“Nay. A wolf lives near me in the woods. She likes to follow me, though she keeps her distance. If you’re afraid of a wolf, don’t come along. She’s persistent. There’s something out there she doesn’t like.”
Logan glanced at Torrian. “They don’t scare me if they have a master and they aren’t in a pack. Does she travel alone?”
“Aye. Never seen another,” Donnan said.
“You her master?”
Donnan stroked his beard. “Seems so.”
“I want Bearchun. And if she leads me to the rotten bastard, I’ll cut his body into pieces and roast them for her dinner.”
Donnan glanced at Bethia again. “May I impose on you?”
Her eyes were wide with alarm, but she shook it off. “Of course. Wynda, come.” She turned her hand over to signal for the deerhound to join her.
The animal glanced up at her owner. “Go with Bethia, Wynda. I’ll return for you.”
The hound trotted over to Bethia’s side and awaited further instructions. Logan said, “Bethia, tell Gwyneth where we’ve gone. I hope the hounds do their job and find him fast. Tell her there are five guards with us, and that we could not afford to wait.”
Torrian said, “And talk to Heather for me. I agree that this cannot wait.”
Bethia nodded, glancing over her brother’s shoulder at Donnan. He didn’t like the fear and concern he saw in her eyes, and he vowed anew to put an end to it.
Logan mounted and turned his horse around, heading toward the lists. “MacAdam,” he cried out to Cailean. “Be prepared. I may come back for you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Torrian, then Donnan, and said, “Time for some hunting.”
***
It took them two hours to find anything. Morda had tracked the scent, but apparently Bearchun had been moving quickly. They were more than halfway between Edinburgh and Ramsay land when Shewolf joined them.
He could tell from the way the beast held her head that they were close to something. He watched as she crept lower, her ears on alert, pulling closer to Donnan and Morda. As if on cue, all three animals took off in one direction.
Logan yelled, “Archer, keep down.” He sent three guards after the dogs.
An arrow sluiced through the sky and caught the wolf in her flank, her cries echoing across the land. Torrian and Logan found protection in the pushes off to the side of their path, dismounting to get out of the archer’s line of sight.
Donnan couldn’t believe it. Aye, he’d seen where the arrow had come from, but his gut told him Bearchun was in the opposite direction. He headed off toward a copse of trees behind a group of boulders.
“Donnan, get the hell back here. He’ll take you out with an arrow.”
“Nay, ‘tis a ruse. He’s up in the trees,” he shouted over his shoulder as he rode his horse in that direction. His gaze scanned the area and he slowed his mount. As soon as he heard the sound of footsteps in the trees, he dismounted. The bastard was here; he could almost smell him.
He crept around the group of boulders. The others were headed in the other direction, including his dogs and the now injured wolf, although he had no idea if she still moved.
He came around the boulder, his hand tightly gripped on the hilt of his sword. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but he ignored it. A pair of sweet brown eyes flashed through his mind, driving him to catch the blackguard who’d dared to touch Bethia.
The night was as still as the glassy surface of a loch. An oppressive silence now hung over the area. The only sounds he heard were the cries of the wolf and the hoot of an owl off in the distance. A shadow crossed his vision off to the side, and he spun around only to see a fox running in the opposite direction.
He wiped his forehead again and took two more steps forward, the slight crunch of the leaves beneath his boots giving him away.
A figure jumped out at him from behind a tree, a dagger raised in his right hand, and charged directly at him. He swung his sword, catching the lout in the shoulder, but not before the dagger sliced across his side just below his ribcage.
His attacker turned and ran, mounted the horse he’d hidden in the trees, and took off in the opposite direction of the Ramsay guards.
“Ramsay!” He wished to warn the others that the man was on the run.
He’d seen enough of the man’s face to know it was Bearchun, a scar running across his forehead and into his cheek. It had been scabbed before, but now it just looked red and raw. His left hand moved to his side, the warm liquid from his wound dripping over his fingers. He stared at the blood oozing out, the sting from the blade just now registering.
He’d failed her.
“Bethia, forgive me.”
He dropped his sword and staggered back toward a large boulder, resting his right hand on top of the rock to steady himself. His gaze searched the area for Logan or Torrian, anyone.
Morda raced toward him. He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and moved toward his horse, still tied to the tree where he’d left her, his hand still pressed to the wound that was nearly as long as his hand. He untied her reins and started to lead her toward the Ramsay men, his walk more of a lurch.
Off in the distance, another man came out of the bushes and jumped onto his horse, also hidden in the brush, before heading in the same direction as Bearchun. Donnan had almost reached the others before Logan turned around, his gaze noticing his injury.
“Holy hell, Donnan. What happened?”
Torrian said, “He’s gone. I see two men. We need to follow…” He turned toward his horse, just now noticing Donnan’s wound. “Hellfire.”
He couldn’t speak. The words would not come. Wika reached his side and started to whine, pawing at his leg.
Torrian put his arm around his shoulder and said, “Lie down under the tree. I’ll check your injury. I’ve spent enough time around my stepmother to know how to end the bleeding.”
Logan said, “I’m going for help. We’ll never get him to stay on a horse. I’m going back for Brenna. If I ride at full speed, I can have her back here in less than an hour. We aren’t that far out.”
One of the guards asked, “Are you sure we’re not closer to Edinburgh? I’ll head there and find a healer.”
“Nay!” Donnan shouted. Every face turned to him. “Bethia. Do not bring Brenna. I want Bethia. Only Bethia.”
“My sister treats animals, not people,” Torrian said. “He needs to bring my mother.”
Donnan shook his head. “Bethia is the only one I’ll allow to touch me. Or I’ll accept this as my time to go. Just tell Bethia I’m sorry I didn’t get him.”
Logan said, “I’m leaving. I’ll bring Bethia back.” He gave curt instructions to two of the guards who’d accompanied them, telling them to follow the marauders as far as they could. He flicked the reins of his horse, pointed to another guard to follow him, and left.
“Wait,” Torrian yelled. “Take the dogs back with you. Wika, Morda, go!” Wika whined a bit, but she followed Logan after Donnan echoed the suggestion.
Torrian got him settled then lifted his tunic to see the wound clearly. “Donnan, you need stitching. I hope Bethia can do it.”
“If she can sew an animal, she can sew me.” He closed his eyes because Torrian’s image had gone blurry, something he knew was bad.
Torrian said, “This is going to hurt, but Brenna always says to push on a wound. It helps stanch the bleeding.”
“Do what you must.” He could feel his strength waning. “The dogs?” He couldn’t remember where they’d gone.
“Wika and Morda went with Logan. They’re fine.”
Donnan glanced off to the side, looking for Shewolf, hoping her wound wasn’t bad enough to kill her, but he didn’t see her anywhere. “Torrian. I can feel this is not good. I’ve lost a lot of blood, have I not?”
“Aye, you’re bleeding heavily, but ‘tis slowing. Close your eyes if you must. I’ll awaken you when Bethia arrives. Conserve your strength.”
Donnan closed h
is eyes for a moment, but then jerked his head back up. “Torrian, ‘twas him.”
“The one who stabbed you? You know him?”
“Aye, ‘twas the same one who hurt Wynda. Scar on his face. And…” His eyes closed again. He just couldn’t stay awake.
“Donnan. What?”
He opened his eyes and said, “I struck him in the shoulder with my sword. He’s wounded. On horseback.”
“You did? Well done. ‘Twill slow him down. Now close your eyes and wait for my sister.”
He didn’t argue.
Chapter Nine
Bethia was inside the stables checking on Bretta and her new pups when she heard the shouting. Out of habit, she grabbed her satchel and ran toward the gates. Her uncle and another guard were headed toward them in a full gallop, two dogs trailing them. The gates had been opened in preparation.
“Get Bethia,” was all she heard. She increased her pace.
“What is it?”
Cailean and Sorcha, who’d been in the courtyard, were directly behind her. “Papa?” Sorcha yelled.
He stopped his horse in front of them and managed to get out, “Donnan’s hurt. He’s been stabbed and he wants you.”
Bethia’s eyes widened, but she didn’t move. “But…”
“I know your mother is the healer, but Donnan said he would only allow you to touch him. He needs stitches. Bring your poultices. Grab your cloak and extra clothes. We won’t be back for a while and the nights are cold. Sorcha, I’m taking Cailean with me. If you wish to come, you may. You’re probably safest near that wild beast of a husband of yours, and I could use an archer. We’re not certain, but I think that bastard Bearchun’s out there and he has a decent archer shooting. MacAdam, find me three or four more guards. He went to Edinburgh, I believe, and I aim to follow him once this is finished. Donnan is closer to Edinburgh than he is to the keep, so I’ll wait to make the call on who returns to Ramsay land until you’ve treated him, Bethia.”
“I’ll find my brother and his friends,” Cailean said. “Sorcha? You’re coming, wife. I need you with me. Get what you need from the keep.” He started to leave before turning back and shouting, “Please?”
Sorcha smirked, and she and Bethia headed off toward the keep.
Before they parted ways to go to their separate chambers, Bethia said, “Sorcha, leggings. I need a pair of leggings for under my gown, please.” Her Aunt Gwyneth’s creations were the best protection from the cold.
Sorcha nodded and slipped away.
Once in her chamber, Bethia moved without thinking, grabbing the bag she kept packed for emergencies and a warm cloak. As soon as she had what she needed, she left her chamber, ran through the great hall, and…
“Bethia?” her mother called to her. “What is it?”
“Uncle Logan wants me to tend to Donnan.”
Her father, who stood behind her mother said, “Repeat everything, please.”
“Uncle Logan said Donnan was stabbed by a man they think is Bearchun. Donnan’s asking for me to stitch him. Uncle said we might be headed to Edinburgh afterward to catch Bearchun. Sorcha and Cailean are riding with us.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” her mother asked.
Quade said, “Nay. I’ll not have you both out there if Bearchun’s still loose. Bethia, you may go, but you will return once you’ve done your stitching. I don’t like the idea of you going to Edinburgh without a sound reason. I’ll speak to your uncle while you get your things.” He glanced at her mother. “I’ll make sure he’s taking enough guards for her.”
Her mother said, “Quade, please do not go.” The worry on her mother’s face broke her heart. “Logan and Torrian can handle it.”
Her sire wrapped his arms around her mother and said, “I’m not going anywhere. My knee prevents it, and I have faith in my brother and our son. But I must speak to Logan, remind him of what’s at stake. You know how his temper controls him at times.” He kissed her quickly, grabbed his wooden cane, and headed out the door.
“Bethia, do you think you can stitch a person?” her mama asked. “You’ve done small ones before…”
“Aye, I’ll do whatever I have to. I just hope ‘tis only skin. If ‘tis too deep, I’ll be lost.”
“Nay, you’ll not. Just stitch all the large vessels that are leaking first, then sew the wound in layers if it’s large. Otherwise, the stitches will not hold. I’ll get my poultice and some finer needles for you. The seepage needs to be stopped. You know the rest of what Grandmama and Grandpapa taught me. Wash and plenty of poultice.” Her mother kissed her forehead, then took Bethia’s cloak from her hand and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Go, time is of the essence if he’s bleeding.”
Bethia nodded, grabbed her satchel headed to the door just as Sorcha raced down the staircase. “I brought the leggings for you, Bethia.”
“The extra heavy ones?” her mother asked.
“Aye. I have two for each of us.”
Her mother said to Bethia, “Put one pair on before you leave. No one will see you.”
Bethia did as she suggested. Her mother kissed both of them and said, “Go and Godspeed. If you need help, Bethia, Torrian has assisted me many times.”
As Bethia stumbled out the door, she realized she was finally taking part in one of her clan’s quests. In the past, she’d never wished to get involved, afraid of what might happen.
But this was different. Donnan wanted her, and she couldn’t let him down. As she walked across the courtyard with Sorcha, it occurred to her that Donnan might not make it—a thought that made her quite ill. True, there could be nothing between them because Donnan had pledged never to marry again, but she wasn’t sure she could give her heart to anyone other than that kind, intelligent bear of a man…
Sorcha interrupted her thoughts. “Are you all right with this, cousin?”
Bethia lifted her gaze to Sorcha’s and nodded. “I have to be.”
“You’ll do a great job on Donnan. I think he’s kind of handsome, but then I do like rugged-looking men, not lads. Think of Cailean. Naught soft about him at all.” She giggled and glanced over at Bethia. “Sorry, Bethia. I know how difficult this is for you. It was awful when Cailean took ill at the Grants. I’ll help you if I’m able. And when Donnan’s hale and hearty, I’ll make sure he realizes he’d be a fool to let you go.”
Oh, her cousin was dear to her…
Cailean stood near the stables with two horses. “Hurry, Sorcha. Your sire is barking at me like a daft man looking to hang someone from the portcullis.”
As if on cue, her father’s voice rang out across the yard. “Never mind, MacAdam. Get my daughter mounted. Alan can assist Bethia.”
Before she had time to consider all that had transpired, they mounted up and rode out of the gates.
Bethia’s stomach twisted in a knot, afraid of what she would find. She said a quick prayer to keep Donnan alive until she got there.
***
Donnan awakened to yelling, his mind hazy as he tried to recollect where he was at the moment. The pain in his side reminded him, his hand going to up to guard his injury without thinking.
Torrian knelt beside him. “Over here, Bethia,” he shouted. The thunder of hooves told him there was a new group of horses approaching. The only other voice he recognized was Logan’s, giving his instructions to the guards in the area.
He stared at the stars and their soft light in the sky. His thinking wasn’t as clear as usual, but he guessed that was to be expected. Then she appeared in his vision, looking like an angel, her bright eyes and smile filling him with hope. She sat on a plaid her brother had placed next to Donnan’s side, tucking her legs underneath her, her gown surrounding her.
“Donnan? Tell me what you feel.” She reached for his right hand, squeezing it as a matter of comfort, he guessed. He tried to squeeze back. His left hand still guarded his wound.
She had a clean cloth on her lap and a satchel next to her.
“Dagger wound. About the
length of my hand.” He peeled his hand away so she could look at it. “Too much blood.”
He watched her face, noticing she showed no disgust or revulsion at the sight of his bleeding, gore-stained wound, something that had almost turned his own belly. She used a linen strip to soak up the blood around the wound. “Your bleeding is not too heavy. My guess is Torrian did a good job pushing on it, aye? Mama always taught us to do so right away.”
He nodded as she rambled. Hellfire, but when had he progressed to the point of falling in love with the lass? He hadn’t thought it possible for him to believe in love again, but this woman was beginning to soften his edges. She was threatening to break down all his remaining walls. His heart ached nearly as much as his injury just from looking at her, just from thinking that she wasn’t his, just from wanting her more than anything in the Highlands. He’d thought himself in love with Glenna, at least at first, but his feelings for her hadn’t been anything like the need he fought for Bethia. He was drawn to her like a thousand bees to their queen. Her aura was so powerful, even his dogs and the wild wolf recognized it.
He needed Bethia in his life. To converse with, to touch, to love, and—could he be so lucky?—to be loved in return. That love had been missing in his life.
Glenna had never loved him. She’d only loved him for the wealth he’d been born into. Only loved him because he was…
“Donnan, I must sew your wound. I can give you something to ease the pain.” She fussed with the tools she’d laid out next to her.
He shook his head. “Just sew. I can handle it.” He knew how gentle her touch would be, and had so much faith in this slight woman that he’d trust her to do anything to him.
Logan came into his vision. “Bethia, can you repair it?”
She smiled at Donnan before answering her uncle. “I believe so.”
Logan continued to stare at Bethia, and Donnan noticed that Torrian and a couple of other people stood directly behind her, looking on. “Uncle Logan, could someone please fetch me some fresh water?” Bethia asked. “Is there a burn nearby?”
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