“Let me out!” she shouted.
She went back to the door, feeling desperate. The fireplace was stocked with logs, some of which had not burned yet, even though the fire had died down to ash. She gripped one and grabbed it, beating with it on the door.
“Let me out!” she shouted, feeling her voice get harsh and rough, but not caring. “Let me out!”
She beat on the door repeatedly, trying to make as much noise as possible. At length, she heard the sound of running feat.
“Shut up, you daft thing!” somebody shouted. She heard the bar across the door being lifted.
A guard ran into the room. She was standing behind the door, still holding the branch. He looked around, unable to see anything in the all-enveloping darkness. She stayed where she was, swaying back into the shadow by the doorway.
“Where are you, you doxy?” he called. He stumbled into the room and tripped on the sacking on the floor that she’d been given as a blanket. He cursed and, as he fell, she hit out at him with the branch, running down the stairs.
A guard was coming up as she ran. She screamed and ran into him, unable to stop. He fell backward and she fell, too. They rolled down the steps together.
“Get her!” the guard behind her was screaming. She landed at the bottom of the staircase, dazed. The guard she’d knocked over was oddly still – either knocked unconscious, or more gravely injured. She shuddered, then, as someone ran at her, drew the unconscious guard’s dagger.
“Drop that!” the guard in front of her screamed. She almost did it out of instinct, but she saw the terror in his eyes. She let herself enjoy it – a new sensation – and then ran left as he roared, lunging at her with his dagger.
“Help!” Seonaid screamed, running down the hallway. She ran into somebody’s back.
“Alec!”
He turned sharply. He was wearing his black cloak, and he was holding a bared sword. His eyes blurred with confusion and then gleamed with recognition.
“You!” he shouted. “How did you escape?”
“Seonaid!”
Seonaid screamed and dropped the dagger. “Everett!”
There he was! Leaning on the wall, one arm bleeding profusely, his face white, hair loose and damp, it was nonetheless Everett. She ran to him, throwing her arms around him.
“Get behind me,” he whispered, as Alec swung at him with the sword, a cleaving blow that Everett ducked away from.
“Alec! Stop it!” Seonaid screamed. “What are you thinking?”
It seemed as if Alec was deaf to reason, though. He glared at her, turning his blade on her. She stopped dead. Everett roared and ran at him, armed with a dagger not unlike the one she’d gathered for herself.
“Sir!” a guard yelled, running into the eerily-lit hallway. “Can we…”
“Stay out of it,” Alec commanded.
The guard looked confused, but nodded. Seonaid watched as he retreated into the doorway, though his eyes watched the way Alec stepped back, blade level.
“I’ll kill you first,” Alec said with no evident animosity to Everett. “Then I’ll take back Seonaid.”
“You won’t, Alec!” Seonaid shouted. “You cannot now.”
Alec turned on her, blade raised.
“Whist,” Everett whispered. Seonaid pointed her dagger at Alec, but he hit his sword against it, making her wince and fall back against the wall, arms falling to her sides.
“You can wait in the stairwell,” he said contemptuously to Seonaid.
She stayed where she was. Everett charged at Alec from behind, but he arced round and his blade sliced at Everett’s chest.
“No!” Seonaid screamed.
Everett stepped back. He was bleeding, but he was not seriously cut. He took another step back. He held the dagger in his right hand, his left arm still bleeding, his sleeve caked in darkening blood. Seonaid could smell it and the iron tang made her stomach ache.
“You can’t fight to save your own skin,” Alec said contemptuously. He stepped forward again, and his strike was almost lazy, but it sent Everett stumbling forward onto one knee. As Alec stepped in to finish the job, Seonaid felt her fear-induced paralysis suddenly shatter, like icicles melting.
“No!” she screamed. She ran at Alec, knife level. She felt it strike his ribs and go sideways, not piercing them, but making a slice into his side. His arm dropped and he stepped back, eyes wide, expression shocked.
“Everett!” she screamed. “Now! Run.”
Everett looked around. They were beside the front door. He needed to step back two paces, and they would be outside. Seonaid ran to him, grabbing his shoulders.
“Run! Fast!”
He got to his feet and, stumbling backward and then taking a step sideways, he ran into the darkness.
Seonaid gripped his hand. She could feel slick wetness, and didn’t know if it was blood, and, if so, if it was his or hers. Nor did she particularly care. All that mattered right now was for them to get away. As far away as possible.
They ran.
“No!” Everett gasped, as he tripped and, together, they rolled down an inclined plane, coming to rest at the foot of a spreading tree. Seonaid lay down, too tired to move.
Behind them, she heard riders erupting from the garrison. Hoof beats sounded down the path, which must have been dangerously close to where they had fallen. Had they tried to escape along it, they would undoubtedly have been found. She drew her body close to Everett and wrapped her arms tight around him, trying to lie as still as possible.
The hoof beats disappeared into the darkness and the woods were silent again.
“You escaped,” Everett whispered. His breath was rasping and she felt her heart ache.
“I got out,” she amended. “You saved me!” How had he got here? How was he able to find her? She had no idea! It was a miraculous happening.
“You saved me, too.”
She turned to see his eyes in the darkness. They glinted and she wrapped him close in her arms, feeling pain in her chest. She couldn’t bear to lose him! She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears run, hot and fast, down her cheeks.
“Everett,” she whispered. “You came back.”
“Och, aye,” he murmured. He rolled over. “Ought we tae try and run away? Or is it best, do ye think, if we just…wait…here?”
Seonaid sat up. She was unscathed, apart from bruises and scratches. She looked down at him. She put her hand on his chest, but the wound there seemed only a surface cut. She could feel blood, but it was already starting to clot and she was not particularly concerned about it. The one in his left arm was much worse. She rested a hand on it, feeling the steady pulsing of blood and the still leaking trickle down his arm, into his stiffening shirt sleeve.
“We need tae get ye tended to,” she said.
“Och, aye,” he said again, rolling over. “But it’s no’ plausible right now.” He reached for her and stroked her hair. “Och, you’re beautiful, lass.”
She felt her eyes damp with tears. “It is plausible,” she said angrily. “I will not let you lie here and die, Everett McDowell.”
He smiled, though she could see that simply smiling caused him pain. His teeth seemed very white in the pallor of his face.
“Och, lass,” he said. “It would be a grand time to die.”
She shook him. “You are not dying, Everett!” she hissed. “I’m going tae bandage this cut.”
She noticed he still had the dagger and she reached for it. He let go of it and she used it to cut a section off her dress. Focusing on his arm, she wrapped the bandage around it and tied a firm knot over the cut, gritting her teeth and using all of her remaining strength.
“There…” she grimaced.
As she tied it off, another patrol rode past. She flattened herself to lie on the ground behind him. The hoof beats went past steadily and on down the path way.
They lay together, hearts pounding. She held Everett close and wished she never had to let him go. Here, now, he was alive and they
were safe. She didn’t want time to carry on. She wanted to stay in this moment forever, when, at least, they were both safe.
“Lass,” he grunted. “I’m lying on my arm.”
Seonaid chuckled and rolled over, feeling tears spring to her eyes as he grunted and rolled onto his back. There was something so moving about his ability to be so pragmatic, even now. He lay on his back, breath rasping, chest heaving, even though it was a relatively small effort.
“We need to find help,” Seonaid whispered.
“Aye.” Everett chuckled breathlessly. “We do. But I don’t think we can, lass. It would be best for ye tae leave me here. You’re not hurt. You could get back home safely. Take my horse…”
“Nonsense!” She gripped his shoulders, resisting the urge to slap his face for him when he gritted his teeth. He was in enough pain, she remembered. However, this defeated talk was making her furious!
“I am not going anywhere without you,” she said angrily. “And how can you even suggest I leave you here, to die alone! We are getting help.”
He grinned and she noticed again how frighteningly pale he was. He had lost so much blood! It scared her. “Lass, I ken I sound sorry for myself. But I’m not. I’m just being realistic. Who is going to help us, out here in the dark?”
Cart wheels rattled on the path. Seonaid sprang to her feet.
“They are!” she said. “Hello! Hello?”
“Lass…” Everett started coughing. He was trying to stand, evidently planning to hold her here, but Seonaid was determined. She ran onto the path way, waving a section of fabric from her skirt, a white flag to alert people in the darkness.
“Help!” she called. “Please! Help us!”
The cart slowed, then stopped. To her utter disbelief, she found herself addressing a woman with long pale brown hair. The woman was seated beside a well-built, silent man.
“Miss? Get in quick.”
Seonaid felt her heart soar. “Thank you!” she said, her legs weak. “But you have to help my husband.”
“He’s hurt, aye?” the woman said. She was already getting down off the cart.
“Yes. He’s here, in the ditch. We might need to lift him…”
“Luke? Get down there, will ye?” the woman said carefully to the man. “We need to get a man into the cart.”
Almost crying with relief, Seonaid followed the man down the inclined plane, pointing wordlessly to Everett, who was lying on one side, apparently unconscious. The man grunted and bent and then, without evident effort, lifted Everett up and carried him up the slope. He loaded him into the cart while Seonaid and the woman conversed.
“I heard Westford say he was going here,” the woman said. “I didn’t think I would find two wounded people, though.” Her face tightened with anger, and Seonaid noticed she was a striking woman, if somewhat unnerving.
“I’m not injured,” Seonaid protested.
The other woman smiled almost tenderly. “No. I’m sure you were born covered in bruises. Lass, you’re barely conscious. Now, if Luke’s finished, get in the back and we’ll set off. We have little enough time.”
Seonaid did as she was bid, and lifted herself up into the back of the cart, her arms protesting at the effort. She leaned on the boards beside Everett, who was lying on his back. Her hand rested on his shoulder, where she could feel his hair and, as the cart jolted, stroke his face. She was so tired that it was only as they set off that she realized the woman had mentioned Westford’s name.
How did she know? And why did she come to find me?
She was still puzzling over it while her eyelids drooped and, more wounded and exhausted than she realized she was, she fell abruptly asleep.
ON SAFE GROUND
Everett woke to the odd sensation of being lifted. At first, he had no recollection of anything save the fight, and he came abruptly awake, struggling and thrashing and fighting the man who held him.
“Hold him, Luke. He’s still fighting,” an amused voice said. He felt suddenly silly and went still. The voice was so disparaging, so mildly amused, that it instantly reduced his fight into absurdity.
Which I reckon it is. I’m all but unconscious.
As he was lifted, the cut across his ribs opened and stung terribly. He gasped out and wriggled, then felt himself laid down on a soft surface.
“I’ll get bandaging this one,” the woman’s voice continued with some amusement. “And if you’ll lift the other one? You can lay her on the chair there. Thank you, Luke.”
The other one? She? Seonaid!
“Seonaid…” he murmured.
“Yes, she’s arrived,” the amused low voice continued. “And she’ll likely be awake sooner than you, too. Not that you’re asleep, mind you, but I wouldn’t say you were exactly alert. Which is good,” she added, and he heard the sound of shears being used to cut something. “Or I wouldn’t be able to stitch this wound.”
He gasped as the cut through remains of his sleeve were drawn back and something cold and damp descended onto his arm. He tried to lie still, but the pain was quite bad and he drew in another shuddering breath.
“Now we can start stitching. Luke? Have you seen my supplies?”
He heard somebody opening a cupboard, and then the woman turned around, and came back holding a bundle. She laid it on another small table and lit a candle. He blinked, looking up at her in surprise.
“Miss Grady!”
“Yes, it’s me,” she said lightly. “Now. If you’ll lie still, I think we can get you stitched up.”
He lay still. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the unbearable pain. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel anything terrible – it felt almost itchy, and it did sting and burn, undeniably, but it was nothing like he imagined being stitched to feel.
“You’re still too shocked to feel much – and the bang on the head is helping, too,” she said mildly as she worked. “Now. Another stitch or two, and we’ll have it fixed. You’ve lost an awful lot of blood, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if that’s why your arm’s so numb!”
“Thanks,” he said through gritted teeth. “Will I survive?”
“I reckon,” she said mildly. “Now. There…if you’ll just sit up? Good man. I’ll tie this knot.”
She bent briefly closer to her work, and when she straightened up again, his arm felt oddly tighter where the cut had been. He was starting to feel pain now, and he winced and groaned.
“Aye, that’s it,” she murmured. “We’ll pack it with herbs to dull the pain a bit. Where’s that tea of yarrow when you need it..?”
He felt something cold pressed to his arm and the pain diffused a little, becoming more general and less tight. He sat up a little more and she bent to the wound in his side.
“Now this one needs swabbing, and a bandage, but I don’t think we’ll stitch…”
She touched it with the cloth, and he yelled.
“Touch him again and I’ll finish you,” a voice hissed.
Everett stared in surprise. Miss Grady went very still, then turned around to where the voice had issued forth from.
“Seonaid McCarrick, it’s alright.”
“He was yelling,” Seonaid protested. “Stop whatever you’re doing to him.”
“He is being mended,” the woman said with some amusement. “And you’re in need of mending too. Maybe you can light some lamps? It’s dark in here.”
Everett heard Seonaid take a few steps back and then abruptly the room was filled with a soft light. He heard something metal clank, and the woman turned around.
“Luke? Can you start the fire? Before my patient injures herself?”
Everett felt somewhat disgruntled, hearing Seonaid talked about in such an offhand manner, but then the woman pressed a compress to his side and all he could think about was how painful it felt.
“There,” she said. “Now…if you sit up, I’ll bandage it in place. There you go.”
He concentrated on his breath, noticing that helped him to shut out the worst of the pain. She wou
nd the bandage around him and he held his breath, counted to two, then let it out again. In, and out. In…and out.
“There. Now, you can get off this table go and lie on the settee. We’ll see what we can do with your colleague.”
“I’m not hurt!” Seonaid protested hotly.
Everett heard the woman chuckle and, when he looked up at her, he noticed again those colorless eyes. She was standing before the table and Seonaid was sitting on it. Her own face was pale and angry looking. Everett wanted to smile, except that he could see new bruises on her and that made his heart tense with rage.
“There. Just a dab of tincture of yarrow for this wound in your shoulder,” the woman said. Seonaid sat stoically through her ministrations. Everett felt quite silly. He must have been making a terrible fuss. His injuries were bad, though, he admitted. He glanced down at his arm, noticing soberly that it was swathed in bandage, a dark trickle of blood staining it even through the swathing layer.
“Now, I’d say you were ready to lie down,” she said. “Luke? Is there room in the box room?”
Everett heard somebody going up a stairway, and then coming down again. Wordlessly, he saw Seonaid lifted by the overpoweringly muscular man and carried up the steps. He stumbled to his feet.
“I don’t think you should go up,” Miss Grady said lightly.
“I’m going to be wherever Seonaid is going,” Everett mumbled.
The woman laughed, but she didn’t do anything to stop him as he hauled himself up the stairs, step by step.
At the top of the steps, he found himself in a small room. Seonaid had been laid on the bed with particular care. He walked past Luke, the man who said nothing but let him kneel by the bed. He took Seonaid’s hand. Her eyes drifted open and she seemed almost asleep. She smiled.
“Everett,” she whispered. “You’re still alright.”
The Highlander’s Passion (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 3) Page 14
