Read Cathy Maxwell - [Chattan Curse 03] for Free Online Page B

the crash. She was able to lift it without even a twinge of discomfort.
    Margaret stared at her fingers and stretched them. They moved easily.
    “My lady, are you all right?” Anice asked. Both girls watched her actions with interest.
    Margaret frowned up, needing a moment for the question to make sense in her confused mind. All right? Nothing was right. She knew what had happened. It was vivid in her mind. She’d experienced the pain, felt her bones breaking—
    “I must see Rowan,” Margaret croaked out. Rowan would explain all of this to her.
    “Yes, my lady,” Laren answered, “but first, have a drink of this.” She placed the teacup against Margaret’s lips. The brew was strong and lukewarm. The first sip made Margaret feel as if her throat was opening.
    “Don’t drink too quickly,” Laren warned, but Margaret could not stop once she started. Her body needed the liquid. She drained the cup dry.
    “More,” she ordered.
    Laren complied. A third cup followed the second.
    Margaret fell back on the pillow. She looked to the young women. “What did you do with the others?”
    Brows furrowed. Anice spoke. “They’ve received a Christian burial.”
    “Thank you,” Margaret murmured, heartbroken by the deaths of Balfour and Thomas. Even of Smith. Their deaths cried for vengeance, and she swore silently she would deliver it. “How long have I been in this bed?” she asked.
    “We found you three days ago,” Laren answered. “Actually, our brother found you. His name is Heath Macnachtan—”
    “He’s the laird,” Anice interjected. “He’s very important.”
    “And he saved you,” Laren reiterated.
    But Margaret barely heard their praise of their brother. Instead, she was stunned to realize three days had passed ? Three days for the witch Fenella to gather her power.
    “Rowan,” Margaret said. “Please take me to him.”
    “Yes, my lady,” Anice replied. “But do you believe you should move?”
    “Take me to him,” Margaret repeated, her tone allowing no room for refusal. She sat up, relieved that her body did not protest. She pulled her nightdress down over her legs, needing a moment to steady herself.
    There was a simple oak linen press on the opposite wall, and beside it were several bags that she recognized as her own from the coach. There was also the coachman’s whip, leaning against the press.
    Seeing the direction she was looking, Anice explained, “The linen press holds most of your clothing. Your things were spread all through the woods, but we think we have most of it. Heath had a party comb the forest thoroughly.”
    “Heath?”
    “Our brother,” Anice said. “Laird Macnachtan. We just told you about him. He is the one who found you. We believe your accident happened just after you crossed the border to our lands.”
    Fenella had wanted to stop her from reaching Loch Awe?
    Or was it that Fenella wanted her in Macnachtan hands?
    Margaret pushed up from the bed, not certain what to think. She was surrounded by her enemies, and yet Laren and Anice reached out as if ready to catch her in case she fell. She was relieved that her legs held her weight, albeit unsteadily at first. “A robe?” she said.
    Laren crossed to the linen press and pulled out Margaret’s blue robe. She helped Margaret into the soft fabric and started to tie it at her waist but Margaret caught her hands. “I’ll do it.” She chose her actions because these girls should not be waiting upon her, but also she didn’t want to appear weak to them.
    “Where’s Rowan?” Margaret’s voice was still hoarse.
    “This way, my lady,” Laren answered, and moved toward the door. Anice hovered behind Margaret as if anxious that she would fall.
    Laren was about to reach for the handle when the door opened and a tall, regal woman entered the room. Seeing them about to go out, she stopped, blocking their path.
    This woman was obviously not related to the sisters. Her hair was the color of a shining copper kettle and