by Diana Cosby
Seathan battled on, refusing to lower his guard, Linet clinging to him and shaking uncontrollably as he dealt with his next aggressor, then pushed forward.
Tearlach’s knights continued to lose ground. At last, with their numbers severely diminished, the viscount’s men fled.
“Do not allow them to escape,” Seathan ordered. His knights gave chase, disappearing into the forest.
Heart pounding, he dragged in several deep breaths. The thrill of victory faded as he scanned the break within the trees filled moments before with battle. Several of his men lay injured, others were sprawled upon the ground unmoving. Though they’d won, the cost of victory, as with every meeting of the blades, was high.
Linet trembled in his arms.
“’Tis fine, lass, the fighting is over.” But not the cost. As always, the loss of his men would haunt him. And now, she, too, would carry images of the carnage.
Those severely injured would be taken back to Lochshire Castle. It would weaken his force, but he refused to allow men who’d fought so bravely to die.
With a soft groan, she slumped against him.
“Linet.”
Silence.
Seathan glanced down, stilled. A smear of blood coated her arm. Stunned, he checked his limbs. He did not remember being cut.
Panic lanced him. “Linet?”
A moan fell from her lips.
His heart slammed against his chest. Gently, he turned her, pushed away the blanket.
Her skin was pale as sun-bleached cloth, her eyes dazed as she met his. “I—” She began to violently shake, then her eyes rolled back. She fainted.
God in heaven! “Post guards!” Seathan ordered to several men who had returned. “Everyone else, tend to the wounded.” He swung to the ground, looked up, and caught sight of the gash across the opposite side of her head. Guilt tore through him as he remembered the attacker who’d swung and missed.
Except, he hadn’t. Her scream had not been from fear, but pain. Christ’s blade, the lass had taken the blow meant for him.
He slid his thumb across her cheek. “Linet, look at me.”
Weakly she opened her eyes. “Leave me alone.”
Her pain-roughened words struck like an arrow to the heart. Damn him, ’twas his duty to protect her. “I am going to lift you down.”
“No…” She dragged in a ragged breath. “I—”
With his hand supporting her, he dismounted, then lifted her to the ground.
She cried out.
“Steady, lass.”
“My lord?” a knight said as he rushed over.
Seathan nodded to his man. “Bring me water, quickly.”
His knight hurried off.
Bedamned, though his knights chased those who fled, more of Tearlach’s men might be nearby. If the echoes of battle reached them, the viscount’s men would ride toward them posthaste. Neither could he dismiss the additional threat if but one of Tearlach’s men reached their lord.
“Linet,” he said, his words soft, thick with worry.
She moaned.
Guilt sliced through him.
Solid steps slapped the ground as the guard returned. He handed him the water pouch.
“My thanks.” Seathan helped her sit, then knelt before her. “I am going to clean the wound,” he explained, unsure whether she could hear him through the pain, but he continued to talk, to soothe her, aware the calming words were as much a balm for him as her. His hand shaking, he poured water onto a clean cloth. With care, he dabbed around the severed skin, the chalky color of her face in stark relief to the angry slash of red.
She moaned, started to turn away.
He gently caught her. “Easy now.” The cut was deep. It needed to be sewn and treated with herbs to avoid infection. He’d seen worse injuries, but to men honed for battle. Not delivered to a woman raised in the cradle of nobility.
Sadly used to the coppery stench of blood stinging the air, he scanned the open expanse strewn with the bodies of his enemy as well as sprinkled with his own men. However much he did not want to move her, to remain here was too dangerous. Once his men returned, they would depart.
He clenched his teeth. He should have left her at Lochshire Castle, where she would be safe. No, hurt to discover she was Tearlach’s sister, ashamed that after learning of her blood tie he desired her still, he’d sought to repay her treachery and use her as barter, had wanted her punished.
But not like this.
He could not bear to think his anger at himself, his need for vengeance, would cost Linet her life.
She would not die!
He looked at the sky, to where the sun’s rays cut through the misery of dense fog like a yellowed knife. As if an omen, the hawk once again flew overhead, its wings stretched wide.
With his heart aching, he lifted the woman who already mattered too much to him in his arms, her every moan like a dagger to his soul. “You will live,” he whispered. “Damn you, you will live.”
Chapter 15
The next few hours passed as if a curse given. The bodies of Seathan’s men were buried, the last of his knights who’d given chase to Tearlach’s men had returned, and after dropping the final shovel of mist-dampened earth, they mounted and he led his men northward.
Exhaustion washed through Seathan as he fought to keep the weather-battered trees in focus. Water splashed in thin sheets as he guided his mount through a shallow stream. When he reached the opposite bank, he lowered his gaze to Linet, cradled before him. A soft moan fell from her lips, but she kept her eyes closed.
He studied the cloth he’d secured around her head to keep pressure on her gash, prayed he’d done enough, that she was strong enough to endure the hours of arduous travel ahead. Once they broke for camp this evening, after he’d treated the wound with herbs, he would sew it shut. Until then, time permitted little more. Once Tearlach’s men failed to report to their lord, the viscount would scour the area with ruthless intent.
“Seathan?”
At Linet’s weak voice, he looked down. With each league traveled, her skin had grown paler.
“Aye?” he whispered, wishing he could offer her more than words. ’Twas his error in judgment that had led them into the ambush. An error that had cost several of his men their lives.
“How…” With tortuous slowness, she peered at him through her thick amber lashes, her eyes filled with pain. “How much longer will we ride?”
“Until we are without daylight.”
“I—”
“Do not talk.”
“Ever the lord,” she said dryly.
“Do you ever do as you are told?” he asked, irritated she’d disobey him when she sorely needed rest.
“Do you?”
At her teasing, he wanted to smile. How could he not admire her spirit, be drawn to her strength? But she was his enemy, in league with her brother in God knew what treachery. A fact he must never forget.
And if she is innocent?
The words spun through his mind. Seathan rubbed his eyes and shoved aside the question.
“Rest,” he ordered. “No more talking.” For a moment he thought she would argue, but thankfully, her exhaustion won and she closed her eyes.
Hours passed. With the sun a burnt ball of orange struggling to remain in the sky, Seathan scoured the familiar landscape. As designed, the dense line of trees would provide excellent cover, the height, offer a strategic view. No one would escape their sight if they dare approach.
Seathan raised his hand. “Halt.”
Exhaustion lined the faces of his men, but the sadness of this day weighed heavy on them as well as the memories of those they’d lost. Like he, they would focus on those who had lived, on the challenges ahead.
With his entire body aching, his injuries throbbing, he dismounted, then lifted Linet into his arms. He strode toward the weather-scuffed flat of stone, a marker used by the rebels.
Many years had passed since he’d visited this hideout, one he’d used in his fir
st meeting with Wallace. He scanned the forest below, thick with shadows carved by the fading light.
Where was their rebel leader now? After he’d slain the Sheriff of Lanark, where had he hidden? A handful of places came to mind, but that Wallace was safe was what mattered the most. With the Bishop of Wishart backing them, as did the other Guardians of Scotland, the rebels would rise again.
And what of Longshanks’s reaction to the news of his sheriff’s murder? Entrenched in his plans to quell the revolt in Flanders, King Edward would be hard-pressed to break free. Still, the sheriff’s murder wouldn’t go without reprisal.
A writ to the Earl of Surrey to seize Wallace would no doubt be sent, but unknown to the English king, the earl, despising the Scots, had retired to his estate in England, leaving the treasurer, Hugh Cressingham, in charge. The delay in the missive reaching Surrey would buy them precious time.
He glanced at Linet limp within his arms, ached at the helplessness etched upon her face. With careful steps, he moved beneath a stone ledge carved by time. Beyond was a deep crevice that would shield her from the wind and provide privacy. He wished he could build a fire to ensure her warmth, but with Tearlach’s men about, they couldn’t take the risk.
“We are here,” he whispered as his men settled in outside, and orders for guards to be posted were quietly passed.
A knight walked over and laid another blanket upon a bed of leaves and pine left over from visits before.
“My thanks,” Seathan said. Carefully, he set her upon the woven wool.
Linet moaned.
Seathan stroked her hair. “Shhh.”
“Seathan?”
“Aye, I am here.”
Thick lashes slowly flickered open. “I hurt all over,” she whispered. “The most…in my head.”
He gently untied the cloth around the gash he’d secured earlier. “You have a large cut.” That had thankfully stopped bleeding.
She lifted her hand as if to touch it.
He caught her wrist. “Nay, ’tis best if you do not move. Here.” He lifted his water pouch to her mouth. “Drink.”
“I am not thirsty.”
“Do so anyway.” With a bit of coaxing, she drank three swallows.
Linet lifted her hand, feebly wiped her mouth. “No more.”
He stowed the water pouch. “You must rest. Today…” You almost died, he silently finished. His throat tightened. “We will remain here for the next couple of days.”
Understanding dawned on her face. “Because of me?” She hesitated. “How badly am I injured?”
“You need stitches. After I make you a brew to relax you, I will apply herbs and sew you up.” He’d tended many a battle wound: He’d do so now.
A wilted smile edged her mouth. “And I am to trust you?”
“You have no choice.”
She didn’t argue, alerting him to the severity of her pain. Frustrated, Seathan rose and strode to his mount, haunted by the knowledge that she was hurting—that a woman he believed was a spy was in pain, and he cared.
What if she was innocent? What if the reasons she’d given him for wanting to escape Tearlach were true? That she indeed despised her bastard of a brother?
After witnessing her strength as well as her sharp mind, he could see Linet daring such. The lass had courage many men would admire, strength he lauded as well.
If she’d told him the truth, then he’d wrongly accused her.
He blew out a hard breath, exhausted, confused, and frustrated. With the Scots struggling to reclaim their freedom, his every choice must be made for the good of his people. He could not risk his decisions being guided by his heart.
His heart?
An ache burned in his chest. Seathan shoved open the leather pack, gathered the items needed to sew the stitches. Nay, not his heart. Never again would he allow his feelings to be guided by a woman.
Through the waves of pain, Linet caught Seathan’s troubled expression. He was struggling with guilt at her injury.
She reached up, touched the cut along her head, and winced. Having helped treat the wounded in the past, she knew she was lucky to be alive.
Linet studied Seathan as he removed a small packet from the leather satchel hanging on his horse. Fatigue dragged tired lines across his face, yet he never faltered.
He would save her life, yet he wouldn’t offer her his trust.
She closed her eyes and turned away, wishing she were leagues from here. The pain throbbing through her body made the moment bearable. At least she could focus on that, let it smother her other emotions. For the pain of her injuries far from matched those delivered by the heart.
The crunch of leather upon stone announced Seathan’s arrival.
She kept her eyes closed, not wanting him to see her with her emotions so fragile.
“Are you asleep?”
The concern in his voice was impossible to resist. She opened her eyes. “No.”
“Here.”
Linet glanced up.
He handed her a different flask.
“What is it?”
“Whiskey.”
The numbing haze would soften the pain of the upcoming task. She drank deep, the burn hard and fast.
“Another,” he said when she made to hand him back the leather pouch.
After one more drink, he nodded in satisfaction. “We will wait a moment more. When I begin securing the stitches, do not move.”
Linet nodded, closed her eyes, savored the slight thickness settling in her mind, and prayed the stitching would be over posthaste. Her thoughts turned to wisps. Then she was floating. Or perhaps it was an illusion inspired by the whiskey, the burn still lingering in her throat.
As if woven by a magical hand, flickers of light swirled above her. Through her hazed mind, she focused on them.
Her lids grew heavy. She let them fall, thankful to drift off. After the coolness of the herbs against her skin, the recurring pinch, then tug of Seathan efficiently closing her wound wove through her dulled mind. Moments later, a cloth was gently wiped across her brow.
“I am finished.” A slight shuffle, the soft steps of his leaving.
Thank God the stitches were over. She did not need to have watched to know he had sewn with a fine hand. The herbs he’d applied after would ensure infection didn’t set in. Turning her head, she looked out into the night, glanced at where Seathan stood talking to one of his guards.
Another wave of lethargy slowly swept through her. As her lids again drifted shut, a dull pulsing at her side caught her attention.
The halved gemstone.
Hand trembling, she slipped the stone from her pocket. Palm flat, she held it before her.
As if a star drawn from the sky, it twinkled with a soft glitter. A sense of peace infused her, a calmness that she’d felt in the tower chamber of Lochshire Castle.
Unnerved, she shoved it in her pocket. A second passed. Then another. Seathan remained talking with one of the guards, while several other knights stood watch.
Linet closed her eyes, fought to purge all thought from her mind, but as if beckoned, a sense of warmth surrounded her. No, she felt nothing. She was dreaming. And whatever she was thinking, experiencing, it was not caused by the stone.
Warmth grew. A tingling began against her skin below where the stone had lain in her palm.
Hand trembling, she again removed the stone. As before, it shimmered in her hand. She inhaled deeply, then slowly released her breath. She would not panic.
Linet shot a look toward Seathan; he remained in deep conversation with the guard. She studied the moss agate. Why was the gemstone doing this? What did it mean? And did it have a connection to the other half that Seathan wore around his neck?
As if summoned, Seathan turned.
Sweet Mary!
“You are awake?” His deep voice rumbled as he strode toward her.
She shoved the gemstone out of sight—barely.
Two steps more, then Seathan hunkered down at her side. C
oncerned eyes scanned her. “How do you fare?”
“Tired.” And shaken. But she dared not tell him of the halved stone or its strange effect on her.
“How badly do you hurt?”
“I have fared worse.”
He lifted her face with his thumb, studied her with a sage eye. “The little warrior.” He shook his head. “I regret what you witnessed this day.” His voice grew rough.
“The cause of this day’s tragedy is my brother,” she whispered. “He is a man capable of great evil, regardless of who must die to achieve his goal.”
Seconds passed. He continued to stare at her with unnerving intent.
“I need to sleep.” It was the truth, but tired and aching, she doubted she would find any rest this night.
“You do.” Without warning, Seathan lay beside her, pulling another blanket to cover them both.
His battle-seasoned frame pressed against her, the heat from his body far from what she needed. “’Tis improper,” she whispered, wanting so much more.
“Improper?” He pulled her against him. “And what of our time spent within the cave?”
“Necessary,” she replied, even with her body aching, too aware of him. “Now, your men are about.”
“Consider them chaperones.”
“There is little proper—”
“You are warm?”
With his body pressed against hers, she was burning, but with need. “Yes, except—”
“Then my lying beside you is necessary. Be quiet.”
In the moonlight, Seathan took in the ragged stitches upon her brow. They would leave a scar, but that was a small sacrifice compared to her life.
He gently pressed his face against her hair, unable to resist savoring the smell of her, the softness of this woman. She had witnessed more today than most of her sex, yet she’d warned him of the attacking soldier, then had taken a blow meant for him. Most likely, she’d saved his life.
On an exhale, Linet closed her eyes. A wolf howled in the distance, but she remained still.
Seathan drew her against him, assuring himself it was her need for warmth, no other, that guided his actions. He closed his eyes, tried to sleep. After the last two days, he should have succumbed with ease. But he found himself listening to her even breaths, feeling her steady pulse against his skin.
