by Jo Jones
Finally, she laid the comb down and he felt her parting his hair away from the wound. “Okay, Mac, now that I’ve had a closer look, I’m worried the butterfly’s may not hold until you can see a doctor. And since I’m not comfortable stitching you up with mint dental floss and an embroidery needle, I’m thinking of trying something I watched on a wilderness survival documentary. Of course, that was for research on a book, not something I ever suspected I’d actually be doing.
“They used twisted strands of hair from either side of the wound to pull the edges closed, doing small sections at a time. I don’t remember if they twisted or tied them together, but I do remember them suggesting putting Superglue, honey, or something sticky—whatever you had on hand—on each tie to make sure they held. Apparently, it’s supposed to work as well as staples. I don’t really know what else to do, but if you have a better idea, I’m certainly open for suggestions.”
It didn’t all make sense, but enough of it did to get the idea. “I trust ye, Brie. I’m grateful for whatever ye decide tae do.”
“Okay then. Here we go.” She removed the top from a small tube and handed it to him. “Hold this and hand it to me when I’m ready.”
The tug and pull he felt as she worked was no’ terribly painful, though it may have aggravated the explosion going on inside his head. But he gratefully handed her the tube each time she requested it, thankful he wasna still lying broken, on the rocks.
“There,” Brie declared. “It actually looks pretty good. The bleeding has stopped. As long as we keep it clean, I think you’ll do just fine.” She moved around to face him. “But just to be sure, I want to get a close look at your eyes, again. They were fine when I first found you, but that documentary said, with any head injury, to watch for dilated pupils, especially before letting the injured person sleep.”
Brie’s careful study of his eyes gave him a chance to stare shamelessly into hers. Her intelligent, dark blue gaze made him wish he had the time and luxury to ken all the secrets behind them.
She blinked, moved away and began gathering her things. “They seem to be fine. No variations. I think you’re safe to rest in a little while.”
“Thank ye, Brie. I dinna ken how to repay yer kindness for all ye’ve done. Or Gus,” he added, “for finding me.”
At the sound of his name, Gus wagged his tail and gave Mac’s hand a lick. Brie’s laugh brought a smile to Mac’s face, as well. ’Twas a lovely laugh he wished to hear more of.
“Your turn is coming, Gus,” she reminded him.
“But we’re not finished with you, yet.” She looked pointedly at Mac. “I can see that you’re exhausted, but I think if you get out of those muddy things and take a shower first, you’ll rest better. Unless you’d prefer a bath.”
Had he kenned the word shower before and forgotten it’s meaning? His head hurt too bad to puzzle it out. “Bath.”
“Bath it is. Sit here while I go turn on the water and see if I can find you some clean clothes to put on. There are still some of my father’s things in a trunk that might work.”
“Yer father’s?” He queried. “No’ yer…husband’s?” He waited for her answer, ashamed that it mattered.
Her expression went carefully blank, but he sensed something guarded, in her eyes. “No husband. This was my parent’s cabin,” she explained. “I just haven’t cleared everything out, just yet. You’re larger than my father was, but I might find something that will work.”
She left before he could say more or ask about her parents, so he rested, battling his sudden, overwhelming fatigue as he watched Brie move back and forth between a couple of rooms.
“Okay. I think we’re ready,” she announced. “The bathroom is this way.” She looked at him with another worried expression. “Try not to fall asleep in the tub. I’d never be able to get you out.”
He followed Brie to a door halfway down the hall, Gus on his heels.
“I put towels and some clean clothes on the counter,” she said. “Call if you need anything.”
Once inside, Mac let his plaid drop to the floor as he stared at the long, deep tub of steaming water, too tired to puzzle out how Brie had managed to heat so much water so fast, or what some of the strange objects in the room, were. Gingerly, he stepped into the tub and slowly sank into blissful heat. He wiggled as low as he could, letting the water soothe his aching muscles and quiet his agonized soul.
He’d lost himself—somewhere, inside— and dinna ken how to find his way out.
CHAPTER FIVE
Brie built up the fire, set out the ingredients for hot chocolate, and started a pot of soup for lunch. Hopefully, Mac could stay awake long enough to eat. He was clearly exhausted. She had no idea what he’d been through before his fall, but he’d certainly endured enough since. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to wake up to no past, no knowledge of who you are.
Even if you wanted to forget parts of your past, losing all of it would be devastating.
“Okay, Gus,” she said, grabbing the broom and dust pan. “Back to your blanket while I tackle all this mud.”
When she’d first found Mac, she’d been worried he might be the mountain-man. The strange thing was, he still could be, and just didn’t remember. Yet. But, something in her gut told her otherwise. He seemed kind. Gentle, even. She couldn’t imagine him intentionally exploiting anyone. Gus clearly liked him, and against her better judgement, so did she.
On the other hand, her judgement had certainly deceived her in the past. She knew better than to throw caution to the wind a second time.
“It’s just you and me, Gus.” She put the broom and dustpan away and grabbed the mop.
She’d just finished mopping the last of the mud when Mac stepped into the hallway. He rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable in her father’s clothes. The old pajama pants fit Mac well enough, though a bit short. The T-shirt, however, stretched over his muscular torso, defining his arms and chest much too clearly for comfort. Her comfort. The way he wore the shirt almost made her forget what he’d looked like without one. Almost. Even the horrific scars he bore hadn’t diminished the raw beauty of his body.
Okay. You noticed. She chided herself. But who wouldn’t have? That didn’t mean anything.
He’d pushed his hair back, accentuating the dark stubble on his chin. But it was the pale blue of his eyes, so startling beneath his black brows, that held her attention, just as they had the first time he’d opened them and again when she’d examined them. They were heavy lidded now, with fatigue and…something else.
“Well. Look at you,” she said, ignoring the flicker of heat, low in her belly. “Why don’t you go sit on the sofa and I’ll get you a mug of hot chocolate. I made some soup for lunch if you’re hungry. It’s almost ready.”
“Aye,” he yawned, letting his gaze drift, lazily, over her face. “It smells wonderful.”
She swallowed, determined to not give any significance to the attraction. She didn’t know Mac. He didn’t even know himself. Besides, he’d be leaving as soon as the road was dried out and cleared, a stranger with a made-up name. “I’ll get you that hot chocolate.”
“Thank ye.” He held her eyes a moment, then moved to the sofa.
Annoyed with herself, Brie gave the chocolate a final stir, and poured the steaming liquid into two mugs. For both their sakes, she prayed for an abnormally warm day tomorrow. The sooner she could take Mac off the mountain, the better. Maybe she’d take the ATV in the morning and begin cutting apart that tree.
~ ~ ~
Mac sipped the wonderous concoction Brie handed him. Warm, sweet, soothing. The very same words he would use to describe her.
The drink relaxed him on the inside, while the fire and the comfort of Brie’s presence, lulled him on the outside. He set his cup on a small, nearby table and gave into the temptation of stretching out on the soft…what had she called it? A sofa?
The pressure in his head had eased a little. At lea
st it no longer felt as if it might explode at any minute. But a sturdy headache still plagued him. Mayhap if he could just close his eyes a moment…
Something touched his shoulder and he roused long enough to see ’twas Brie covering him with a blanket, but his eyelids were too heavy to hold open.
“Pretty Brie,” he mumbled as he surrendered to sleep.
The sounds of battle stormed around him. The screams of injured and dying men thickened the air, overridden only by the sound of cannon shot and close musket fire. The smells of bog, mud and blood were overpowering.
“Alistair!”
“Stay close, Angus”, he called amid the chaos. Lads from the Keppoch, Clanranald and Glengarry Regiments fought beside him. Left of the front line, they scrabbled through the marshy ground toward an unending sea of Redcoats. Men fell like cast-off garments under the onslaught of grapeshot and musket ball. Everywhere he looked, clan plaids littered the boggy earth.
The Redcoats were everywhere. Alistair fought, fell, got up and battled on. Suddenly, his breath was ripped from his lungs. He dinna ken why he couldna draw another until the pain exploded inside him and he looked down at the blade piercing his side. The Hanoverian on the other end of the blade growled, baring his teeth as he twisted and heaved the razor edge several inches along Alistair’s ribcage before yanking it free and kicking him to the ground with a muddy boot.
Alistair gasped, unable to staunch the blood spilling from his body onto the battlefield of Drumossie Moor.
“Alistair…” the voice was weak, wrought with pain.
“Noooooo,” he moaned. No’ Angus, too! He turned his head to see his friend’s chest swathed in blood. With the last of his strength, he reached out to him, but ’twas too far.“Dinna fash, laddie,” he mumbled. “I will go first and wait for yer soul tae join mine. Have courage in this last deed. I promise, I willna leave ye behind.”
The sun disappeared as a shadowed shape moved over him. “This ‘un’s still alive!” The sharp stab of a bayonet pierced his chest...
“Mac! Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
Brie’s voice drifted to him through a haze of pain. What was she doing on the battlefield?
“Wake up, Mac.”
Something shook his shoulder and the pain in his chest moved to his head. He forced his eyes open to see Brie standing a few feet away, a worried look marring her pretty face. He looked around him, struggling to bridge the gap between where his mind had just been and where he lay, now. His heart still raced, and his chest heaved from the violence of the battle.
Where he’d died!
What the bloody hell was that? What had taken him to such a dark place?
Brie came a step closer. “I’m sorry to wake you, but…you seemed to be having a terrible nightmare. I was almost afraid to come too near, for fear you wouldn’t come out of it.”
He blinked a few times, focusing on her lovely face instead of the gruesome scene he’d just left. “I’m better, lass. Thank ye.” He held his hand out, and when she took it, drew her down beside him. Slowly, he became aware of her familiar, captivating scent. It filled his nostrils and banished the scents of musket fire, bog, and blood. Unlike the first time he’d awakened, Brie’s creamy skin was devoid of muddy smudges. But the same, familiar look of worry darkened her eyes.
His hand shook as he raised it to smooth the crease from her brow. “Dinna fash, lass,” he whispered. “I’m awake now. Thank ye. ’Twas a disturbing dream, indeed.”
Her skin felt as soft as he’d imagined. If he had to dream such horror, he was grateful ’twas Brie he could awaken to.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
He couldna possibly describe such a thing to her. ’Twould only burden her further.
“It might help,” she urged.
Nae. He needed time to puzzle it out for himself. The vivid images still flashed in his mind while unbidden emotions swirled in his gut. Why did he feel the burn of heartache and unshed tears, for someone called Angus? ’Twas as if a heavy stone had settled in his chest with a sudden, unexplainable need to mourn the loss of hundreds who’d died in a battle he’d only dreamed.
How had his dream so closely coincided with the wounds on his body? He laid a hand over the wide scar beneath his ribs, irrationally fearing he might find it to be fresh. Mayhap his nightmare had emerged out of the discomfort he’d felt from the look on Brie’s face when she’d seen them.
He was no’ quite so befuddled as to ken the dream to be real, since he’d died in it. Thankfully, he lay here breathing Brie’s lovely scent and that of her delicious smelling soup. But the entire experience had been unsettling, indeed.
He glanced at his kilt, freshly washed and laid out before the fire. The green and red plaid was identical to those worn by many of the lads who’d fought beside him, in his dream.
“Mac?” Brie urged.
He’s almost forgotten she waited for a response. “There’s no’ much to tell,” he replied cautiously. “ ’Twas a battle with muskets, cannon, and a swarm of Redcoats. And I…died.”
“Ohh!” she cried, her slim brows furrowing. “How awful.” Almost absently, she smoothed a lock of hair from his temple. “It’s probably from the blow to your head. I’m worried you might have a concussion. You should take things easy for a while. No strenuous activity.”
“Aye,” he replied to ease her concern. But the most strenuous thing he’d endured was the dream. “Do ye ken my dream could have any bearing on who I am?”
“I don’t see how,” Brie answered. “Muskets, cannon and Redcoats? That would put your battle at least as far back as the Revolutionary War.” She smiled gently. “You must have read about a similar battle somewhere and that memory is one of the first to surface. That’s actually good news. Maybe it means you’re beginning to remember a few things.”
“Aye. Mayhap.” He prayed she was right. Perhaps ’twas an old family tale he’d felt especially akin to. Mayhap Angus and Alistair were ancestors. But he couldna ken why it felt as if he’d been Alistair who’d taken that sword and bayonet and died with his closest friend, on that horrific battlefield. Mayhap they were just the wild imaginings of a broken skull. Scars or no’.
“Do you think you could eat some soup, now?” Brie asked. “Or would you rather rest a while longer?”
She’d done so much for him and he’d burdened her enough with his troubles already, he dinna wish to worry her further. He smiled, determined to push the haunting images aside. “I ken I could consume most of a cauldron full.”
Brie laughed and rose to her feet. “Well, then, let’s put your boast to the test.”
Cautiously, he eased off the sofa, mindful to move his head slowly to avoid any dizziness. Gus circled his feet almost before he was fully upright.
“Och! Who is this?” He petted Gus’s head, affectionately. “ ’Tis no’ the dog I met earlier.”
“It’s surprising what a bath can do, for all of us.”
Mac looked about the room. Brie had obviously been busy. In addition to his clean plaid and longshirt, the floor was spotless, as was Gus. She must have bathed as well, since she’d changed her clothes. Her trousers were snug, over long shapely legs, and the new sweater she wore followed her curves the way his hands itched to do.
He indicated his plaid. “Brie, ye dinna need tae go tae so much bother.”
“It was no trouble,” she smiled. “I was glad to do it. But I left your boots for you to take care of. Now, come sit,” she directed, setting bread, butter and a plate of sliced meat on the table. “I hope you like chicken noodle soup.”
“Aye,” he replied. He had no idea what that was but if it tasted half as good as it smelled, ’twould be heavenly.
Brie served the soup and slid onto the bench across from him. “Don’t wait on ceremony,” she prompted. “Dig in. You must be starving.”
He was. And he did. “Och,” he muttered, after downing half a bowl. “ ’Tis
truly excellent.” He eagerly anticipated another bowl full.
“I usually turn off the generator after dinner, and just light a candle or use an LED lantern, if I need to,” Brie explained. “I keep my laptop charged with a small solar generator, so I seldom use the big one at night.”
She pointed to the orbs mounted to the walls and hanging overhead in several places. “And if I need more light, I always have the gas lamps my father put in when he bought the cabin.”
She refilled his water glass. “But if there’s anything you want the generator left on for, it’s no problem. I have plenty of fuel to last until I get into town.”
He bit into a piece of bread to give him time to puzzle out what she’d said. ’Twas as if she spoke an entirely different language. Could the blow to his head have caused him to forget so much? He swallowed, realizing she waited for an answer. “Uhh…candles are agreeable.”
Brie smiled. “I think so, too. I love the atmosphere of a blazing fire and a few scented candles. It relaxes me.”
“Aye,” he agreed and tossed the ever-attentive Gus, a chunk of bread.
“You’ll spoil him,” she warned. “He’s already far too attached to you. He’s not going to like it when you leave.”
Her words dampened the contentment he’d begun to feel since shaking off his dream, reminding him he dinna belong here. As far as he knew, he dinna belong anywhere.
“Yer da dinna build the cabin, then?” He tried to drag out the pretense that he was having a normal meal, in a normal home, with a friend.
“No.” Brie sat back in her chair. “Some World War II vet built it back in the late fifties, I think, on the most remote property he could find. My dad bought it from his widow in ninety-five, just before I was born. Over the years, my parents had some improvements put in, like an updated bathroom, the gas lights, better cabinets, a new roof, stuff like that. But the place is old,” she laughed. “Which accounts for its rustic charm.”
