The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4)

by Barbara Longley

  Sky caught his hand and turned to kiss his palm. “Struan, why did you no’ tell me who your father was, or—”

  “That I’m a bastard?”

  “Aye. That too.”

  He shrugged and stared at something over her head. “I didn’t want to see . . .” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t certain how you’d react, and I didn’t want to risk finding out. I suffered a great deal of ridicule as a child. I was reviled by my half siblings and by their dam. When you look at me, your eyes shine. If that light were to dim because—”

  “Och, Struan, I dinna ken whether to shake sense into you or to hold you.” Even in the half-light she could see his Adam’s apple bob. She shook her head. “Why would you think something so beyond your control would affect how I look upon you? It grieves me to hear you say such a thing.” She stepped closer. “Do you no’ ken me at all?”

  His chest rose and fell as if breathing were a chore. He cradled her face between his strong, callused hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “Aye. I ken you well enough, love. The problem lies with me, not with you.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gripped his wrists. “Promise me you’ll come back to me unharmed, for you own my heart—today and always.”

  He crushed her to him, his mouth finding hers in a scorching kiss. Her heart beat wildly within her, and she pressed herself against him, memorizing every detail as a keepsake for all time.

  “Struan, lad. ’Tis time. We must be off before the sun rises,” Robley called up from the hall.

  “You hold my heart as well, Sky.” He set her away from him. “When this is over, we need to make some decisions.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I will worry. Stubborn man.”

  “Obstinate woman.” He turned and strode down the stairs.

  Sky sent up a prayer, nay, a desperate plea to the heavens to keep him safe. He loved her. She loved him. All that remained was overcoming the obstacles that stood between them. The most difficult of which was her sire’s disapproval. Even without her gifts, she could see it in the way her da looked at Struan.

  Never in her life had she considered defying her sire. He was the earl and laird of clan MacKintosh. No one defied him. How could she do so now? There was so much to consider. Between the two of them, who was to be wrenched from everything they held dear? She had her family, clan, wealth and standing in her century. Struan had land and a family he cared deeply about in the twenty-first century.

  Her stomach churned. What if the obstacles proved too great, and they could not come to an accord? Mayhap ’twould be better for his sake if she refused him and sent him home to Gordon Hollow without her. Torn between her love for Struan and her love for her family, she returned to her chamber to prepare herself for the long day ahead.

  Sky washed her hands in the bucket of hot water and scanned the great hall. All but a score of her clansmen had departed for the mainland before dawn. She and the women in the keep had been at their labors ever since. Old men from the village, taking refuge on the island, carried in barrels and broad planks, setting them up as makeshift tables where they could lay the wounded to be tended. Her sisters and a few servants were busy washing down every available surface with a mixture of boiled water and vinegar. The acrid scent tickled the inside of Sky’s nose. She sneezed.

  “Bless you,” her mother said, glancing at her. True was busy sterilizing needles and silk thread. Jars of herbs, unguents, healing salves and tinctures were lined up along the high table, like soldiers awaiting their orders.

  It had been months since Sky had practiced the healing arts, and this time, doing so held a far greater weight. She couldn’t shake her fear for Struan. Had she been given the chance, she might have slipped a sleeping draught into his morning ale, preventing him from going off to battle.

  Don’t try to argue me out of it. Och, she kent well enough trying to talk sense to the man was a wasted effort. His head was every bit as thick as her sire’s. Even believing he would meet his end in her century, he had marched off with sword in hand, ready to lend himself to a cause not his own. Her heart swelled and ached all at the same time. “Stubborn man,” she muttered under her breath.

  She snatched up the baskets she’d gathered and moved to the dais to join her mother. There, Sky cut clean strips of linen to be used as bandages, rolling each one before tucking them into the row of waiting baskets. A fire burned in both hearths, with large cauldrons of water set upon iron hooks to boil. Cook had more cauldrons going in the kitchen, and there were those whose job it would be to keep the cauldrons filled and boiling until the last man had been tended. They would need all the sterilized water for bathing wounds, cleaning their needles, knives and hands.

  “Sky,” her mother said, glancing at her. “I’m afraid I caught your father attempting to intimidate Struan last night.”

  Sky groaned. “Da told Struan he’d no’ permit me to wed him, didn’t he?”

  “He did indeed.” Her mother sighed. “I hope you understand Malcolm is motivated by fear of losing you again. It’s not prejudice against Struan’s lack of status. We grieved your loss deeply. Your disappearance was extremely hard on all of us.”

  Pressure squeezed her chest. If she chose to return to the future with Struan, she’d cause so much more pain to her kin. “When I overheard Oliver telling his mistress of his plans, I vowed to return home and continue my training with Erin as a midwife. I vowed I’d never wed.” She kept her gaze on the strips of linen before her.

  “Oh, my dear. You’re so young yet. Just because—”

  “I canna face another betrothal with some stranger, a noble who sees me as naught but a purse and a bit of ground. I willna agree to another betrothal contract. If I canna alter Da’s mind where Struan is concerned, I will hold to my vow.”

  Sky studied the row of baskets before her. “Och, so much has been left unsettled. Struan has asked me to return to Gordon Hollow with him, and I have asked him to remain here with me. We are at yet another impasse.”

  Could she leave her family behind? She’d always believed her rank obligated her to sacrifice her own happiness for the good of the clan. After spending time in the twenty-first century, witnessing for herself how everyone had the freedom to choose their own path, she wasn’t sure she could fit back into the confines of her role in her century.

  “Another impasse?” Her mother flashed her a questioning look.

  “Aye, Struan tried his best to convince me ’twas folly to attempt returning to this century. He may have had it aright.” She glanced at her ma. “He believes he escaped death at Halidon Hill, and that he’s been living on borrowed time ever since. He fears he’s meant to die here.” Her voice hitched. “Yet, to protect me, he came anyway, and now he’s off fighting the Erskines.” She shook her head. “If aught happens to him, how will I bear it?”

  Her mother’s arms came around her, and Sky succumbed to the fear and grief that had plagued her since the day she rode out of Kildrummy to find her da and brother. “I’ve made e-everything w-worse,” she sobbed. “And now S-Struan’s life is at r-risk. The Erskines willna c-cease in their pursuit of vengeance until they have spilled his blood.”

  “Hush, now. Regardless of the choices you’ve made, we would still be at war with the earl of Mar. When I learned you had fallen through time, I knew at the very least you were safe from whatever evil we sensed at Kildrummy.” She patted Sky’s shoulder. “Though I missed you terribly, I know you’re brave and resourceful. I trusted you would find your way no matter where you landed.”

  “I-I was fortunate. I fell into a kind and compassionate family willing to aid me.”

  “The day you disappeared, Helen was the one to unravel the mystery permeating the keep. She intuited your life was at risk and alerted us. She felt the threat growing stronger that day, most likely around the same time you heard Oliver telling his lover of his plans. I had already discussed my fears with Malcolm, and when
Helen came to us, we agreed to gather everyone and leave before the wedding took place.” Her mother lifted Sky’s chin to peer into her eyes. “So you see? Either way we’d be at war.”

  “Why did you no’ tell me?” Sky cried.

  “I would have, but you disappeared. The chaos that ensued gave us the perfect opportunity to slip away. I almost wonder if Madame Giselle had anything to do with the portal opening when it did.”

  “I dinna believe so.” She shared what the McGladreys had learned, and how the ring at Kildrummy had been responsible for comings and goings throughout the centuries. A loud booming resounded from the mainland, and Sky flinched.

  “The Erskines’ cannon no doubt,” her mother bit out. “Best ready ourselves. It won’t be long before the wounded begin trickling to the island. Once you’re done with the bandages, best begin brewing the medicinal tea. Mind, you’ll want to mix equal parts red willow bark with the antiseptic and antibiotic herbs. I’ll help.” She reached for her earthenware jars and rose from her place.

  “Sarah,” her mother called out, “go tell cook to gather several clean ewers for tea. Helen,” she continued. “Go and fetch the uisge-beatha from the buttery. The men will appreciate the numbing effects of the strong spirits, and we’ll use it to disinfect their wounds.”

  As her mother predicted, it wasn’t long before the villagers began ferrying the wounded from the mainland, whilst the cannon continued to fire. Did a single ball make it to land upon their island? Sky shook her head and immersed herself in tending gashes, broken bones and pulling arrows from torn flesh.

  The young lad currently stretched out before her writhed in agony. He’d suffered a wound far beyond her skills to fix. His torso had been sliced from side to side, and his entrails were severed clean through. All she could do was to stay by his side and make him as comfortable as possible until death took him far from the pain. His moans pierced her heart. Too young. His life had been wasted by a senseless desire for vengeance. She was not given to hatred, but in that moment, she truly hated the earl of Mar.

  By midafternoon, her back ached and fatigue blurred her vision. Sky blinked against the burn in her weary eyes, straightened and rolled her shoulders to ease some of the tightness. They’d lost eight good lads, and saved a score. Each time more wounded were brought into the keep, she searched their agonized faces for Struan, heaving a sigh of relief each time she didn’t find him amongst the suffering.

  Mayhap he’d survive the day after all, or mayhap he lay dead somewhere upon the mainland. That didn’t bear thinking upon, and she moved to wash her hands in one of the many buckets the servants kept filled with clean water.

  “Sky,” Connor shouted from the doors, his voice filling the great hall.

  Gasping, she whipped around to see him stagger under the weight of the man he carried over his shoulders. She recognized Struan’s boots and trews.

  “Nay,” she cried, hurrying toward him, her heart clawing its way up her throat. “How bad?” she asked, leading Connor to an empty table that had just been scrubbed down.

  “He has a gash across one shoulder, not too deep, and an arrow lodged in his thigh.” Connor laid Struan down as gently as possible. “I’m most concerned about a blow he took to the head. He’s been out cold since he fell, and we’ve not been able to rouse him.”

  His expression filled with concern, he met her gaze. “I broke the shaft, but the arrowhead is still embedded in his leg. I didn’t want to risk taking it out, in case I caused more harm than good.” He stepped back and ran his sleeve across his forehead. “I fear the steel has pierced the bone. Could just be the tip, or it might be to the marrow.”

  Sky’s weariness dissipated, and her blood rushed. She kent the danger well enough. If the arrow went through the bone to the marrow, he could easily develop a blood infection, one well beyond their fifteenth-century skills to treat. That he hadn’t responded to Connor’s attempts to rouse him to consciousness also knotted her stomach. She reached out and gripped the forearm of a passing servant. “Anne, bring me cold water from the well below the great hall, and gather enough fresh linen to make a compress.”

  “Aye, Lady Sky,” Anne said before running off to do her bidding.

  “Connor, help me lift him to sitting, so I can get some of this tea into him.” Sky poured medicinal brew into a mug and held it ready, as Connor put his arms around Struan’s shoulders and raised him. Struan showed no sign of awareness as Sky held a mug to his lips. “Drink, mo rún,” she pleaded with his still form. “’Twill reduce the swelling and ease your pain.” He didn’t respond, and she lowered his jaw, tilted his head back slightly and poured a trickle of the liquid down his throat. He swallowed reflexively.

  She managed to get a goodly amount of the healing tea down his throat, with an equal amount spilling down his chin. Connor helped her lay him back down. “Fetch my ma if you would.” Her eyes met Connor’s for an instant before she turned her full attention to Struan.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she examined the swelling at the back of his skull. Erin had explained the danger of blood clots and the grave risks involved in brain injuries. Fear for him clogged her throat, as she struggled to rise above the panic. What good would she be to him if she couldn’t control her emotions? He needed all her wits and a steady hand.

  Anne hurried to her side, a pail filled with the icy water from the depths of their stronghold. She also clutched a pile of linen to her chest. “Here, my lady,” she said, placing the pail on the table. “What else would ye have me do?”

  “Soak the linen in the cold water and wrap his head. Don’t wring out the cloth. We want to soak his head in the cold to reduce the swelling, aye? The compress should be changed oft,” she ordered.

  “Aye, my lady.”

  With that task taken care of, Sky cut off Struan’s sleeve and began cleaning the gash running down his arm. Connor had it aright. Other than a short length at the top of his shoulder, the wound was not too deep. Only one section would need to be sewn. She poured a stream of uisge-beatha into the torn flesh and took up a clean needle and a strand of silk. Her hands shook as she tried to thread the needle. She drew a long breath, let it out and tried again, finally getting the thread through the eye. Bending over Struan, she began stitching together the edges of the deepest part of the injury.

  “Sky,” her mother said, coming to stand by her side. “What do you need me to do?”

  “See to the arrowhead in his thigh, and tell me he’s going to be . . .” Her voice broke along with her heart. “Tell me Struan will wake, that he’ll recover.” Tell me I’m not to blame for this, and that I won’t lose the only man I will ever love. She had to stop what she was doing to wipe away the tears blurring her vision.

  Her mother hugged Sky’s shoulders briefly, before setting her knife to Struan’s trews to get to the metal wedged into his thigh.

  Silently Sky, her mother and Anne toiled over Struan, until they’d done everything they could. Sky stepped back and glanced around the hall. She called out for help to take Struan upstairs, and four men hurried forward to do her bidding, Connor amongst them. “Take him to Robley’s chamber and lay him upon the bed.” Two positioned themselves at his legs, and two moved to his shoulders. “Careful! Support his head and neck,” she admonished as they lifted him.

  Just then, a bell chimed from the village kirk, signaling the battle was over and pealing out the news that the MacKintosh had prevailed. A cheer rose up within the hall, but she barely took notice. Sky turned to Anne. “Fetch fresh water from the well, and bring it to Lord Robley’s chamber.”

  “I will see to it anon.” Anne snatched the rope handle of the pail and was off.

  Sky hurried to follow the men carrying Struan, easing her way in front of them once they reached the corridor so she could open the door. She rushed to the bed, threw back the covers and gathered the pillows into a pile to support him. “The tea. I forgot the tea.” She strode back to the door. “Undress him and lay him so that his back
is propped.” She nearly ran into her sister in her haste to return to the great hall for the tea.

  “Och, you nearly spilled it, Sky,” Helen scolded, bringing the pitcher she carried close to her chest. “I’ve brought a potion Ma brewed especially for your knight.” She handed her the earthenware jug. “How can I help?”

  Sky shook her head. “Unless you can wake him, there’s naught to do but continue with the cold compresses and pour whatever Ma made for him down his throat. I can manage. Go below and help with whoever might yet come to the hall to have their wounds tended.”

  “If that is your wish.” Helen narrowed her eyes, her gaze unfocused. “’Twill be all right, sister. I feel what is to come will bring you great upheaval, a wrenching of your very being, but ’twill be all right in the end.”

  “Helen, speak plainly.” Sky tensed, and her poor heart pounded against her ribs. Her sister’s words could mean anything. “Will Struan recover?” She asked only what she dared to voice. The rest she only thought. Will he and I find a future together? Mayhap Helen would hear that as well.

  “I ken no’ what is to be, Sky. I . . . ’tis only an impression. I get these . . . premonitions, a certainty about the future, but nothing is clear to me beyond the sense, the vibration, of what will be.” She reached out and grasped Sky’s arm. “Mayhap ’twould have been better if I had said naught. I meant only to offer comfort.”

  “I ken as much, and I’m grateful.” Sky slung her arm around her sister and hugged her. “Go. Help Ma and Sarah. I’ll be with Struan if anyone needs me.” With that, she turned back to Rob’s chamber with the potion her mother had concocted. She took a sniff of the contents, separating what she detected, tracing the source to the herbs her mother had used. Willow, the usual antiseptics and . . . hellebore.

  Och, aye. ’Twould slow his heart, which might aid in reducing the swelling in his skull. ’Twould also help prevent fluid from settling in his lungs, which oft happened with those who were bedridden. By the time she returned, the men had Struan undressed and under the covers. “My thanks,” she said. “If you see Anne on her way here, ask her to bring a clean mug. I need to give Struan the medicine Ma made for him.”