The Love of Her Life (Highlander Heroes Book 6)

by Rebecca Ruger

  “Aye, we thought the same,” Gregor said. “No hardship to get behind them while they meet half of us straight on north at Ardgay.”

  Lachlan advised, “We’ll go ‘round to the south end, near Kincardine. Even if we dinna catch them in the glen, we simply keep moving south.”

  They sent Chalmers then with MacGregor and Kincaid and the armies moved once again, riding south with all due haste. After another hour, the many armies separated into two factions, with Alec and Lach and Iain pushing their units still at a furious pace to get around the south side of the glen, while Conall and Gregor and Chalmers sped directly for the northern end.

  But all their plans and conjecture and want of speed were for naught. The English army had indeed moved northward from Ardmore but now only made camp in the forest very close to the small town of Kincardine. But too close to that town to act upon yet, as none wanted to send any fleeing English units through that vulnerable community. They needed to wait until they moved further away from Kincardine so that Alec and Lach and Iain could position their armies behind them.

  They were forced to wait three days, the English either in no hurry to move, or waiting on directives or worse, reinforcements. When they did move, none of the watchful Scotsmen could say why, as no more forces joined those English tucked into the trees, and no messenger was seen coming or going.

  Only the endless landscape of green and brown and gray, so remarkable for its vastness, made that army of nearly a thousand men seem small when they finally left the forest and moved deliberately along the gleaming blue water of the Dornoch Firth.

  Alec and Lach and Iain were patient, watching from a rugged beinn west of the advancing intruders. They waited until the English had begun to climb the rising land, which would then level out before lowering them into that glen.

  When the time came, when nearly half the English had disappeared over that rise, they finally moved. Alec unsheathed his sword and set the head of his axe into the top of his boot. Lach sent the archers of these three armies to the front. They would need to move fast, once the English were beyond the hillock, and set up to await their inevitable retreat when those at the fore met with MacGregor and Kincaid and Chalmers.

  As with so many fights that Alec had seen over the years, after their initial encroachment, things progressed with lightning speed. The English retreat was swift, trying to gain the hillock again, finding it blocked, first by those archers, reining down more terror, and then by the mounted force, charging down from the rise and into the fray.

  Any retreat was always more desperate and hence, more dangerous when you met it head on. Those bolting had nothing to lose, would cull strength and courage and whatever they thought might save them, from recesses they’d not even known they’d possessed until this moment. It was then, a ruthless and brutal melee. These numbers, in their entirety, were but a quarter the size of the armies that had met at either Falkirk or Stirling but Christ, it got bloody fast. The narrow space didn’t help, too many bodies and horses and weapons moving about inside a hundred foot wide valley, reminding Alec of Glen Trool only months ago. He hacked and cleaved and dodged and parried, one after another but they just kept coming that Alec was sure MacGregor and Kincaid were bluidy merciless at the other end.

  He saw Aymer take a sword from behind, right through the middle of his back, and topple from his steed.

  “Son of a bitch.” Alec jerked on the reins, turning his destrier toward the fallen Aymer, having to battle several more English to reach him. Malcolm was near, his booming war cries unmistakable. Alec finally reached Aymer, who was groaning on the ground, lifted only onto his elbow.

  “Aymer!” He called his attention, leaning low in the saddle for his hand.

  Aymer stretched, their fingers touched, but only for the space of a second before Alec was thrust away, in the opposite direction by an arrow to his side. “Christ Almighty,” he seethed, straightening just enough to see the tip and several inches of the shaft protruding from the right side of his breastplate, in the middle of his chest. He let out a strangled and vicious howl for this frustration but righted himself that he reached again for Aymer.

  Aymer screamed wildly, just enough of a warning that Alec shifted, catching sight of an attack coming at his left flank. He couldn’t turn quick enough but dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. He was jerked forward but not quickly enough to escape the full force of the Englishman’s blow that a sword glanced off his shoulder, slicing down the back of his arm.

  “Alec!” Malcolm was shouting, close but yet too far.

  Alec’s steed kept moving that he was carried away from any further danger from that braw Englishman. He blew short, even breaths through his mouth and lifted his head but only to search for Malcolm, when another blow came, walloping him upside the head, tipping him off his horse.

  He hit the ground hard, struggling to draw in breath, and fell forward onto his face. He felt nothing even as his body spasmed when another haphazard arrow struck his thigh. All the gruesome noises dulled, and light faded as he closed his eyes.

  When he opened his eyes, he was on his back. Malcolm’s face came into view when he was able to focus.

  “Hang on now,” Malcolm urged roughly.

  “Straight to Swordmair, then. We’ll follow directly.” That was Iain. Or mayhap Lach. He couldn’t be sure.

  He was jostled and lifted, sensing several held him by his limbs, moved him off the battlefield.

  He recognized the sounds of a battle finished, could hear captains and officers shouting out orders and the wounded groaning, but no steel clanged and the shuffling sounds and cacophony of men and animals moving that were always the backdrop to any skirmish were unheard. He must have been out for quite a while.

  Alec lifted his hand, fisting his fingers into Malcolm’s sleeve, dragging him near.

  “Get me to Swordmair...get me to Katie.”

  “Aye, Alec,” Malcolm said, his hand firm upon Alec’s shoulder. “We’re going, moving like the wind, my friend.”

  “Katie will save me.”

  He watched the sky overhead, even as it began to blur. He thought it might be tears that clouded his vision, couldn’t be sure, couldn’t feel...anything. He was laid into a cart, he thought, felt his body being heaved up onto a hard and flat surface that soon began to move as well. The wagon was set immediately into motion, jostled along quickly over the uneven trail, and he knew somehow he hadn’t much time.

  “I should have told her,” he mumbled. Jesu, I should have told her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Will ye sit already?”

  “Nae, I will not,” Katie snapped, throwing Elle a scowl. “And I do not know how you can.”

  “Ye bend yer legs and—”

  The next glower Katie sent her way effectively silenced her, and Katie continued to pace back and forth across the hall. Good heavens, but how had the laird and Maddie handled this for seven months? It had only been three days and she was beside herself, of no use to anyone. But then, thank God for Elle, for being so stalwart, for keeping Henry engaged and unworried.

  I need to calm down. But she just couldn’t. The first two days had not been so awful, she’d managed to keep herself busy, her mind occupied as much as was possible. However, this morning, she’d woken with an awful feeling of doom. She hadn’t dreamed, hadn’t had any vision or intuitive notion that Alec was harmed....or worse. She’d only been imbued with this calamitous and heavy sense of catastrophe that she had yet to figure out how to dispel.

  Eventually, she did sit with Elle and Henry at the trestle table closest to the head table, where they’d spent much of the last few days. Presently, Henry worked yet on those silly feathers and that arrow shaft, but was pleased to do so with Elle so near for continued instruction.

  Maddie was inside the kitchens, was wise and brave enough to tackle industry to keep herself from fretting. The laird only moved about the castle and keep, sitting mostly silently, currently in his chair at the fa
mily’s table, his chin in his hand, his gaze blind upon the door of the hall.

  When a few more minutes had past, noise from outside disturbed the uneasy quiet within.

  Katie and Elle jumped to their feet, the laird rising as well only a second later.

  “Rider coming fast!” Was shouted from atop the curtain wall.

  Katie was the first out the door. The gate was yet closed that she lifted her skirts and dashed across the yard and into the gatehouse, taking the stairs to the battlements. Elle was right behind her. By the time they’d reached the wall, the rider was across the meadow and crossing the bridge.

  Only one.

  Katie lifted her gaze beyond him, to the trees, watching for more, for the rest of the army.

  But no more came. The gate below was cranked upward, creaking loudly a groan.

  She left the wall, as did Elle, skittering back down the stairs to see what news came.

  It was Simon, his youthful face flushed and anxious, the hair at his forehead damp with perspiration. He charged through the gate and leapt from his lathered horse. The laird stood directly in front of him, Maddie at his side, waiting, but Simon’s gaze searched the yard, landing on Katie as she emerged from the gatehouse.

  And she knew right then what news he brought.

  “What?” The laird shouted. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, lad! What?”

  Simon swallowed visibly. Katie had reached him, and Alec’s parents. Simon’s gaze stayed with Katie. He began to shake his head even before he spoke. “It’s bad. They’re bringing him in, but...”

  Maddie wailed and collapsed to her knees, her skirts ballooning until they settled around her. She braced one hand against her husband’s leg and dropped her head into her chest.

  Elle went to her, hugged the mistress tight.

  Katie stood motionless. He was alive, was all she heard.

  “How far out?” The laird wanted to know, his voice breaking.

  “Half hour, no more.”

  “How many?”

  “Just him. The rest—Aymer, John, Robert, they’re gone, dinna survive the drive home. Others injured, but...not so gravely.”

  Katie’s lips trembled, but she managed to nod. Swallowing her fear, she began to give orders. “Put up several kettles of water to boil. I’ll need many ewers and cloths inside our chambers. I need all the pouches brought up from the workroom...” she continued to list items she might need, all the while keeping her gaze on Simon until she could no more bear the mournful shaking of his head. “Don’t you dare give up on him, Simon. And don’t you dare tell me there’s no hope.”

  A minute later, another mounted rider came through the gate.

  Lachlan Maitland.

  He spoke even before he dismounted. “Ten minutes out, sir.”

  Alexander MacBriar nodded stoically and finally thought to address his wife, weeping yet at his feet. He bent and lifted her by her arms. Elle helped her to stand. The laird whispered to his bride, though is large voice carried still. “It’s the same as last time, bride, same as any other time. Until he’s gone, he lives yet.”

  Her head shook convulsively, and she clung to her husband.

  Lachlan pulled Katie aside, his deep blue eyes steady upon her. “Sword to the shoulder, plenty of blood lost. Arrow to his thigh, we left that intact.” He pointed to the right side of his chest, straight across from his heart. “Pierced here, struggling to breathe. Broke the arrow when he fell from his horse, but it’s still lodged.”

  She nodded and whimpered. “Is there more?”

  Lachlan shook his head, concern etched harshly upon his scarred visage. “Took the side of a blade to his head, knocked him out, but no bleeding there.” He put his hand firmly onto Katie’s arm and instructed sternly, “Put the fear aside. No time for that now. You make him better, wail and weep when that’s done.”

  Nodding shakily, she watched Lachlan lift his head, listening. “Here he comes.” He held her arm still, walked her toward the door to the hall. “Go on up. I’ll bring him myself.”

  At her continued, wretched nodding, he left her, striding toward the gate.

  Katie remained only long enough to see that Iain and Malcolm rode directly in front of the cart, their expressions grim. Malcolm’s face was a blotchy red that she thought he must have wept, or cried still.

  Composing herself, forcing deep and even breaths, she didn’t wait to see him. She turned and entered the keep, walked stiffly up the stairs and to their chambers. She left the door wide and arranged the two pillows on top of each other in the middle of the bed. She lit three candles at the bedside table with unsteady and uncooperative hands and then waited, her head bowed, as she heard them coming.

  She closed her eyes only long enough to pray for strength and when she opened them, Lach was carrying Alec into the room. She bit back her instant fright at the sight of him and felt her body begin to quiver uncontrollably.

  He was not awake, his face dropped into Lach’s chest, his pallor grave. His legs swung limply with each step Lachlan took. From his chest, she could see the splintered and cracked remains of one arrow. Another, with feathers yet attached, was wedged deep into the outside of his thigh. Blood caked so many parts of him, most notably his entire left arm and shoulder. Curiously, because he was unconscious, Katie noted that one hand was fisted tight.

  Iain appeared directly behind, and Malcolm followed him. As Lach went to one side of the bed, Iain and Malcolm took positions on the other, reaching for Alec so that he was not dropped onto the mattress.

  Inhaling deeply, Katie noticed Elle in the doorway. “I need that boiled water. Now.”

  “Aye.” Elle said, her eyes red and watery. And she darted away.

  Katie stepped forward. The three men standing around the bed shuffled out of her way, but kept their eyes trained on her.

  “Cut it all off,” she instructed as she stopped near the head of the bed. She lifted Alec’s eyelids, noted that his pupils were only slightly dilated but as suspected, unresponsive.

  Iain promptly withdrew a knife from his waistband and began slicing at Alec’s breastplate. Katie stopped him only long enough to press her ear to the right side of Alec’s chest, her chin above the remnant of that offensive arrow. She closed her eyes but heard no sounds.

  “The shaft,” Lach cautioned Iain as Katie stepped away again. It took all three men to remove Alec’s padded armor and tunic, trying not to cause any further disturbance to the protruding arrow, splintered and jutting yet six inches above his chest.

  “Is this the beginning or the end of it?” She asked about that most damaging dart just as Simon appeared, his hands laden with all her medicines and tools.

  “Back to front,” Malcolm answered.

  She feared it had struck the lower portion of his lung, which subsequently had collapsed the entire thing, and would account for his labored breathing but no sounds from within on that side. “We’ll sheer off the end and push it through then when I’m ready.” She needed to prepare everything first before she began to treat all the wounds.

  A muffled cry brought her gaze to the door, where the laird stood with his arm around his wife, who was sniffling into her sleeve, her teary-eyed gaze on Alec’s unmoving form.

  Katie found Iain’s gaze on her, a question asked by his lifted brow.

  “Two minutes,” she mouthed to him. She could not deny his parents seeing their son, and she had another minute or so of work at the cupboard where usually sat only the ewer and basin. It was paramount that she concentrate and not lose herself to fear or anxiety or any sort of melodrama, that she forced herself to tune out the sound of Maddie’s tearful pleading for Alec to wake.

  Elle returned then, squeezing into the crowded room with a steaming kettle of water. Malcolm leapt forward and relieved her of the weight, setting the iron kettle onto the bedside table, which Lachlan moved closer, pushing the candles toward one end.

  “Keep them coming, Elle,” Katie said over her shoulder. They would need plenty. S
he pivoted and stretched out her hand to Lachlan, who stood closest to her. Without question or hesitation, he accepted the spoons and different sized knives, the bone needles and her pliers. “Into the kettle.”

  The laird and Maddie were shuffled out of the room by Iain and Malcolm, with promises they’d be allowed to return as soon as possible. Malcolm ushered them out, leaving as well to fetch more kettles himself.

  They work together over the next hour, Katie and Lachlan and Iain, while Elle and Malcolm and Simon managed all the running and fetching. Katie was open with them, sharing with them her suspicions and estimations, and plenty of instructions, with which any one of them were happy to comply. She used Iain’s strength to wrest the arrow tip from the bone, and Lachlan’s steady hands on the spoons that she could better assess the damage done to Alec’s thigh. The wound at the back of his arm was easiest, requiring naught but a good cleaning and a long length of silk for stitching.

  After an hour, Alec was completely naked by necessity, a linen sheet draped over his middle for his own modesty, even though he’d roused not at all.

  “You’re no’ going to sew the chest there?” Iain asked.

  Katie shook her head, her hands on her hips while she surveyed Alec, mindful and a wee bit anxious for his paleness yet. “Despite the trauma to the immediate area, the entry and exit spots are so small.” She narrowed her eyes and lifted Alec’s hand, still fisted despite all the rearranging and jostling they’d put him through in the past hour. She pulled at his fingers, but they wouldn’t budge. Some instinct made her lean forward, bending his elbow as she did. She leaned very close to his face and whispered, “Open your hand, Alec.” He did not but when she tried again to pry his fingers open, she found success. Inside his palm, squeezed and flattened to the size of a walnut was the linen kerchief she’d wrapped the brooch in, her wedding gift to him. Startled by this, that he’d not only kept this small token, but that he’d held it so dear, hadn’t given it up, Katie felt her first tears in almost an hour.