Beloved Stranger Page 8

  Bear sat with him. “Go back,” he said.

  The dog sat and stared at him.

  Frustrated, Lachlan stared back in a battle of wills. He did not know why Bear was following him and refused to go home. He was Audra’s dog, meant to protect a child, not a warrior.

  Warrior. Somehow the word did not ring true to him. He wanted to read and sing songs and play the lute. He had no urge to kill another human being, yet he probably had. Many times.

  As for being fierce, not even a dog obeyed him.

  The thought did not relieve him. Why did nothing seem familiar?

  “Go home!” he ordered again.

  Bear lay down and rested his head on his paws, all the while looking at him.

  “God’s tooth,” he muttered. He could not take the child’s dog.

  He would have to go back. Put the dog inside or tie him up.

  He tried to stand. Weakness flooded him. He grabbed for the crutch, but it fell. He noticed his breeches were wet with blood.

  Kimbra Charlton had been right. He was not . . . ready.

  He tried again to rise, but his legs would not hold him, and he fell beside the log. He looked up through the trees. The sun was fast disappearing, and he shivered from the damp air that seemed to be growing colder.

  He would rest a few moments. Just a few.

  He reached out for the dog, but the animal moved out of reach, watching him with dark eyes. Then Bear bounded away.

  Lachlan’s eyes closed.

  IT was dusk before Kimbra and Audra reached the cottage.

  No welcoming bark greeted them. She went inside. She’d left two large pieces of log in the fireplace, but they were down to embers now, and the cottage was cold and dark.

  Kimbra placed her sleeping daughter down on the pallet. She didn’t want to alarm her, and when Audra slept, she slept deeply. She probably would not move for hours.

  She hurried into the solar chamber. In the darkening gloom, she saw the bed was empty.

  What had happened to him? He was too weak to go anywhere.

  She returned into the main room and added some smaller pieces of wood to the embers. In moments they flamed, and she lit a candle.

  Audra stirred and mumbled something.

  She knelt by her daughter and comforted her, even as her thoughts were in turmoil.

  Where was the Scot? And Bear.

  The dog would never have left without a good reason.

  Had someone come by and taken the Scot, and Bear thought he should follow?

  Yet nothing was out of place. The stick the Scot had used to hobble around with was gone.

  Had he gone on his own?

  But how could he? His wounds had been too severe. She had seen and tended too many wounded men not to know that determination would carry them only so far.

  She remembered his insistence that his presence not harm her or Audra.

  She placed the candle in a lantern, then went outside to look around. Dusk was quickly turning into night, every moment further darkening the sky. A wind blew, and clouds raced across the sky. The air had turned cold.

  She would have to look for him.

  But that meant leaving Audra alone.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t want to make decisions like this. She couldn’t. Her heart ached. Her conscience hurt. She couldn’t leave her daughter. She couldn’t leave the Scot somewhere to die.

  She heard a bark, then saw Bear running toward her, stopping at her feet and looking up at her.

  “Bear? Do you know where he went?”

  Bear barked again.

  “I can’t leave Audra.”

  Bear ran a few feet toward the woods, then looked back again, obviously begging her to follow.

  The Scot couldn’t have gone far. Audra should be safe for a short period of time.

  She followed Bear through the woods, though she could barely see. A mist was falling, and it eclipsed all but the few feet illuminated by the lantern.

  Bear would run ahead, then bark and wait until she reached him. Then he would bound ahead again, barking again, encouraging her.

  He could not have gone this far.

  She started to call Bear and turn back, when the dog’s barking changed. It was high-pitched and frantic.

  Still holding the lantern with one hand, she slowly moved forward, the branches of trees brushing against her skin. She stopped suddenly.

  A body lay next to a log.

  She hurried over to the still form.

  Her Scot’s breathing came in short rasping sounds, and blood had spread over the ground. She muttered one of Will’s favorite curses and stooped down.

  She tried to wake him. He moaned slightly, and his eyes flew open, but they appeared unseeing.

  Fury at him rose up in her. He had been improving, and now he’d been lying on the cold ground in a mist, and his efforts had opened the wound just newly closed.

  She said fool in every way she knew, then decided that didn’t help much.

  He was losing blood and could catch an infection in his lungs if he had not already. She told herself she should leave him here. She knew she couldn’t.

  She shook him as gently as possible, and he started up, a roar in his throat rather than a moan, his arms thrashing about.

  Go, and leave him here. He is not worth it.

  Audra is waiting for you. She’s all alone.

  “Scot,” she demanded loudly.

  Nothing.

  She shook him harder. This time his eyes seemed to concentrate.

  “You cannot stay here,” she said. “You will die. You must help me.”

  “Tired. So tired.”

  “You should be,” she said. “You were addled enough to walk far from the cottage when you could barely move this morning. Where did you think you were going?”

  “Did not want . . . you . . . to risk . . . more.”

  “Well, now you and your bloody conscience or whatever it is are going to cause more problems.” Her voice was harsher than intended, mainly because of worry.

  The mist turned into rain. She should have brought Magnus with her, and the litter, but she hadn’t fancied dragging it through the woods. She had hoped he had not gone far, and that he could return on his own.

  Obviously, he could not.

  He shivered, his entire body moving.

  She made her decision.

  “Bear, stay with him. Lie down and keep him warm. I’ll be back.”

  Using the lantern for what little illumination it provided in the rain, she ran as quickly as she could back to the cottage.

  It wasn’t long before she reached the stable and quickly saddled Magnus. She hitched the litter she’d made days earlier to the horse, then started back.

  She was reminded only too well of her other journey a few nights earlier. This was a short distance, and not so dangerous, but her heart pounded, and she knew it pounded with fear for him.

  Chapter 7

  HE didn’t stop shivering, even when she got him back to the cottage. He was unconscious. She knew she couldn’t get him up on the bed. It had been all she could do to roll him onto and off of the litter.

  She dragged him into the main room next to the fire and covered him with everything she could find.

  The weather hadn’t been icy cold, but the damp cool ground and rain could be deadly for someone so weak.

  She put more wood in the fireplace, then tried to pull off his breeches. When she couldn’t, she used her dagger to cut the cloth around his wound. His leg was gapping open, the stitches she’d so carefully made pulled away.

  Kimbra left his side and went to Audra. Her daughter was still sleeping. Bear was inside and had settled down next to her.

  She reached down and picked up Audra and took her into the other room, settling her in the big feather bed. She closed the door behind her as she returned to the Scot.

  She probably should have cauterized the Scot’s wound when she first brought him here. But now she had no c
hoice. It was bleeding badly and had torn too far apart to be sewn back again. She thanked God he was unconscious. If only he remained that way.

  She went over to the fireplace and placed the dagger in the flames and watched until she thought the metal hot enough.

  Her stomach turned over. She had done the same thing for Will, had seen his body react though not a sound escaped his lips. And he had still died.

  She wrapped her hand with a piece of cloth, picked up the dagger and approached him. “Stay unconscious,” she pleaded softly.

  Kimbra kneeled beside him, steeling herself to do what needed to be done to staunch the bleeding and close the wound.

  She pressed the dagger against the wound, heard the sizzle of heat against skin and smelled the odor of burning flesh. His body jerked, then relaxed. But she knew the agony he would feel when he woke.

  He shivered, and she lay down next to him, putting one arm around him, letting his body absorb her body’s heat.

  She rose several times during the night to fuel the fire. She wiped his damp face with a towel, pushed back strands of his hair, felt the stubble of new beard.

  She willed him to fight, willed him to live with all the strength of her body. It was as if his death would be hers as well. As if they had become one.

  By now she knew every scar on his tall, lanky body. She didn’t know the scars in his mind.

  And so she prayed as she had not prayed since her husband died.

  Inverleith

  Rory planned to leave the next morning when two messengers arrived. One came from Janet at Dunstaffnage. She had received a ransom demand for Jamie and had sent it on to Jamie’s father in Edinburgh. Jamie Campbell was alive!

  If Jamie was alive, then Lachlan could be as well. Perhaps a messenger was on his way with the same demand for his brother.

  The second message came from Queen Margaret. It was a summons to Edinburgh, a plea. She needed counsel about her infant son, now king, and there were few people she truly trusted. Most of those had died at Flodden.

  Rory had not been a confidante to either the king or his bonny queen, but King James had granted him the greatest boon of all, his wife. The king had mended a century-long feud between the Campbells and Macleans, and for that Rory had vowed fealty. There was no question of refusal, even now. He would have to journey to Edinburgh.

  Archibald would accompany several Campbells to the border with the ransom. Rory would join them as soon as possible.

  Felicia wanted to go with him, but she could not leave Maggie and little Patrick that long. Her children were yet too young.

  Rory saw the longing in her eyes as he bade her farewell. “I wish you were going with me,” he said.

  “My days of adventuring are over.”

  “I think not, love. They will come again.”

  She looked mollified by the observation. Until the babes came, she’d created chaos wherever she went, a quality that had amused and befuddled him. But since the bairns came, she had been the model of motherhood. Still, he sometimes glimpsed a longing for adventure in her eyes. Someday, he’d promised, he would take her back to sea.

  Now she shared his concern for Lachlan. She loved his brother as much as he did.

  Rory blessed every day he’d had with Felicia and would miss her greatly.

  “Why do you not ask Janet to come stay here with you until Jamie returns?”

  Her eyes brightened. “I will.”

  He’d already saddled his horse, and the animal was waiting in front of the entrance. He could tarry no longer. He leaned down and gave her a long lingering kiss.

  As he reluctantly drew away, he touched her face, memorizing its feel. He did not know how long he would be gone.

  “Hurry back. I do not want to come after you.”

  And she would.

  He left then. If he hadn’t, the look in her eyes would have delayed him even longer.

  BEAR’S barking warned Kimbra as she loosened the damp cloth binding the Scot’s chest.

  She looked outside. Thomas Charlton was dismounting slowly and obviously painfully.

  She had hoped he would not be able to come. She never would have gone to him had she known the Scot would worsen, that fever made him unaware of words coming from his mouth. He had quieted through the night, and the shivering was gone, though his breath was still raspy and frightening.

  Audra had wakened early, and Kimbra had given her porridge and milk. She tried to get some milk down the Scot’s throat as well, but he had gagged it up. He hadn’t entirely gained consciousness, though he had muttered several times during the night.

  Audra curtseyed prettily to the Charlton, and his severe face broke into the smallest of smiles.

  The Charlton entered the cottage and immediately went to the man on the floor and regarded him for several seconds. “A Howard, you say.”

  “It is what he said,” she lied, hoping God would forgive her the untruth. It was, after all, to save a man’s life.

  “He said nothing more? Not which Howard family?”

  “Nay.”

  “He appears next to death.”

  “He became worse last night.”

  “I will send for my physician.”

  “He will merely bleed him,” Kimbra replied. “He has lost enough blood.”

  “Ye are willing to look after him?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why?” he asked bluntly, even suspiciously.

  “I think Will would want me to take care of someone wounded. I would hope that someone would have cared for him had he required it.”

  The Charlton frowned at that, then returned his gaze to the wounded man.

  The Scot mumbled something that she believed might be French.

  The Charlton’s frown deepened.“’Tis not English.”

  “He said he has fought against the French in Europe. Mayhap . . .”

  Charlton used a foot to stir the Scot. The Scot groaned but did not open his eyes.

  “He probably will not live through another day,” the Charlton said. “If he does, we will move him to the tower. I would not like your reputation darkened for helping an English soldier. It could destroy your chances of a good marriage. Even with the cottage as a dowry.”

  Which might be a way out.

  But she only agreed. “Aye.”

  He started for the door, then turned back. “The bay leaves? Do ye have more?”

  “They helped, then?”

  “Aye.”

  “Send someone over, and I will have some ready.”

  “Ye are doing well here, on your own?”

  “We have a cow for milk, and I have my garden. I trade my herbs for what I need.”

  “Ye still need a husband. Ye and Audra are alone here. The Armstrongs have been raiding isolated farms and cottages.”

  “I have Bear. And you know I can use a dagger.”

  “’Tis not enough. Ye need protection. I will send someone here to help you.”

  She hesitated. The last thing she wanted was someone to spy on her, and yet she thought he meant it as a kind offer. But until the Scot was lucid enough—if he became lucid enough—to realize what he was saying, she had to take care of him alone.

  “Audra is helping me. I will call if I need help.”

  He looked from her to the Scot and back again. “If he lives, I will send a messenger to the Howard family. Mayhap there will be a reward. It will be yours.”

  She said nothing. She couldn’t say anything. Pray God, the Scot would be gone before an answer came.

  She watched as he disappeared down the path, then returned inside.

  She made a new poultice of aloe for the burn, hoping it would relieve the pain when he woke. And he would wake. She was determined about that.

  Audra helped as much as she could, handing her cloths and taking used ones to a big pot where they would be boiled and used again to draw heat from the wounds.

  He woke again as evening came. Once she knew he would survive the night, her
anger grew. He’d nearly killed himself.

  She tried to contain it when he opened his eyes. They fastened on her, and he grimaced. “You do not give up, do you, Mistress?”

  “And you do not stop being foolish,” she retorted.

  His eyes fluttered for a moment as he reacted to her anger.

  “I am . . . sorry. I thought I was stronger—”

  “So you decided to take a walk, fell, and lay in the bog and rain for God knows how long. If not for Bear you would be dead now.”

  “I tried to send him back.”

  “He has more sense than you. He knew you could not go far. You have no sense in your head, and not just from the blow on it.”

  He tried to move, lifted himself slightly, then fell back down, a grimace crossing his face.

  “You lost even more blood and tore open the wound that was about to heal. I had to burn it to stop the bleeding.”

  “You should . . . have left me.”

  “Bear did not think so. He would have stayed out there with you and broke Audra’s heart.”

  “I . . . did not want to put you in danger.”

  “And now there is even more,” she said, unwilling to forgive him after the night and day of such intense worry. “You were getting better. Now you will have to stay in England longer.”

  His eyes met hers. They were bloodshot. Full of pain. She knew that despite the salve she’d mixed, his leg must feel like white hot coals packed inside. She put her palm to his head. He was still feverish but not as much as earlier. Her herbs were working their magic. But why had they not done the same for Will?

  “My apologies,” he said, a contrite expression on his face. “’Twas not what I intended.”

  Her fury faded away. She had no doubt he had left to save her trouble and danger. His intentions had been good, even as the result had almost been disastrous.

  “You will not try it again?”

  “Not without telling you first,” he promised.

  She frowned. It was not the promise she wanted, but she suspected it was the only one she would get. He may not know who he was, but ’twas clear he was more used to giving orders than taking them. He was gentry, or royalty, or noble. That was clear.

  “I will get a potion for the pain.”

  “You have done enough.”

  “There is no sense in suffering more than you must.”