Imus gave Hannah a quick glance before his eyes returned to Slain, and with nod, he took his leave.
“He believes I know something,” Hannah said, having seen a questioning look in his eyes.
“Imus worries for the clan as do they all and you letting the young lad go does not sit well with them. You should have trusted me.”
“I do trust you, husband, it is the savage I am not sure of.”
While her words hurt Slain, though they were all too true, she was better off not trusting the savage. There was no telling what he would do. Right now, however, he had no time to dwell on that. He needed to find out what happened to Potsman and if it was in any way connected with the young lad Conlan.
“We return to the keep,” Slain said. “You will wait there while I join Imus and the others in their search.”
“I will go with you. I might be able to help,” she offered, hoping he would not refuse her. She would feel more helpless than she already did if she was left in the keep to wait.
“It is better if you stay in the keep.”
She was ready to argue when a thought came to her. “You worry that the clan thinks I had something to do with this and might—”
“No clansmen would dare harm you. They fear the savage too much to do anything so foolish,” he said, his hand leaving hers to slip around her waist and draw her close. “They would, however, turn their heads away from you and not speak with you.”
Hannah shrugged. “I have suffered such before and survived.”
“Who did such a thing to you?” His demand held more concern than gruffness.
With a tilt of her head and a playful smile, she said, “You might not believe this, but I was not always obedient.”
Slain chuckled. “And you are now?”
She pressed her fingers to his lips as if in a kiss. “I try to be.”
“You do well enough, wife, I would have you no other way.” He kissed her cheek, fighting not to capture her lips in a loving kiss.
“Then let me go with you. I want to help and I want the clan to see that I help. I also want to prove that Conlan had nothing to do with this.”
His response was to take her hand and continue walking. Hannah was disappointed until he turned toward the crumbled building, men still keeping watch over the smoldering debris.
Hannah was relieved and gave his hand a grateful squeeze.
“You will do your best to obey me, wife,” Slain ordered.
“Aye, husband,” she said, pleased that he requested she do her best and not demand or threaten that she obey his word.
“You mentioned your father had used Conlan before to set fires. Did he ever send someone along with him?” Slain asked as they entered the woods.
“Not that I know of. Conlan was always sent on his own. He is too quick on his feet for anyone to match his pace.”
“I would doubt that if I had not seen it for myself. The lad is faster than any I have ever seen.”
They continued to walk deeper into the woods, spotting Imus and a couple of men in the distance. One of the men had squatted down, looking at something more closely on the ground while the other two looked on intently.
“They have found something,” Hannah said anxious to see what it was.
The men looked up at Slain and Hannah as they approached and Slain waited for a nod from Imus before he hastened their pace, wanting to make certain what they had found was something Hannah need not see.
“A small pool of blood,” Imus said when Slain and Hannah were close.
“From Potsman?” Slain asked.
Imus shook his head. “Potsman was found closer to the edge of the woods. This could possibly be where someone stopped to tend a wound.”
“Potsman looked to have suffered too much of a beating to have inflicted any damage on his opponent,” Slain said, turning his head as his dark eyes searched the ground around them. “That is odd… no tracks.”
“We thought the same,” Imus said and the other two men nodded in agreement. “We have searched deeper into the woods and have found nothing.”
“No tracks at all?” Slain asked, a questioning wrinkle settling between his eyes.
“None,” Imus said, scratching his head.
A shudder caught Hannah along with a rush of fear.
Slain turned to his wife, feeling the sudden ripple that ran through her and concerned the scene had disturbed her. “What is wrong?” he demanded, seeing how deathly pale she had turned.
“Did your men use any weapons against Conlan?” she asked.
“He was too fast we could not—” Slain turned silent, realizing what had upset his wife and he tilted his head back, his eyes going to the tree branches overhead.
Imus and the other men followed suit, though did not know what they were looking for.
One of the men scrunched his eyes, scratched his head, and pointed. “Is that a body sprawled over a branch?”
Hannah’s heart lurched in her chest and she grabbed her husband’s arm. “Hurry and get him down, Please. He is hurt.” She was ever so grateful the leaves had yet to fully bloom or Conlan would have never been spotted.
His wife did not have to plead with him, he had every intention of getting the lad down and discovering what had happened. If the lad was still alive.
Hannah watched with a fearful heart as the men worked to get Conlan down and while she hated to hear him moan in pain, at least the moans let her know that he was alive.
When they finally laid him on the ground, Hannah went down on her knees beside him, her trembling hand swallowing his small one in a loving grip.
“Conlan, it is me Hannah. I am here. You are not alone. All will be well.”
His eyes fluttered open. “A dream.”
“No. No. It is not a dream. I am here. The healer will take care of you.”
Conlan groaned, his face scrunching in a painful wince. “Tried to stop him.”
“Who did you try to stop and stop him from what?” Slain demanded, squatting down beside his wife.
“He beat the man—” a painful groan devoured his words.
“He needs Neata.” Hannah looked to her husband through misty eyes. “Please have him taken to the keep and send for Neata.”
Slain stood, tugging his wife to her feet along with him. “I will not pull Neata away from Potsman to tend the lad.”
“Please,” Hannah begged.
Slain looked to Imus. “Your cottage sits close to Wilona’s, take the lad there so that Neata can tend him when she finishes with Potsman.”
Imus did not argue. He picked the lad up gently and carried him off, Hannah hurrying behind him and Slain keeping pace with her.
Neata was outside Wilona’s cottage speaking with Blair when they approached and both women hurried over when Imus turned up the path to his cottage. This time Hannah would not be chased away. She did not care who might yell at her or who would grow angry with her, she entered the cottage, intent on remaining at Conlan’s side.
Slain let Hannah be, needing time to speak with Imus alone and she needing to be with her friend.
“He saw something,” Slain said after he and Imus stepped around the side of his cottage to talk.
“He beat the man, those were his words,” Imus said. “It sounds as if he might know who it was, perhaps someone who was sent with him to see the deed done?”
“But why stab the lad if they were to work together?”
“Maybe the lad protested the beating?”
“That would be cause for a hand to be used against him but not a knife, and from what Hannah has told me her father used the lad often. He would not be pleased with his loss.” Slain shook his head. “No, there is more here than we are seeing.”
Imus shook his head as well. “You do not think it is someone in our clan that has done this, do you? All know you would never let this clan fall to MacFillan or to anyone.”
“I ask them to trust without seeing.”
“You asked us to tr
ust once before and you returned to us with a troop of men who helped rebuild the village. They know you have powerful friends you can call on for help. I do not believe there is one among the clan who would betray you. This falls on Ross MacFillan.”
“The only way we learn the truth is from Potsman or the lad and I fear the lad might not make it. He took a wound to the stomach. Whoever delivered it meant to kill him.”
“Why kill the lad and not Potsman?” Imus asked.
“I wonder the same.”
“I cannot leave him,” Hannah said when Slain came to collect her. “I do not want him to wake to strangers. He will try to run and make his wound worse. Neata did all she could, searing the wound. She says he is young and strong and being as willful as he is should help him. Rest and care is all that will help him now, and prayers. Time will see to the rest.”
Neata’s conclusion did not surprise him and either did his wife’s words. Looking down on the deathly pale lad, Slain could not blame her for wanting to stay with him. He was so scrawny Slain wondered if he ever ate. He got annoyed at himself for not having had the lad taken to the keep. At least then, Hannah would have remained home.
Home.
It was her home regardless of what others might feel or think and that was where she should be right now. Home with him, but there was no way she would leave the lad and he would not force her. He would stay there with her.
Slain took a chair from the table and placed it against the wall where he would have a view of his wife where she sat beside the bed holding the lad’s hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly.
“I am staying with you,” —he continued before she could protest— “if he wakes I want to speak with him.”
“What of Blair and Imus?” Hannah asked, knowing that was only partially the truth. He did not want to leave her there alone.
“They will find a place for the night. Tomorrow I will have the lad moved to the keep so that you may watch over him.”
“I am grateful for that, Slain.” She brushed the lad’s hair off his brow with a soft sweep of her finger. “Who could have done this to him? My father had no cause to harm him.”
“Hopefully, he will be able to tell us when he wakes,” Slain said, wanting to keep her hope strong for the lad.
“Conlan will not be going back to my father. He will stay here with us,” Hannah said as if it had already been decided.
Slain made no comment. If the lad survived, he would see what he had to say and only then decide his fate.
The door opened and Imus stepped in. “Potsman is awake.”
Chapter 26
Slain entered Potsman’s cottage to see a similar scene. Wilona was sitting in a chair next to the bed, staring at her husband. Neata had informed him that Potsman was severely bruised and battered but she could find no broken bones. Rest would help him, though Potsman felt copious amounts of ale would do him more good.
Potsman did not look as bad as when Slain had first seen him now that the blood had been cleaned from his face and neck. His one eye was closed shut with bruising, his jaw was swollen, and he winced any time he moved.
“I will get you some of the brew Neata made for you,” Wilona said and went to stand.
“Ale, woman, ale. It will kill the pain far better than that tasteless brew.”
Wilona moved away from the bed, an annoyed look marring her brow, and gave a respectful bob toward Slain before leaving the cottage.
Slain stood at the end of the bed angry that Potsman had taken such a beaten. Not that he did not deserve one for what he had done to Hannah, but if he was to suffer one it should have come from Slain’s hands not a stranger’s.
“Tell me what happened,” Slain said
“There is not much to tell,” Potsman said, finding it difficult to speak, the pain robbing him of breath.
“Why would that be, Potsman?” Slain asked when the answer was known to him.
“I was behind the storage shed well into my cups, brooding over a fight with Wilona.” He shook his head and winced. “I never saw it coming. I only felt the blow, then I was dragged off and fists slammed at me over and over.” He paused for a much needed breath. “I thought it was the end and I would die.” He shook his head again. This time slowly. “Then suddenly it stopped. I heard a grunt of sorts and several oaths spewed from someone’s mouth, then silence. I dragged myself away and hid as best I could afraid the culprit would return.” Another needed pause. “After that, I remember nothing until I woke here.”
“Did you see who did this to you?”
“No. It was dark and he was like a shadow in the night, and fast with his fists, pummeling me so rapidly so that all I could do was try to protect myself.”
Slain saw the bruises along his arms from where he must have raised them to shield himself. “There is nothing you can tell me about this man?” he asked annoyed, having hoped Potsman could have provided him with at least some details. He prayed the lad would survive and could tell him more.
“A shadow in the night, that was what he was,” Potsman said, his face scrunching against the pain as he attempted to shift himself in the bed.
“You should have gone for help or yelled out for it,” Slain said and pointed a finger at him. “Fail me again and you will not like the consequences.”
“Aye, Chief,” Potsman said with a shiver of gooseflesh rushing over him.
Wilona hurried inside as soon as Slain stepped out of the cottage.
Slain motioned for Imus to join him as he walked back to the cottage where Hannah kept vigil over Conlan. “He saw nothing that will help us.”
“Hopefully the lad will be able to tell us something,” Imus said.
“If he survives. Neata did not seem too hopeful about it.”
“We found nothing in the woods that would help us,” Imus said.
“What troubles me is that if this fire was a warning, what comes next?”
Two days since the attack and Conlan continued to drift in and out of wakefulness, though not wake entirely. He had been placed in the room next to Helice’s sleeping quarters, Slain having informed Hannah that the lad was in skilled hands with Helice being so close. Helice had taken to caring for Conlan and remarkably he had responded well to her after Hannah had told him, during a brief waking period, that she was a friend.
The fire had brought a change to the clan, particularly to the keep. The Great Hall was awash with activity. Men coming and going, talking with Slain, and Imus who sat often in conversation with the chief. Women arrived, offering Helice help in the kitchen and with the duties of the keep and she did not turn them away or balk at their efforts, her time spent more with Conlan.
When there was a lull, no one about in the Great Hall but her husband, Hannah approached him.
Slain waited until his wife was close enough, then he reached out and pulled her down on his lap. “You appear displeased, wife,” he said and pleased her bruise was fading more each day, placed a feather-light kiss on her lips. She turned her head slowly, soft laughter spilling along his cheek and falling over his ear, raising gooseflesh along his arms and causing his manhood to flare.
“Aye,” she said with a teasing whisper to his ear, “I found the bed empty when I woke and you had promised me a morning tryst last night.”
“After wearing you out last night, I thought I should let you rest.”
Her soft laughter fell against his cheek along with her lips. “Or was it you who needed the rest?”
He couldn’t resist nipping along her neck to her ear. “It is you I need… always.”
Gooseflesh prickled Hannah’s skin and she rested her brow to his. “I do love you, husband.”
“Forgive the intrusion,” Helice said and they both turned to see she had entered the Great Hall. “Conlan is awake if you wish to speak with him.”
Hannah jumped up off her husband’s lap and rushed around the table. “How is he?”
“He is in pain, though bears it
well,” Helice said.
For once Hannah was glad for the woman’s blunt nature. She would rather know the truth of the lad’s condition than be fed lies and live on false hope. She turned to see that her husband would join her, but then he had been waiting for this moment when he could finally talk with Conlan.
Hannah hurried into the small room before Slain and Helice, going to the narrow bed and sitting on the chair beside it. She was disappointed that Conlan’s eyes were closed, thinking he had drifted back to sleep once again. She smiled when they sprang open.
“Hannah,” Conlan said, his attempted smile turning to a grimace.
Hannah took his hand, squeezing it gently. “You are safe here and here is where you will stay… in your new home.”
Another grimace struck Conlan when he went to display his surprise with a smile. It took a moment for him to be able to speak. “Truly?”
“Truly,” she said, not bothering to see if her husband would consent to Conlan joining the clan. She would not see the lad returned to her father and be treated badly.
“I tried—” He stopped, his breath suddenly lost to him along with his words, then once able he rushed his words out before the pain could rob him of them. “To stop him.”
Hannah helped him finish, seeing that speaking was causing him pain. “You tried to stop the large man from beating on the smaller one.”
Conlan nodded.
Slain stepped up behind his wife. “I admire your courage, Conlan.”
Conlan had to tilt his head back some to look up and when he saw who spoke to him, his eyes turned wide. “Savage,” he whispered.
“Slain,” Hannah corrected, “your new chief.”
Conlan did not take his eyes off Slain. “Did not set fire.”
“I am aware that you did not set the fire. The man you saved saw a large man with a torch. Did you know this man?”
Conlan shook his head slowly.
“Would you know him if you saw him again?” Slain asked.
“I did not see him.” Conlan scrunched his brow against the pain. “Laughed when he stabbed me.” He grimaced again.
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