Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jossalyn didn’t bother to take off her dress. Instead, she knelt next to the creek, cupped water in her hands, and splashed it down her front. She ended up damper than she would have liked, but the thought of peeling off the dress and standing in the open air in nothing but her chemise—with Garrick only a short distance away—was too much. So her entire front was soaked, but at least most of the blood had washed away.

  She made her way back to their makeshift camp slowly, trying to give herself time to chew on everything that had passed between her and Garrick. It hadn’t come as a complete shock that he was a Highland rebel—she had gathered nearly as much with the combination of witnessing him fight, hearing his thick accent, and seeing him in a kilt.

  But she had had no idea her brother was such a well-known and hated figure in these battles for Scotland’s independence. He very rarely told her anything about his trips to the north or the movements of the English soldiers who frequently passed through Dunbraes, but she had known he was some sort of player in all this—just not quite so central a player.

  The real shock had been her kiss with Garrick—their second kiss, which had somehow managed to be even more intense than the first. But her mind swirled at his harsh words of warning and the way he was distancing himself from her. His body and his words were telling two different stories, and she wasn’t sure which one to believe.

  She was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was inexperienced, and he…well, he wasn’t. But she trusted her sense that his attraction to her was real. Could a man simply fake the kind of bodily reaction he had had with her?

  The memory of his hard manhood pressed against her stomach flooded back to her, and despite the fact that she was alone with her thoughts, she blushed. She didn’t think he could fake that.

  And she didn’t believe he was faking his protectiveness of her either. From what she had seen, he had a strong sense of honor, of right and wrong.

  So then why did he keep warning her about how dangerous he was? Why did he make it clear that he didn’t trust her, and that she shouldn’t trust him? There was more he wasn’t telling her, she was sure of it. He wouldn’t tell her why, but he was convinced that he was some sort of dangerous villain, which simply didn’t fit with what she had seen of him, even after he had transformed from country blacksmith to Highland warrior.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a groan up ahead of her. She quickened her pace toward the shelter, worry itching at her. As the shelter came into view, she broke into a run.

  “Stop! Put him down!” she shouted at Garrick in shock. He had pulled Burke out from inside the lean-to shelter and was supporting his weight under his arm. Burke was leaning precariously against Garrick, his face white and glistening with sweat, despite the cool morning air.

  “He can’t be moved yet! He needs more time to rest!” she panted in frustration as she came to a halt in front of the two men.

  “There isn’t time to rest anymore. We have to move,” Garrick responded coolly. He had donned his shirt and leather vest again and looked prepared to ride already. His tone was authoritative, brokering no argument, but Jossalyn paid it no heed.

  “You said you wanted me to help Burke, but I can’t very well do so if you are dragging him all over the forest, can I?” she said acerbically.

  He raised an eyebrow at her tone, but didn’t bother answering. Instead, he guided Burke around her toward their horses. Burke had all his weight on his good leg, but even just moving was bringing grunts of pain from him. When they reached his horse, Garrick paused for a moment, letting Burke catch his breath and steel himself.

  Through clenched teeth, Burke said over his shoulder, “Garrick is right, we have to keep moving. I’ll be fine, lass.”

  Garrick boosted Burke into the saddle, but the motion of swinging his wounded leg over his horse brought a string of muffled curses from Burke. Garrick was grim-faced but didn’t say anything. He turned to his own horse, preparing to mount, but Jossalyn strode to Burke’s side and took the reins firmly into her hands.

  “I cannot condone this. You are endangering Burke by forcing him to ride.”

  Garrick brought his horse on the other side of Burke’s, so that he was towering over her and pinning her between the two horses. “And we are all in danger if we stay here. No doubt your brother and his English army are barreling down on us as we speak. Our only hope is to take advantage of the fact that we are fewer in number and know the landscape better. We have to outride them.”

  Jossalyn felt a surge of helplessness and frustration wash over her. It went against every instinct as a healer to put one of her patients in danger by ignoring his wound and risking infection.

  On the other hand, she had no desire for her brother to catch up with them. She felt her stomach twist at the idea of another confrontation between her brother’s army and Garrick and Burke. The images of the blood, death, and maiming she had witnessed at Dunbraes flooded over her, and she had to swallow to force her stomach back down her throat. But this time, Burke wouldn’t be able to fight, so Garrick would be on his own against who knew how many soldiers. The thought of him dying beneath her brother’s blade brought a stab of fear and nausea to her.

  She locked eyes with Garrick, trying to communicate her struggle to him. His steely gaze cut into her, determined, but she thought she saw a flicker of his own fear for a moment as well.

  Just then, Burke groaned again, but this time he began slumping forward over his horse’s neck limply. Garrick flung himself from his horse and darted to her side just as Burke began to topple sideways out of the saddle. He caught Burke just before he would have fallen unconscious, either onto the ground several feet below his horse’s back, or right onto her, which would have likely crushed her.

  “Take him back to the shelter,” Jossalyn said as she locked her eyes on Burke’s leg. It was bleeding again, and the fresh bandages she had put on no more than an hour or two ago were already soaked through.

  Garrick half-dragged Burke’s large frame back toward the lean-to. When Burke was settled inside the shelter on his back, Jossalyn crawled in and placed a hand against his damp forehead. He was burning with fever. She muttered in frustration, something between a curse and a prayer, then unwrapped the bandage on his leg. He had reopened the wound, likely trying to stand and mount his horse. But more concerning was the fact that the flesh around the cut was now red and puffy.

  “What is it?” Garrick said softly from the opening of the lean-to. He was watching her closely, his eyes hard and grim.

  “Infection,” she said as her mind raced for a solution. “We’ll need a fire after all.”

  He grimaced and opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand to silence him.

  “Garrick, listen to me. Burke will die if this goes untreated. And even if I had every herb, tincture, and tool a healer needs at my disposal, I’m not sure whether or not I can save him. I have to try everything I can, even if it means risking discovery.” She held his gaze and watched a war rage across his face.

  Finally, he cursed and raked a hand through his hair. “What can I do?”

  She turned her attention back to Burke, relieved that she had won the battle. “We need a fire and boiling water. The best we can do out here is to soak the bandages in yarrow water and force some tea down Burke’s throat.”

  It was a long shot, but the yarrow would absorb into the wound better if it were boiled and soaked into the bandages. Yarrow was their best bet to get the bleeding stopped and hopefully stave off the infection. She would have to re-stitch the wound, too.

  Garrick set about building a fire a few feet away from the shelter. Jossalyn dug in her bag again, hoping to find anything that might help, but she had taken very little with her when she left Dunbraes to stow away with Garrick and Burke. The memory of packing for her grand escape seemed to have been formed ages ago, although only a few days had elapsed. She had had no idea when she was packing what kind of t
angled calamity she would find herself in just days later. A man’s life was in her hands—and all of their lives hung in the balance.

  A fire now crackled cheerily in front of the shelter, a stark contrast to her mood. Garrick had pulled a small tin pot from his saddlebag and had filled it with water from his waterskin, then placed the pot over the fire to get a boil started. Jossalyn crawled out of the lean-to and toward the fire, a clump of yarrow plants in her hand. She pulled off the soil-covered roots but pushed the rest of the plants—feathery leaves, white flowers, and all—into the pot.

  Reminding herself that a watched pot never boils, she crawled back into the shelter alongside Burke and went about preparing to re-stitch his wound. This time, since he was unconscious, she wouldn’t need Garrick to hold him down. As she threaded her needle, she glanced out at the fire in front of the shelter, but Garrick was gone.

  She tugged her attention back to the task at hand, pushing away her thoughts about him. She could gaze at his strikingly handsome face and body or chew on his enigmatic words and behavior some other time, she told herself firmly.

  After she had re-stitched the wound in Burke’s leg, she went to the fire to check on the yarrow water. The plants had turned pulpy and withered, and the water was nearly boiling already. She looked around and noticed that the horses were gone, but their saddlebags sat on the ground a few feet away. Garrick had likely seen to them. She felt a wave of gratitude at his small action. It meant she was no longer going to have to fight him on whether or not they could move Burke and resume their travels. It was a small act, but she was glad to have one less thing to worry about.

  She rummaged in one of the saddlebags until she found a small tin cup. She dipped the cup into the pot, ladling out some of the yarrow water, then brought it to Burke’s side within the shelter. She lifted up his head and poured some of the warm brew down his throat, pleased when she saw that he swallowed several gulps of the tea. Laying down his head as gently as she could, she scooted out of the lean-to and refilled the cup at the fire.

  She managed to get one more cup of the yarrow tea into him, which boosted her spirits slightly. Yarrow was a powerful anti-inflammatory, antiseptic, and anti-fever medicine. She thanked her lucky stars that she had left some of the plant in her bag when she had packed, and that there was more growing in the area.

  This time as she crawled out of the shelter, she brought all the bandages she could rummage with her. She would only be able to soak one at a time since the pot was so small, but it was better than nothing. Just as she was pushing one of the strips of cloth down into the pot with the waterlogged plants, she caught a glimpse of Garrick’s red plaid through the trees.

  She watched as he approached, but when she could finally see him fully unobstructed by the trees, her breath caught in her throat. His arms were overflowing with yarrow. He strode to the fire where she knelt and dumped the armload of plants on the ground, making an enormous pile of them.

  “Is this the kind of plant you need?” he said, his eyes on her.

  She didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep or the razor-sharp anxiety of the past few days that brought it on, but all at once tears blurred her vision. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  Suddenly, he was kneeling next to her. “What is it, lass? Is everything all right? Is it Burke?” Fear pinched his voice, so she shook her head quickly.

  “No, Burke is resting. It’s just…You found all this yarrow, and…” She took a shaky breath and tried to pull herself together. “Thank you,” she eventually managed.

  She was so struck by his kindness and eagerness to do something useful that she nearly lost her hold on the tears again. This was a man of action, a warrior used to being able to do something with his hands to change things. He was no healer, as she was sure he would vehemently insist, but he clearly cared enough about his friend to act like one. She wouldn’t let herself indulge in the thought that he wanted to be of help to her too, that he wanted to protect and care for her in the only way he could think of. That was just sentimental wishful thinking, she told herself firmly.

  “The horses?” she said, trying to get her mind back on reality.

  “They’ve been fed and watered. I found a shallow cave on the other side of this rock formation that is mostly covered over with shrubs. It’s not perfect, but it will have to do.”

  She nodded, again grateful for the fact that he had taken care of things. “I managed to get some tea into Burke, which will hopefully help cut the fever, and if we are lucky, stop the infection.” Using a stick, she drew out the strip of cloth that had been soaking in the yarrow water. She let it cool in the air for a moment as she pushed another piece of cloth into the pot in its place. Then she took the soaked cloth into the shelter and began wrapping it around the wound. Garrick followed her silently, helping her lift Burke’s leg again.

  When the task was done, they returned to the small fire. “How often does the bandage need changing?” Garrick asked quietly as they both stared into the flames.

  “About once an hour.” She registered that her voice was flat with exhaustion, but she was too tired to care.

  “And when should I give him more tea?”

  “When should you?” Though she felt foggy with fatigue, she didn’t miss what he had said.

  “Aye, lass. I can tend to Burke. You need to rest.”

  “What about you?” He hadn’t slept since the night she had stowed away in their wagon—two days ago.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face but didn’t try to deny his own exhaustion. “Why don’t we take turns?” he said finally.

  “Very well. You’ll go first,” she said firmly. He started to argue, but she interrupted him. “I slept a bit in the wagon. And besides, I need to prepare some of this yarrow and make a fresh batch of this brew before I can rest.”

  He still looked like he wanted to object, so she placed a hand on his shoulder to still him. Despite their exhaustion, both of them seemed to grow alert at her touch.

  “Sleep,” she said softly, then gave his shoulder a little push to get him to lie down.

  He mumbled something about stubborn lasses, but he let himself be tilted over to the ground. She watched him settle his arm underneath his head and close his eyes, not bothering to find a more comfortable position. Within a minute, she could hear a change in his breathing as he slipped into sleep.

  She let herself gaze down at him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him. He still looked fierce, even in sleep. His dark hair was disheveled, and several days’ worth of stubble covered his jaw and cheeks. Though he was relaxed in sleep, his muscles were still corded and well-defined. His large chest rose and fell rhythmically with his breathing, and even lying down he looked like a giant.

  But there was also something incredibly intimate about being so close to him as he slept. He was completely vulnerable. Jossalyn doubted very many people ever saw him like this. Based on what she had observed, he was normally guarded and cautious, but here he was, stretched out a mere foot away from her on the ground in a deep sleep. She suddenly had to fight the urge to lean into him, inhale his scent, and run her fingers along his hard jawline to feel the bristly stubble there.

  She shook herself, forcing her eyes back onto the pot on the fire. She went about adding more water and stuffing more yarrow in along with the strip of cloth, all the while telling herself not to think about Garrick—not think about him sleeping next to her, not think about being pressed against him again, not think about what their next kiss would feel like.

  Despite her best efforts, the dark and inexplicable desire had taken root in her, and there was no going back.

  Chapter Twenty

  Garrick woke to the sound of thunder. He jerked upright, reaching instinctively for the fletching dagger he always kept in his boot. Suddenly, his eyes locked on Jossalyn, who was frozen in surprise in front of him, her eyes wide and startled.

  “Sorry,” he said, easing his hand away from his dagger. “Habit.”


  She let out a breath and nodded, relaxing somewhat. She had been working over the fire, stirring the mixture of plants, water, and cloth inside the pot. Despite her diligent attention to the task at hand, she looked haggard and exhausted. Her golden hair was mussed and coming out of its braid, her shoulders slumped forward, and he had noticed dark smudges under her eyes a moment ago when she had been staring at him.

  “How is Burke?”

  “About the same,” she said, her brow furrowed. “But he took more tea, which is good.”

  He stood and went to her side. “You need to rest, lass.”

  “But you only slept for a few hours,” she responded, but there wasn’t much fight in her voice.

  He actually felt surprisingly refreshed. He was used to sleeping outdoors and working long hours. He doubted that she was, though.

  He glanced up at the sound of another roll of thunder and noticed the storm that had been brewing to the west earlier in the morning had now arrived. As if to prove his observation, he felt a large raindrop hit his shoulder.

  “You shouldn’t be out in this storm anyway. I can watch over the fire. You go check on Burke and get some sleep.”

  She only nodded, confirming for him just how tired she was. She disappeared inside the shelter for a moment, but then reemerged.

  “He’s still asleep, but there’s not enough room in there for both of us,” she said wearily.

  Garrick glanced around for a spot that would work as a second makeshift shelter during the storm. Several more drops of rain had fallen, and the sky was growing increasingly dark despite the fact that it was midday. Not far from where Burke lay underneath the overgrown leaning logs, there was a slight inward curvature to the rock face. If he could gather enough fallen trunks and branches, he could create a second lean-to that wouldn’t look out of place.

  He set about dragging several tree limbs from the forest floor to the rock outcropping, propping them against the rock to create a little space underneath them for Jossalyn. Once the structure was in place, he covered the logs with freshly fallen branches that still had leaves or pine needles on them to provide more protection and make the lean-to blend in more. When he was satisfied, he peeked inside. Even as the rain started to come down in earnest, the inside of the little structure was staying dry.