Lady Miracle Read Free Page A

ignorance chilled him—and the thought of who she might be made him tremble with dread and anger.
    Taking the reins, the child in his lap, he looked down. “Tell me your name,” he said.
    ” Brighid ,” she said. “Brigit. It means strength.”
    “Brigit Campbell?” His voice was barely above a whisper. He saw then that her moon-colored eyes were surely gray, like his, his sister’s, Fionn’s too. Now he saw the ghost of his brother’s face in her small countenance. Fionn’s daughter, Diarmid’s own charge since his brother’s death, looked up at him.
    Shock coiled into rage as he realized that his niece had been mistreated. And he felt the burden of remorse and guilt, for he had promised to protect Fionn’s child as if she were his own. As for those he had trusted with the task—
    “Where is Sim MacLachlan?” he growled.
    “Simmie is dead. They are all gone, but for Old Morag. She took me to her little house.”
    “I am your kin, Brigit. Your uncle, Diarmid Campbell of Dunsheen.” He drew a deep breath. “You will come to live with me now. But first I want a word with Morag.”
    “Her house is on the next hill,” Brigit said. “But she will be sleeping.”
    “Then we will wake her up,” he said fiercely, and urged the horse ahead.
    September, 1322
    The wild brilliance of dawn faded into morning as Diarmid rode beside Mungo MacArthur, his friend and gille-ruith . They headed toward home, past the lavender shoulders of the distant mountains to the western coast and Dunsheen Castle, far from these border hills where King Robert’s army clustered. He and Mungo had been with the king’s raiding force for months, and now were finally riding westward. Diarmid would have agreed to almost any request if the task he took on brought him home. Owing fealty and service to the crown, either knight service or the loan of his fast multi-oared galleys, he had chosen to personally report to Robert Bruce.
    Now he cantered quickly, but Mungo, used to running wherever he went as Dunsheen’s runner, was less sure on a horse and lagged behind. “You are in a hurry, Dunsheen,” he panted when he caught up.
    “We have an errand in Perth before we can go home.”
    Mungo grunted. “You seem certain this woman in Perth will come with you to Dunsheen.”
    “She will,” he said. “She has the soul of a saint. She will not refuse my request.”
    “Ah, the laird of Dunsheen eagerly leaves his games of war for the sake of a small child.”
    Diarmid gave him a wry look. “You have four children, man,” he said. “Would you not do anything you could for them? I thought so. Brigit has improved little since I found her that night. I thought rest, good food, herbal doses and a good home would help her regain strength.”
    Mungo sighed. “The herb-wives, even the physician you hired have all said the same. She will not walk, Dunsheen,” he said gruffly. “Accept it as fate.”
    “One woman said she would waste away to nothing,” Diarmid said bitterly. “Another said she will not survive another year and should be left in a convent. And the physician,” he added, “the educated man, wanted to amputate her legs so the weakness would not spread. I will not listen to any of that.”
    “No one knows what caused this for her, and no one knows how to treat it. Even you, with your medical knowledge.”
    “I will see her healed. She is my responsibility,” Diarmid growled. He would find a way. She was his niece, his ward, the soul of the promise he had made to his brother and had not kept.
    “Is this fierceness because Brigit believes you are the king of the daoine sìth , and capable of magic?”
    “In part,” he admitted. “She has too much faith in me, I trow. And I can refuse her nothing. I am lost each time she smiles at me.” And he had made an impulsive promise to the child that he had to keep. Brigit wanted magic. She believed in it, and in him. And he, desperate, had agreed.
    He sighed, wishing the brisk