Aingeal in the Dark

"I am Isobel."

Rory cursed, and released her, groaning when she struggled from beneath him and he fell face first onto the straw mattress. When her hands gently moved to turn him over he pushed her half heartedly back. He did not desire the help of another of the cursed devil's sisters.

"Leave me be woman!" He growled softly, the pain of his body registering once more and leaving him breathless. He didn't have the energy to stop her when she moved him, and moaned in relief when she accomplished her goal and his weight was off of his chest.

"You are bleeding again." Gods, her voice was so peaceful. So familiar. His weak pondering was cut off when a wet coolness was placed over his chest, her little hands smoothing over it with a tenderness he wished he could thank her for. But all that came was bile to his throat when he faced the truth of his situation. He was being healed so he could be tortured again. Alistair's final words to him as hot brands were applied to his skin had said as much. It was hard to be thankful for such sweet tenderness when hell was awaiting him afresh. It may be better to cut off the mercy now and allow his death.

"I don't want tending. You're an evil one to be so cruel Isobel Cameron."

Isobel's temper caught, anger such a new emotion; she caught even herself by surprise.

"Tis true they call me evil McDubh, though only through superstition – flames fanned by my bloody brother and kin who fear my skills."

"Skills?"

"As a healer." She murmured, her anger ebbing when she saw more blood flow from his side. "You need a great deal of healing McDubh."

"My apologies Madam for so putting you out." He grumbled beneath his breath in a manner which couldn't help but make her smile. She would almost believe him to be pouting. "Can you not light a candle in here, how is it you can see what you are doing?"

"I can see well enough. Your eyelids are swollen shut; tis why you cannot see." Isobel lied. She was glad he was so weak; she could see the tensing in his arms as though he wished to touch. "I will apply a poultice to help with the swelling later on. Right now I must stop this bleeding."

Isobel hated lying. There would be no poultice, all she had was water, cloth and her hands, and she prayed it would be enough. Settling her hands against his side, she allowed her power to trickle into him to stop the flow and she marvelled at the speed the wound beneath her hands closed. She had not expected that. Moving lower, to the thin gash over his hip, she channelled it into the space and found herself faltering. Glancing up, her warrior's breathing was even, her pose relaxed in healing sleep.

Did her anger make her power more potent? Or was it simply the warrior in his waking moment?

Isobel stood quietly and settled back on the cot to protect him from the chill of the wall and watched over him. She may manage this; she may have just enough time. Raising one hand over his missing eyes, Isobel rested her head on his shoulder and prayed.

~~~

"Isobel..." His voice sounded pitiful to his own ears, but he could stand it no longer. The darkness was eating into his soul, the silence even more so. Over the hours he had awoken, she had been there, one hand resting in his as though to remind him she was there, the sound of her breathing and the fan of it against his bare chest and told him with clarity that he was not alone. But now, he had awoken to silence, the sounds of the night were all around him, never ending bloody night. The warmth of her beside him was not there, and her chilled little hand not clasped tight in his own.

His pride warred with his fear until he felt little more than a child afraid of the night. He tried to turn on the cot and moaned as fresh pain streaked through him, his ribs protested the turning of his body, his head pounded with the movement until he thought he might pass out. His hands searched the cot, padding along the rough surface in search of her,his Aingeal.

Encountering nothing but threadbare sheets, Rory silently cursed himself. Of course she wouldn't be here; she would be in her own chambers, surrounded by the finery that came with being sister to a Laird. She would be dressed in a thick robe, much like those her sister Marion wore in the evenings curled in his brother's rooms, nestled amongst pillows and warm covers in a room with a fire. Hunger wouldn't be forming a burning pit in her belly, the chill of the night not making her tremble in the dark.

Settling back against the cot with a groan, Rory was startled when a small hand crept into his own, and a scarcely warm body rolled against his side.

"Isobel?" He asked softly, though needing no answer. Her heathery scent was enough to give her away, the soap she used clinging to her clothes and skin, and now his as well. He still needed to hear her. Her breath was so shallow, her skin barely warm next to his. Panic settled in his chest and he reached out his free hand slowly and shook her.

Her grumbling moan soothed him more than he thought possible. He would not be alone; she would not leave him for long in the dark. His Aingeal.

Yet that thought froze his blood. His Aingeal, his anchor in the dark, was the Devil's own sister set to heal him so the very fires of hell to take him once more. It was a long time before sleep found Rory McDubh and took him away from the black pit into a welcome realm of dreams.

~~~

Chapter Five

"You're going to get petals in the jam, my Lord."

"I care not sweet witch." He smiled, his clear blue gaze drinking in the beauty of her amongst the tall grass, daisies and sorrel petals dressing her hair and bare skin. Smooth, creamy limbs moved with sweet abandon as he trailed a blade of grass up her thigh towards the pale curls at their apex and teased her in the place that had taken him to such pleasurable heights he had forgotten all before his little Aingeal.

When she arched he body in his arms, his body readied to take her once more. Their meal forgotten, the sun warm over head, she took him into her body, and Rory knew heaven.

~~~

Rory knew he had awoken this time. The sweetness of his dream, of the pale Aingeal who looked upon him with such trust gave him no peace now. It was a useless dream that could not save him from his reality. Instead, he lay in endless darkness with his only source of solace from the pain being the potential enabler of more. Worse still, her slender body was seeking his warmth, her chilled hands leaving gooseflesh on his skin while thoughts of her naked amongst flowers made his body ache, his manhood perilously straining against the softness of her arm.

Cruel dreams to match the cruel reality. By the time he was healed fully, even healed enough to survive another round with Alistair's men, it would mean weeks under her tender care, weeks to be enflamed by dreams brought by his exhausted mind's attempt at freedom. Would his brother find him before then? Flexing his arms, he winced at the movement and yet found it pained him less than the last time he woke. Raising his hand, he sought to see if the swelling of his face had lessened. Encountering a thick wad of cloth, Rory groaned trying to slip his fingers around it to lift it from his face.

"Leave it be McDubh," soft hands took hold of his and drew it away from his face, clasped tight in her own. "...it is helping you heal. Give it time."

"You shouldn't be here Isobel." Rory whispered, not wishing to alert any guards to the fact he was not alone. "Do they know you are in here?"

"You should eat. I do not have broth, which would be best; however I have some chicken and other things." Her soft form rose, and he felt bereft as she climbed over him and settled on the side of the mattress. He allowed her the change of subject, for now. He would not risk her being harmed if she were to be found lying in his arms. He took what she offered from her fingers, the fare plain, and bread stale, he grimaced before he washed it down with a little water.

Rory bit his tongue. He did not want to lose his temper with her, but he would not heal well with such fare – unless they intended to starve answers he didn't have out of him. He heard her settle the clay bowl down on the floor before she turned to touch him once again. His stomach had at least stopped grumbling painfully, though it wouldn't be long before it roared back to life. He seemed to be healing faster than he had thought. He had no fever, lest he slept through and missed it, he had not lost much of his mass or so he felt. And now as her fingers gently smoothed, probed and tended, he allowed his own to move across the side she was not working on and found it suspiciously smooth though the deep ache remained. Grabbing her hands, Rory hauled his nursemaid up against him and held her fast.

"What manner of healer are you Isobel Cameron that my wounds be so few now a mere day after I was thrown down here?" Rory growled, almost sorry he held her captive as her hands trembled in his, her panicked breaths fanning his face. "What is it you meant by superstitions?"

Rory had of course heard Marion regale his brothers with tales of her skilled sister, but he had thought she had meant as a normal healer, a woman skilled in the uses of herbs and potions the earth could provide for her. Superstitions spoke of witchcraft.

"They call me a witch." His Aingeal, his sweet witch...he knew. He had this knowledge...why now did it make sense to him out of his dream, why did it add to the cruelty of her healing.

"I will be fully healed soon will I not?" He barely heard her soft 'aye'. "Not enough time for my brother to get here...Alistair will come back for me...he..."

Rory felt blinding pain engulf him as he sat suddenly, Isobel in his lap. Releasing her hands to grip his head, she didn't run from his fury. She sat astride his form, her small hands resting gently on both temples, and spoke soft words against his lips. Warmth like he had never known fought away the pain, fought his demons and drowned his fears in the sweetness of her kiss. Untutored lips brushed against his as she whispered to him, and Rory crushed her body to his as he gave in and returned her caress.

Your brother is coming for you my warrior, trust in me.

So small, too small...her body painfully thin that he could span her waist with his fingers. Only the lush breasts crushed against his chest gave her some soft bounty. Swift rage flooded him at the thought that Alistair were keeping his sister so thin, how terrible to watch his horde eat their fill and only be allowed so much oneself. A soft sigh escaping Isobel brought him back to the present. Her lips had broken from his and her head rested against his bare shoulder, her breaths soft and steady. Rory brought one hand to her neck, tracing gently upwards, over her cheek and felt her lashes flush against her cheek. She was sleeping – and Rory didn't know whether to be pleased or frustrated. His body ached for a release it had no right to be wanting, his body healing with unnatural speed thanks to the Aingeal in his arms. An Aingeal he wanted lain out in the sun warmed grass, watching her face as she took him into her body.

Were they dreams? Or were they something more? After feeling the miracle of her healing, he knew he could no longer be sure. Rory now prayed he could heed her whispered words and trust that his brother would be here in time to save him.

~~~

Chapter Six

"Very well, favourite food?"

Isobel rolled her eyes heavenward though she knew he couldn't see her. This was what had to be the fiftieth question in a line of thousands. The man was relentless.

"My maid Meg used to make the most wonderful jam. Sweet strawberries and just the right sweetness, it was heaven. Only had it on my birthday though, the dear woman worried I had a sweet tooth and would end up like a toothless hag."

He laughed quietly, the rich sound warming her. Isobel stood to go to him and stumbled, knocking the stool over and cursing when she stubbed her toe.

"Isobel?"

"I am well. Just clumsy." Isobel answered softly, tears threatening when she reached to set the stool to rights and found her vision blurring at the edges. Straightening, she took a calming breath and wiped at the moisture adorning her cheeks. It would only get worse. The more energy she used healing him, the more food she gave up for him and his appetite, the quicker she would fade. There was no sense getting upset, not really. Already she had greeted a dark sleep more than once, surprised to find that Rory simply thought she had left for her own chambers on those occasions. She saw no need to tell him of her situation. There were some things that would just not help him to know.

Holding out her hand to judge the wall, she made it to the cot and smiled at the sight of him reaching for her. Taking his hand she thought of a question to ask him. Since the night before, his body was healing incredibly fast, his cuts and burns almost gone, the scarring would be with him as a reminder, but at least she knew now he would not die. With life, came energy and his constant chatter to fill his darkness warmed her.

"What happened at Ardie loch?" Isobel felt him startle before a low groan came from deep in his chest.

"What did Marion tell you?"

"Ach, no, that counts as one of your questions McDubh!" Isobel laughed when he groaned again.

"It was about twelve years ago, when I was still but a lad who thought himself a man like his brothers. Och lass, I do not wish to tell you this...it is embarrassing!"

"Continue McDubh."

"I had taken a fancy to the shepherd's daughter. She was a little older than me, more ages with Angus fair to say, but I was enchanted. She had danced with me the night before at the wedding of two of our clansmen to sisters from the MacLeods in the north, and I had thought she found me passing fair. I had heard my brothers talk of the lasses who swim in the loch with the new brides the morning after the celebrations, and thought I would chance upon them. I caught them as many were leaving, unseen I slipped up to the water's edge and saw the object of my affections rise from the water like a red headed siren. She was glorious, and in a monumental lapse of judgement, I slipped and gave away my position. In front of my hiding brothers and several other clansmen sneaking a look at beautiful naked women, the shepherd's daughter gave me a sound kicking and chased me off into the woods."

Isobel couldn't help it, and gave into her laughter. She could see it all in her head as he described it to her, a young lad being taught his first lesson in life.

"I would thank you fair maiden to cease your laughter." Rory smiled, finding her mouth with his hand and ceasing her sounds of mirth. "Lest my pride wither into nothingness."

"I am sorry. I promise, no more laughing." Isobel smirked against his hand and he released her with a sigh. "Can you sing?"

"Badly! Though Angus has the voice of our mother's family, a true story teller through music." She watched Rory's smile falter and hoped to distract him from talk of family, but he pulled himself from it before she could open her mouth.

"Can you ride?"

"Aye, I can. I love the escape, the freedom I feel when I ride out through the valleys, or give the horses their head to dart through the trees. There is something peaceful to be found in such simple pursuits." Isobel saw the smile return with her answer, and was glad of it. "Do you enjoy riding?"

"I do. Though I get little time to do it for pleasure, I should make more time. We have some very fine horses which Donald purchased from Skye, hardy things each and every one of them, and incredible to ride." She watched Rory think for a long moment and waited. "Are you betrothed?"

"What?" Isobel's head snapped up from her mending, and stammered. "No, not betrothed, or married."

"Why not?"

"That again is another question out of turn McDubh." Isobel laughed her surprise fading. "I have never met another person I had wanted to spend my life with. Marion found happiness, and I wanted that for myself. Now, you owe me another answer."

"Well?" He asked when he heard nothing more from her. "And no, that does not count as another question."

"What is your favourite colour?" Isobel asked absently, her vision blurring once more, no longer just around the edges.

"I don't have just one." He murmured, his hands gripping her suddenly as she pitched to the side, catching her around her waist and pulling her into his lap. "Lass, are you unwell?"

"I am just tired McDubh."

"Rory."

"Pardon?" Isobel asked, her head beginning to ache fiercely as darkness, black and foreboding lingered in her vision.

"Call me Rory." She tested the name on her lips softly. "Isobel, sleep now lass."

Isobel obeyed, curled in his lap she gave into the exhaustion with a final look at his beautiful face. His eyes were still covered with her cloth, though she knew now her healing was finally taking effect there. When she had looked upon him during his rest, his lids had not looked as sunken; the red welts from the slip of the blade had healed to almost naught. But this was more than she had ever attempted, and she feared she now knew the consequences.

"Rory..." Isobel murmured against his neck, and smiled in her sleep when he answered her unspoken question.

"Green and gold lass, just like my Aingeal. Green and gold."

The flicker of the candle beside the cot drew his attention. No longer simply because he could hear its subtle dance with the wick...

Because he could see it.

~~~

Chapter Seven

Isobel ran her fingers over the cloth around his head and allowed the weak tendrils of her power to seep into her warrior. If she was to die when Alistair returned as he promised, she wanted to give all to this man that she could give.

You cannot take it with you when you die.

Those were her father's words concerning riches, but she still felt the adage apt. It was senseless for her to die without him being whole. Though it hurt to admit the truth to herself, she was ever realistic. Her dreams tormented her with scenes that could never be, warmth and security in his arms in a future that didn't exist. Here and now, his warmth and his arms held her protected her. Here and now was what counted.

Feeling the last of her energy wane, Isobel felt Rory stir beneath her, his big body settling more comfortably against the thinly stuffed mattress with hers cushioned atop his and smiled. It seemed they were ever doomed to wake as the other needed a healing sleep. Isobel savoured the last sight of him, drinking in his form and committing it to memory before her sight would desert her completely. Everything that made him a warrior was stark against the white of the sheets, every muscle, ridge and scar that labelled him a protector. Everything that made him a man was obvious beneath the cradle of her hips where his manhood rubbed against her, thickening in his ebbing sleep, and Isobel gave into the temptation to move against the hardness.

A startled moan drifted from her lips at the sensation, the granite of him brushing her through her thin dress, set her heart to racing. Resting her head against his chest once more, Isobel whimpered when his own hips suddenly mimicked her movement. Strong hands which had rested on her lower back now pressed her closer as his body shifted beneath her, turned until the mattress was against her back and her warrior's eye covering came away. Isobel gasped when she gazed into the pure blue of her berserker, and her vision dimmed away a little bit more.

"Am I hideous to you dear Aingeal?" Rory whispered, it pained him to open his eyes but he had to see her. Glorious even through the unfocused haze, she lay beneath him in his arms, his body cradled against hers. Isobel's hair was white gold, spread in all its smooth beauty in a halo about her head, mismatched eyes he knew to be green and gold watched him with silent intensity, and soft petal pink lips softened on a gasp he could not resist.