In Bed with a Highland Healer - Bonus Prologue

In Bed with a Highland Healer – Bonus Prologue

A year earlier, Keep of Laird Ronan Munro, near Achnasheen, the Scottish Highlands

“I want tae see her. Where is she? Take me tae her,” rasped Graham MacLeod, Laird of the Isle of Raasay, when he met Ronan Munro at the doors to the Munro Keep on a cold, rainy March morning. Tall, with bright blonde hair, his powerful warrior’s physique clad all in mourning black, he cut an imposing figure.

“I’m afraid that’s nae possible, Graham,” his brother-in-law Ronan replied sadly as he led him inside the keep. Older by ten years, slightly shorter in stature but just as tough-looking, Ronan also wore black, in honor of his wife Effie. Effie had been Graham’s elder sister, wed to Ronan in an alliance of the Macleod and Munro clans a mere twelve-month before.

Now, she was dead.

A spark flared in Graham’s eyes as they fixed on Ronan’s. Pale gray eyes stared back at him, strangely lifeless. Until that moment, heartbroken himself, Graham had spared some sympathy for Ronan’s loss. Now, it evaporated like morning mist as a surge of anger coursed through him. He pushed it down.

“What d’ye mean ’tis nae possible? I want tae tae see me sister’s body. Now, if ye dinnae mind,” he said in a voice like gravel, his tone brooking no denial.

Ronan gestured to an open door leading off the hall. “Shall we go in here? ’Tis best if we speak in private. There’s somethin’ else I wish tae speak tae ye about anyway.”

Hiding his shock, Graham strode after him. Ronan showed him into a comfortably furnished chamber which he recognized from the wedding a year before. He heard Ronan behind him bark an order for refreshments to be brought before he entered and shut the door.

“Where’s me sister, Ronan, I must see her,” Graham insisted, facing him.

Ronan shook his head. “I’m sorry, Graham, but as I said, ye cannae see her. She’s already been buried. The funeral was two days ago, I thought it best—”

“Ye what?” Unable to believe his ears, Graham cut him off, his brow darkening. “Ye mean tae say ye’ve buried her already? Before I even got here?”

Ronan nodded, his expression one of mournful surprise, as if at a loss as to why Graham should object. “Aye. I saw nae reason tae delay the funeral.”

Graham’s fists clenched at his sides, the only sign of the anger and grief raging inside him. “Ye saw nae reason tae delay? Ye didnae think I’d want tae attend the funeral, tae say goodbye?”

Ronan shook his head. “Tae tell the truth, I couldnae bear tae see her lyin’ there, all the life gone out of her.” His voice cracked as he went on, “Ye ken how deeply I cared for her. ’Tis a terrible loss tae me.”

Graham watched him closely. He appeared sad, the very picture of the grieving widower. But there was something in those pale eyes of his that made Graham wary, and the hairs on his neck stood up.

“Ye said in yer letter that she died of a fever.”

“Aye, she did,” Rona replied, his mouth turning down.

“How long was she ill fer? Did ye nae think tae write tae me and tell me? I would have come sooner.”

“I would have written tae ye, of course, I would. But I had nae reason tae think she would go so fast,” Ronan answered sorrowfully. “She was gone before I could even put pen tae paper. The fever came upon her suddenly just a few days before… it happened so quickly. I still cannae quite take it in.”

“Nay, neither can I,” Graham replied, silently seething.

If Effie truly died of a fever, then why the rush tae bury her?

“Has anyone else had this fever?” he asked.

“Aye, a couple of the maids have come down with it,” Ronan answered, a little too glibly for Graham’s liking. Despite his brother-in-law’s seeming distress at Effie’s loss, his gut was telling him something was not right.

“And are they dead?”

“Nay, but they’re nae daein’ well, or so I hear.”

A knock at the door interrupted them.

“Come,” Ronan called out, suddenly commanding. The door opened and two maids appeared on the threshold. One, slightly the elder of the pair, was holding a large ale jug. The other, who lagged behind, a tray of cakes and savories.

Observing them, Graham noticed how nervous they both seemed.

They bobbed a curtsey unison. “We’ve brought the refreshments ye asked fer, me laird,” said the elder one in a quavering voice, keeping her eyes lowered.

“Well, bring them in then, and be quick about it,” Ronan told her, a hint of impatience in his voice as he waved the pair over to the table next to where he and Graham were standing. Graham watched them, seeing that the younger lass did not even look up at all as she walked in behind her companion.

Ronan eyed them coldly as they set down their wares. “That’ll be all,” he told them. They curtseyed again and hurried out as if glad to leave.

Christ, they seem terrified. What the hell’s the matter with them?

He had been preoccupied on his arrival for obvious reasons, but now he thought of it, all the servants he had seen so far in Munro’s keep appeared cowed in the presence of their master.

Now, why should that be? Effie dead of some mysterious fever that carried her off in a few days, the maids clearly terrified… somethin’s wrong here…

Alone with his host once more, he directed all his attention back to him, suspicion curling in his gut.

“Will ye take the weight of yer feet and take some ale, Graham?” Ronan asked, indicating two easy chairs by the table.

“Aye, I’ll take a drop, thank ye.” Graham sat down and accepted a foaming mug. He sipped at it, wishing to appear sociable yet wanting to keep his wits about him.

Ronan took a long draught of his own ale and then said pleasantly, “Help yersel’ tae food. Ye must be hungry after yer long journey.”

“Nay, I’m nae hungry at all,” Graham replied.

“Oh? There’s plenty here,” his host said, reaching for a small pasty.

“I’ve had nay appetite since I heard of me sister’s death.”

Ronan pulled back his hand. “Aye, I’ve hardly eaten a bite mesel’,” he said with a sad sigh. “I thought I could force somethin’ down, but I’ve nae appetite either.”

Is that so? Ye looked keen enough tae fill yer face just then.

Graham’s suspicion told him something was amiss.

“What did ye want tae speak tae me about?” he asked, having a good idea already but giving no outward sign of his true thoughts.

Ronan leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, resting his mug of ale on the arm of his chair. “’Tis a very sad time fer the both of us… we’re both grievin’.” He nodded sadly, then he leaned forward, “But life goes on, eh?”

Graham swallowed his anger and mistrust enough to nod and say, “Aye.”

He was now certain of what was coming next and thought he was starting to see the real man behind the façade that had fooled him so well—enough to trust Ronan with his sister.

Ronan was ambitious. He was powerful on land, but being landlocked, he wanted sea-power to take advantage of lucrative trade routes. Graham’s clan were sea-faring folk, and Raasay had a large, well-trained navy, but would benefit from having an ally with plenty of fighting men. When Ronan had approached Graham about the marriage alliance and made an offer for Effie’s hand, it had seemed the perfect marriage and had gone ahead.

Now, Graham was wondering just what he had sent his sister into.

“Ye ken how much I cared fer Effie,” Ronan was saying, “and even though she’s gone, I would wish tae keep her memory alive… by maintainin’ the goodwill our union bought tae our two clans.”

By God, ye brazen bastard, Graham thought, seething inwardly, certain now something was not right. But he was careful not to alert Ronan to the fact he was suspicious of the circumstances of Effie’s sudden demise.

“Ye wish keep tae the terms of the alliance between us? In honor of me sister’s memory?” he asked, merely to hear the man say it.

“Aye, that’s it exactly,” Ronan replied, with a hint of relief on his face. “There’s nay reason we cannae remain allies, is there? Why should we lose the benefits the alliance has brought tae our clans because she’s gone? ’Tis what Effie would have wanted, I’m sure.” He paused, looking across at Graham with his pale eyes. “So, what d’ye say, Graham?”

I say ye’re a lyin’ cur. I’d say Effie didnae die of any fever. Ye did somethin’ tae her, somethin’ tae cause her death.

“I’m grievin’ fer me sister. I cannae think of such things just now,” he said, seeing Ronan’s face fall just a little. But the man quickly recovered, adopting his mournful look of sympathy once more. “But I’ll certainly think about it and let ye ken, when I’m ready.”

Ronan nodded. “Aye, of course, I understand ye’ll need some time tae consider it. But I wanted tae let ye ken me way of thinkin’.”

Graham put down his ale and stood up. “I want tae see Effie’s grave before I leave.”

Ronan did not seem surprised he was leaving so soon. In fact, he seemed relieved beneath what Graham was sure was a veneer of grief. “Of course. I’ll come with ye.” He rose to his feet.

“Thank ye, but I’d rather go alone. I just want tae have some time tae say goodbye tae her, in private. I’ll be leavin’ directly afterwards. Me men are waitin’ fer me.”

Ronan gave a sad smile as he escorted Graham to the door. “I understand. I’ll have one of me men take ye down tae the chapel. I will wait fer news about our alliance.”

“Aye, as soon as I get back tae business, I’ll send word.”

Ronan gave orders to one of his guards to show Graham to the chapel, and they parted without further ado. As he followed the guard through the corridors of the keep, Graham sent a silent message to Effie.

I ken somethin’ happened tae ye lass, and he’s responsible. I swear tae ye, I’ll find out the truth, and if I’m right, I’ll get justice fer ye, whatever it takes.