Page 6 of The Outlaw's Bride
Rhona drew up her mare, Lasair, before the gate and swung down from the saddle. Glancing around, she wondered if anyone had seen her leave the keep to ride here, or if any villagers had spotted her along the way. She had a story ready for them if they had: she would say she’d visited the woman for help getting with child. She and Taran hadn’t been wed long, but many a wife was anxious for her womb to quicken.
Curling mist wreathed in from the loch this morning. It was Rhona’s ally, obscuring her from prying eyes. Even so, she was on edge. Dunvegan was a place where little went unnoticed and unseen. She’d deliberately taken the long way here, skirting the village, yet she still glanced around her, eyes straining as she peered into the mist.
Rhona tied Lasair to the rickety fence and let herself in through the gate.I can’t believe this mad plan is my idea.
But as mad as it was, she knew she had to do this.
She couldn’t stand by and let Adaira wed Budge.
The mist closed in around Rhona now, obscuring the white-washed, thatch-roofed cottages of the village. However, to the north, the keep loomed above the pillowy white blanket. Dunvegan Castle was a dove-grey fortress that appeared carven from the rocks on which it stood. Its curtain wall and craggy battlements stood out against the grey sky. The fortress had once been a prison for Rhona, and it now was for Adaira too.
She would help in any way she could.
Guilt arrowed through her then, for she didn’t like to involve Taran in her plans. Her father’s retribution would be terrible if he suspected Taran of helping Adaira escape.
Rhona hated putting her husband at risk. Yet she couldn’t do this without him—and there was no way he’d allow her to venture into the dungeon and release a prisoner. He’d insisted that part of the plan was to be his responsibility.
A wave of love, so fierce that it made her eyes mist, swept over Rhona. She’d never met a man like Taran MacKinnon: brave and strong, yet with a tenderness and protectiveness that took her breath away.
Rhona made her way up the narrow path to the front door of the hovel, passing a messy garden. As she walked, her eyes picked out a number of plants: woundwort, marigold, boneknit, mint, and chamomile. Herbs were the cunning woman’s trade. Locals often requested her help when a healer could not find a cure.
“Afternoon, Lady Rhona.” An old woman greeted her at the door. Small and lean, with a weathered face and thick white hair tied back into a severe bun, Bradana Buchanan knew all who lived at Dunvegan—from the high to the low.”
“Good day to ye, Bradana,” Rhona greeted her with a smile. “I’m in need of one of yer potions. Can I come in?”
The cunning woman nodded and stepped back so that Rhona could enter her hovel. A tidy space scented with the odor of dried herbs, and the more pungent odor of burning peat, greeted her. Surprised, Rhona straightened up. The garden was such a tangle she’d expected the interior of Bradana’s home to be in disarray as well. Instead, there wasn’t an item out of place. The dirt floor had been swept clean, fragrant bunches of dried herbs hung from the rafters, and a plush fur hanging shielded the hovel’s sleeping space from view. A long worktable—where rows of bottles, a pestle and mortar, and earthen jars were neatly stacked—sat against the far wall.
A lump of peat burned in the hearth. Rhona warmed her hands before it; the mist had turned the day cold and damp.
“What sort of potion were ye after, lass?” Bradana asked. The old woman ran a speculative gaze over her. “Surely ye aren’t worried that yer womb won’t quicken? It’s too early for such worries.”
Rhona smiled. “Aye, there’s plenty of time for that,” she replied. “Although if anyone should ask, that’s why I visited ye.”
Bradana inclined her head, gaze narrowing. “What are ye wanting then?”
Rhona dragged in a breath. “I need a potion to put someone to sleep for a while.”
The cunning woman gave a brisk nod. “I can make ye a sleeping draught of valerian root.”
Rhona shook her head. “I need something much stronger than that … a potion that will put someone to sleep quickly and make them slumber a long while.” Bradana’s face tensed, and Rhona hurriedly added. “Nothing to cause harm.”
Bradana observed her for a few long moments, dark-blue eyes gleaming. “May I ask why ye need such a potion, Lady Rhona?”
Rhona chewed at her lower lip. “It’s best if ye don’t.”
The cunning woman gave Rhona a long look. “Lady Rhona,” she began quietly after a moment. “My poultices and potions are for the use of good, not ill.”
“And thisisfor good,” Rhona answered quickly. Panic rose as she realized the cunning woman thought she was planning something villainous. “I wish I could say more, but I’m sworn to secrecy. But please believe me when I say that this potion will save someone’s life. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
Bradana Buchanan continued to watch her. It was a probing look that made Rhona feel as if the woman could see right into her soul. Eventually, she huffed out a breath. “I have something,” she said. “However, ye must be wary of how ye use it.”
Rhona nodded, relieved. “I will, I promise.”
The cunning woman crossed to the table and picked up a small clay bottle. “This is a tincture of nightshade,” she said, holding up the bottle but not passing it to Rhona. “I keep it for those who have nerve trouble. One drop in a cup of wine will relax ye. Three drops will put someone into a deep, dreamless sleep. And ten drops will kill them.”
Bradana handed her the bottle. There was a steely look in her blue eyes, a warning. “Ye never received this from me, Lady Rhona, is that clear?”
Rhona swallowed, before nodding. “Just three drops then.”
