Page 80 of Warrior’s Lady

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rhiannon was too tired to feel anything. Not pain. The strain in her shoulders and back had turned to numbness hours ago. Not grief. She'd been forced to submerge her emotions — both sympathy and horror — as the castle's residents collapsed in illness and death all around her. She had no time to grieve the dead when the living needed her help. Not fear. She had managed to ignore the ache that had settled under her arms, but she could not dismiss the red rash that had crept across her throat and chest with alarming speed. She'd fallen victim to the plague herself. Hours marked her presence upon this earth.

The light of dawn filtered through the front door of the keep. She had moved from the bedchamber above to the great hall hours ago as more and more residents became ill. She had thrown open the door to the keep, praying that the slight, cool breeze would carry away the stench of death that hung over the castle like a shroud. A huge fire in the hearth kept the residents warm.

Rhiannon leaned her head back against the cold stone of the castle's hall. She needed to rest, only for a moment. She could feel the tears of exhaustion and grief behind her eyes, but she buried her emotions deep inside, afraid that if she gave vent to anything she would be consumed by an overwhelming tide. Nay, it was best not to feel anything at all.

The only other person who could help was Rhys. She had asked him to take care of the dead. Since he was now healthy and strong, he could carry their bodies into the hall and line them against the wall without injury to himself. And in between carrying the dead, the man built a massive burial pyre so they could burn the bodies. Which was where he was now, leaving her alone.

No footsteps sounded anywhere in the hall as the servants, scullery maids, pages, warriors, and grooms had either fallen ill, or run away in terror. She didn't blame those who'd left. There was a time when she might have run herself. But not any longer.

She could not change who she was, and finally she accepted that she did not want to. Her family might be known as criminals and thieves to most of the Scottish people. But she suddenly realized that she was shaped by her family's reputation not to do bad, but to do good — to be more than a Ruthven had ever been before. Strong, dependable, and honest.

She was all those things, and more.

Strengthened by her thoughts, Rhiannon pushed away from the wall, ready to continue the battle against her unseen enemy. "I will fight you to the end," she said, allowing her conviction to resonate throughout the hall.

In order to sustain the fight, she needed fresh water. The cistern in the courtyard had been used dry. If she wanted water, she would have to fetch it from the well. Alone.

A sense of desolation swept over her, but she forced it away. Water. She had to get water. Straightening, she stepped out the door of the keep, through the courtyard to the stable where she hitched two horses to a cart. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, but she brushed them aside with the sleeve of her dress and pressed on.

She gathered as many buckets from the stable as she could find, and after placing them in the back of the cart, she stepped into the driver's seat. With a flip of the reins, she headed out.

The task of drawing the buckets of water from the well grew steadily more difficult with each bucket she filled. Even in the cold, sweat ran down her face and soaked her blue gown as she struggled to lift the heavy buckets into the wagon. Over and over again she filled the buckets, until finally the task was complete.

"I never realized water was so heavy." Rhiannon leaned against the side of the cart, her breath coming in halting gasps. Now all she had to do was drive the water back up to the castle and repeat the process, unloading what she had gathered. She swiped at her face with the back of her hand, then hitched herself up into the driver's seat.

By midday, the task of retrieving water was complete. And Rhiannon found herself once again kneeling beside the castle's residents, wiping their brows of fever and cleansing their wounds.

What was keeping Camden? What she wouldn't give right now to feel the strength of his hand wrapped around her own. Had he deserted her as well as the others?

She clamped her mind shut at the thought. Camden would never desert her. She repeated the mantra over and over again as she continued in her work.

He would never desert her.

She was so busy with her ministrations she did not hear anyone approach until a hand gently clasped her shoulder. She turned to see Violet standing beside her.

"Get back to your chamber," Rhiannon gasped, as fear twisted her heart.

Violet shook her head. "I want to help."

"Nay," Rhiannon cried, feeling a nauseating despair creep over her. But Violet would not be deterred. And Rhiannon no longer had the energy to fight her.

With a sigh of defeat, Rhiannon nodded. Perhaps it was for the best. Someone would have to take over the care of the sick and dying when the inevitable happened to her.

The gates to the castle stood open.

Sheer black fright swept through Camden at the absolute silence. No one and nothing stirred beneath the light of the midday sun.

He jumped from his horse and raced across the courtyard toward the doors of the keep, which were also open. The stench of rotting flesh assaulted his senses as he burst into the great hall.

He searched the room, desperate to find Rhiannon. His gaze tripped across the rows of bodies hidden beneath shrouds of white linen. "Merciful heavens." His voice was raw. He thrust his hand into his sporran. His fingers clutched what he'd hoped would be his people's salvation. But the plague had devoured them faster than he'd ever imagined possible.

The knot in his chest eased as his gaze slid to Rhiannon and Violet, sitting beside Mistress Faulkner. Rhiannon bathed the woman's forehead with a cloth, then returned her rag to the water only to swipe at her forehead once again.

"Rhiannon," he shouted as he moved across the chamber to her side.

She continued to dip, then swiped as though she had not heard him. She stared off in the distance, at something he could not see. Her expression remained blank, devoid of all emotion. Her beautiful blue gown was torn and filthy, her hair a wild tangle of knots.