by Terry Spear
Samuel blocked every attack, slicing here and there at the Scots maggot until he bled from gashes on his arms, chest and belly. And then finally, Samuel gave him a death blow that knocked the man into the hot spring, where he sank beneath its depths in a pool of watery red. What a shame to ruin such a beautiful and magical pool.
He turned to find Catriona, but saw her not. And then he heard her scream, and felt the pain as an arrow pierced through his hauberk, tunic, chainmail armor and into his chest.
Samuel glanced down at the shaft protruding from where his heart beat. He grabbed the wooden stave and yanked, but the blood pouring from the wound made it slippery. He broke it in half, leaving the arrow in his chest, and staggered forward.
“Catriona,” he bellowed, but the sound came out muted, not quite a whisper.
The dead outlaw lay on the ground beside his bleeding friend who also had an arrow in his chest.
“Catriona,” he said again.
But what he heard in answer was, “Magnus, no!” A cry so potent with heartache, he felt it clear inside his gut and down to his toes. ’Twas not the voice of his companion but of his sister.
“Arbella?” Samuel whirled in a circle, his feet sliding in the blood-reddened snow. Was his sister here? Or was she calling to him from the heavens?
He turned again, falling to his knees when his feet refused to work. “Oh, Catriona, I have failed you,” he said. “Arbella, I’m coming now. I’ve failed you and Aliah. Forgive me.”
And he fell backward, eyes directed toward the sky, where it went from grey to black.
HE was going to die.
Catriona stared down at the prone bleeding body of Sir Samuel de Mowbray. The man who had saved her from her attackers, swept her up into a whirlwind of emotion and made her believe that maybe, just maybe, she could trust again. That a lifetime of loneliness was not her sentence.
But now he lay bleeding, an arrow protruding from his chest.
She was suddenly alarmed as the facts of what happened sank in. They were now surrounded by a new party of people. Had they been the one to shoot Samuel?
“What have ye done?” she asked the warrior who stood beside her, frowning down at Samuel.
“Samuel!” A beautiful blond—who spoke as an Englishwoman—dropped beside Samuel, grabbed onto his face and shook him gently. “Wake, brother! Wake up!”
Catriona was almost jealous until she realized who they must be—Magnus Sutherland and his wife Arbella, Samuel’s sister. The woman did not appear to be too distressed by her captor; in fact the way she’d spoken to her husband showed she couldn’t possibly be afraid of him. Was it conceivable that Samuel had it wrong? Had Arbella willingly gone into the arms of a Highlander?
“God’s bones.” Catriona slapped her hands to her face, disbelieving what she was seeing. How could they be here? “We were looking for ye.”
“Me?” Arbella asked, then she whipped her gaze to her husband, her eyes and voice edging on hysteria. “You killed my brother!”
“Samuel asked me to help him find ye.” Catriona’s voice trailed off as her gaze fell back on the English knight. His pallor had faded and blood seeped through the liveried tunic in a darkened stain. “He saved me.”
“He still breathes,” Arbella said. “Though ’tis weak. I think the arrow just missed his heart, though this means nothing. He could still die.”
“Get him on a horse. We’re not that far from Blair Castle,” Magnus ordered. “They’ll have a healer there who can help him.”
Two retainers leapt to the ground and lifted Samuel with Arbella fussing around him.
“Wait!” Catriona yelled, putting her hands out toward them. “Ye canna take him.” If they were close to Blair, she’d take him there herself.
Arbella straightened her shoulders, a determined frown on her face. “He’s my brother. We’ll take him wherever I choose.”
Catriona shook her head, her fingers tingling and her vision blurring with tears. She blinked them away, forcing herself to remain strong. “But how do I know ye are who ye say ye are? Ye’re the ones who shot him!”
The retainers paused a moment before the horse as they tried to figure out the right position to put him on the mount.
Arbella’s face softened. “To be correct, ’twas my husband who shot him.”
“Exactly. How can I, in good conscience, allow ye to take him with the man who shot him riding with ye. He may cloud your judgment and do further harm.”
Arbella put her hands on her hips. “What is he to you?”
Catriona narrowed her eyes and took several steps toward Samuel. “He is…” Her voice trailed off. What was he to her? She was his guide. He was her savior. They were friends. They were… What? Their heated kiss made them more than just friends. And then words were flowing from her mouth before she could think of anything more plausible to say that would keep her with him, and allow her to make certain he remained safe. “He is my husband.”
Everyone stilled, their eyes jerking toward Catriona. She felt the color drain from her own face, and then her body started to tremble. She locked her knees, squeezed her legs and stomach, clenched her fists, to keep the tremors from showing to all who stared at her.
“You are married?” Arbella asked, her voice faint, her hand clutching at her neck.
Catriona nodded, not trusting her voice to come out strong. Had she truly just claimed this man to be her husband in front of all these witnesses? If he were to claim the same thing, under Highland law, they would be truly wed. But he wouldn’t and as soon as he came to, she would tell him what she did, and then he would let them know that she’d done it to protect him. They would all laugh about it later—if they were friends and not foe.
Though they were Highlanders, how was she to know if she could trust them? After all, Magnus Sutherland and his brother had married Englishwomen. Then again, everyone in their entire family was deeply entrenched in the war for Scottish freedom. If they could be trusted by the guardian of Scotland—William Wallace—and by the future king—Robert the Bruce—didn’t that mean she could trust them, too?
It was all too much. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the sob at the back of her throat from escaping.
“When?” Arbella asked.
Had his sisters had any correspondence? Nay, she couldn’t have, because Samuel had said he didn’t know where they were.
“Not long,” she answered, deciding that being vague was the best course of action for now.
“What is your name?” Magnus asked.
Catriona faced the fearsome dark warrior. His size and the power that he exuded reminded her of her brother Gregor. Which only made her sad, because she had no idea how he fared at the moment—was he even still alive?
Swallowing away her fear for her brother, she squared her shoulders. She had to stay strong for Gregor, she had to stay strong for Samuel. This wasn’t about her. Everyone had to make sacrifices some time, and right now she was making hers. And it was only short term. “I am Lady Catriona Buchanan.”
“Of Clan Buchanan?” Magnus asked. “Gregor’s younger sister?”
She nodded, feeling her trembling ease somewhat. “Ye know him?”
“Oh, aye.” The way he said it was as though Gregor had made a name for himself amongst the clans, and she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly that was all about. “Ye’re coming with us.”
Chapter 11
RIPPLES of panic shuddered up and down Catriona’s spine. Though she knew she’d done the right thing in order to protect Samuel, she was also terrified that she’d sealed her brother’s and her clan’s fate. The only thing she had on her side was that Blair was the castle she’d intended to take Samuel to without his knowledge.
Her distant cousin Myra lived at Blair Castle as her husband Daniel was laird and chief of Clan Murray. In a weird and twisted turn of fate, perhaps the attack had been a good thing—though if she could change the way it played out, she would not have let Samuel get shot with an
arrow to the heart. It was a miracle he was still breathing.
Their horses clopped over the bridge to Blair and the gates were flung open as soon as the keeper saw Magnus’ entourage.
Catriona searched the sea of faces within the courtyard but did not see her cousin. Well, at least she didn’t recognize her. It had been many years since last she’d seen her, and then they’d both been girls.
A man approached Magnus and within seconds was shouting orders to his men. A swarm surrounded Samuel and then he was whisked into the castle. Not a minute later, while Catriona dismounted, a woman rushed from the main castle doors. This one, she did recognize as her cousin Myra.
Myra rushed to Arbella, wrapping her in her arms, and then when she lifted her gaze to Catriona, recognition dawned.
“Cousin!” She held out her hand to Catriona beckoning her forward. “Why are ye with the Sutherlands?”
Catriona cleared her throat, finding it hard to speak. “I am…” Zounds, could she go through with this? Lie to her own blood? “I am married to Samuel.”
Myra’s face went blank as she assessed Catriona. “I see.” Then a smile split her face and she nodded. “Of course, ye are. Come, let us get inside where ’tis warm. Ye must be freezing from your journey.”
They followed Myra through a dimly lit entryway and up a winding stair and then into a well-lit great hall. A blazing fire filled the hearth and wax candles melted down from the simple iron chandeliers that hung from the rafters.
“Ye’ve arrived just in time for supper,” Myra said. “Have a seat by the hearth here and I’ll see about getting you both chambers and extra settings at the table.”
As Catriona sank her weary bones into a cushioned wood back chair before the hearth, a servant rushed forward with a cup of wine. She gladly took the drink and sipped at it as she extended her feet toward the hearth to soak in some of the heat.
“I’m going to see about Samuel,” Arbella muttered and started to rush off.
“Wait,” Catriona said, “I’m coming with ye.”
Arbella looked as though she wanted to argue, but instead nodded. Catriona passed her wine to a servant and followed Arbella up the winding stairs to the next level where shouting echoed from one of the rooms.
“They must be removing the arrow,” Arbella muttered.
The image that brought into Catriona’s mind made her queasy, but she pushed forward, refusing to let her nerves control her. She had to remain strong for Samuel’s sake. After making certain he was all right, she’d beg a word with Myra and ask her to request her husband’s assistance in ridding Castle Buchanan of the English.
Upon entering the room, however, she lost all train of thought. Samuel lay spread out on the bed, a warrior at each of his wrists and ankles, holding him down as a healer worked to carefully remove the arrow. The woman looked more like an old crone, ready to cross over at any given moment. Her hair was a gray tangled mess and her skin had more creases than a dried plum.
Samuel writhed and cursed and then it was out, and he fell back against the bed, eyes closed, mouth slack.
“He’s out cold,” one of the warriors said.
They eased their hold on his extremities, but as soon as the healer began cleaning the wound, Samuel was awake again. This time his gaze searched out Magnus.
“You shot me! You bloody bastard! I’ll kill you for this and for stealing my sister!”
Cool air rushed over Catriona’s side as Arbella ran toward her brother. “Samuel, please. Magnus did not steal me. You must lie still or else the healer won’t be able to help you.”
“He didn’t steal you away?” He glanced back at the formidable warrior. “You went with that arsehole willingly?”
The shock and disbelief in his voice made Catriona want to laugh, but she pressed her lips together.
Even near death, Samuel had a sense of humor.
Arbella smiled at her brother. “Aye, I did. And Aliah with her husband. But, I’m not too happy he shot you.”
“You shot me! I’ll kill you for this,” Samuel began again, but mid-sentence the healer gave him something to sip and moments later he was asleep once more.
“Outta the way now, missus, or I’ll not be able to sew him up before he wakes again.”
Arbella complied, going to her husband’s side where she quietly chided him, and it looked as though her husband groveled. The man would have a lot of groveling to do for shooting his own brother-by-marriage and nearly killing him.
All the time she’d been in the room, no one acknowledged her, and she inched closer to the bed, feeling like in this sea of strangers the only one she knew and trusted was at their mercy.
“All done now.” The healer glanced up at Catriona. “Ye’ll want to keep his wound clean. I’ll put the dressing on, but watch how I do it. The wound was deep, and missed his heart by half an inch. Fever could still set in.”
Catriona’s belly did a little flip. Blood had always been her weakness. She watched the healer clean and pack the wound with a poultice and bandages, biting her lip the entire time to keep herself from fainting just as Samuel had.
“Can ye handle this, missus?”
“Aye,” Catriona murmured.
“I’ll be here to help,” Arbella said.
“As will I,” Myra called from the doorway. She had a tray of broth and cups of something. “When can he eat?”
“Best to let him rest for now. He didn’t wake during the sewing which means the tincture I gave him worked, and it should last a few hours if not through the night. Just be sure to keep him cool should his skin begin to heat. I’ll be on my way now, but should ye need anything, send one of the lads to get me and I’ll be right back.” She glowered at the tall man who’d first approached them in the courtyard—Daniel Murray judging by the way Myra had taken hold of his arm. “I’ll be requiring twice the payment since he’s a bloody Sassenach.”
Daniel grinned. “Talk to Sutherland, he’s the one who shot the bastard.”
“My brother-by-marriage,” Magnus grumbled, pulling coins from his sporran and handing them to the crone. “Thanks for your assistance.”
The old woman grunted and then left in a scurry of weathered skirts and medicinal scents.
Arbella broke away from her husband and tugged a wooden chair from the corner to the side of the bed. “You should take the first watch, since he is your husband.”
Catriona nodded numbly. Her legs barely held her as she walked around the side of the bed. She braced her hands on the arms and lowered herself into the chair.
“We’ll leave you both alone for a little while,” Arbella said.
Catriona glanced up at the beautiful woman, taking note of the pained look in her expression. She didn’t want to leave her brother, and Catriona could completely empathize with her pain since she hadn’t wanted to leave her brother either, but before she could tell her to stay, Myra was whisking Arbella out of the room with a promise to have a meal sent up.
When the door closed leaving her alone with the man she’d known but a few days and had to pretend she was married to, panic once more filled her chest.
“Ye’ll not believe what I did,” she said to his prone body. She studied his closed eyes, lashes fanned over sun-kissed broad cheeks. His chest moved up and down in a slow, rhythmic pattern, much easier than it had before. “’Twas foolish of me, I know, but I could think of no other way to make certain ye were safe.”
Samuel rolled his head to the side, eyes still closed and murmured something unintelligible.
“Ye’d better get well,” she said, and then added, “for your sister’s sake.”
A quarter hour must have gone by when Samuel’s hand twitched and he murmured. “Arbella…”
Catriona reached out and took his hand in hers. “She’s here and well. Ye’ve nothing to worry over. Just need to heal now.”
Sometime later, Catriona startled awake when a hand pressed to her shoulder. She sighed with relief to see ’twas Myra.
&
nbsp; “Ye’ve had a lengthy journey,” Myra said, her eyes soft with concern. She quietly picked up a stool and sat it beside Catriona. “Ye look exhausted.”
Catriona smiled and went to stretch, realizing her hand was still clutched in Samuel’s.
Myra smiled at the sight. “I see ye both care for one another.”
How could she answer that? Aye, she cared for Samuel, but… Her heart thudded against her ribs. She cared for him more than she realized. More than she wanted to, for soon they would have to part ways. This farce she’d created would end, and her cousin would resent her.
“He saved me,” Catriona started. Now or never was the time to get assistance for her brother and clan. “He was in the English regiment that attacked Buchanan.”
Myra’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.
She explained about them going to the small chamber and how they’d escaped. That her brother was in danger. But instead of speaking about the crofters they’d spent the night with, she told a different version—of a small kirk where they’d sought refuge and married in secret before heading north to seek the help of Daniel Murray in saving her brother and clan.
“Zounds but ye’ve been through a lot.” Myra stood. “We shan’t waste another moment. I will tell Daniel at once.”
“Thank ye so much,” Catriona said, her voice catching on a sob. “Ye’ve no idea how much that means to me.”
Myra bent and pulled Catriona into a hug. “Oh, but I do. Ye must recall the tale of my older brother Byron.”
Catriona nodded, having forgotten that one of the reasons they’d gone north years before was because Myra’s brother had been killed in a raid at their castle and Myra had been given no other choice but to escape with her brother’s pregnant wife.
“I’m so sorry,” Catriona whispered.
“Do nay be sorry, cousin. We will help ye, for I’d not want what happened to my brother to happen to yours.” Myra gave her one more hug, then said, “Come eat what I’ve brought ye. I will go and speak with Daniel.”
