Highland Burn

by Victoria Zak

  “Oh Alice, I do wish it to be true, but he has made it clear as to where I stand.”

  “Nonsense lass, ye are a beautiful woman… a princess of Scotland… he should be so lucky to be wanted by ye.”

  Abigale huffed and blew a strand of hair from her eyes. James brought out Abigale’s curiosity; that was for certain. She wanted to know how it would feel to be loved by a beautiful, intimidating Highlander. After seeing him naked and tasting his kisses, she hungered to explore every muscled inch of his body, to run her fingers through his wavy locks, but most of all she yearned to be wanted by this man. She didn’t know why she felt like this. Mayhap it was his masculinity; the way she felt her body heat when he looked at her or was it the fluttering sensation she felt in her stomach every time he was near? Whatever it may be it was most definitely lust.

  Alice held Abigale’s hands and sincerely looked into her eyes. “Sometimes a man needs a little push in order to see what he really wants and frankly, I’ve seen it in his eyes. He likes ye, lass. Laird Douglas might no show it but he does.”

  “So, what am I to do then? That man is driving me daft.”

  “Ye seduce him.” Effie casually stated this fact as if she had done this type of thing before.

  Abigale’s eyes grew vast with shock. “Seduce him?”

  Effie stood up from her chair, unlaced the front of her dress just enough so her breasts teased. She uncoiled her red hair from its bun and flicked it free. “This is how it’s done.” Effie sauntered seductively over to Abigale.

  Abigale could feel her cheeks blush in embarrassment. What was Effie up to?

  The redhead placed a hand on the back of Abigale’s chair and leaned forward until the tops of her breasts bulged from her dress. With her free hand she playfully rubbed her neck and trailed her fingertips down toward her chest. “My Laird, do ye see anything ye like?" she purred.

  Abigale’s cheeks turned three shades of red. She playfully pushed Effie away and started to giggle.

  “Effie!” Alice reprimanded with shock.

  “What?” Effie stood up and shrugged her shoulders. “If she wants to get the laird’s attention she must have some tricks up her sleeve."

  Abigale tried to stop laughing. She could see why the men took a liking to Effie. Unlike herself, Effie was confident, beautiful, and bold. If only she could be as bold. Finally she caught her breath. “I’m afraid, lassies, no matter how much I show my bits, the laird does no desire me.”

  Alice picked up her needlework and tugged a needle through the fabric with a sly grin. “Rubbish,” she harrumphed. “The laird watches ye like he wants to tear yer dress off yer body. Dinnae worry aboot a thing.”

  Abigale’s mood started to lighten. It felt good to talk freely with Alice and Effie. This must be how it felt to have a sister; someone to jest with, someone to confide in, someone to love unconditionally. Sure the sisters at the abbey were friendly, but this was different. Without judgment or punishment, she could be herself.

  Thunderous footsteps and loud boisterous voices rang throughout the great hall in panic, sending the women to their feet. They rushed to the hall to see what the ruckus was about. The scene Abigale saw taking place right in front of her scared her more than being captured by the English. Conall held a bloody, lifeless body in his arms. With haste, she hurried over to Conall. “Blessed Mary!" Abigale’s hand flew over her mouth in horror. “James?”

  Conall pushed past Abigale. “Alice, fetch the healer,” he roared. “He’s been shot with an arrow in the chest.”

  “Wait, I can help,” Abigale pleaded.

  “We dinnae have time to spare, my lady. Our chief needs the healer.”

  Blood poured continuously from his chest and splattered on to the stone floor. Abigale’s instincts jolted to life as she took over.

  “Conall, take James to his bedchamber and Alice, bring me blankets, lots of them. Effie boil some water.” Abigale began to make her way to the stairs, but when she looked back Conall still stood where he was. “Conall Hamilton if ye dinnae move yer arse I’ll see it hung!”

  Taken aback by her sternness Conall shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  James’s bloodied body lay on the bed. Abigale started to rip his tunic off and examine the extent of his wounds. “How did this happen?”

  “My lady, we were out hunting… we split up… and…" Conall rubbed his hand through his hair and started to pace a trench in the floor beside the bed. “He was shot with an arrow. I had to snap it off at the head so that it wouldn’t go deeper." He pointed at the blood rushing out of James’s chest.

  In all her time at the nunnery’s infirmary mending wounds she had never seen a man survive with this much blood loss. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

  Alice came bolting through the door with an arm full of blankets. Abigale grabbed a small cloth and blotted the blood away from the wounded area. If only she could stop the bleeding long enough, she might be able to find the arrowhead.

  Lifting the blood-soaked cloth, she saw an inch of the shaft poking through his flesh. “Alice, go into the top drawer of my nightstand. There’s a satchel… in that satchel you'll find a reddish-purple flower… I need it worked into a paste with boiling hot water. Can ye do that for me?”

  “Aye, my lady.” Before Abigale could finish her request, Alice had already rushed out of the chamber with the purple flower in her hand.

  “James.” Abigale touched his face and he moaned in pain. “I have to remove the arrow… bite down on this.” Abigale placed a rolled up cloth in James’s mouth and motioned for Conall to assist her.

  “Rory… Marcus… hold his body down. Magnus, give me your whiskey.” Abigale took the whiskey and poured it over the wound which caused James to arch in tremendous pain. “Sorry,” Abigale winced.

  As the whiskey washed away the pooling blood, Abigale had a good view of the wooden shaft. Thank God, the head had not punctured his heart. Gently she pulled on the shaft, testing how deep its barbs had set in. “The head is stuck.” Abigale turned to the men. "Do ye have an arrow spoon… an arrow puller?”

  The men looked at her like she had gone daft. Arrow spoon?

  Abigale took that as a nay. Continuing to blot away at the blood, she noticed that there was more of the arrowhead showing than before. Unbelievable, she thought. She paused and observed James’s wound closer. ‘Tis like his body is pushing the arrow out from his chest.

  Gently, Abigale wrapped her hand around the arrowhead and maneuvered it out of his chest, causing James to jerk with such force that his arm slipped free and threatened to hit Abigale. Rory strained to gain control again. “Sorry… my lady," he grunted, “’Tis like trying to hold down a hogget during a shearing.”

  As the blood rushed over her hands, Abigale didn’t have much time to think. She needed to seal up her husband’s wound, but which plan of action should she take? If she used a hot poker the pain alone could kill him or she could place her faith in healing herbs. One wrong decision and she could be a widow.

  Alice rushed in with a wooden bowl. “My lady.” She offered the paste to Abigale. The healing herbs would have to work, for she didn’t know how much more pain her husband could endure. Quickly she began to smear the purple concoction around and inside the wound. “This will help stop the bleeding and dull his pain. We are going to need to lift him. I need to wrap a pressure bandage around his chest,” Abigale instructed.

  Abigale kept the rags snug against the wound while the men lifted James to a sitting position. James’s head fell back and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Sweet Jesus, it was going to take a miracle to save this man.

  “Effie, hold pressure here.” Abigale took Effie’s hands and placed them firmly on the wound. “Alice, help me wrap his chest.”

  After they wrapped the laird’s chest, they laid him back down on to the bed. Abigale stood over James. He was pale and his breathing was slow, but steady. Sending a prayer up to heaven, she prayed that her healing skills
would help her husband and bring him back to her. She couldn’t lose him, not now… not ever.

  Abigale’s nerves lay bare. Raw emotions from the severity of James’s condition threatened to take her over. She must not fall apart now. Abigale Bruce get it together, she scolded herself. Taking a deep breath she walked over and grabbed the wash basin. Trying desperately to keep calm, Abigale began to wash the bloodstains from his body. Sweat glistened over his unconscious body and it felt as if it was on fire. If the blood loss didn’t kill him, the fever would.

  As Abigale peered up from wiping a smear of blood from James’s forearm, she saw his kinsmen standing around the bed grief-stricken as they looked down upon their fallen chief. These men had so much respect for their ruthless leader. If she was the betting type, she would have bet that anyone of them would have traded places with him and taken the blow of that blasted arrow.

  Alice placed a hand on Abigale’s shoulder and reached for the wash rags. “Let me. Ye should get some rest.” She nodded her head in James's direction, “He’s in God’s hands now.”

  “Nay!” Abigale shook her head and snatched the rag away from Alice. “I will no leave his side.”

  Abigale didn’t mean to be so rude, but the thought of leaving James made her heart stop beating and her lungs deflate. What if he awoke and she wasn’t there? What if he was in pain or what if he started to bleed again? No, she had to be right here by his side.

  Magnus cleared his throat. “My lady.” He wiped a fallen tear nonchalantly from his cheek. “Is there anything else we can do?"

  “Aye,” Abigale choked out a faint whisper, “Go to the chapel and pray.”

  As the last man quit the room, Abigale rubbed her face against James’s hand. “James Douglas, this is no time for ye to be stubborn." She sniffed and fought back tears. “Come back to me.” Her vision clouded, her hands began to tremble, and the air thickened, making it difficult for her to breathe. She needed to be close to him, to feel him breathe, and to hear his heartbeat. Without disturbing him, she climbed into bed, laid her head on his chest away from his wound, and sobbed until she fell asleep.

  Chapter 10

  A debt is owed, the price; his soul.

  The sun shone down through the trees casting an amber hue throughout the glen. “James.” The sweetness of a beautiful voice echoed throughout the forest, warming his skin like sun rays. The soft whisper led James deeper into the glen. As he searched for the sound, a glimpse of a sheer dress hem wisped around a tree slowly and disappeared behind it. “James.” There it was again, washing over his skin like warm honey from the comb. His body ached to feel its warmth. "Come back to me.” He tracked the enchanting sound behind the tree, but to his disappointment, nothing was there. Where was the voice coming from?

  The wind brushed over fallen leaves sending them whirling around James’s feet. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, his body tensed, and his curiosity ran wild. With caution, he turned his large body around and couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Abigale?”

  Wearing a sheer white long-sleeved gown, Abigale stood in front of him. Her long auburn hair floated through the wind, engulfing him with her sweet scent. He reached out to touch her. She was so close, yet too far away. “Abigale,” James whispered.

  Her beauty shone through the sun rays as she stepped into James’s embrace. He held her tight, feeling every lush curve of her body. Running his hands through her hair, he confirmed that she was really here. Well, at least she felt real, but this had to be a dream. In disbelief, James took a step back and looked her up and down. “What are ye doing here, lass?”

  Abigale gently stroked his face and stared deeply into his smoldering depths. “Come back to me, James. I need ye.”

  Aye, definitely this was a sweet dream.

  All of a sudden the forest grew dead silent and darkness closed in around them. Panic-stricken, James grabbed Abigale’s arms a little too firmly. “Abigale, ye must leave. He’s coming for me.”

  “Nay, come with me, please,” Abigale begged.

  Off in the distance James heard a hollow clanking sound echoing through the glen that seemed to grow closer and approached fast. He looked behind him to see where the noise was coming from. The forest trees moved closer together. Branches touched creating a tunnel, and the dirt trail narrowed into a long endless destination.

  James knew who had tracked him down and waited patiently for his soul. This was the reason he didn’t sleep at night, for the bloody bastard haunted his every dream. A cruel, twisted game the menace craved to play. Hunting James as if he were prey. He toyed with James’s mind night after night with visions of his father’s bloody body being tortured, all the while laughing vilely at James’s distress.

  The soul collector knew no boundaries, he collected at will. James had to get Abigale out of his Hell… now! The bloody bastard could have his damned soul, but not Abigale’s. She was everything good and pure in his world, the light to his darkness.

  James turned back around to warn Abigale to run, but much to his surprise she was already gone, leaving a trail of light behind. Desperately he wanted to follow her light, to bathe in her warmth. If only he believed in heaven, then most definitely she had been heaven sent… his angel… his bel ange.

  The air around James cooled. An icy chill slid down his spine, and settled in his bones. He peered down the darkened tunnel, trying to see where the noise was coming from. He felt the ground shake and the smell of sulfur assaulted his nose. “The Essence of Hell.”

  The atmosphere rippled like a stone thrown into still water. Horse hooves pounded like thunder to the earth as a menace raced with purpose, led by unearthly beasts biting at their bits, glowing eyes, and red foam bubbling from their mouths. Black skulls and bones highlighted in silver covered the horse-drawn coach, grayed femur bones acted as spokes on the four wheels that rolled in unison.

  James dove out of the way as the raging team was halted by a black cloaked, faceless coachman. Silver chains connecting the rig to the horses rattled a sinister song as it drew to a complete stop.

  James hopped to his feet in battle stance ready for a fight. An eerie creak bounced off the trees as the door to the coach slowly opened. Heavy hooves pawed viciously at the ground, growing impatient. A black chain mail glove appeared from the open door motioning with a thick finger for James to come join him.

  This was it, James thought. The collector had finally caught up to him. He had been running from this moment all his life. The moment of truth… payment for the sins he’d committed. The slain would be avenged… wrongs would be righted… his soul was the price.

  Tired of avoiding his destiny, he began to walk over to the deathly coach ready to embrace the darkness, when a blast of golden light exploded throughout the glen, blinding everything in sight. The dark horses reared up and raged down the rippling tunnel, sending the blasted coach bucking down the trail behind them. The power behind the explosion sent James to the ground. Blackness clouded his vision and the world fell silent.

  Chapter 11

  He who wants to be a dragon must eat many little snakes. ~ Chinese Proverb

  “You fool!” Sheriff Rickert raised his leather whip and released its fury upon the man’s bare bloodied back. His tone, deep and sharp, filled the damp dungeon. The slender six-foot man with slicked-back salt and pepper hair stood behind his victim. His face, which was aged by the sun and multiple battle scars, possessed a placid anger.

  Sheriff Rickert paced around the bloody body until he was face to face with the man. Grabbing the fool’s chin, he bore down into his eyes forcing him to look at him. “You were to bring me the Black Douglas. Alive!” he hissed and shoved the man’s head back.

  Rickert had been a patient man. However, as of late his patience had been strained, pulled taut, and was about to snap. Seven years was a long time for a man to live with a tarnished reputation without revenge. He’d been made a fool the day James Douglas came back to Scotland to reclaim his lands and th
e family castle. With their chief dead, the clan had been disturbed, which left Castle Douglas defenseless. Being the easy target that it was, Sheriff Rickert and his heavily armed garrison seized the castle and claimed its land.

  Oh, but fate could be a bloody bastard. A vicious attack by James on the garrison left Rickert retreating deep into the forest, running like a scared child to his mother. Coward, he thought. Flashes of that terrifying night flickered through the sheriff’s memory as he recalled the stench of burning flesh and deafening screams. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would have believed the devil himself had showed up to fight that day. He barely escaped alive. A cold shiver snaked down his spine; he had seen the beast.

  “You’ve failed me. You do know the punishment, don’t you?” His English accent dripped with hatred.

  The man stood silent as another crack sliced into his back.

  “Must I remind you fool, I have something very valuable and precious to you.” Rickert stroked his graying goatee. “Your dear sister is at court, unwed and under my protection."

  Sheriff Rickert had held the man’s sister in the royal court as a hostage of sorts. He promised the man that no harm would come to her if he obeyed his every request. A request to bring him the Black Douglas.

  Rickert fondled the leather strip. “Mayhap I should inform King Edward that it’s past time for her to wed,” he stated.

  The man angrily twisted his head to the sheriff and met his devious stare.

  Leaning in close to the fool as if he was telling him a secret, he said, “I wonder what a young Scottish piece of arse would feel like.” The sheriff’s deep chuckle dared the man to break and lose control.

  Giving the sheriff no satisfaction, the man balled up his fists and dug his nails deeper into the palms of his hands.

  Rickert enjoyed inflicting pain, a master of manipulation. Blackmail was a game he played well. Once he had his eyes on a prize, there was no turning back. He became obsessed with seeking out the right time and place to unleash years of pent up fury. No longer could he walk among the crowds in his hometown and not be heckled about being defeated by a young Scottish lad. A Highlander at that. He was in favour with the king no more; the king saw him as a failure.