by Lynsay Sands
Rory eyed him curiously. "Ye want her to remember she is no yer wife?"
Aulay hesitated, his mind torn on the subject. Part of him wanted her to remember everything. The part that found hope in her response to his kisses and in her admission that she was attracted to him. That part wanted her to know they weren't really married so that he could ask her to marry him for real. Because that part was daring to hope that she might agree, and that he could have the wife and children that he'd always taken for granted that he would have before he'd taken the injury to his face.
But another part, the one that still ached from his fiancee's rejection as well as the horrified response of others to his battered face . . . that part would rather she never know. It would rather they continue in this limbo of being married, but not married. Of having her, but not being able to have her. That part feared she would be relieved by the news that they were not man and wife, and would admit she'd just been making the best of a bad situation, but would be happy to escape having to look at him every day. In truth, he'd rather have this strange half relationship than risk losing her altogether. But what he said in the end was, "The sooner she remembers who she is, the better able we will be to keep her safe from whatever threat she was afraid of before she lost her memory."
Rory stared at him so hard for so long that Aulay suspected his brother knew about his other hopes and fears, but finally he said, "Very well. We will take her to the beach to break her fast."
"Good," Aulay said with a grin, not even minding that Rory would accompany them. In truth, he knew that it was probably for the best. It would make it easier for him to behave himself, which was becoming harder to do all the time. This morning's antics certainly weren't helping him any. He couldn't get the image of waking up to find Jetta taking him into her mouth out of his mind, and even the pain that had followed was no longer detracting from his body's response to the memory. Nay, it was better they have a chaperone from now on.
"'Tis beautiful," Jetta breathed, peering over the windswept beach.
"Does it look at all familiar?" Aulay asked as he urged his mount down the sloping path to the shore, and regretted it almost at once. If she had seen shore at all from her position on the mast, it would have been from the opposite angle, from the water. Besides, a glance down showed her frowning as she now tried to find some memory of the beach. "Do no' try to force the memories, lass. Just relax and let whatever comes, come."
"Aye," she said on a sigh.
Aulay hesitated, and then asked, "Were ye saying aye to--?"
"To just relaxing and letting the memories come," Jetta said on a laugh, and then added apologetically, "I do not recognize anything."
"'Tis fine," Aulay assured her, and then looked over his shoulder toward Rory, who was following them on his own mount. "I thought close to shore might be nice. We can walk a little way along the beach in the surf after we eat. 'Twill be easier than trying to walk in the dry sand."
"Aye," Rory agreed easily and followed when they reached the sand and Aulay urged his horse toward shore.
He stopped a good ten feet short of the surf. While it would be easier to walk in the wet sand than the dry, he didn't want to picnic on it. Aulay lifted Jetta from where she sat before him on the mount and leaned to set her on her feet in the sand. He then quickly dismounted himself. Noting the way Jetta was self-consciously plucking at the plaid she wore over her borrowed shift, he smiled and assured her, "Ye look fine, lass."
Jetta peered down at herself with a slight grimace, but nodded, and he felt bad that he hadn't had a dress to offer her. This was the best he could come up with, pleating a spare plaid he had and fashioning a sort of overdress for her to wear with the somewhat indecent shift. She was swimming in cloth, but decently covered at least. Still, Aulay decided he really needed to arrange for clothing for her if they were going to start leaving the lodge more often. Besides, he had to return to Buchanan soon. While he knew that, between his uncle and his brothers, the keep and its people were in good hands, he still felt guilty for not being there himself. He was the laird, after all, and should be tending to his people, not delegating it to others.
The worry over clothing for Jetta made him wonder about Alick and what was taking him so long. He should have been back with any gowns Saidh might have been able to loan them by now, if not with his sister herself. Hell, he expected Geordie and Conran to return with their report anytime, and they'd had to ride both up and down the coast, stopping at every port as far away as England in the south and all the way up the Scottish coast to the north.
"This should be good."
Aulay glanced around to see Rory unfolding and shaking out a plaid to lay it on the sand.
"Oh, lovely, I am starving," Jetta said, moving toward the picnic spot Rory had chosen.
"Well, seat yerself then, lass," Rory said lightly. "Mavis packed this basket full. She sent some lovely pastries, some fruit, some cheese, some boiled eggs and even some meat."
"Goodness, she must have thought she was feeding an army," Jetta said, settling on the plaid and watching wide-eyed as Rory began pulling out the offerings. Turning to grin at Aulay then, she added mischievously, "That or two Buchanan brothers."
"Har har," Aulay said dryly as he settled next to her on the plaid, but he couldn't hold back the grin her teasing caused. Catching Rory's confused expression, Aulay explained, "She thinks I ha'e an exceptionally large appetite."
"Ah," Rory said and then smiled at Jetta and told her with certainty, "He doesna. Dougall eats more than him, and our youngest brother, Alick, eats more than he and Dougall combined."
"Nay!" Jetta cried with disbelief. "'Tis impossible that anyone could eat twice what Aulay does."
"Men eat more than women," Aulay said with amusement. "Surely ye ken that from yer father?"
"Nay. My father never ate like you do. He preferred his drink," she assured him.
Aulay stilled at the words, just a heartbeat before she gasped and cried, "Oh! I remember my father preferred drink to food!"
Exchanging a glance with Rory, Aulay reached out to cover her hand with his own and said soothingly, "Aye. Ye do. Now, remember no' to force it, but did ye recall anything else just now? Did ye picture someone in yer mind? Or think o' yer uncle's name or anything?"
"I . . ." Jetta frowned, but when he squeezed her hand gently, she relaxed her forehead and breathed out before saying, "I got a quick impression of a small man. Not muscular or tall like you and your brothers. He was slender and not much taller than me and his head was balding," she said slowly and then shook her head and met his gaze. "That is all."
"But that is good," he assured her, squeezing her hand again. "Every memory that comes back, no matter how small, is a good thing. It means the rest will most like follow, does it no', Rory?" he asked, turning to his brother.
Rory smiled and nodded, but Aulay could read his brother and knew he didn't really think it was all that good. A frown tried to claim Aulay's mouth then, but not wanting to alert and alarm Jetta, he forced it away with a smile and squeezed her hand again. "Come. You said you were starving. We should eat."
The three of them began to eat, Rory and Jetta chatting and laughing as they did, but Aulay was quieter, his gaze slipping between Jetta and his brother as he worried about the man's expression when he'd asked him if her remembering was not good. It troubled him, and he wanted to ask him about it, so he was incredibly relieved when Jetta decided she'd had enough to eat and walked down to the surf. Watching her hitch up her plaid and wade into the water a ways until she could wash her hands, Aulay asked solemnly, "Is it not good that she is remembering?"
"Of course, any memory is good," Rory said solemnly. "But it troubles me that she is not getting full-on memories, just bits and pieces. I should think her memory would be coming back on its own by now if it ever truly will."
"You told her no' to try to remember," Aulay pointed out with a frown. "And so ha'e I because you advised it. She has stopped trying to remember
and is just letting whatever come, come."
"Aye, I ken," Rory said solemnly. "But I expected by no' trying, she would relax and the memories would shake loose o' their own accord. That does no' appear to be happening."
"Ye want her to try now," Aulay realized.
Rory nodded, and then said quickly, "But only to see if trying still brings on the pain. If it does, she should stop at once. If not . . ."
"If not, what?"
Aulay turned his head swiftly to see that Jetta had returned. She was smiling, her expression curious. While she'd obviously caught Rory's last couple of words, she hadn't heard much before them. If she had, he didn't think she'd be smiling.
"All cleaned up?" he asked, getting to his feet.
"Aye. Mavis's pastries are lovely, but do get me all sticky," she said on a laugh, and then looked around as the sound of horse hooves caught her ear.
"Someone's approaching," Rory said, standing up next to them.
"Aye," Aulay murmured, his hand on his sword. He watched tensely for a moment and then relaxed when a rider came into view, heading down the path they'd taken to the beach. "'Tis young Simon."
"Who is that?" Aulay heard Jetta ask Rory as he started toward where the path ended at the beach.
"One o' the Buchanan soldiers," Rory answered. "Rest here. We will see what is about."
Aulay glanced around in time to see Jetta nod solemnly and settle on the plaid to wait patiently.
"What do you think is about?" Rory asked, moving up beside him.
"I'm no' sure," Aulay admitted. "Trouble, probably. But there is only one man, so hopefully it is no' too terribly serious trouble."
"Hopefully," Rory agreed dryly and then fell silent until the rider had reached them.
"M'laird," Simon said in greeting as he reined in. "I went to the lodge and Mavis said ye were here."
"Aye," Aulay responded. "What's amiss, Simon?"
"Yer uncle sent me to fetch Rory," Simon said almost apologetically. "Young Katie was shot with an arrow and needs tending."
"Katie the maid?" Aulay asked with surprise.
"Aye," Simon said grimly.
"I'll fetch me horse," Rory said at once and turned to hurry back to where their horses waited.
"What happened?" Aulay asked. "How did a maid take an arrow? Was it an accident in the practice yard?"
Simon shook his head. "From what I understand, she was out collecting fresh lavender to mix in with the rushes. Laird Geordie came across her on his return to Buchanan from that task ye sent he and Conran on and offered her a ride to the keep. She was seated behind him on the horse and was hit in the back."
Aulay frowned. He knew Geordie had been frolicking with the lass of late and would be upset at this turn of events.
"Who shot her?" he asked. "Was it a hunting arrow gone astray, or--?"
"I do no' ken, m'laird," Simon admitted unhappily. "I'm sure yer uncle is looking into that, but as soon as Katie was brought in, he sent me to fetch Rory."
Aulay nodded and turned to glance at his brother as Rory leapt on his horse and rode him quickly back to them. "All set?"
"Aye. Fortunately, I brought me medicinals with me today just in case the outing was too much fer Jetta," Rory said, patting the bag hanging from his saddle. He glanced toward the beach then, and said, "Mayhap ye and Jetta should return with me. Simon could go fetch Mavis and follow us."
Aulay seriously considered doing that, but then shook his head. "We would just slow ye down. Besides, the lass has no clothes to wear."
"Oh aye," Rory said, but instead of leaving, just sat there frowning.
"I promise she is safe with me," Aulay said solemnly. "I will no' take advantage o' her while ye're gone."
Sighing, Rory nodded and waited as Simon urged his horse to walk around Aulay and return to the path heading back the way he'd come. "Send for me if Jetta has a setback or ye need me."
"Aye. Safe journey," Aulay murmured and watched his brother follow Simon up the trail. Once the two men were out of sight, he returned to Jetta. Much to his surprise, she was already packing away the food. By the time he reached her, she'd finished with that and moved on to gathering the plaid Rory had laid out for them to sit on for their picnic.
"We need not leave right away if ye wish a walk or something," he said mildly as he reached her.
Jetta paused and peered at him with surprise. "I assumed something was wrong at Buchanan and you were needed."
Aulay shook his head. "Rory is the one who was needed. One o' the maids took a stray arrow in the back while outside the gates. Uncle Acair sent for Rory to tend her."
"Oh, the poor thing," Jetta said with a frown as she began to fold the plaid. "Arrows can be so difficult to remove. Pulling them back out the way they went in can do more damage than the initial injury. I found 'tis often better to snap off the end with the fletching and push the arrow through and out if possible, but if 'tis in her back . . ." She shook her head. "You can kill them trying to save them."
Aulay raised an eyebrow as he watched her fold the plaid in half and then in half again. "So ye've tended many arrow wounds."
"Aye, well, my mother taught my sister and me all she knew about healing ere she died and . . ." Jetta paused and blinked in surprise, the plaid held in her hand, folded into a fourth of its original size. Eyes wide with wonder, she whispered, "I have a sister."
"Do ye remember her name?" Aulay asked.
"I . . ." She narrowed her gaze in concentration as she tried to recall.
"If trying to remember causes ye pain, stop at once," he said with concern. "I just hoped mayhap ye'd remembered her name as ye thought on her and yer mother."
"Nay," she said on a sigh, but then brightened and smiled at him. "But you know her name and can tell me."
Aulay froze briefly, but then made himself relax and shook his head. "Ye ken Rory thought it best if ye remember things on yer own."
"Oh aye," Jetta said on a sigh and then argued, "But I do remember I have a sister. You would only be telling me her actual name."
Aulay looked away and struggled briefly with his conscience. He couldn't tell Jetta her sister's name. He didn't know it, and that was what he was struggling with. He wanted to be honest with her and tell her that he didn't know. Yet, he didn't want to tell her that, and not just because Rory thought it better she not be distressed. He also didn't want to tell her because then he would have to admit they were not married and the moment he did, he feared she would wish to leave him . . . and he didn't want to lose her.
Taking the folded blanket from her, Aulay bent and picked up the basket with the remains of their meal and murmured, "We should return to the lodge."
Jetta looked disappointed, but nodded solemnly. "The sun has gone anyway. It looks like a storm is coming."
Aulay glanced skyward to see that she was right. Storm clouds were rolling across the sky, quickly blocking out the sunlight. The day was growing chilly and by his estimation they'd be lucky to make it off the beach before the clouds opened up and dropped rain on them. Laying the plaid on the basket, Aulay carried it in one hand and with his other hand took Jetta's arm and walked her as swiftly as he dared to his horse. He would have liked to move at a jog or even a run, but walking through the shifting sands was hard work and the lass was just fresh from her sickbed.
He wasn't terribly surprised when the rain started just as they reached his mount. Aulay was surprised, however, at how hard the downpour was. Cursing, he reached for the plaid he'd set on top of the basket, and then glanced around with dismay when he saw that it was missing. Spotting it back by where they'd started, he realized it must have fallen off the basket the moment they started to walk. He almost retrieved it, but then just left it. He'd hoped to drape it over Jetta to keep her as dry as possible, but by the time he got to the plaid and back she'd no doubt be drenched through anyway, so he left it where it lay and simply handed her the basket so that he could mount. Aulay then leaned down to catch Jetta under the arms and
lifted her up before him, basket and all.
The ride back was made much faster than the ride out had been. Probably faster than it should have been even. Aulay knew he should ride with more care. A horse could lose its footing in such a storm, but Jetta had been sick for so long and was still weak enough that he was concerned getting caught out like this might set back her healing. He wanted desperately to get her back to the lodge, out of her wet clothes and in front of a nice fire as quickly as he could. He did his best to shelter Jetta with his body as they rode, but it was a futile effort and they were both soaked through by the time he reined in his mount in front of the lodge.
Scooping her up into his arms, Aulay dropped off his mount and then carried her to the door of the lodge. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to reach out and open it for him, since his hands were full. He was able to carry her straight in. Setting her down, Aulay glanced around the main floor with a scowl. Not seeing Mavis anywhere around, and not wishing Jetta to try to take the stairs on her own, he suggested she warm herself by the cooking stove and then hurried back out to tend to his horse.
The beast was huffing and stamping his feet in the pouring rain, obviously not happy at being stuck in it. He followed eagerly when Aulay caught his reins and jogged to the small stables. Both of them were relieved to be out of the storm once in the small building. As worried as he was about Jetta, Aulay did not neglect his mount. He took the time to remove his saddle and dry the beast down before putting him in his stall.
Moving to the stable doors then, Aulay opened one and paused briefly in surprise when he saw that the storm had moved on. Thunder was still vibrating overhead, and he could see shafts of lightning in the distance, but the rain itself had died or now continued elsewhere. Releasing a relieved breath, he stepped outside and closed the stable doors, then headed for the lodge.
