by Lynsay Sands
"Oh, look, ye've ruined yer gown, m'lady," Geordie noted sympathetically as Dougall knelt next to Murine and dunked the clean linen in the water.
Wringing out the linen, Dougall glanced up to see that Murine had her chin tucked in as she tried to peer down to see what Geordie was talking about. The blood had trailed down her neck and begun to soak into the neckline of the gown she'd donned after her swim the day before. There was no way she could see the stain and her expression was vexed as she attempted to.
"'Tis just a wee bit o' blood on the neckline," Dougall assured her and then took her chin in hand and raised her head so that he could wipe the blood from her neck and prevent the stain growing any larger.
Murine was silent as he worked. But she drew in a hiss of breath when he then rinsed the cloth, wrung it out again and pressed it firmly to the still bleeding gash.
"I ha'e to stop the bleeding," he muttered, regretting causing her further pain but knowing it was necessary.
"O' course," Murine whispered.
"I'm thinking ye should stitch it up," Conran decided, kneeling next to him to eyeball the wound when Dougall took the cloth away and blood immediately began to trickle from it.
"Nay," Murine gasped, and then frowned and said shakily, "Surely putting pressure on it will be enough? 'Twill stop bleeding in a minute."
Dougall was of the mind that stitches might be necessary, but understood her dismay at the thought. Pressing on the wound was no doubt painful, but forcing a needle through the skin of her forehead again and again would be excruciating. Besides, he was not pleased at the thought of permanently scarring her so. As it was this gash would leave a mark, a thin line if she were lucky. With stitches it would look like a branch on her temple.
"We'll try pressure first," he decided.
Murine relaxed a little and offered a grateful smile.
Dougall smiled back, then glanced around to Alick. "If ye've more clean linen, fetch it. We'll need to wrap her head to keep her wound closed while we ride."
Alick nodded and moved to the horses to begin rooting around in the satchel hanging from his mount's saddle.
"Thank ye."
Dougall glanced back to Murine at those words to see that her expression had turned more tentative.
"I am sorry. I ken I've slowed ye down and been nothing but a bother. And I appreciate yer kindness in seeing me safely to Saidh," she said softly.
Dougall hardly heard the words, his attention caught by her lips as they moved. His mind was filling with thoughts that had nothing to do with what she was saying.
"'Tis all right, lass," Conran said when Dougall remained silent. "We're nearly to Buchanan now. In fact, we should arrive just in time for sup. We'll stay the night and take ye on to MacDonnell in the morning. It's only a half day's ride, so ye should be laughing about all o' this with Saidh by the nooning."
Dougall stiffened. Unless they were further delayed they should reach Buchanan well ere the sup tonight, and MacDonnell by noon the following day. Then this task would be completed and they would return home . . . leaving Murine behind. The thought did not please him and his voice was a bit rough with that displeasure when he said, "Ye should break yer fast."
"Oh, nay, I'm no' hungry," Murine said quickly.
"Then eat fer yer health," he said abruptly.
Murine hesitated, and then asked, "Are any o' ye going to eat?"
Dougall shook his head while his brothers all said nay and Murine raised her chin.
"Then--"
"But none o' us faints from a lack o' nourishment," Dougall interrupted her, knowing she was going to use their not eating as an excuse to refuse food herself.
Murine blew her breath out in resignation, but then rallied and said, "Fine. I'll eat. But could the rest o' ye no find something to occupy yerselves with other than staring at me? 'Tis most discomfiting." When she didn't get an immediate agreement, she added, "And takes me appetite away."
"I'll go check on the horses," Alick said at once.
"I wouldn't mind a quick swim ere we set out," Geordie decided.
"I'll join ye fer that swim," Conran announced and the three brothers immediately moved off, leaving them alone.
"What about you?" Murine asked when they were alone.
"I'm staying," he said simply, and then teased her gently, saying, "Someone has to make sure ye actually eat and do no' just claim ye did while we are gone."
Murine scowled at the suggestion.
"But I'll ha'e a bite or two with ye if it means ye'll eat more," he added.
"Deal," she said, brightening.
Chuckling for no reason he could understand, Dougall took her hand and raised it to press against the cloth he was still pressing against her forehead.
"Hold that firmly in place," he instructed, then stood and moved to the horses to collect the bag with the cooked meat in it. He had a couple of apples left in his own bag, and grabbed them as well as the leather flask of cider that hung from his horse's saddle, before returning.
Murine still held the cloth in place when he returned, and judging by the way she was wincing, she was pressing more firmly than was necessary in an effort to stop the bleeding and avoid getting stitched up. Dougall didn't comment on it, but merely began to set out the food.
"I did no' think about it, but I'm sorry if our not eating and watching ye eat made ye uncomfortable yester morn," he said quietly as she accepted the large serving of meat he offered her.
Murine smiled wryly. "Ye were no' so bad, but Alick and Geordie were like a pair o' crows perched on the log. I kept thinking they were about to swoop over and grab the food from me."
Dougall smiled faintly at the words. Now that she said it, he did see the resemblance between his memory of how they'd perched on the log, leaning forward, and a pair of interested crows. The truth was they had both been more interested in her than her food, but he didn't say as much.
They ate in silence for several moments, Dougall pleased to see she was making short work of the meat he'd given her. She was eating it quickly. He suspected that was so that she could get as much in as possible before her head told her she was full. He thought that was a good sign. Now that he had mentioned that the fainting might be due to her lack in eating, she appeared to want to correct it herself. If he was right, her fainting spells should end quickly and she would not need the tincture Joan had made for her, or its recipe. She'd return to the healthy young lass she'd been ere the troubles had hit her family. Healthy enough to be a wife and mother.
"So, ye've imagined yerself married and having a passel o' children?" he asked suddenly as he recalled her saying something to that effect when she'd said she'd always expected to marry. He himself had always thought a half a dozen or more would be good. But then he'd grown up in a household with eight healthy children in it, so it seemed natural.
"Aye," Murine admitted. "But I think all girls probably do. We are usually betrothed in the cradle."
Dougall nodded. That was true. Pretty much every child born to nobility was betrothed quite young. Saidh had been as well. And like Murine's betrothed, Saidh's had died ere claiming her.
Murine smiled at him tentatively and commented, "Saidh once mentioned that while yer parents arranged betrothals fer her and Aulay, they never arranged them for the rest o' ye?"
Dougall nodded and then explained, "Ma wanted to but Da refused."
"Really?" Murine asked with wide eyes. "Why?"
"He always said it was hard to ken how a bairn would turn out and he did no' want to saddle any o' us with unpleasant, or amoral mates, or even ones whose personality did no' suit us," Dougall explained. "He wanted us to have a chance at happiness and choose our mates for ourselves as he had."
Murine's eyebrows rose at this, and she pointed out, "But Saidh was betrothed."
"Aye, and so was Aulay. Our mither insisted on it. Saidh because she was a lass, and Aulay because he was the eldest son and heir to the title," Dougall explained.
"And ye
"Aye, Aulay's betrothed refused to fulfill the contract when she saw the scar marring his face," he said grimly. "And she was no' kind about it either. She decried him as more monster than man."
Murine winced and nodded solemnly. "That was cruel."
"Aye," Dougall muttered. Just the memory of the woman's words and Aulay's pain made him want to hit someone. He forced himself to take a deep breath to calm that urge and then added, "She also said she'd gladly give up her dower fer breaking the betrothal, but she would no' marry him, she'd rather die or take the veil."
Murine gave a humorless laugh and pointed out, "And yet I would marry Aulay in a heartbeat rather than take the veil." Her yes widened suddenly and she said, "Oh, say! Do ye think he is in the market for a--"
"There are a few things I need to do ere we leave," Dougall interrupted sharply, getting to his feet. He didn't wait for her to say anything else, but strode abruptly out of the clearing, his mind a storm of emotion.
Murine frowned slightly as she watched Dougall go, but then turned her thoughts to the idea she'd come up with: marrying Aulay Buchanan. Saidh had painted a picture of her brother as a rather tragic figure. According to her he was a good, strong man and fair leader . . . Rather like Dougall, she thought. But Aulay had been shamed and tossed aside by a heartless, selfish betrothed who had judged him by his looks alone.
Murine had not met Aulay and had no idea how bad the scar was that had offended his betrothed so, but if he was anything like Dougall . . . Besides, if there was one thing she'd learned in this life, it was not to judge anything by looks alone. After all, Montrose was a handsome man in looks, but ugly as sin to his very soul underneath. Since her mother had claimed he looked like a younger version of his father and she knew how that man had abused her mother, Murine would say he had been the same. She was quite sure that Aulay was just the opposite, scarred and ugly on the outside but with a heart as fine and kind as Dougall's. She would pick that over a man like her half brother any day. And she would definitely choose it over her brother's plans for her. Or even the nunnery.
Murine just wasn't sure how she would manage a feat like convincing Aulay that marrying her was to his benefit. She had little enough to offer him, just kindness and gratitude for saving her from the fate her brother had intended for her. She could definitely promise that she would be a good wife to him, and that she would be a good mother to any offspring they had as well. But would that be enough?
And what about Saidh? How would she feel about such an arrangement? What if she wanted more for her brother? It had seemed clear that Saidh adored her brothers. She'd also made it clear she was glad Aulay's betrothed had refused to marry him. She'd thought someone so shallow would be a faithless and uncaring wife and that he deserved better. Would she think Murine good enough for her brother?
She needed to talk to Saidh, Murine decided firmly and glanced around, wondering how long it would be before they left. Seeing that the clearing was empty except for herself made her frown slightly. Dougall had refused to leave her alone lest she faint and hurt herself since finding out who she was, yet she was now all alone.
Strange, she thought and then gave a start as Alick suddenly appeared beside her. Not so alone after all, she thought, as she returned the smile he offered her and peered curiously at the skin of liquid he held in his hands like an offering.
"Here," he said holding it out toward her. "I mixed up a tincture fer ye that Rory sent with us. It should help ease the ache in yer head."
Recognizing the name Rory as that of the brother Saidh had claimed was a healer, Murine accepted the bulging skin, and asked curiously, "What's in it?"
Alick shrugged and admitted wryly, "I ha'e no idea. A bunch o' weeds and sech that smell pretty bad. I mixed it in with whiskey to try to make it taste better, but ye may want to plug yer nose and just down it quickly. That always helps me when I ha'e to take Rory's tinctures."
Murine grimaced, and then did as he suggested; she plugged her nose and downed as much of the tincture as she could in one go. It was an awkward business. She had to plug her nose with thumb and finger, while holding the mouth of the skin to her lips with only her other three fingers. Still, she managed to gulp several mouthfuls before having to stop to take a breath. That was when the heat from the whiskey hit her. It burned down her throat and slammed into her stomach with a vengeance that left her gasping and then coughing violently.
Alick quickly grabbed the skin to keep her from dropping it, then set about pounding on her back until the coughing fit ended. He waited for her to catch her breath, and then offered the skin again. "Ye'll need more than that to get the full benefits."
Murine hesitated, but the coughing fit had turned the dull ache in her head into an agony, and in the end, she took the skin and lifted it to her lips again.
"Whoa!"
Dougall glanced up with surprise as two hands caught him in the chest and brought his charge through the woods to an abrupt halt. Realizing that he'd nearly crashed into Conran, he muttered an apology and started to go around him, but Conran stepped into his path.
"What's about?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "Ye look ready to kill someone."
Dougall opened his mouth, then narrowed his eyes and asked, "Where's Geordie? I thought the two o' ye were going fer a swim."
"He's swimming, but . . ." Conran hesitated, and then simply said, "I changed me mind."
Dougall's mouth tightened. He didn't need to be a mind reader to know that Conran had changed his mind because he'd decided he should stick close enough to keep an eye on Dougall and Murine and make sure Dougall didn't behave inappropriately, or threaten her virtue in any way. It was a bit insulting, but Dougall let that go for now and growled what was uppermost in his mind, "Murine's thinking to marry Aulay."
Conran blinked at this announcement. "What? Why would ye think that? She's ne'er e'en met him."
Dougall ran a frustrated hand through his hair and then quickly recounted their conversation, ending with "I'm sure she was about to ask if I thought Aulay would be interested in marrying her."
"Aye," Conran agreed, and then added regretfully, "And he probably would marry her. Out o' gratitude fer her saving Saidh if nothing else. The only thing that might prevent him from doing it is his worries on his scar, but he'd convince himself that saving her from her brother's intentions would make up for it."
Dougall cursed and turned his head away. Conran was verifying exactly what he'd thought himself. Aulay hadn't shown any interest in marriage since his betrothed had humiliated him. He wouldn't talk about it, but they all knew that bitch had scarred Aulay more emotionally than the scar that had cleaved his face. Aulay was sure the scar made him unmarriageable, that no woman would willingly marry a man as ugly as he. He'd seemed to resign himself to a solitary life. But Murine's situation might change everything. Aulay would feel the same gratitude and appreciation for Murine's saving Saidh that they all did, and he'd feel pity for her situation. He'd also think her having to live with what he considered his monstrosity would be better than having her own brother whore her out to his friends and acquaintances. Aye, Aulay would marry Murine, Dougall was sure, and the very idea made him feel like his head was going to explode.
"What are ye going to do?" Conran asked.
Dougall glanced to him with confusion. "About what?"
Conran rolled his eyes. "Dougall, ye're me brother. I ken ye. Ye like the lass. More than like her even. Ye should tell her that and marry her yerself."
Dougall was silent for a moment, considering the suggestion, and then he said reluctantly, "But Murine might be Aulay's only chance at having a good woman to wife. Murine would be a loving wife and a fine mother to his children."
"Dougall," Conran said heavily. "Aulay has no' e'en met Murine. 'Tis no' as if he's in love with her too."
He stiffened at the suggestion. "I'm no' in love with Murine."
"Mayhap not, but ye're halfway there," Conran said dryly and then added firmly, "And do no' try to tell me ye're not. Ye're usually a quiet, grumpy bastard, but no' since we stumbled upon Murine. I've ne'er seen ye smile so much ere this, and ye actually talk to the woman, stringing whole sentences together rather than just grunting on occasion as ye usually do. And ye're hovering over her like a mother with her first bairn," Conran added firmly. "Ye like the lass. Do ye really want to hand her over to Aulay?"
Dougall frowned at the question. The very idea of standing back and watching Aulay wed Murine made him want to hit someone. But . . .
"How the hell should I know?" he burst out in frustration. "I've considered marrying her, but I barely ken the lass. We only met her two days ago and she's been unconscious most o' that time. Hell, I ha'e no' e'en kissed her," he muttered with disgust and then glared at Conran. "Thanks to you."
"Me?" Conran asked with surprise. "How is it me fault ye ha'e no kissed the lass?"
Dougall peered at him with disbelief. "Ye're the one who said me doing so would make her believe I think as little o' her as her brother."
"Oh, aye," he said wryly and then shrugged. "But I did no' mean kissing. Anyway, forget what I said. Ye're considering marrying the lass. Yer intentions are honorable here. Just do no' take it too far ere ye're sure ye want to marry her, else ye'll ha'e no choice in the matter."
"Aye," Dougall muttered, wondering just how far he considered to be too far.
"And I'm thinking ye may want to avoid stopping at Buchanan," Conran added. "It may be better to travel straight on to MacDonnell. That way ye can avoid Aulay meeting her until ye've made up yer mind as to whether ye want her or no'."
Dougall nodded slowly, and then shook his head and pointed out, "Once we get her to MacDonnell, Saidh'll claim all her time and I'll no' get the chance to know her better," he said with frustration and Conran frowned at the truth of those words.
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