The Highlander On The Run (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 1)

by Emilia Ferguson

“What about you?” She whispered. She didn’t let go of the cloak, though, holding it fastened tight around her shoulders. He could see she was already feeling better.

  “I’ll light a fire.”

  He fumbled for some twigs and branches, dry from the rain thanks to the overhanging rocks. He had a flint in his pocket, and struck it on a stone, desperate for it to spark. After a few false tries, his knuckles scraped and fingers cramping in the cold, it caught.

  “Whew.”

  The blaze sprang up, the branches crackling. It spread strange shadows on the wall of the rock shelter. He held his hands to it, and huddled close to Addie. The cloak was big enough to cover both of them, and his warmth could keep her from the worst of the cold. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and held her close.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered into her hair, catching the spicy scent of her skin. He smiled. They might be wounded and bleeding, lying out in the open in desperate danger, but they were together. What more could he want?

  The next morning, he opened his eyes on a misty damp scene. He groaned. Every part of his body ached. His side, where the wound was, throbbed and burned worse than anything he’d ever felt before. He couldn’t feel his shoulder.

  He breathed in the scent of fire smoke, and remembered the night before. He looked at Addie.

  Her eyes were closed, her face white. The bruise down the side of her head was bluish and mottled, lividly, with yellow. He reached out and touched it. She barely blinked.

  “Addie?”

  His heart almost stopped. She was so still he could barely see if she breathed. Her body was slumped against his, and she felt cold.

  “Addie?” he almost shouted, horror gripping his heart. “No.” He shook her and she groaned, but didn’t open her eyes. She slipped sideways, as limp as a sack of grain.

  “No,” he whispered. “Addie. Don’t die. I love you. I love you more than anything. More than I care about the cause, my life…anything. Don’t die.”

  * * *

  Addie felt her head start to clear. She opened her eyes to slits, seeing damp leaves and the outline of rocks. Somewhere – sounding very far away – somebody was speaking.

  “Addie?” the voice breathed. “I love you.”

  She felt her heart stop. The voice was one she loved more than anything. She reached out a hand. Found a cold, stiff one. She clasped his fingers tightly.

  “Alexander..?”

  “Addie!” he roared. “Oh! Thank God. My Addie…”

  She felt her heart soar, warmth spreading through her body, as she heard that voice. She felt her cheeks try to lift in a grin, but the skin was too cold and tight for smiling. She tried to sit up, feeling his hands gently stroking her arms, her shoulders, her throat.

  She gritted her teeth as her head exploded into pain like nothing she’d ever imagined. Her stomach roiled. She groaned.

  Getting to her knees, she vomited noisily onto the grassy earth. Her mouth tasted sour and she felt exhausted. When had she last eaten something?

  “Uh,” she groaned.

  “Easy, lass,” a voice said from beside her. It sounded like Alexander was speaking from very far away. “Easy, lass. It’s all well. You’re alright.”

  She groaned and rolled onto her side. She looked up at him. His face was white, his eyes ringed by dark circles. His hair – his beautiful red hair – was a mess, wildly chopped and standing out at angles. She saw a dark bruise on his shoulder, his shirt sleeve torn. She recalled the previous night and remembered why.

  “Alexander,” she whispered. “You’re hurt. You shouldn’t be helping me…” he was lifting her up, hauling her to sitting. She groaned and tried to fight him – he was going to hurt himself. However, even in this state, he was so strong.

  “Och, lass,” he said as she leaned on the wall beside him. “I’m well. It’s all alright now.”

  The world shifted and heaved around her and she closed her eyes a moment, getting her balance and trying to make sense of everything. She looked around, blinking in the misty light. One memory came back to her, more vividly than any other.

  “Alexander,” she whispered. “I love you.” Her heart twisted with the almost pain of it. She squeezed his hand.

  “Och, lass,” he whispered.

  His hand closed over hers. Big, with long fingers, the knuckles were scraped and torn. He stroked her hand gently. She could feel the strength of those big muscular hands on hers. She sighed and snuggled closer, feeling safe and warm in ways she never had before.

  Sleepily, she looked out over the rising morning. They were on a slight rise, she noticed, the sheltering rock giving way to trees and scrub perhaps three paces from where they rested. She could see rain dripping from the leaves and smell the rich scent of damp earth. Somewhere, a curl of smoke bisected the morning skyline.

  Instantly, she tensed. She turned to Alexander, eyes stretched wide with fear. She recalled the previous night, the horror of the soldiers closing in, the terrible defeated rage and horror she felt as she was attacked. What if that was them, coming back?

  “Alexander?” she hissed, turning her gaze to the smoke.

  “Easy, lass,” he said softly. “Tis just Brogan. Mayhap he found something for breakfast.”

  “Oh,” she whispered back, feeling all her breath leave her in a sudden rush of exhausting relief. “Good.”

  She looked out into the mist-clad morning. The wisp of smoke had thickened, making a long wide column. She saw a head and shoulders appear, silhouetted in the mist, then duck down as fresh branches were laid on the fire.

  “He’s doing a good job,” she whispered.

  Alexander clasped her fingers. “Aye.”

  She recalled Brogan from the night before. A strangely competent young man, at once standoffish and irreverent. She recalled seeing him try to help Alexander, the caring mingling with respect in his attitude towards him.

  “I’m glad he’s here,” she said.

  Alexander squeezed her hand fondly. “Aye. And I am, and all,” he said softly. “But more than that, I’ll be glad for breakfast.”

  He tried to stand, but Addie struggled upright ahead of him. He opened one eye, looking up at her.

  “Och, lass,” he whispered. “I dinnae need ye tae care for me.”

  “You don’t, no,” she said. “But you shouldn’t be stretching that wound.”

  She shot him a stern look, then limped, pace by slow pace, out of the shelter.

  She met Brogan coming up the hill.

  “Hello, lass,” he said, eyes wide with surprise. “Good tae see ye! I’ve been putting a breakfast together, but Heaven knows I’m no good when it comes tae making meals.”

  Addie smiled at him wanly. “It doesn’t have to be much,” she said.

  “If it doesn’t poison us, we’ll count it a step up,” a sonorous voice echoed from the cave behind them. Addie and Brogan shared a glance. She could see the happiness on his face and knew it was written on her own.

  “He’s getting better,” she whispered.

  Brogan nodded. “I’ll check the stew.”

  He tiptoed off and she leaned back against the cave wall, contemplating the day.

  They ate breakfast – it was warm, and it took the edge off her hunger, which was the best anybody could say for it, but she was grateful. Later, they boiled more water and she went to dress Alexander’s wound.

  “It’s nothing, lass,” he said. He looked gray in the face and his lips were bluish. He edged away as she tried to look at it.

  “No, it isn’t,” she said firmly. “It’s bleeding, and if it needs stitching, I’m going to do it.”

  “Whist, lass,” he grunted as she pulled away the bandages. “That burns.”

  “I know,” she said.

  The wound was horrible – a welter of dark blood and torn skin. She breathed steady breaths, ignoring the iron tang of blood, the thick sticky strands of it that clung still to the wound. As she moved her hand across it, she realized
that it was not as bad as it looked – messy, but shallower than she’d feared it to be.

  “Pass me the water,” she said stiffly to Brogan.

  “Yes, milady.”

  She shot him a look, but he was already looking away. She dipped a fresh piece of linen torn from her skirt into the boiled water, and started to swab off the wound. When it was cleaned of dry blood, a little fresh blood trickling from it still, it looked better.

  “Now, I need to bandage it again,” she said, fighting back the sickness she still felt – both as a result of the headache and the sight of the blood. She tried to keep her voice level, not wanting to let him know it affected her.

  “You’re a rare one,” he grunted. She wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not. She smiled.

  “That’s as may be. And so are you, Alexander. And now, if you’ll lean forward? I need to tie this round you.”

  Oddly, it felt somehow more intimate to dress his wound than it had to sleep beside him the previous night, with them both so exhausted. He leaned forward and she wrapped the bandage around him once, then twice. She tied it in place, secured with a firm knot around his middle.

  “There,” she said.

  “Thanks, lass.”

  She gave him a wan smile, her stomach still roiling and queasy. “Ye dinnae have tae thank me.”

  She turned and walked, staggeringly, down the hill. She made slow progress down it and at length came to the stream. There, she lay on her tummy and drank big handfuls of water, feeling them flow through her and soothe her aching head.

  “Whew.”

  She lay there for a while, too exhausted to move. The water was refreshing, but icy. It took much of the reserves of strength she had. She rolled onto her back.

  “You can’t stay here,” Brogan said gently from the slope above her.

  She opened her eyes. She felt oddly annoyed.

  “I ken that, Brogan,” she said, shuffling onto one side. It was one thing for Alexander to take a tone like that with her, another entirely for Brogan, whom she barely knew! She made herself sit up, groaning as her head went fuzzy.

  “We need to get to a village,” Brogan said.

  “Aye,” she said sourly. “And as three outlaws, you show me the village that isn’t going to take us to the authorities?”

  Before Brogan could reply, she got to her feet. She had a plan.

  “Alexander?” she said softly, finding him leaning back against a tree, oddly tranquil. “We’re going to the abbey.”

  It took all day. Getting Alexander onto the horse was hard enough, without adding to the fact that it meant the other two of them had to walk, slowly, side by side beside him, and they avoided all main pathways.

  The abbey was probably two hours’ ride from their spot – at least Addie guessed – but with their slow travel it took until late afternoon. When she saw it, the wall whitewashed, the church steeple gleaming in the sunset, she felt her heart sing.

  There would be time enough for them to recover. Time to get to know – to truly know –the many sides of the man called Alexander, which was one of the nicer things she could imagine.

  A DANGEROUS THOUGHT

  Alexander grunted as he rolled off the horse's back. He hit the ground with his feet with a thud that made him stumble, almost falling. Addie’s hand reached for his, but he waved it off.

  “It’s well, lass.”

  She didn’t argue with him, which was a surprise. He grinned to himself. The lass was as feisty as a barrel of munitions! Getting her to agree with anything was a challenge. He had never met a lass with so much of her own mind before, and he liked a lot.

  “We’ll ask the abbot if he’ll let us in.”

  Alexander nodded wordlessly. He followed her up the steps to the entrance. He could hear Brogan walking slowly up the path behind them. His back hurt, and he felt as tired as Brogan seemed to be.

  “She’s a fine lass, eh?” he whispered, as Addie knocked on the door.

  “Aye, sir,” Brogan said. He was looking after Addie with such admiration that Alexander felt a stab of possessive jealousy.

  “She’s taken, lad,” he growled.

  Brogan nodded, swiftly casting his attention downwards to his boot tops.

  “Aye, sir,” he said again.

  Alexander grunted softly. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just a jealous fool.”

  “Probably, sir.” Brogan’s face was motionless.

  Alexander raised a brow, grinning. Brogan beamed. They both chuckled. As Brogan squeezed his shoulder, a gesture of brotherliness, they heard footsteps.

  “The abbot says we are welcome,” Addie said. She was accompanied by a tall, gaunt-faced man in a fustian robe. “He also said we should sleep in the barn.” Her cheeks were flaring red. “It’s not allowed to receive women in the halls.”

  “What?” Alexander’s face flamed with rage. He glared at the monk, and the fellow raised a hand, in placation.

  “I’m Brother Ambrosius,” he said, as if reassuring them that he was not the abbot. “And I assure you, the barn’s quite comfortable. We even have pallets there, should anybody wish to stay.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Alexander mumbled.

  Addie shot him a look, and he silenced himself.

  “Brother, we are thankful,” she said gently. “But can I ask you to tend our wounds?”

  “I am a healer,” he nodded. “It would be my duty to do so.”

  Alexander coughed. “Thanks,” he said. He felt silly for his earlier callousness. He would be grateful for any help the monks would offer.

  The older man just smiled gently. “If you follow the path to the stable, you’ll find the barn. I will ask Brother Callum to find space for your mount. He’s very good with horses, and he has a real way with curing burns.”

  “Oh?” Brogan sounded interested.

  While the two other men discussed the various ways to relieve the pain of burns and boils, Alexander fell into step with Addie. She was walking slowly behind the others, seeming lost in thought.

  “Addie,” he whispered. He reached out and took her hand. Her fingers slid into his. They were cold. She seemed distracted.

  “Addie?” he whispered again, squeezing her hand. He could see tears on the edges of her eyelids, and her lip trembled. His heart almost stopped.

  “I’m thinking that what we did was a sin,” she said, making him stop in his tracks.

  “What?” he said. He raised a brow. “Addie, my sweetling. I love you. Is that sinful?”

  “Probably not,” she whispered. She chuckled, though her eyes were still sad.

  “Definitely not,” he said. He felt his heart ache. He should have thought of this, before he acted! How could he have been so unfair?

  “Even so,” she whispered, looking at the path.

  “There’s no even so about it,” he said gruffly. “Addie, I love you. One day, soon, I will make an honest pair of us. I promise. But I need to know that would make you safe – I am a traitor.”

  “You’re a soldier,” she said.

  “That’s as it is,” Alexander said softly. “But there’s lords and kings who’d call me traitor. And they’d be right. What I do is against the law of the land, Addie.”

  “Does that make it wrong?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I dinnae ken,” he said. “But I do ken, it makes it dangerous, and uncertain.”

  “Mayhap,” Addie said softly. “And you think that matters to me?”

  “I dinnae ken.”

  They looked at each other. Her eyes were troubled. Alexander swallowed hard. A fine mess, he was digging himself into! The moment he opened his mouth, the more he enmeshed himself.

  By the end of his evening, she won’t talk to me anymore.

  “I should go in,” he said quickly. “the monks said they could help.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “They did.”

  He reached for her hand, looking into her eyes. He hoped he was giving her a reassuring star
e. She just tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  He walked past her into the barn.

  The healing hurt almost more than the wound had done. When it had happened, there had been such chaos that he’d barely noticed. He’d fallen, his legs going wobbly, and the burning ache had begun. It had dulled so that he was used to it already.

  “This will be somewhat painful,” Brother Ambrosius warned.

  It hurt like fire! Alexander found himself yelling, with little shame involved, as the monk skillfully and swiftly closed his wound. The stitching was easily the most painful sensation Alexander could imagine. He clamped his teeth against the leather strap Brogan found, and stayed silent.

  When it was done, Addie came in. She had a small herb bunch in her hands and, when the monk went away to check Brogan, she applied the crushed leaves to his unbandaged wound. They seemed to take out the ache.

  “Woundwort, for the pain,” she explained. She rolled him over gently, reaching for a bandage.

  Alexander smiled at her, but she wasn’t smiling back. His heart sank.

  What was he supposed to do for her?

  Later, as the sun set, he went to her. She was sitting in the abbey gardens, perched on a wall. The sunset, green and wind-torn, blazed across the sky. Her hair shone like burnished fire.

  He called her name.

  “Addie?”

  She turned. Her whole body seemed to radiate an air of sorrow.

  “Addie?” he called softly.

  She didn’t say anything, just shifted sideways. He took her hint and climbed up on the wall. He sat beside her.

  This close, she was still, and lovely, like a carving of sorrow. He looked at her fine profile, at the shadows the sunset carved under her cheeks. She was so close, yet she seemed unreachable. He reached for her hand. He could almost smell her scent, the exciting smell of spices and green leaves.

  He ached for her.

  “Addie..?”

  She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were soft and her cheeks had silvered tracks, where tears had run. She had a livid black mark on her brow, now, the rest of the bruise a mottling of beige and yellows.

  “What can I say?” she said. Her lips twisted in a smile so tender it made his heart tighten.