Morgann turned his attention to Alana as Finn retreated, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. Only the faintest movement of her chest reassured him she was still alive. For how much longer though?
"Forgive me, Alana," he whispered gruffly, squeezing her hand between both of his. "I swear I'll do all I can to make this right if ye just wake up."
He didn't know what he would do. He barely cared. The thoughts that had driven him ever since he'd discovered Margot's plot to kill his father and take their lands had all but left him. Rage had been replaced by desperation and devastation, leaving him weak, so very unlike a warrior. If Alana died he doubted he'd continue to be much of a man. Already she had him reduced to a begging fool, urging a dying woman back from the brink. If only he lay there instead, the poison working its deadly magic on him. Alana was not meant for such an end. Nay, she was meant to spend the rest of her days finding ways to aggravate him surely?
The rest of her days? Aye. If Alana awoke, he wasn’t sure he could let her go. But would she even have him? Somehow he would make a deal with her father and make Margot pay. If he could convince Laird Dougall that Margot intended to harm his daughter, he would have nothing to do with her. He needed to make sure his stepmother paid for what she'd done to Alana. Ach, but he’d been so close to telling her all. Debating whether she could handle the truth anyway. But if his father didn’t believe him, why would Alana? And if she did, she’d realise how callous her father was.
He clenched his eyes shut and offered up a prayer. Alana had to wake. She had to. And he would cease being a fool and tell her just how vital she was to him. Soon enough he would have her vibrant and argumentative in his arms once more, revelling in her heated lips and silken skin. Aye, she would return to him.
A cold fist of dread clenched at his heart. She had to for he didn't know how he would continue on if she didn't.
Watching carefully, he willed her to open her eyes but the only response that greeted him was the slowing of her breaths, the faint rasps of Alana trying to cling to life. His throat ached in desperation as he battled his emotions, the realisation that she may never awaken thrusting through him, as sharp and as powerful as the steel of a sword.
Alana was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter Seven
Thrusting a tiny finger into Alana's chest, Tèile sighed and slumped onto the front of her gown. All was lost. The poison Margot put in that hair tonic was very powerful. Death awaited Alana as surely as a faery loved to drink. It had to be that evil woman that had done it. There was no poison in the wine. Tèile drank enough of it to know that but one sniff of the hair tonic and she knew it was hemlock.
Morgann hadn't noticed yet but his hands were red from the potion. Lucky for him, his hands were rough and coarse and he’d only touched the liquid briefly. Alana had spent several days with it slowly seeping into her skin. As soon as Tèile got the chance, she’d ensure the tonic disappeared.
Head in her hands, she released a wry laugh. Finally Morgann understood his feelings for Alana. What was it about humans that meant it usually took a disaster for them to see what was right in front of them?
If only she hadn't indulged in the wine. She should have been watching Alana more closely. From now on, she was never going to drink again. Or maybe only drink a glass every now and then. A glass a day perhaps. Now death awaited Alana and the sidhe council would not be happy. Tèile would probably be banished. No more parties and balls. It was enough to make a faery cry.
The rasps in Alana's chest told her the inevitable was just around the corner. A vow would go unfulfilled and the fighting between the clans promised to continue. Many men’s deaths would sit on Tèile’s shoulders.
She fingered one of Alana's golden locks as the rise and fall of her chest beneath her began to slow. She glanced up at the Highland warrior, devastation etched into his face. He knew as well as she did that Alana wouldn't come back from this. Tèile wracked her mind. Surely there was something she could do? If a faery could not save a human life every now and then, what was the point in being a sacred being? Nodding slowly to herself, she fluttered her wings, allowing them to lift her away from Alana. She stopped briefly by Morgann and pressed a gentle kiss to the man's cheek. He didn't feel it but she hoped he sensed the comfort she tried to offer. With one last look at the couple, she flew out of the window, a barely muffled roar of anguish making her shudder as she slipped into the night.
***
The silver goblet smashed against the wall with a clatter but the sound brought him little pleasure. He stumbled to pick it up and debated throwing it again but it would do little to calm his anger. Placing it on top of the wall, he stared out into the dark, lit only by a few torches dotted along the walls. Clouds filled the sky, blocking out the starlight and Morgann felt a grim satisfaction at the sight. A night like this shouldn’t be beautiful. Nay, this night he wanted the clouds as grey and as depressing as he felt.