Highland Devil

by Hannah Howell

  “I have ne’er been stitched up but all my brothers have been, and they tried to make me believe it was naught, just a wee pinch.”

  Setting down a bowl of hot, soapy water, Jolene wet the clean rag she had and then placed a cloth beneath Mora in the area of the wound. She then grabbed a couple of long strips of cloth to tie around Mora’s wrists, tying the other ends to the small posts that were at the head of the bed. She met Mora’s very wide eyes and suddenly laughed.

  “I should have warned you. I do that so I do not get punched in the face when something I do hurts the one I am working on.”

  “People have punched you?” Mora worried about what she was about to suffer.

  “Oh my, yes, and when you get punched by a Cameron, it really hurts, and then I must act as if it doesnae hurt much to keep Sigimor from hurting them for hurting me.” She wet the cloth, wrung it out, and without another word, she started to wash Mora’s wound. “Try not to scream or curse or I will have the men in here and I think you would like to avoid that.”

  Her teeth clamped tightly together against the urge to do just that, Mora nodded. She would laugh later over her thought that she could have done this herself. No one could inflict such pain on themselves. By the time Jolene was done cleaning the wound and had begun to thread a needle, Mora was panting and could feel the sweat dripping down her face. After the pain of having her wound cleaned, however, the pinch of the needle was nothing. When Jolene finished, spread some surprisingly nice-smelling cream on her, and began to bind her wound, Mora could feel that her face was still wet with sweat and she was panting.

  After untying her hands, Jolene held Mora steady as she slowly sat up enough to drink some cool cider. “I truly hate the pain caused by so much of healing work. Telling myself I have helped does not always work to rid me of that.”

  “Ye helped,” Mora said in a soft, hoarse voice. “I ken it will feel better once the pain of tending it eases away.”

  Getting the cloth wet with cool water, Jolene wiped off Mora’s face. “It was bad. Mora. Ye were very close to it spreading the poison all through you. I will warn you, you may fall under a bit of a fever for a few days. Hope it is not too bad.”

  “I dinnae have a few days.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My cousins are going hunting for my youngest brother. He is just seven. We heard how Robert plans to get his hands on poor Andrew. He plans to get himself named guardian of the boy. I ken he will torment the boy until he can find a way to kill him without anyone kenning he was the one who did it.”

  “Sad to say, I know just the sort of men you speak of. It reminds one of when a cat corners a mouse. Poor thing tries to flee, but the cat keeps it cornered and toys with it a while more before killing it. I believe it is one of the reasons some people truly hate cats, that moment of what appears to people to be naught but a deep mean. Your cat is lovely. I want a small one like that. I dinnae suppose she has kittens often.”

  Mora almost laughed. “That would mean she would have to go out and find a strange cat, a male cat. Nay. She never goes out unless I can go with her. Or some other person she sees as safe. Doesnae mean she willnae be caught some day.”

  “Get some rest. I will fetch you a clean shift and then you can sleep. I have a potion to help you if you cannot sleep.”

  “Nay, I believe I will have little trouble sleeping.”

  “I will fetch the shift now.”

  The moment Jolene left, Mora had to grip her hands tightly together to keep herself from massaging, or worse, digging at the pain in her side. At the moment, there was little comfort to find in the knowledge that what Jolene had done would help her. She closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath as she tried to fight the pain.

  When Jolene returned, Mora snapped out of a light doze and knew she had been close to going to sleep. Right next to the woman marched Freya. Her cat showed no hint of unease around the woman, and even though Mora told herself it was foolish to trust in an animal’s opinion, she did.

  She sat up with help from Jolene and hissed with the pain of the movement. Once the shift was on though, and she was able to lie back down, she quickly recovered. Freya leapt up on the bed, avoiding her wounded side, and curled up next to her.

  “Do you need a box of dirt for her?”

  “Oh, aye, if it is nay too much trouble.”

  “Well, from all you said, I realized you will not be able to be her guard outside, so it might be best. We had one for Old George when winter came as he loathed the cold, and I quickly got weary of cleaning up messes by the kitchen door. Be right back,” she said even as she hurried out the door.

  Soon she had all she needed, Jolene even placing a tankard of cider on the table by the bed. The woman promised to let Gybbon know where Mora was and explain that she would not be coming down the stairs soon. Mora curled her arm around her cat, holding her closer to her uninjured side, and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Gybbon frowned at Jolene when she returned alone. “Where is Mora?”

  “She is resting.”

  “Was it that wound she tried to tell me was just a scratch?”

  Jolene sighed and nodded. “Aye, and she will have to rest for a few days if she wants it to heal.”

  “It was no scratch, was it?”

  “No. To be fair, it may have looked like one when she first bandaged it, but something made the small cut widen. She thinks it was when Jester tossed her off. I have cleaned it, stitched it, and put a clean bandage on as well as some healing cream. She will be fine soon. We just have to keep a close watch for a fever but e’en that may not be serious.”

  “At least she had something to break her fast.”

  “A full belly can be very helpful in healing. The cat is with her. I did worry it might hurt her wound in some way, but it carefully avoided it. I had Jeannette bring in a box of dirt for the cat as Mora said the animal does not go out unless she has a guard.”

  “Ye wouldnae either if ye had to fret about even what flies in the air seeing ye as a quick meal.”

  “Might be why it is so hard for me to find a runt,” Jolene murmured.

  “That and the fact that many a mama cat allows the runty ones to be pushed aside by the others,” said Sigimor. “One of those ugly, hard facts of life.”

  “Of which there are far too many,” said Jolene.

  “True, but at least we are in a quiet time, no battles or wars. Havenae e’en had a raid. Men are getting soft,” he said with a hint of sadness, but he glanced at his wife as he spoke, and his eyes were full of amusement.

  Gybbon decided it was time to talk about something that would draw Sigimor from his game of irritating his wife into yelling at him. “So, what do ye think should be done about her cousin?”

  “Kill the murdering bastard,” Sigimor replied. “Aye, and as quickly as ye can.”

  “Sigimor,” Jolene said in such a mildly scolding tone Gybbon suspected she agreed with her husband. “Killing is not always the answer.”

  “Sometimes, lass, it is the only answer. Dinnae forget, the mon now seeks to get his well-bloodied hands on a lad of only seven and make sure he isnae alive long enough to inherit what his poor murdered parents have left him.”

  “True. I just find it hard to believe anyone would murder a whole family just to have their house and lands, especially when there is a big inheritance coming his way anyway.”

  “That reasoning is what troubles Mora now and then,” Gybbon said. “She cannae understand it, either. In truth, it does make little sense. They are killing people for what is but a small piece of the estate their da holds, and I dinnae believe Robert intends to share any of that with his brothers, either.”

  Gybbon shook his head over the senselessness of it all and asked Sigimor, “So where is this son ye are so puffed up about? And, come to think of it, where are your lassies?”

  “My son is asleep as all smart bairns should be, and my beautiful girls are visiting Ilsa. They do tha
t now and then, so when the illness came I sent them right off to her.”

  “I hope ye sent her some help to deal with them as weel,” Gybbon teased.

  “Seven maids,” said Jolene. “The ones that often help care for them so they know all their tricks.”

  Gybbon laughed but then grew serious. “Mora’s uncle, the laird and the father to her cousins, had fallen ill. It was soon after that happened that the trouble began.”

  “She thinks they had a hand in that, does she?” asked Sigimor.

  “Aye. It fits, doesnae it? The laird liked her parents a lot. Her father was his youngest brother even though they had a break that ended the closeness they used to have, and the mon never had a problem with what the mon had been given.”

  “Then Robert decided he wants that piece back and suddenly the laird is near to dying. The mon who was caring for him has also been killed and Robert is blaming Mora. He is claiming she stole his sword and cut the mon down.”

  “That wee lass?”

  “Men are all too quick to believe women are murderous liars.” Jolene shook her head. “And if they are led to believe she did it because the mon kenned she was poisoning the laird, something else all men believe women commonly do, then she has to also worry about the sheriff or his men.”

  “Aye, sadly true. I just wish I kenned a way to find out the fate of her other two brothers. There is nary a male to stand for her now and it would help a great deal if she had one.”

  “She has you, and a Murray on your side is not a bad thing to have.”

  “Nay, it isnae,” said Sigimor, “and I would stand at her side if it was needed as weel. Mayhap ye ought to get her to Gormfeurach.”

  “Her parents told her to come shelter with you.”

  “I ken it, and she is most welcome if that is what she chooses, but right now my keep and, sadly, a lot of my men in it are too sick to be much help.”

  “The sickness spread so far?”

  “Aye. ’Tis why I decided to get the three of us out of there. I was slower to act than I really liked but have been keeping a watch on things. It appears to be passing but they are all weak as babes.”

  “Then, aye, I will take her to Gormfeurach as soon as we can find the boy.”

  “That I can help ye with. We will set to it in the morning.”

  “I will tell Mora.”

  “Do ye mean to take her with ye?”

  “I dinnae really want to, but the boy might come faster if we do take her.”

  “True. We will see how she fares in the morning.” Sigimor stood and grabbed his wife by the hand, tugging her out of her seat.

  Gybbon watched them go and a few moments later two women hurried in to clear away the last of the food. He rose and made his way up the stairs. He was just thinking that Sigimor had not told him where he was to sleep when he noticed a door open and, as he looked into the room, saw his belongings dumped on the bed. He was just about to go inside when he heard a soft scratching.

  Walking down the hall, he stopped when he saw a tiny gray paw slide out under the door. He opened the door and found Mora whispering to her cat to come back. Once he stepped inside, the cat ran to the bed. Gybbon walked to the side of Mora’s bed and looked down at her, then sighed. She would not be going with them in the morning. She was pale but there were hints that she was feeling a bit feverish. There were flags of red in her cheeks and her eyes were half shut and far too bright.

  “A scratch?” he drawled as he sat on the edge of her bed.

  “Well, that was all it felt like and it wasnae so bad when I looked at it and bandaged it. I blame Jester.”

  “Why not? I often do. Of course, it wouldnae have been made worse if ye had tended it properly in the beginning.”

  Mora just rolled her eyes. “It has been weel tended now. Washed, wrapped, and sewn up neatly and had cream put on it.”

  He peeked into the tankard set on her table but saw only a tiny bit of cider. “Did she leave ye a potion to help ye sleep?”

  “Nay, I didnae want one.” She glanced at the tankard. “I drank all the cider.”

  “I will fetch ye more.”

  “Thank ye. When I wake up, I wake up verra thirsty.”

  “No need to try and look pleading and pathetic; I said I would fetch ye some.”

  “I didnae look either.”

  He laughed and bent to kiss her forehead, taking note of how hot it was. “I will bring ye two.”

  Mora smiled at his back as he walked away, then lightly touched the place he had kissed. She knew it had just been a friendly brush of his lips, but it had made her heart race. Then again, she thought with a grimace, that could just be the fever she could feel building in her. She closed her eyes, then opened them again fast as she did not wish to be asleep when he returned.

  When Gybbon walked in with two tankards of cider he found Mora sitting up against her pillows. She looked asleep but her eyes opened the moment he set the tankards down. Cautiously he sat down on the edge of the bed again.

  “Sigimor and I are going to ride out tomorrow and search for your wee brother. So mayhap before ye sink deep into a fever and cannae say anything of sense, ye could tell me where this Aunt Maggie lives and what your wee brother looks like.”

  “Weel, Aunt Maggie lives in a wee cottage near the butcher shop. Its door is painted blue and there are flowers all around. Andrew is a bit tall for his age, thin, has hair that is an odd mix of brown, red, and gold, and big blue eyes. He also is ne’er without his soldier.”

  “His soldier?”

  “Aye. Our da carved him one with a big broadsword and Andrew always has it with him. If ye think the boy ye find is Andrew, just ask to see his soldier. He will have it on him somewhere. Says it is his protector, which is what Da said, I think. He is a painfully shy child and my da thought it might give him the courage to be a little less so. He calls it the Bruce.”

  “That will do. Anything we can use to convince this Aunt Maggie we are safe?”

  “Ah, that is a bit harder. Ye could say something about Freya, I think. Oh!” She sat up a little straighter. “Ye can say something my father said a lot. Checkmate! Time for another game.”

  “I can remember that. It could be that she may have an idea of what Sigimor looks like.”

  “My mother most assuredly told her about him, but I think just his name, size, and red hair will be enough.”

  “Then we should be successful.” He reached out and held her hand because what he had to say next might prove hard for her to hear. “If we cannae find your Aunt Maggie and the boy has been left alone, where would be a likely place for him to hide?” He felt her hand clench on his but could see she was thinking hard.

  “There is an old oak at the back of the rear garden at the manor, looks half dead. It is hollow inside and Andrew can climb way, way up into that hollow part and stay there. All of us had to swear on his soldier that we wouldnae ever tell anyone about that as he needed a safe place and that was it. But I might be better in the morning and ye can take me with ye.”

  “Ye ken ye are a little feverish, right?”

  “Aye. Just a wee bit though.”

  “Weel, having suffered a few wounds in my time, I believe it will get worse before it starts to get better.”

  “Oh. Damn.”

  “Exactly.” He stood up and lightly brushed a kiss over her mouth. “Get a lot of rest. Sigimor and I ken how to hunt someone.”

  “Good night,” she said as he walked to the door, and he just waved back at her.

  Mora sighed and closed her eyes as she settled herself flat on the bed. The moment her pet curled up next to her she put her arm around the animal and closed her eyes. She prayed Andrew had no need to go to his secret safe place. That would mean Aunt Maggie had been killed.

  Despite her best efforts to stop them, a few tears slid down Mora’s cheeks. She was losing too many of her loved ones. If she lost little Andrew, too, she was not sure how she could bear it.

  But ye will,
a voice whispered in her mind, and it sounded so much like her father she actually looked around the room expecting to see him. The fever was clearly disordering her mind, she decided, and closed her eyes. They would find Andrew, she told herself firmly. The boy would have at least two strong knights hunting for him and protecting him.

  She wished hard for her fever to fade so she could go with them, but her heart did not really believe that would happen, so she prayed. A rough tongue went over her cheek and she knew she was still crying a bit, which always upset Freya. She fumbled a bit before she could scratch her pet’s ears, and the animal’s purring was enough to help her sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Gybbon stretched, then reached for his clothes. It had been good to sleep in a bed again. It had taken so long to be free of Mora’s cousins that he had feared he would be making himself a bed on the hard ground again, and it would probably have been damp as well after all the rain they had gotten. He was not fond of that.

  He had been spoiled, he thought, and grinned as he pinned his kilt. Too much of the soft life, he decided as he stepped out of his room. Hearing Sigimor talking, he headed down the small hall to the stairs. He frowned as he passed the room Mora had been given. He heard a faint scratching and quietly opened the door to find Freya staring at him. Glancing toward the bed, he saw that Mora still slept soundly.

  Freya stepped out to sit by his feet and he quietly shut the door. By the time he reached the dining hall he became all too aware that he still had the little cat at his side. This is what comes of feeding an animal, he scolded himself. Sighing with resignation, he walked in and took the seat on Sigimor’s left when the man pointed to it. The cat hopped up to sit beside him.

  “I see ye have brought your cat,” Sigimor drawled, making no attempt to hide his amusement.

  “Mora still sleeps and this isnae my cat.”

  “Oh, hush, you two,” said Jolene. “She is a sweet cat. And so dainty and small.”