Chapter Fourteen
Several men fell from the trees as Tristan loosed arrow after arrow from behind the cover of trees now. They were McLeods by the tartan colors.
While two guards dragged their injured to safety, he and Ruari dragged his uncle and the other injured man behind the wagon.
Meanwhile, Merida screamed out at the top of her lungs. “Do not attack. We are now in alliance with the Ross.” She whirled around, fiery hair loosening from its bindings. “Stop at once. I order it. I am Lady Merida McLeod.”
The arrows finally stopped falling and knowing the men were climbing from their perches, Tristan, Ruari and six men rushed toward the trees.
“Do not go,” Merida cried out, rushing after them. “They outnumber ye.”
Ruari pulled his horse to a stop and his face, twisted in fury, turned toward Merida. “Ye knew this would happen, didn’t ye?” He stalked to Merida, whose eyes widened. “Ye meant to have us killed so ye could go home.”
“I did not.” Merida stood up to the furious man, not shrinking away in the least. “It makes little sense. I did not know about us returning until just moments before we left.”
Tristan intervened. “Enough Ruari. We must go see about Uncle Gregor and Fergus,” he said, referring to the injured guard.
He didn’t take the time to see what happened, if anyone followed. All he knew was that he could not lose his uncle. Not so soon after the death of his father.
Gregor lay on the ground, a guard holding a rag over the wound. He’d been pierced through his abdomen. Gregor’s gaze met his. “I will be fine. However, the wagon may be the best way for me to travel forth.” He coughed and the rag became bloodier. Tristan did his best to hide his alarm.
“Where’s Merida?” He stalked away to find his wife.
She stood next to her horse, stroking its long nose, looking up to him as he approached.
“Why are ye not coming to see about my uncle or Fergus? Ye are a healer, are ye not?”
“I was not sure yer men would want me near,” she replied, not seeming upset in the least.
“Come see about them now,” Tristan demanded, looking into the wagon. “Where is the healing basket?”
Elsa, her maid, held it up and scrambled down from the back of the wagon. “I will assist my lady.”
Just then, guards approached with his uncle who had lost consciousness. Merida and Elsa directed the men to lay him upon a pallet that was laid out quickly. Merida then tore his tunic open and looked at the wound. “Ye should not have pulled the arrow out.”
“We pushed it through,” one of the men snapped.
She didn’t bother answering. Instead, she sent the same man to fetch water and instructed another to roll Gregor so she could peer at the exit wound. Once the water was brought, she rinsed out the wound and packed it with clean cloths. That seemed to thwart the bleeding. His midsection was bound tightly.
Fergus was in better condition; the man sat up, his back against a tree trunk. He’d been struck in the upper chest, but did not seem to be badly injured. Once Merida bandaged him, she turned to Tristan.
“I need to look at yer arm.”
It was then that Tristan noticed he was bleeding, the blood seeping through his tunic and dripping to the ground. In his haste to begin shooting arrows back, he’d not noticed the arrow remained. It must have broken off because only a few inches of wood stuck out from his arm.
As if knowing about the injury sent an alarm though his body, pain pierced and he swayed. Thankfully, the warrior in him took over and he let out a breath. “Very well.”
He lowered to the tree stump by the fire and pulled his tunic off. He didn’t want her tearing it since it was a favorite of his.
Merida studied his wound and pronounced it safe for the arrow to be pushed through. She went back to Gregor while one guard held Tristan by the shoulders and Ruari pushed the arrow through. Tristan groaned at the tearing of flesh, his vision blurring for a moment.
“Gregor remains unconscious,” Ruari said, looking worriedly toward where Merida hovered over their uncle.
Tristan’s heart thundered as anger filled him. “How can we keep a truce when they continue to attack us? Tis not possible.”
“It was what ye agreed to.” Merida had approached. “Ye cannot go back on yer word.”
“Yer clan did.” He stood, no longer caring about the wound. “Yer clan attacked while there was a truce in place. Ye cannot blame it on us this time.”
Fire flew from her eyes as she leaned forward to make a point. “Ye could have waited for us to leave. Allowed for father to send a scout to ensure the way would be safe.”
“There should not be a need for it. We had a truce before even going to the Mackenzie’s.” He couldn’t help but shout at her. “Ye better pray my uncle does not die. I will ensure every last McLeod is dead.”
Merida’s eyes rounded. “Whoever it was that attacked has nothing to do with me and my family.”
“They were McLeods,” he yelled.
Her face red, she stormed closer, poking a finger into his chest. “Obviously, they were not aware of the truce. They would have been the ones my father would have sent word to.”
Jaw clenched to keep from yelling further, he growled, “Word should have been sent when the truce was agreed upon, otherwise they wouldn’t have broken it.”
It became evident that Merida was not about to back down. Tristan understood, on some level, that she was right but, at the same time, he was not wrong in that the McLeod should have sent word to all his people of the truce.
The guardsmen pretended not to be listening, but it was evident by the silence that they were.
Merida looked from him to where her horse was, a sign she thought of fleeing. “I do not take responsibility for anything. It was a choice made by ye without asking me. If given the choice, I would not stand here as yer wife right now.”
“And neither would I as yer husband,” he answered. “Now, go see about my uncle and ye better pray he lives.” He pointed to the man still lying on the ground.
She took a step forward and then turned to regard him. “The truce is over whether or not he lives and we both know it.”
They rode faster toward the Ross keep. Although still unconscious, Tristan’s uncle clung to life. Merida rode with him in the wagon, her attentions like that of a mother bear attempting to keep him from jostling overly much.
By the time Dun Airgid game into view, everyone was exhausted. A party of guards greeted them and immediately escorted them through the gates.
There was activity everywhere, the men helping take his uncle from the back of the wagon and assisting Fergus as well.
The news of the attack soon reached a fevered pitch with everyone demanding they immediately go and seek retribution for what had happened. Tristan followed his cousin into the great room, searching out his brother.
There was much to discuss and not enough time to see about everything at once. He wondered for a moment if perhaps he should go ensure his uncle fared better, but he knew Merida would stay with him and be joined by their healer and Elspeth. Word would be sent to him if anything of note occurred.
Malcolm rushed to him, emerging from the corridor that led to his study. “What the hell happened?”
“We were attacked by McLeods,” Tristan replied, his jaw tight. The anger from his argument earlier still coursed through him. “The damn laird must not have sent word to everyone of the truce.”
Malcolm’s brown gaze moved to a large room near the kitchens. The healer had been sent for and Malcolm’s wife, Elspeth, who was herself an expert, had raced by earlier.
“First let us to see about Uncle Gregor. Then we will talk.” Malcolm frowned and searched the great room. “What of yer wife? Ye cannot just leave a McLeod unescorted right now.”
Tristan turned toward the main entry. There wasn’t anyone there. “She may be with Uncle Gregor.”
The brothers hurried to the sick room. Once th
ere, Gregor was on one of the beds. On one side of the sick man was their healer and on the other was Elspeth, their heads together as they examined him. Other than that, there wasn’t anyone else in the room.
Malcolm met his gaze. “Go see about yer wife. I will remain here.”
In the courtyard, the people had dispersed to smaller groups that seemed to continue speaking of what had happened. No doubt, most feared the return of battling. He headed to the stables knowing Merida would be seeing about her beast before seeking him.
“Where is Merida?” he asked Ruari and the stable hands who were unsaddling horses and brushing them down.
“She went with her horse and her maid toward the corral,” Ruari said, his attention back to the horse he led to a stall.
Annoyed, Tristan decided she’d come to find him once she did whatever it was she was going to do with the horse. He motioned a lad over. “Go to the corral and watch over Lady Merida. Ensure she is not harmed and bring her directly to the great room once she is done with her horse.”
“The McLeod?” the young man asked with a grimace. “Tis true ye married a McLeod?”
“Go do as ye’re told,” Tristan snapped. “Now.” With a sheepish expression, the lad ran off.
“Are we back at war with the McLeods?” a guard approached and asked.
“I do not know. Once I speak to Malcolm, we will decide.”
“If something happens to yer uncle, we cannot let it lay,” the man said, eyes forward. “Tis a shame really.”
Tristan looked to the man. “Why do ye say that?”
“I planned to marry later this spring. I will not during time of war. I will not leave a widow.”
Understanding the man’s point of view, Tristan suddenly wished it would not be so, that his clan would live in peace for a bit longer.
He walked into the keep with trepidation and headed to the sick room. Just as he rounded the corner, Malcolm came out of the doorway.
“Uncle Gregor has woken. He will survive this.”
Relief washed over him. “I feel responsible in part. For leaving so hastily.”
“Tis not yer fault the McLeod did not see to it that everyone knew about the truce.”
“He asked for time to send scouts ahead.” Guilt assailed him at the thought his uncle could have died because of his decisions.
Malcolm seemed to understand. “I know what ye feel.”
Once in the great room, the same lad he’d sent to find Merida meandered from table to table, looking under them. Many times, children did it in hopes of finding coins dropped by visitors. Most of the time, the servants found them first.
“Why are ye not fetching Lady Merida?” he asked the boy, who jumped at the sound of his voice.
The boy frowned up at him. “She has gone. My friend, William, said she paid him a coin to show her a different way out of the keep.” He must have caught sight of something shiny because he dove under the table, his dirty hands moving rushes aside.
“Ah!” the boy yelled when Tristan lifted him up by the back of his tunic and held him up until they were face-to-face. “Take me to this boy, William, and do not be surprised if ye get a lashing for not finding me right away.”
The boy ran to keep up with Tristan as they walked to where a skinny boy sat atop a corral fence, watching the horses. Often, orphans and foundlings were given menial jobs that paid them a coin or two. They were fed and housed in two small cottages Elspeth had built for them.
William’s eyes rounded and he scrambled from the fence. Before he could run away, Tristan managed to grab him by his scrawny arm. “Show me where she went.” He didn’t raise his voice. At this point, he was not only exhausted and hungry, but also wished for nothing more than a bath and his bed.
Being a husband was turning out to be much more troublesome than he could have imagined.
The boy’s face brightened and he raced to a corner behind a garden shed. He pointed to rocks that had been stacked and a makeshift ladder. “We made this to go to the village.” There was pride in his voice. Obviously, the lads snuck away often to spend their coin and had become prolific in their escape routes. Not that anyone would have stopped them, but Tristan understood the need for adventure.
“What of her horse?”
William shrugged. “I suppose the other lady took it. When she left out the front.”
He let out a long breath to keep from yelling at the boys. “Very well. Go on.”
Just as he passed the stables, Ruari came out. “Where are ye headed?”
“My wife left.” He didn’t bother turning around, already grabbing one of the horses a guard led to the stables. “I will return shortly,” he said to the man who nodded.
Once at the gates, he mounted and galloped at full speed in the direction of McLeod lands. Not only would he have another loud argument with Merida but, after her actions, he would probably volunteer to take her home himself. Marriage to a McLeod was a mistake and no matter how much his body reacted to her, demanding her near, he had to accept the fact that they were not suited.
A war between the clans would ensue and it was best for her to be with her own clan when it came to pass. An enemy among the clan would make it hard not only for Merida, but for him to defend her when his clan would do anything to harm her.
He could not remain about the keep to guard her. He was a warrior and would be away at battle.
This was all a huge mistake that had to be corrected immediately.
It wasn’t long before he spotted the duo. Something had happened. The hellish horse was beside a creek and Merida sat on the ground. Her maid, Elsa, stood by the water’s edge wetting a cloth in the water.
Chapter Fifteen
Merida wasn’t surprised when the sounds of horse hooves pounding the ground came closer. They were still on Ross lands and had only made it a short distance before she’d noticed throbbing pain at her ankle. She’d tripped when climbing over the wall, but with adrenaline pushing her to get away without notice, she ignored her injury.
After soaking it in the creek’s cool water, her ankle felt a bit better, but now it was impossible to walk on it, the pain unbearable.
Elsa hurried to join her, thrusting the wet cloth at her. “For yer face. He comes now.” The young woman’s eyes moved past her to the approaching Tristan.
By the flare of his nostrils and glare, he was enraged. Good, so was she. How dare he think to leave her unescorted after announcing that her clan attacked? It was a miracle that she’d been able to sneak away when everyone’s attention had been drawn by the men carrying Gregor Ross from the back of the wagon. As she’d shrunk back into Duin, men had eyed her and made menacing gestures.
No matter what her husband said or did, Merida had made up her mind. It was best for her to return home.
Tristan dismounted and gestured to Elsa. “Give us some privacy.”
Her loyal companion looked at Merida and she nodded. “I will be fine.”
The woman went back to the water’s edge near to where Duin grazed. The animal lifted its head and looked to the newcomer with what seemed like dislike. Merida wanted to smile.
“Why did ye leave without telling me?” Tristan stood straight, hands to his sides, his darkened eyes meeting hers.
She hitched her chin. “I needed fresh air perhaps.” Although it was a dangerous game to needle the already angry warrior, she couldn’t help it.
As expected, he wasn’t at all amused. “Stand up. We will return home and speak about this.”
“No. I will not return there. That is not my home. I left because when war resumes between our clans, I prefer to be with my people.”
“War will not be declared.” A muscle at his jawline jerked. Merida had to admire his restraint. His voice remained even, his body somewhat at ease.
She let out a breath. “It will be and ye have to admit it. I am already unwelcome, especially after what happened. My being there is a danger to not only me, but Elsa as well. I will not remain and be k
illed in my sleep.”
When he ran his hand roughly down his face, she noticed blood seeping from the bandage on his left arm. “Why did they not sew yer wound shut?”
The sound he made was somewhere between a growl and a groan. “Because I had to leave to find my wayward wife.”
Forgetting about her ankle, she shifted sideways and winced. At the expression, he suddenly took stock of her body, noting the fact she’d removed her right shoe.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Without another word, he bent at the waist, took her up into his arms and stalked to his mount. When he realized Elsa remained behind, Tristan turned to the stricken woman.
“Can ye ride that beast?”
Elsa nodded. “Sometimes.”
“Follow us then.”
Despite the pain of being moved, Merida could not ignore the feel of his strong body against her. Immediately, memories of their entwined nude skin touching assailed her and she frowned. This was not a time for romanticism. She had to be strong and change her mind about leaving him.
To her surprise, Tristan held his horse to a slow pace, the animal meandering through the fields. He’d directed that she lift her leg up and onto the animal’s neck, which she was sure looked ridiculous, but it helped keep it from swelling further.
Although it was cumbersome to ride slowly, she knew he did it to keep from hurting her further.
“Tristan, we should talk calmly,” Merida began. “Neither of us wished for this marriage. However, we are husband and wife…”
“Ye made a vow to obey and be loyal and yet ye left without speaking to me about it.” There wasn’t a tone of anger now, but more of resentment. Merida’s heart tightened.
“Ye are right. But understand that I felt I was in danger and I sought to keep myself and Elsa safe.” She looked up at him and their gazes met. Tristan had the most beautiful, thickly-lashed hazel eyes. Admittedly, Merida loved looking at him. He was not handsome in a classic way but was a more masculine, rugged sort.
Finally, Tristan nodded. “Ye should have come and sought me out. Although I’m angry, I am not unreasonable.”
A Hardened Warrior Page 12
