Or... did he?
Instead of blind allegiance to a clan, he devoted himself to his job and his pursuit of a partnership. Just as Struan did not let anything change his world, Alex did not let anything deflect him from his path. Anything, anyone that did not further his goal was disregarded. Family, relationships, love—all ignored because he couldn't waste his time, his energy, his concentration on anything that would not move him closer to that partnership.
He stopped at the fence surrounding the yard, not seeing the men there as he searched within his soul. He ran his fingers through his hair, now much longer than when he arrived in Scotland.
It was not as bad as all that, he thought. Wouldn't he gain everything else he desired by attaining his goal? He would soon have a wife—he was sure he could work things out with Nancy. They would marry and have children. Shaking his head, he tried to visualize a future with her.
No, their time was done.
Thinking about his future, he could only picture Maggie with him. Maggie greeting him at the door with a baby in her arms. Maggie laughing at his seriousness. Maggie, in his bed, moaning at his touch, arching toward him as he entered her body. He shook his head to clear away the images.
No, they had not spoken of a future together once they got back home. They would go their separate ways, and he would go back to... What? Who? How? He couldn't think about this now. The men were waiting for him. He would speak to Maggie tonight. She could help him sort out his confusion. Tonight, he would go to her, regardless of Struan's threats.
* * *
"Here, lass, let me help ye raise yer head a bit."
She felt a hand slip under her head and lift it gently. At that slight move, she groaned in agony as waves of pain pierced through the darkness to her.
"Easy now, lass, drink a bit of this. It will ease yer suffering."
Maggie struggled to sip the liquid held before her lips. Its bitter taste and smell repelled her, but she had neither the will nor the strength to say no. A small sample was all she could swallow before the darkness threatened to claim her again. The darkness was her refuge for now; she could not see or hear or feel. She welcomed it and sank back into its murky grasp.
* * *
"Will she live?"
"Aye, Alex, 'tis as Struan first said, her back looks and feels much worse than it truly is."
Moira opened her door quietly and allowed Alex access to her cottage. This was a good sign—defying Struan to see Maggie.
"Where is she?" She could hear the worry in his voice, true concern for this woman of his time.
"Ye can look in on her, but she willna awaken for several hours, probably no' afore the dawn." Moira pointed to the smaller room.
"Ye hae given her something for the pain?" Alex's face was twisted in anguish once he saw the extent of Maggie's injuries. He knelt next to her and lifted her hand in his, waiting for Moira to answer.
"I hae done what needed to be done here, what hae ye done to Anice?" She knew what the real Alex would have done. Anice would be in worse shape than Maggie if she had challenged the real Alex.
"I threatened her wi' my fists if she should come near Maggie again. From the look on her face, it should work."
"Ye can stay a few minutes and no more, Alex. I do not want her disturbed."
She watched from the doorway as he stroked Maggie's hand over and over again, whispering her name in a pleading tone. Shaking her head, Moira knew that good would come from this bad. But would it come in time?
* * *
She was on her stomach, lying on a low mattress of some kind. She tested her strength by turning her head to the other side. The place was dark; a small peat fire burned close by, giving off heat and the unmistakable odor but not enough light for her use. The earthy smell of the room told her she was not in the castle any longer, but where was she?
Maggie tried to raise herself up on her elbows, but her body resisted her mind's best efforts. It took a few moments of struggling before she was successful in leaning up. Even from her new position, it was too damn dark to see much at all.
She heard scuffling footsteps coming toward her and braced for another attack. None came.
"Are ye awake, lass?"
"Moira, is that you?" She thought the voice was familiar. Was she in Moira's cottage?
"Aye, Maggie, 'tis me." A torch flared, its brightness forced her eyes closed. Laying her head back down, she waited to become accustomed to the light.
"Where am I, Moira? Is this your home?"
"Aye, ye are safe here. And welcome." She felt Moira's soft touch on her forehead. "Ye still hae a fever. Ye should drink."
"Not more of that bitter drink. I will get sick."
"Ye are no' a gracious patient, are ye, Maggie?"
Maggie heard the humor in Moira's voice. How long had she been here in Moira's care? How much of a pain in the neck had she been to the woman?
"I beg your pardon, Moira, if I have not been." She lifted her head to drink from the mug held in front of her mouth. "Thank you for your kindness to me." The cool water poured into her mouth, and she swallowed deeply, her thirst stronger than she realized. The cup tipped away and was gone after a few gulps.
"Take just a bit at a time, no' too fast. Ye will suffer belly-thraw if ye drink too much."
"I don't even like the sound of that. Can you help me to turn over, Moira?"
"Ye may like that e'en less, lass. Why do ye no' wait till morn to try to move? Ye will hae more strength by then."
"Is it night, Moira? How long have I been here?" She settled back down on her stomach on the pallet.
"'Tis the middle of the night. Ye were brought here early this morn, still unconscious."
"How did I get here?"
"Struan had some of the men carry ye here on a litter from the castle."
"And Alex? Has he been here?"
Moira did not respond right away. Was her hesitation the answer? Had Struan kept him away? Or Anice? They were her best guesses. She fought the burning tears that stung her eyes and nose. Rubbing her hand across her eyes, she took a deep breath and let it out, trying to regain some control. Moira laid her hand on Maggie's head and rubbed it gently.
"He didna stay away. He was here for a short visit while ye slept, Maggie. Do ye know 'tis said his roar at the sight of ye on that bed scared the pigeons from their roosting places in the castle walls. He couldna stay this time, but that does not sound like a man who cares too little."
"I know he cares, Moira."
"Good. Now, rest till morn and then we'll get ye up from yer pallet and moving."
Maggie still had so many questions to ask about her injuries, about Anice and Alex. But her strength was depleted that quickly—after just leaning up and taking a drink of water. In the morning, she would ask. She would ask about...
Chapter 36
Faint daylight pierced the darkness. Maggie tried to turn onto her side, but waves of pain stopped her. A groan escaped her best efforts to remain quiet. The need to empty her bladder grew, forcing her into action. She pushed up on her elbows, grunting with every move. Fighting the anguish that threatened her success, she tried to recall those Lamaze instructions she learned as labor coach to her sister. Blowing in short breaths, she managed to roll on one side and get onto her hands and knees. Her shoulders and back burned unlike anything she had ever felt; the pain was worse than even her recent migraine. It surged through her, and an urge to vomit grew. She looked for a chamber pot, something to use as she felt the retching reflex begin.
Without warning, she was surrounded by a massive arm, crossing under her and bracing her stomach. He held her secure, protected her from falling face first into the basin he placed before her.
"Go ahead, lass, I have ye."
She wanted to laugh at the sheer embarrassment of this scene. She didn't know what bothered her more: vomiting in front of a stranger or that the stranger was the gorgeous blacksmith. Her body forced her stomach to empty before she could think ab
out anything else. After the convulsions ceased, he eased her back into a sitting position on the pallet and took the basin from the room. Without thinking, she tried to twist her hair—hair that was no longer there. Short, uneven curls covered her head.
Could this get any worse? She shook her head, fighting the urge to cry now. Pol stooped down in the doorway and entered the room. Now he carried a cup, the basin, and a piece of linen.
"Pol, I... Well, I mean, thank you for your help. You don't have to do this."
"'Tis fine, mistress. I often lend a hand when Moira tends the ill."
"You do?" She was astounded by this information. Most men she knew would run in the other direction from anyone sick. "I think you can call me Maggie. I feel silly now that you've seen me like this to have you speak so formally to me."
He handed her the cup and leaned to hold the basin closer. "I wouldna suggest that ye drink the water now, Maggie. Ye may wish to rinse yer mouth only." She nodded, swished a mouthful of water, and spat it into the bowl. Pol held out the damp linen to her, which she used to wipe her face and hands.
"Thank you, again, for your help. Could you help me to my feet?" She had to find a place outside to... oh, no, she couldn't ask his help for that. Where was Moira?
"I will, if ye take it slowly. Yer back and shoulders are badly bruised and willna want to move at all." He moved in front of her and grasped her arms. Standing up in one fluid motion, he brought her to her feet. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the pain. Her knees shook as she swayed within his hold.
"It may help if ye open yer eyes and concentrate on the room around ye, lass." Moira's voice! Oh, thank you, God, she offered up under her breath.
She followed Moira's instructions and soon the room stopped spinning and her legs grew more steady. Maggie had a death grip on Pol's arm and, with his support, she wobbled the final few steps into the other room of the cottage. Moira positioned a chair by the hearth, and Maggie sat the only way she could: she straddled the seat and held on to the spindle back.
It was then she noticed her near naked condition. She wore one of Alex's shirts, but it was on backward, unlacing down her back. At least she had underwear on. She felt her face heating as she pulled on the hem of the garment, trying to cover more of her legs. Pol chuckled at her actions.
"Moira, I will be on my way, if ye do not need anything else." He smiled at Maggie and waited on Moira's response. Moira walked with him to the door of the cottage, whispering to him and smiling at his words. He leaned closer and kissed her deeply before leaving. Maggie looked at the floor, the ceiling, the fire, anything to withdraw from this private moment. A few more hushed words and he left, winking at her as he pulled the lower part of the door closed. Moira watched him leave, waving several times through the open portal.
"I have never been so embarrassed in my life."
"By Pol's help?" Moira looked at her. "Why?"
Maggie's mouth dropped open in shock. "Do you know what he did? Do you see how I'm dressed? How I look?"
"Do ye really fret over such things in the place yer from? Ye needed help, he helped ye. 'Tis simple."
"I don't think so. I cannot see Struan holding a basin while I got sick."
"Nay, lass, neither can I. Ye are right, Pol is special."
Moira walked to her worktable and gathered some herbs and a bowl. Mixing and crushing the leaves, she added liquid from a small crock. She produced a gooey concoction that smelled better, much better, than it looked. She carried the ointment to Maggie.
"Moira, I really need to... um..."
"Pish?"
Maggie laughed even though the movement of expanding her lungs brought with it pain. "Oh, is that how you say it? Pish? That sounds so funny."
Moira loosened the ties on the shirt and eased it off of Maggie's shoulders. "Let me put this on yer back. It will ease yer suffering and let ye tend to yer other needs without so much pain."
Maggie braced for Moira's touch, ready for the pain. After the first stroke, she was amazed to find her discomfort lessening. The ointment felt icy then warm and soothed the burning and tightness.
"How bad is it?"
"Weel, a few places have broken open and bled. They looked much worse than they really are. Ye still have a fever, so I want ye to drink some of my tea when yer stomach settles. When ye are ready to lie down and rest, I have a different salve to keep the open wounds from festering."
Maggie wrapped her arms around the back of the chair and rested her head on her arm. The cool, fresh air rippled across her neck and over her scalp, rustling the curls. Running her hand over them, she grimaced.
"Ye are fortunate that she only cut yer hair. Others, afore ye and her, have been tarred as weel."
"Tarred? You're joking." Maggie sat up.
"Nay, lass, I speak the truth. Lemans may have to be allowed but they are never treated weel by the lady whose place they take. Here, now, I am nearly done."
Moira spread a little more ointment over some of the welts, pulled the garment up onto Maggie's shoulders, and tied the laces. Maggie flexed her shoulders back and lowered her arms—no more burning or stinging. She was almost comfortable. Almost.
With some help, she stood and backed off the chair, pulling the shirt down over her legs. A flutter of dizziness passed through her, and she grabbed the end of the table.
"Take it slowly, Maggie. Ye have been without food or drink for close to twa days. Yer body is weak from that and from the beating ye took." Moira slid her arm under Maggie's. "Come, let me help ye wi' the pot in here this time. Ye will soon be tending to yerself."
Moira continued talking through every humiliating moment. Maggie knew she was trying to divert her attention and went along with the woman's efforts. In a short time, she was much more comfortable and sitting back near the fire.
"I didn't know you had an extra room in your cottage, Moira. I didn't see it last time I was here."
"I tend the ills of the clan. At times, 'tis easier to bring the sick here than to go to their cottage. My herbs and supplies are close at hand."
Maggie was curious about Moira's relationship with Pol but didn't want to ask outright.
"Ye do not need to blather, Maggie. Ye can ask yer real questions."
"I didn't know I was blathering." Subtlety was never her strongest characteristic. "All right, does Pol live here?"
"Aye, he does."
"So, you two are...?"
"Aye, we are. Can ye no' say the word, Maggie? Lovers. We are lovers."
This was worse than everything that passed before. Heat filled her cheeks and she looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry for asking. I'm curious about you... and him."
"No need to apologize." Moira put a kettle of water on to boil and returned to her table and began sorting a basket of plants into various piles. "My husband died in the same battle that saw David captured by the English devils. We were no' long married, and I was his second wife. He was a good mon, my Gordon. So, I live here in the cottage that was ours, as a widow."
"And your healing?"
"I have been clan healer since I was no' more than Anice's age. My mother was, afore me. She taught me what she kenned and I hope to pass on my skills to a daughter."
"Will you marry Pol?"
"He hasna asked."
"Do you want to? He seems like he would make a good husband for you. Have you never broached the subject with him?"
"We have talked about it. Mayhap one day we will. In the meantime," she rolled her eyes at Maggie, "I enjoy his attention and his other attributes and he shares my home."
"You are a wicked woman, Moira." Maggie laughed at her obvious references to Pol's lovemaking.
"'Tis what some say." Moira dipped into the kettle and poured the hot water over some leaves in a mug. She stirred it, added a few ingredients, and then passed the mug to Maggie. After sniffing it a few times, Maggie sipped the warm beverage.
"Won't I be in the way, here? I mean if Pol and you share your cottage,
I don't want to impose."
"Struan wants ye here 'til ye heal, then we're to find ye another place to live."
"Here, in the village? Are there empty cottages?"
"No, lass, and unmarried women do no' live by themselves here."
"They don't? Where do they live?"
"A girl lives in her faither's house until she marries and moves to her husband's. Widows live with their children and may keep their cottage if they do not marry again. The only unmarried women living in the village..." Moira paused.
Remembering Anice's comment, Maggie completed Moira's statement. "Are the village whores." She stared at Moira and asked, "Are there many?"
"Ah, lass, ye bring the judgments of yer own time here to us. The whores are just women who serve that need for the men here. Although Anice despises them, the rest of the clan knows that they have a place here."
"So they are accepted?"
"Weel, by most. Some are cruel, but most know the whores' work haes a place in the clan. But, that isna yer place."
"Where will I stay?"
"I am thinking about that. We have some time afore yer healed." Moira continued to keep her hands busy as they talked. She broke up branches, wrapped and hung some herbs, measured others. "Weel, what else do ye want to know?"
"What happened after?"
"After ye were beaten?"
"Yes. I don't remember it. I mean, I remember counting as she..." Maggie shuddered as she thought of the first blows. "Anyway, I passed out and woke up here last night."
"Someone told Alex that Anice was about to punish ye and he and Struan went to yer room. They got there just as she finished. Alex took one look at ye," Moira locked gazes with her, "and screamed something fierce. The ones who helped Anice took off, running from his fury, but no' Anice. She stood her ground. She haes grit, that one." Maggie didn't feel like admiring Anice right now. She snorted at Moira's comments.
A Love Through Time Page 23
