Page 52 of Eloping with the Laird
He didn’t stir, so she shook his shoulder gently. When his head lolled over to the side, and his lips parted, she gasped. Her chest tightened and her fingers tingled. She bent her head down to feel for his breath on her cheek. She did and released a sigh of relief.
He was alive but not conscious. She lifted her skirts and ran from the study down the hallway, grateful she’d donned her boots rather than her dainty slippers this morn. No servants were in sight as dinner and evening turndowns were in preparations. As she reached the main hall, she spied Angus and called for him.
He turned in haste, no doubt hearing the urgency in her high-pitched tone.
‘I need help! Send for Dr Wilkes,’ she shouted. ‘Rory is unconscious in his study, and I cannot rouse him.’
Angus’s eyes widened in alarm before he finally responded with a nod. ‘Phillip!’ he called after a young man carrying a fresh stack of wood to the large hearth. ‘Gather the doctor. The laird has taken ill. Hurry!’
‘Aye,’ the young man answered, his jaw set in determination. The cords of wood clattered to the floor and he disappeared down the hallway running at full speed.
‘He’ll gather his coat and be off, my lady. He’s the fastest rider we have.’
‘Can you help me get him back to his chambers?’ Moira asked, worrying the buttons along her dress sleeve.
‘Aye. I’ll bring two men to assist me, my lady.’
Moira hurried off. She’d hardly been alone with Rory for more than a minute in the study gripping his hand and whispering to him when Angus and two servants came in to carefully support and return her ill husband to his chambers. His head hung forward and the toes of his boots dragged along the floor as the men supported him between them. Seeing him so weak and helpless made her wish to scream aloud. She wasn’t ready to be without him. She clutched her belly. Neither of them were.
A day passed and Rory still had not woken. The doctor had come and gone to collect different tonics and medicines for him, but none of them brought Rory out of his endless sleep. Moira rose from the chair she’d pulled to his bedside yesterday and stretched her aching limbs. She’d had little sleep as her mind refused to rest.
‘How is he?’ Uncle Leo asked, his voice even as if he was already preparing himself.
She met his gaze. ‘The same.’
He smiled. ‘Well, that is something. I am glad he has not turned for the worse.’
‘I suppose.’ She stared down at Rory’s pale, still form. It didn’t seem like much consolation.
‘May I speak with you, Moira?’
‘Aye,’ she said and began to sit.
‘Perhaps a walk? I’ll be taking the hounds out soon. I thought some fresh air, despite the chill, might do you some good. Rory will have my hide when he wakes if I have not looked after you.’
She chuckled. ‘Of course.’ She pressed a kiss to Rory’s cheek, squeezed his hand and left the room.
They walked silently to the front hall, gathered their hats, cloaks and gloves and found the hounds huddled against the back door awaiting their master.
‘These beasts are as good as any timepiece if you ask me. They never fail to remind me when it is time for their morning or afternoon walk,’ he teased and opened the door for her and them.
The hounds bounded out in the new snowfall that covered the ground. ‘I hadn’t realised it had snowed yet again.’
‘Began last eve, but you didn’t notice. You have been fretting over my nephew instead.’ He smiled at her. ‘His parents would have adored you and been so pleased by his love match. No one would have expected it, least of all Rory.’
A blush heated her cheeks, and she pulled the cloak tighter around her head. ‘Nor did I. It caught us all unaware.’
He smiled at her. ‘I thought as much.’
‘It is why I am so desperate to cure whatever ails him,’ she added, kicking a blob of snow.And protect him from my past.‘I simply do not believe in this curse nonsense. It has to be something that we can remedy.’
Uncle Leo threw a stick for the hounds and then kept on. He shrugged. ‘I was like you. I didn’t believe it before my half-brother, Rory’s father, became ill. It was almost identical to what Rory suffers now. We all tried, worked tirelessly with different doctors and healers and medicines to stop the progression, but we could not. While it may not be a curse, it is something that ails all of the McKenna men. No one seems to know why or how.’
Moira nibbled her lip. Did she dare ask? She sucked in a breath and then blurted it out. ‘Why have you never become ill? If you are half McKenna, then wouldn’t the curse come to you as well?’
‘I wondered when you might ask. Although I don’t know for certain, I assume that if I haven’t already become ill, that I won’t. There was a storyteller, aseanachaide, in the village decades ago that once told me that the curse was not meant for half-bloods and that I need not worry.’ He shook his head and laughed. ‘At the time, I didn’t know whether to be angered by her insult at my parentage or relieved that she might be right.’
‘Interesting. Is this woman still in the village? Could I speak with her? Perhaps she knows something that could help us.’ Hope budded up in Moira’s chest and loosened the knot there. To do something that might help Rory was a balm to her spirit.
