Prescribed for Love Read online

  “Thank you,” said the witch. “I didn’t catch your name by the way.”

  “Alasdair MacLean.”

  “Mind if I call you Al?”

  “If Alasdair is nae to yer liking, ye can call me MacLean.”

  “Alright then…Mac it is!” He cringed at the shortening of his name. However, the witch seemed unconcerned with his irritation. Once she finished her cake a few moments later, she asked, “So Mac, where are we going?”

  “To my home, Duart Castle,” he replied.

  “And why are we headed there?”

  Alasdair did not immediately answer; he was not sure he should let the witch know the entirety of his problem. He was worried about her actions if he revealed she was his last hope. He did not need the witch trying to take advantage of his misfortune. After a few moments of internal debate, he decided to tell her only the most basic of information. “My sister has become verra sick. I hope ye may be able to help her,” was his reply.

  “Oh, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. I hope she has not suffered too much.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “I’m not sure if I am your best option, but I will definitely do as much as I can for her.” Alasdair was not sure what to think of the witch’s reply. On the one hand, he was pleased by her show of concern for his sister. On the other, the belittling of her skills worried him. The rumors said she was a healer with an ability to heal that far surpassed any other. Alasdair sincerely hoped she was not trying to manipulate him into some ridiculous form of payment. I will need to keep a close on eye her.

  “I thank ye,” replied Alasdair, “But for now, let us hurry back so ye can see to her.” Anxious to return, he called his horse. Mounting first, he reached down to help the witch up, this time behind him. As unlikely as it was, if her body was designed by magic, he did not want to risk falling under its spell. If he was going to keep a close watch on her, he could not afford any distractions. Turning once again for home, he hoped his fears were unfounded and simply a result of his paranoia.

  ***

  Their ride continued, once again in silence, until they reached their destination. Cat was dumbstruck by the monstrosity of the castle in front of her. It had clearly been built for protection—there was nothing whimsical about the place. The structure gave its inhabitants a distinct advantage with its strategic location atop a hill overlooking the surrounding area. The stone walls were thick, their only decorations consisting of brutish looking men with gruesome weapons. Unfortunately for Catriona, those men appeared skeptical of her presence. They eyed her warily as she was entered the keep. Her and Alasdair’s progress only slowed long enough to dismount before continuing into the castle. They did not stop until they arrived before a chamber door.

  Cat actually became a bit nervous when she saw how Alasdair paused before knocking. The way he braced himself made it painfully clear how distressed he was for his sister. Once invited to enter, he opened the door and directed Cat toward the bed before he headed to the furthest corner, presumably to allow for privacy. Catriona tentatively approached the girl’s side; she truly did look very sick. In all honesty, Cat did not know much about diagnosing diseases. She had gone into pharmacy school because medicine fascinated her, but had no desire to actually touch anyone. Looking briefly back at Alasdair, she was moved by the concern for his sister that was etched so clearly on his face; Cat hoped she would not disappoint him. Wait a second…why am I so worried? This is my dream; of course I’ll know how to help her!

  “Are ye the witch my brother rushed away to retrieve?” asked the bedridden girl.

  Cat could not bring herself to lie to someone so desperately sick, not even in a dream. “No. I didn’t even know he thought I was a witch,” responded Cat. “I arrived at the hut where we met just moments before he showed up. I guess that must have been the witch’s residence.” Seeing the girls face drop in disappointment, she quickly continued, “But when he asked for my help I agreed to come. Luckily, I am actually a healer.” Cat figured that was not really a falsehood. With her twenty-first century knowledge, she reasoned she automatically knew more about medicine than anyone in this time period.

  “Then who are ye?” asked the girl.

  “My name is Catriona, but everyone calls me Cat. What is your name by the way? Alasdair never told me.”

  “Ailsa,” she replied.

  “Well Ailsa, I may not be the witch, but I would still like to try to help you. Would you mind if I tried?” asked Cat.

  “Nay, I dinnae mind,” replied Ailsa, “I think it might give my brother some peace knowing his effort wasnae for naught.”

  “Excellent!” exclaimed Cat. She was glad the girl was going to give her an opportunity to help. “I just need to ask you a few questions.”

  ***

  As Alasdair watched the witch converse with his sister, he grew increasingly pensive. She had talked to Ailsa for nearly a quarter of an hour, yet had taken no action. By his reasoning, she should have performed some spell or incantation by now. Does this mean there is nothing that can be done? Is my sister truly doomed to waste away? With these dark thoughts, Alasdair began to edge closer in hopes of overhearing their conversation—what he heard astounded him.

  “What is this nonsense of which ye speak?” interrupted Alasdair, “I ask ye to help my sister, and instead ye tell her to starve herself?”

  “I’m not telling Ailsa to starve herself. I’m just telling her to stop eating things like bread,” replied the witch, “She has a disease which prevents the body from digesting gluten. This is why she is malnourished. Trust me, if she does as I say, she will be as good as new in no time.”

  “What is this disease? I havenae heard of such a thing!” growled Alasdair.

  “Look, you asked me to come with you to help her, and that is what I am trying to do. If you will just allow her to follow my advice, you will quickly see her improve,” said the witch testily.

  “Yer advice is fool-headed.” Spying the witch’s bag, inspiration struck Alasdair. “Give me yer satchel,” ordered Alasdair as he took the bag from her shoulder. “There must be something within to help her,” he murmured as he started to sift through the bag’s contents. At the top he found what he thought must be her spell book. Hopeful the pages might contain some form of cure, Alasdair immediately began to flip through the tome.

  Alasdair was so involved in his inspection the witch’s bellowing caught him completely off-guard, “Listen Mac, you may not want to listen to me, but if you do not do as I say, YOUR SISTER WILL DIE!”

  He was about to spit back his own heated retort, but was prevented by the chamber door being burst open. The witch’s screeching had alerted two of his guards. “The witch has cursed poor Ailsa!” cried the first guard, Cailen. Throughout his long years, he had always been leery of anything supernatural; this distrust was made evident by his angry wrinkled visage.

  “Maybe if we burn her we can lift the curse!” added Branan, the second and much younger of the two. He was often a little too eager to follow Cailen’s lead.

  While Alasdair considered his guards’ conclusions unlikely, he decided to use the scenario they presented to his advantage, “Nay, we willnae burn her—nae yet. Lock her in one of the empty chambers, and post a guard outside her door. Maybe the solitude will inspire her to find a cure.” Alasdair thought this contrivance might encourage the witch to find a way to help his sister; he had always found fear to be a great motivator. He was not particularly proud of this decision, but he was desperate. If the witch was able to improve Ailsa’s health, he could always make amends later.

  ***

  Well, that didn’t go according to plan. Granted, screaming at Alasdair had probably not been Cat’s best idea. But really, her reaction was mostly his fault. His complete lack of respect of her opinion and property was completely unwarranted. Maybe if she had wheedled and cajoled him, this dream would have gone in the right direction. I should’ve gotten to at least first base by now! With her irritation making her ant
sy, Catriona decided to give the room she occupied a thorough inspection. Apparently, her subconscious was very authentic. The walls were thick stone, adorned only with hand-stitched wall-hangings. The adornments looked like they may have been bright and beautiful at one point, but were now faded and worn. The fixtures in the room were sparse; the chamber only contained a bed and a small chair with uneven legs. Her perusal now complete, Cat decided to lie down. It was not as if she had anything better to do; plus, she suddenly was exhausted.

  Catriona woke much later to complete darkness. What a strange dream…too bad nothing ever came of it. While she did not really feel like getting up yet because it was still dark, she was incredibly thirsty and her tongue felt like sandpaper. Intending to get a glass of water, she reached for her bedside lamp. Finding no lamp within reach, Cat got out of her bed and walked in the direction of the light switch. “Son of a!” she rasped through gritted teeth. She had walked directly into a wall. The pain in her nose made her eyes water. With her vision almost completely obscured by her tears, she tried to feel her way back to the bed, but only succeeded in stubbing her toe on a piece of furniture. “Mother fffff…” she yelped as she then tried to hobble back to the bed. But, she stopped cold when she realized the orientation of the bed in relation to the wall was completely off; and, she definitely did not remember having something so hard so close to the bed. And where was her throw rug? My god, I’m still in the castle! Her mind began to reel as the unlikely truth set in.

  I must have been kidnapped. But then why is everyone dressed all crazy? Is this some kind of crazy cult of historical reenactment? Recalling she had been locked in this room as a supposed prisoner, Catriona tip-toed over to the bedroom door, intending to discover if the guards were still outside. Sure enough, she heard the rustling of someone’s clothing. Knowing there was no way she could escape through both a locked door and an armored guard, she ventured over to the window. There is no way I am staying here with these nut-jobs! It was too dark to accurately judge the height, but Cat’s current location appeared to be about three stories high. Deciding the window was her best option, she started to tear the sheets on the bed into strips to make a rope. Cat also tore her graduation gown in the hopes of providing additional length and strength. It was a good thing Keith had been in the Boy Scouts; otherwise she may never have learned the knots she was currently using. Too bad I don’t have my purse; I’m pretty sure I had a carabiner in there somewhere.

  After completing the rope, Catriona tied one end to the bed before lifting herself onto the window ledge. Feeling an adrenaline rush as she looked over the edge, Cat did what any red-blooded American would do—she started to hum the Mission Impossible theme song. Before any doubts could send her scurrying back into the room, Cat lowered her body over the edge.

  Amazingly, everything went as smoothly as it could—especially considering the fact she was wearing a short dress and heels. Once she hiked the dress up to above mid-thigh, her legs had almost a full range of movement; and the stilettos allowed her to grip the wall almost like a pickaxe. Her progress continued until she was about ten feet from the ground—this was the point at which she ran out of rope. Catriona braced herself against the wall for a few moments debating the best way to descend the last few feet. But, while she was contemplating, she suddenly dropped another foot or so—the makeshift rope was beginning to tear. With no time for further analysis, Cat lowered herself down the rope until her hands were only a couple inches from the end. She then fully extended her arms and let go, dropping into a roll as she hit the ground.

  Cat toppled head over heels a couple times before coming to a full stop. Lying on her back to catch her breath, she began to take inventory of her body. She found a lot of aches and pains, but nothing that would cause any lasting damage. She had somehow managed to survive intact. I can’t believe I didn’t freakin’ kill myself!

  Catriona wobbled to her feet to get a better look at her surroundings and orient herself; she knew she had to leave quickly before her escape was discovered. Since the castle stood on a cliff overlooking water; her direction of travel was rather limited. With the sky beginning to show the smallest sliver of pink, she was once again forced to make a quick decision. Wanting to be well away from the castle before daylight, she decided to head back to the hut where Alasdair had originally found her. While she did not particularly like the idea, Cat hoped she might be able to garner some useful information. Like, where in the hell was she and how in the hell was she going to get home? With any luck she would run into a police officer or someone helpful along the way.

  ***

  Keith pulled into the parking lot of Cat’s new apartment later than he had intended—even in his rush to leave he had not managed to avoid the traffic. Taking in the quaint structure, he had to admit the place looked pretty nice. While it was not too far from the city, the location was still far enough to be comfortably nestled within the suburbs. The area provided plenty of trees for privacy, along with hiking trails that would be beautiful in the fall. Too bad Cat will never really take advantage of them. Speaking of which…Where is that lazy-ass? Keith tried calling his sister again, but her phone went straight to voicemail. Huh, she must have forgotten to charge her cell…typical.

  ***

  Chapter 3

  Alasdair had spent the entire night reviewing the witch’s book. He had wanted to see if the pages offered any advice on how to cure Ailsa, but had been left disappointed. The book only seemed to contain the uses of herbs and plants, none of which seemed promising in this case. He could only hope the long night as a captive had inspired the witch. Unable to sleep with the sun now cresting the horizon, Alasdair left his chamber.

  He went to one of the highest parapets of the castle to survey his clan’s land; this was often his habit when he could not sleep or needed to mull over his thoughts. Looking over the rolling hills always filled his heart with pride. The area had fallen into disarray under his father’s leadership, but Alasdair had been working diligently to improve and mend his home. While there was still much to be done, many things had been rebuilt and recovered. Letting his gaze inspect the outer walls of Duart Castle, Alasdair’s attention was caught by something fluttering from the window of the witch’s room. Frowning, he left his place of reflection to hasten inside. Before the chamber door within moments, Alasdair pushed through both it and the man standing guard.

  Branan, the current guard on duty, followed him and upon noticing the missing witch asked, “How did she get out? Do ye think she used magic?”

  “Nay, she didnae need magic,” replied Alasdair coldly.

  “How do ye ken?” asked Branan. Alasdair directed the guard toward the window, “Ye are correct Laird, she didnae need magic to escape, but I certainly hope she used it to make a new dress,” Lifting a piece of torn black fabric he smiled wickedly, “Otherwise, she will be wandering about the countryside nearly naked.”

  As Branan laughed at his own joke, Cailen arrived to take the next shift. Quickly comprehending the current situation he asked, “Shall we follow her?”

  “Nay, let her go. Her flight only reveals there is nothing she can do for Ailsa,” replied Alasdair. He paused for a brief moment to reign in his emotions, “Well, now that ye are both free, ye can join me in the lists.”

  ***

  Cat was exhausted. While on horseback, the journey to the castle had only taken the better part of one day, but on foot it had taken her almost three. Granted, the majority of the delay had been a result of Cat’s fear of discovery. Worried that her kidnappers may give chase, she had taken great pains to avoid the main road. She had followed its path, but under the cover of the surrounding brush or trees.

  By the time she reached the witch’s hut, her once-beautiful shoes were completely destroyed and had given her callouses that she doubted would ever heal. Note to self: Next time you decide to get yourself kidnapped, make sure you are wearing sneakers and jeans. The state of her silk dress almost made her want to cry; the sle
eves were riddled with tears and snags. She had never been that concerned with fashion, but this little black dress had been a symbolic victory for her. The ridiculously over-priced item had represented a turning point in Catriona’s life, a point in which she no longer needed to pinch every penny. Her only consolation was that by now she was almost completely unrecognizable. If someone were to come across her now, they might mistake her for a wild yeti. I bet this is how all those Bigfoot rumors get started.

  Catriona’s stomach enhanced the impression she was a wild creature when it let out a loud growl. The first day of her escape she had eaten some mints she had tucked away in her bra. Cat had felt vindicated when she had pulled out the candies. Others had often been disgusted by her habit of using her bra as an extra pair of pockets, but she had always thought they were far too convenient to not use advantageously. Beginning on the second day, Cat had only managed to find infrequent sources of clean water. She had seen an occasional berry, but was unfamiliar with the flora of the area—she did not want to risk eating something poisonous. So at this point in time, she had not had a significant meal since the morning of graduation.

  Catriona’s attention was redirected back to the hut as tantalizing smells wafted from the domicile. Her legs began to move her forward under their own volition. However, her forward progress stopped when her mind took notice of the emergence of an old woman. The last thing Cat needed was to possibly reveal herself to her kidnappers.

  The woman may have been old, but her movements were lithe and steady as she gathered herbs from her garden. When the woman rose to go back inside, Cat decided to circle the hut to see if there was anyone else within the vicinity. Reassured that the woman was indeed alone, Cat resolved to approach the woman directly. After all, this was her only lead regarding her arrival here. She reasoned that even if the woman had any foul intent, Cat could easily subdue her and escape. Catriona approached cautiously and knocked on the door.