Page 20 of Highlander of Steel
And Skye… Me sweet, sweet Skye…
“How did ye and Fraser…?” Ailis waved her hand to finish the sentence, bashfulness robbing her of the right words.
Paisley laughed and picked up the bowl, then began to grind the shriveled berries with a pestle. “We grew up together,” she said as she worked. “Me faither used to be the healer here, until his hands and sight began to fail, which is when the duty fell to me. But before all of that, I was a wild bairn runnin’ around, always up to mischief. Fraser was me accomplice in all things rascally—me closest friend.
“He didnae have much to do either, bein’ the second son. So, we’d just do as we pleased. Then, one day, when we were a little older and our duties were takin’ up more of our time, we were on the beach—we’d just had a swimmin’ race from one side of the cove to the other, and I’d won—and… he kissed me. He tasted of salt, and I kent right then that I loved him and he loved me. I suspect we’d always loved each other, but as bairns, ye daenae ken what that means.”
A wistful smile graced her lips, so bittersweet. Perhaps she feared that the only thing she would ever have of Fraser now was her memories.
Ailis tried to speak, to offer reassurance and express her delight at the sweet story, but her throat had tightened at the mere mention of the sea. She couldn’t focus on the healer, her mind filling with visions of thrashing water, pounding surf, and being submerged, unable to breathe.
It was as if she had been transported across the strip of land between the castle and the cliffs and had been pushed over the edge. She trembled as if she were plummeting toward certain doom in a watery grave, a cold sweat trickling down the back of her neck, each breath a strained gulp.
“Are ye well?” Paisley asked, setting her bowl and pestle down. “Ye’ve gone pale.”
Ailis gripped the edge of the workbench, struggling for words.
“Come on,” Paisley urged, taking her by the arm. “Let’s get ye outside for some fresh air. This room often makes people feel a little queasy; it’s the smells and the heat.”
Ailis shook her head and gently withdrew her arm. “Nay, thank ye,” she forced out. “I think I’ll… just spend the rest of the day in me chambers.”
Praying that her legs wouldn’t give out, she walked away from Paisley, tossing a few more words of gratitude over her shoulder as she left as quickly as her shaky limbs would allow.
Sparks flew from the sharpening wheel as Killian held the edge of his blade to the stone. His father had always left that duty to someone else, but Killian found it soothing, the simple task bringing momentary peace to his mind.
If the act itself failed to calm him, the shriek of stone on metal was enough to block out the clamor of his thoughts.
Right now, it was justabout managing to keep away the memory of Ailis peering up at him with her lips parted and her chest heaving, as if she had wanted him to kiss her. Had been waiting for him to kiss her.
Ye’ve taken leave of yer senses, man.
Ailis hadn’t wanted him to kiss her; that was madness. It was more likely that she had been too afraid to push him away, when he was, in her mind, nothing more than her captor. Either that, or she hadn’t known that he had contemplated kissing her. She couldn’t read his mind, after all.
“Me Laird?” a voice called above the squeal of the grinding stone.
Killian stopped turning the wheel and turned to find Paisley walking quickly toward him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked bluntly.
She drew to a halt, though she shuffled and fidgeted with a restlessness that unsettled him. “It’s the lass, me Laird.”
“Ailis? What happened? What’s the matter?” he pressed, dragging his sleeve across his sweaty brow.
Paisley hesitated. “It was the strangest thing, me Laird. She was in me quarters while I made her a sleepin’ draught, and we were just… talkin’. I was tellin’ her a story, and the next moment, she was pale as a ghost. Tremblin’, sweatin’, all the color drainin’ out of her.”
“Is she well?” Killian frowned.
“She wouldnae let me take her outside for some fresh air. She retired to her room instead, but… I was tryin’ to figure out what caused it,” Paisley replied. “It was fear, me Laird. The most intense fear. So I thought some more about the story I told, and I can only think of two things that might have made her react that way: I spoke of a kiss, and I spoke of the sea.”
A pang of guilt caught him unawares. Had he scared Ailis so badly that she had gone pale at the mere mention of a kiss? Had he frightened her to the point of sickness?
Water, ye fool. It’s water she’s afraid of.
He shook off the guilt and focused on her visceral response to the sea when they had ridden along the cliff path, and the terror with which she had gripped his horse’s neck when they had crossed the river. No ordinary fear, but, as Paisley had said, the most intense kind.
“The sea,” he said flatly. “It’s the sea that made her react like that.” He quickly mentioned the cliff and the river crossing; she’d been deathly pale then, too.
Paisley raised her eyebrows and tapped her chin in thought. “I’ve never seen the like. Aye, I’ve seen folks who are frightened of one thing or another, but the thing usually has to be there for the fear to set in.” She let out a sigh. “Somethin’ awful must’ve happened to her, to elicit a response like that.”
