eyes dancing wickedly.

"Ye wretched imp o' Satan," Rab mock-growled. He turned to glare at his smirking mischievous brother. "What are ye doing spying on me, Neal?"

"Spying!" his brother cried. "I wasna spying . . .I happened to be passin' by an' wanted to see how Belle was faring . . . and I found out didn't I?"

Rab shook his head. "Ye are naught but a scapegrace, Neal Carlyle!" he scolded softly. "An' only the Lord kens what will become o' ye."

"Aye, but at least I dinna kiss ladies in broad daylight where anyone can see!" Neal smirked, delighting in catching his straitlaced brother doing something slightly scandalous for once.

"She is my wife, dearie!" Rab objected. "And ye are not my conscience, laddie." He wagged a finger at him. "Now ye mind yer own business, before I set yer curiosity straight by giving you work to do. I hae a few bedpans ye can wash . . ." he began, trying not to burst out laughing at Neal's horrified expression.

"Rabbie!" Belle cried. "Ye wouldna!"

"Aye, I will, unless Master Impudence promises he willna go blabbing all over like a fishwife at market day."

Neal gulped. "I dinna see anything!"

"Good. Now bring me Belle's crutch there. She may need it at first," he instructed.

"Aye, milaird," Neal muttered hastily.

"Rabbie, ye've scairt him," his wife frowned.

Rab snorted. "Ha! Neal isna scairt o' me, lass. He kens I'm more bark than bite."

"Oh?" she tilted her head up, her cerulean eyes sparkling. "So yer all smoke an' no fire?"

"Only wi' those I love," he murmured. "But guard yer tongue, Belle, for I wouldna hae my people think I've gone soft, aye?"

She smiled at him. "I like ye that way, my bonny braw man."

Rab flushed in pleasure, then went to kiss her again, but recalling Neal's presence, halted before his lips grazed hers.

Until Neal called. "Och, go on an' kiss her, Rabbie. I'll turn my back so I'll not see ye commiting a crime o' passion!"

"A crime o' passion!?" his brother sputtered.

Belle started laughing. "Neal, ye are a caution!"

"Humph! He could drive me to drink!" Rab snorted, then because he could no longer resist temptation, he kissed Belle again.

"My lord! My lady!" Moira cried "Cannae ye no' wait until yer're somewhere private?"

Rab nearly threw up his hands, but recalled he needed to keep hold of his wife until she was steadier on her feet. "God grant me patience!" he growled. Then he lifted his head, his cheeks stained a faint dusky color, and said, "Dinna ye all have better things to attend tae than gawking at me an' my lady? "

"Maybe we wouldna gawk if ye dinna gi' us something to see!" Neal crowed.

"Quiet, scamp!" Rab ordered. "Or else I hae a bucket waiting for ye."

"Well, I may be going walking with Father Bryce," Moira said sassily. "If he hurries his old arse over here!"

Neal chuckled. "If he's so auld, Moira, then what do ye see in his arse?"

"Neal!" Rab snapped.

"That is none o' yer business, Neal Carlyle!" Moira cried and blushed.

Neal hooted. "Saints but ye act like . . .he's yer beau!" He nearly collapsed with laughter. "An' he's older than Papa!"

"That doesna mean he isna still a handsome man, Neal Carlyle," Moira said sharply.

"Excuse me," Rab said, and gently set Belle in the chair. Then he went and grabbed his brother and hissed, "Scamp, ye hush about that, ye ken? Behave or shall I get out the quill?" he threatened.

"No!" Neal yelped. "I dinna want tae do translations o' Caesar's commentaries!"

"Then do I hae yer word?" Rab demanded sternly.

"Aye, sir! Please, Rab! I'd rather ye skelped me," his brother begged, for he detested Latin.

"Deal. But if ye break yer deal wi' me, lad, ye'll be doing yer translations wi' a sore backside, ye ken?" he warned.

"Aye, sir," his brother muttered.

Rab ruffled his hair. "Good. Mind yer tongue, an' all will be well."

"Moira? Where are ye lass?' they heard Archie call out.

"Here comes the auld arse now!" Neal giggled, then yelped when Rab swatted him. "Oww!"

"Did I just hear ye call me an auld arse, Neal Carlyle? Would ye like to spend a few days polishing my pews?" Archie asked with a frown when he approached.

"No, Father. Sorry." Neal said contritely.

He kissed Moira affectionately. "Sorry I'm a bit late lass. I was having a talk with the Bishop."

She sighed. "And he's been telling ye ye cannae be seen with me too much, aye?"

"Otherwise ye might compromise his virtue," Neal remarked with a sly grin.

"Neal!" Rab groaned, and hit himself in the forehead.

"Had ye not taken yer holy orders ye know I would!"

"Moira, lass!"

Neal looked from one couple to the other. "Ye all are daft wi' the way ye kiss each other! 'Tis like a disease!"

"Ye just wait lad. Someday ye'll find a lass who will make ye change yer mind." Archie grinned. "Nay lass...the Bishop was telling me something else..."

"Well what is it?"

He took her hand and led her aside, whispering in her ear. Moira glanced back at Rab and Belle worriedly.

"But I thought..."

"Hush lass!"

"But dinna ye think ye should...warn them?"

Rab looked at Belle. "Would ye like to continue walking again, dearie?"

"Aye," she said, and pushed herself to her feet. This time she waited until she felt steady before taking a tentative step.

Rab smiled. "Come on, dinna be afraid. I'll catch ye if ye fall."

"All the bishop said is that he heard she was about not that she'd come here," Archie was saying.

"That doesna mean she won't! Now ye'll be telling them or I will!" Moira hissed angrily.

Oblivious to the conversation taking place a few feet away, Belle took a few more steps, finding she could walk, albeit slowly and carefully, the few feet to her husband. As her hands clasped his wrists, she said, "Rab, I did it! But why do I feel so tired?"

"Because ye are not used to using yer foot," he replied. "But that's a good start. We'll do more each day." He handed her one crutch.

"Soon ye'll be dancing a reel, Belle," Neal said encouragingly.

Belle smiled. "I look forward to that," she admitted, and her glance at her husband left no doubt of her sincerity.

"Now that's what we like to see," Archie said with a smile, his arm around Moira. "I'll have her back before dinner, Rabbie."

"I ken that," Rab nodded.

"Then...ahh...there's some things I need to talk to ye about, lad."

"After ye return then," Rab agreed. "How is Papa?"

"He's doing well lad, hasna touched a drop. The kaffee is helping along with our prayers and keeping busy. He's been making some improvements to the cottage."

"That's good, Father. Papa was always a decent builder before he turned tae the bottle," Rab acknowledged.

"He's even talking about building me more pews for the church. The more souls we can draw in, the merrier."

"Mayhap he'll want to help make some improvements around the keep too. He built our cradles himself, dinna he tell ye?"

"Nay lad, I remembered. And that scamp Jamie was always trying to get out of his."

"That doesna surprise me, Father," Rab laughed.

"Perhaps he can build a cat tree for Raine and Rumple?" Belle suggested. "So they stop climbing up the bedposts and sleeping on the canopy."

"That would be good. Those beasties need to stay out of yer bed," Moira spoke up.

Belle started giggling. "Well . . . it may no' keep them out as much as ye think, Moira. A cat goes where she will, aye?" Her eyes glittered with mischief. "But it may keep them from tearing up the bedhangings when they climb atop the canopy, so that's something."

Moira rolled her eyes, though she forbore to comment on the silliness of her lord and lady allowing animals to sleep with them in their bed, as if they were bairns. Still, there were worse vices, and she tugged Archie by the arm down the hall, saying, "Come on, 'tis burnin' daylight we are."

Rab watched them fondly, before turning to the mistress of the keep and saying, "Shall we go to the hall, my lady, and show our people that ye are well again?"

"Aye, let's," Belle agreed, then with Rab on one side and Neal on the other, processed into the hall so the people could see their mistress was nearly back to her former self.

When one of the retainers caught sight of their lady without the cumbersome cast, he set up a round of applause and cheering that could be heard throughout the keep. The others joined in, and Belle found herself suffused with joy, and thinking this was a very different reception than the one she had upon arriving here, those many months ago.

She was no longer that Fraser bride, but had become the Lady of Carlyle in truth.

"Oh, I'm so happy tae see ye're walking, Belle!" Ailsa squealed, sounding very much her age, which was seventeen. "We ought tae celebrate and hae a picnic."

"Well, I suppose we can speak tae Mrs. Mike," Belle allowed.

"I'll go, while ye speak wi' the household," Rab's cousin offered happily.

"That's good, dearie. Ye do that and I'll go and check on my patients," Rab said in approval.

"I'll get my fishing pole," Neal stated. He whistled for Winter, who was lying by the hearth with the two wolfhounds.

The collie leaped up like a shot and came to frisk beside his master. He followed the boy up the stairs, plumed tail waving jauntily.

Zelena looked around the small cottage, which was all one room, save for a small loft where she could store her herbs. There was a small garden out back where she could grow what she needed in the way of food, cooking herbs, and herbs to ply her trade as the wise woman. The cottage was on the far edge of the small village of Carlyle, and had been abandoned since the previous tenant had died of a fever three seasons past.

The roof was thatch, the walls simple whitewash, the whole place was dusty and musty with disuse, but she could set it right with a mop and a bucket, and a broom and dustpan. She had some stores of her dried herbs for now and could buy more cuttings or take what she needed from the wild herbs which grew here.

She hoped that the villagers would start to come to her for herbs and simples, as people had her mother in Edinburgh, but her true motivation for settling here was not to start a thriving business but to catch herself a laird's son. She had picked up from gossip that Rab was now the heir to the Carlyle family and its holdings, since his elder brother had perished in a border dispute some years ago. His recent marriage was one of necessity, but Zelena knew necessity was a poor excuse for love everlasting.

Not that she believed Rab loved his wife—the daughter of an enemy clansman. No, this was not even a true marriage, sanctioned by the church, merely a handfasting. And betrothals could be broken. A smile curled her mouth as she imagined meeting Rab again after all this time. She was a mature woman now, and he a man, but she knew that he had never forgotten her. Her portents didn't lie. He thought of her still. And soon she would ply all of her arts to turning his head once more—and then making it stay fixed upon her. She would make certain his Fraser wife was ruined in his eyes, and then she would take the place of that bleeding heart milksop. Her rightful place—as Rab's wife, Lady Carlyle, first in his heart.

Her daydreams filled her head with poisonous fancies as she cleaned and swept the cottage, making the dust fly. Finally when all was in order, she went out to sweep the porch, and beheld a party of two men and two women laughing and smiling as they made their way down the road to the burn. One, a lad, carried a willow pole over his shoulder, a white collie trotting beside him. The girl beside him was a fresh-faced lass of seventeen, pretty and laughing at a joke the slightly older woman was saying.

The chestnut haired beauty had on a lovely green dress, though her beauty was spoiled by her lameness, as she used a crutch to walk. Zelena was about to turn away when she caught sight of the man escorting them, carrying a picnic hamper, his light brown hair tossed about by the wind.

She froze, words of greeting on her lips that died before they ever were born.

Rab. It was Rab walking there, with his leather breeches and tailored red shirt, his eyes dancing merrily. He turned and said something to the pert girl, who giggled in return.

Zelena felt longing spiral through her, followed by a jealousy so acute it burned.

Mine! He is mine! And someday everyone will know that. I saw him first and no mealy mouth noble chit will stand in my way! I will have what I deserve, what I wish, one way . . . or another! Rab Carlyle will be my husband—or no one's!

Eyes glowing with obsessive jealousy, Zelena turned and began sweeping the porch with a vengeance, her thoughts now consumed with her need for the attorney physician who walked right past her door, not even noticing she existed. But that would change, she vowed.