by Marie Laval
There was something he had to tell her now, before it was too late. Something that had been bothering him ever since his encounter with Rose’s mail coach abductors.
‘Listen,’ he started, summoning the last of his strength, ‘you must beware of Morven. I think he means you harm. The post guard and the driver were acting on his orders when they brought you here …’
‘It must be because I threatened him this morning when he was burning that village and warned him I would get him dismissed by Cameron.’
‘That’s probably why he didn’t want you to reach Westmore. Another thing … promise you’ll leave this place as soon as the storm passes, whether I’m alive or not. Take Shadow and ride west, toward Borgie.’
He winced in pain. ‘Ask the innkeeper there to get a message to MacBoyd. To tell him he’ll find me at Sith Coille. Fairy Wood.’
The last thing he saw before the shadows engulfed him was her face, pale and serious, and her huge blue eyes as she leant over him. The last thing he felt was her cool, soft hand brush his hair back then linger a moment on his cheek.
Rose stayed at his side all night. She didn’t even dare close her eyes in case he needed a drink of water or tea, or if the fire went out.
In case he died while she was asleep.
He was delirious most of the time, caught, it seemed, in the never-ending nightmare of Ferozeshah, and calling endless warnings to his fallen comrades. Only once did he cry out about somebody else – a woman. He didn’t say her name but repeated over and over again that she shouldn’t be afraid and he wouldn’t hurt her.
‘I fear I’m going mad,’ he said in a brief lucid moment after drifting out of yet another series of terrifying hallucinations. ‘Talk to me. Please.’
So she told him about Bou Saada, and the stars shining like diamonds at night and the moon making magical shadows that moved and danced across the vast Saharan plains surrounding the oasis. She told him about the thick, moist scent of her oasis and the delicate orange-blossom fragrance – her favourite – that bathed her garden in the springtime. Her voice tense with anger and grief, she told him about the hated French army and how they’d taken her mother’s estate away only the year before, because of her brother’s involvement with the rebels.
‘Your brother was a rebel?’ he asked in a weak voice.
She nodded. ‘That’s right. Lucas fought against the French together with his childhood friend, Ahmoud. He’s given up the struggle now. He found a store of treasure last year and realised he would be more useful building roads, railway lines, schools and hospitals rather than fight a hopeless cause.’
She let out a chuckle and added. ‘His main reason for leaving the rebels’ camp however was Harriet, the woman he fell in love with and married last year. They’re expecting a baby any time now.’
‘What about his friend?’
She shrugged. ‘Ahmoud is still fighting. I don’t think he’ll ever give up. And neither will I … I sometimes help delivering messages or giving information about the movements of the soldiers in and around Bou Saada.’
‘You help? Isn’t that dangerous? What does your mother say about it?’
‘She doesn’t know. For years she was busy running the estate then when it was taken from us she tried to help our people survive. She’s been even busier sorting out the mess the French made since it was given back to us.’
Sadness and guilt tightened her throat. All this time, she’d been such a hopeless daughter, more a hindrance than a help in the estate office. Perhaps now she’d married Cameron her mother would be proud of her at last …
But McGunn wasn’t listening. His eyes were closed, his breathing laboured again.
Sometime before dawn she managed to coax him into getting up and lying on the bed where he would be more comfortable. He hadn’t moved or made a sound since.
It was the longest, most frightening night of her life and she almost wept with relief when the first blue and grey hint of daylight filtered dimly through a crack in the shutters. Leaving Lord McGunn’s side, she walked across the room, light-headed with fatigue, and opened the door onto a white world.
The abandoned village and the forest had all but disappeared, swallowed by the howling blizzard. As she stood at the door with the icy wind whipping her cheeks, burning her eyes and taking her breath away, the reality of her predicament finally sank in.
What if the storm lasted for days, weeks even? What if they ran out of food? What if Lord McGunn died despite all her efforts? She stepped back in, closed the door against the storm and leaned against the wooden pane.
He was in a bad way, in turns feverish or shaking with cold. His heartbeat was fast and loud, or so faint she could hardly feel it when she pressed her hand against his chest, and she feared he would die.
She took a deep breath. She wouldn’t let him die. She would put her dislike for him aside and take care of him even if she had no idea what ailed him and all she could do was give him sips of water or warm tea, mop his forehead, or make sure he wasn’t too hot or too cold.
Armed with fresh resolve, she combed her curls back with her fingers and twisted her hair into a tidy plait. Next she blew the candle out and slipped her cloak on. The flask of whisky on the table caught her eye. She took it and walked out, making sure the door was securely shut behind her.
Bruce McGunn might disagree, but that whisky was pure poison. She tipped the contents of the flask in the snow, wrinkling her nose at the smell. It must be strong to have affected Bruce McGunn so much last night. He couldn’t have drunk that much, the flask was more than half-full. Well, he wouldn’t drink any more now …
She slid the empty flask into her pocket, removed the shutters from the window to let daylight flood into the cottage, then struggled through knee-deep snow toward the stables. Shadow neighed softly when she let herself in. It was the tallest, the most impressive horse she’d ever seen, much taller than the Arabians she rode at home. A little apprehensive, she reached out slowly to pat its neck before readjusting the blanket on its back. She left with the promise of returning later with a treat – an apple or two from his master’s supplies.
Back in the cottage, she gathered the largest pot she could find and went out again to get water from the stream at the far end of the village. It was icy and her hands were soon red, raw and freezing. In no time her boots were wet too, her feet numb and her face stung as if pricked by thousands needles.
It was a relief to return to the house, close the door against the freezing wind and put the heavy pot on the table. It was an even greater relief to see that Lord McGunn was still alive.
She made some hot tea then tiptoed to the bed, a steaming cup in her hand, and called his name.
He growled to leave him alone.
She ignored him.
‘And how are you feeling this morning?’ she asked in a bright and cheerful voice.
‘Like hell,’ came the muffled reply as he turned to face the wall.
‘At least you’re alive. Here, I made some tea.’
‘I don’t want anything.’
She pulled the plaid down, lay her hand on his shoulder and felt the strong, hard muscles beneath the linen shirt.
‘You need to drink something.’
He turned to look at her and her throat tightened at the sight of his bloodshot eyes surrounded by dark shadows.
‘You won’t leave me alone until I drink that tea, will you?’
She shook her head.
‘I thought so.’
He sat up and leant against the wall to blow gently on his tea before sipping the liquid. His shirt had come unfastened during the night and hung open on his muscular chest. Rose caught a glimpse of his oddly shaped medallion and of the blue tattoo he called his curse.
He drank the tea, and gave her the empty cup back.
‘Will you go away now?’
‘What about something to eat – some oat bread, an apple maybe?’ She frowned, ‘although you can’t have them all, I did prom
ise a couple to Shadow.’
He closed his eyes. ‘All I want is to sleep. I’ll be better in a couple of hours, if you can keep quiet for that long.’
‘I’m only trying to help, and have a polite conversation. If you think for one minute I am enjoying being stuck in this little house with a grumpy man and a howling gale for company …’
‘I don’t care whether you’re enjoying yourself or not. Find something to do, anything, as long as it doesn’t require talking.’
She pursed her lips and stomped away from the bed.
‘Never fear, Lord McGrowl, you shall have your wish. I’m leaving you well alone and won’t utter another …’
‘Rose,’ he warned, softly this time.
‘… word,’ she finished, tossing her plait over her shoulder and trying to ignore the way her heart had flipped when he’d said her name.
After a breakfast of cheese, crumbly oat bread and tea, she searched the cottage for supplies, and couldn’t repress a shriek of joy when she discovered a couple of jars filled with what looked like preserve at the back of the dresser. She opened the lid, stuck a finger inside the jam, gave it a cautious lick and smiled. It was delicious, sweet and fruity.
Unfortunately there was nothing else.
Maybe McGunn had brought more food? She emptied his bags on the table, found two dozen hard biscuits, another bag of tea, a few more small wrinkly apples and an oddly shaped, almost flat and smelly parcel she lifted out of the bag with a grimace.
‘What is that stink?’ she muttered, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the pungent smells of rotten seaweed, brine and salt.
She untied the thin cord, lifted the sides of the cloth and uncovered four yellowing fish fillets, no doubt carried from Wrath Harbour. She wrapped them back up quickly. She would have to be very hungry to eat them!
The other bag contained no food but a couple of changes of clothing – thick shirts, trousers, and men’s undergarments she quickly tossed back into the bag – as well as a box of ammunition and a short knife in a thick, black leather scabbard. Right at the bottom of the bag her fingers touched a pair of shoes which were tucked under thick woollen socks.
She pulled them out and her eyes widened as she recognised her purple velvet slippers, the very ones she had lost in Wrath outside the Old Norse’s Inn.
Thoughtful, she put them into her bag. Why had McGunn bothered to retrieve them from the village and bring them with him? The man really was surprising …
Sounds of snoring made her turn her head toward the bed. He was asleep again, but for the first time his breathing was slow and regular.
Perhaps she should saddle Shadow and ride away, straight to Cameron.
Her heart beat faster. Could she actually escape and leave McGunn on his own? She looked out of the window. Outside the storm still raged outside. Leaving now would be pure folly, especially since she didn’t even know how to reach Westmore.
No, she was trapped here. At least she had a roof over her head and the cottage was warm. There was nothing else to do but rest, so she sat near the fire and closed her eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
Rose pressed her nose against the grimy window pane. She had heard people in the clearing. Two men stood in front of the cottage, wrapped up against the cold, with hats covering their hair, scarves hiding their face from the gusts of freezing wind, and bundles tied to their back. Behind them, a one-horse cart creaked to a stop. A woman climbed down and gestured towards the empty houses.
Since her cloak was still damp from the various outings she’d made during the day to fetch water and check on Shadow, Rose grabbed McGunn’s black coat and slipped it on. It was far too big, of course, but at least it was warm.
‘Hello,’ she called, as she opened the door, shouting over the howling blizzard.
The woman let out a piercing shriek and hid behind one of the men who held out his stick and pointed it to Rose’s chest.
‘Put your stick down, Garbhan. Can’t you see it’s only a wee woman?’ The other man said.
‘Aye, I can see that now.’ The man called Garbhan dropped his stick to the ground and pulled the scarf down from his face.
‘Sorry about that, lass. I didn’t mean to scare you but you startled me. I thought Sith Coille had been cleared by Morven and his gang last summer. I’m Garbhan McKenzie, by the way, and this is my father, Angus,’ he added, pointing to the old man.
The woman who had screamed peeked timidly from behind him.
‘Here’s my wife, Alana,’ he carried on. ‘And back there in the cart, there’s my mother and …’
‘Dad!’ Two small girls and a tall, lanky lad jumped down from the cart and ran toward them.
‘These three rascals are our children, Ross, Lorna and Ina.’
The McKenzie family stood facing her, with an expectant look in their eyes. Rose cleared her throat and took a deep breath.
‘I am Rose,’ she started, unsure of how to introduce herself. The last thing she wanted was to tell the family she was Lady McRae. God knows what they would make of her presence here alone with Lord McGunn and what awful rumours they might spread …
‘Where are you travelling to in this dreadful weather?’ she asked.
The friendly smile on Garbhan McKenzie’s face was replaced by a glum expression.
‘Inverness probably, or anywhere where we can find work and a place to live.’
Behind him, Alana let out a sob and buried her face in her hands.
‘Don’t start crying again, woman.’ He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. ‘What’s done is done, and crying won’t bring our house back now that Morven’s thrown us out.’
Rose’s heart tightened. Like so many other families in Westmore, the McKenzies had been evicted by Cameron’s factor.
Garbhan gestured to the cottages.
‘We heard that Sith Coille was abandoned and decided to stop here a day or two to sit the storm out and avoid the gangs of bully-boys roaming the roads. Drunken thugs, all employed by Morven.’
‘I’ll kill Morven and McRae one day for what they’ve done to us,‘ the boy growled, pulling himself up tall. ‘When I’m big and all grown up, I swear I will.’
‘Watch your tongue, Ross lad,’ his father scolded sharply.
Shocked by the steely hatred in the boy’s eyes and the determination in his voice, Rose stepped forward.
‘Your father is right, young man, but don’t you worry, Morven will get his comeuppance. I will tell Lord McRae about him and he’ll make sure he’s punished for what he’s done.’
The boy narrowed his eyes, doubtful. ‘Why should McRae listen to you, even if he cared?’
Her mind was made up. She would tell them her name, right this instant, and give them the assurance that they would soon get justice.
‘Morven’s days are numbered, I promise you. And I can assure you that Lord McRae does care and that he’ll listen to what I have to say because, you see, I am his …’
‘What are you doing out there in the cold, gràidheag?’ McGunn’s voice interrupted, gruff and loud.
She swung round.
He stood in the doorway of the cottage. With his shirt hanging loose, his face pale and half hidden by his dark beard and framed by his long hair, he looked like he’d just got out of bed – which of course, he had. What did he think he was doing, calling her ‘sweetheart’ in front of these people?
‘It’s freezing out there,’ he added. ‘Come back inside and keep my bed warm.’
What? Rose’s heart stopped. Had he gone completely mad? There was no way she could tell the McKenzies she was Lady McRae now.
‘Who’s that?’ Garbhan McKenzie frowned and pushed his children behind him.
‘He is … he is …’ Rose swallowed hard, unable to think of what to say next.
‘I’m Bruce McGunn. Rose and I are … ahem … good friends – very good friends, in fact – aren’t we, sweetie?’ He winked at her.
Shock and fury rendered her speechless.
Angus McKenzie opened his eyes wide.
‘You’re Lord McGunn, from Wrath,’ he said in a slightly trembling voice. ‘We won’t impose on you and your young lady, my lord. We’ll leave straight away.’
Garbhan nodded and gathered his children in front of him and pushed them toward the cart.
‘Don’t be daft,’ McGunn replied sharply. ‘You can’t travel in this storm, not with little ones. There are plenty of empty houses here for you to stop by tonight, but first …’
He flashed Rose another smile. ‘My sweet Rose has a lovely fire going in our little cottage, so why don’t you all come in and get warm? I’m sure she’ll make us some tea too.’
His sweet Rose? How dare he? She would show him exactly how sweet she was feeling right now and what he could do with his tea!
‘Then we accept, with heartfelt thanks.’ The old man was unable to hide his relief. ‘Come on, son, let’s take care of the horse and unload a few supplies for tonight.’
‘Will you give us a moment?’ Rose asked the women in a clipped voice before stomping up to the cottage, with McGunn’s coat flapping around her.
She followed him inside and slammed the door behind her. Melting snowflakes rolled down her wind-whipped cheeks, and droplets of water trickled down her neck. Her hair had worked its way out of the plait and hung, wild and tangled, around her face. In the giant coat, its sleeves well past the tips of her fingers, she probably looked half-crazed, and completely ridiculous.
She was far too angry to care.
‘The fever must have addled your already weakened brain!’ she started. ‘How dare you let these people think we are … we are …’
‘Lovers?’ he suggested, arching one eyebrow. ‘It’s for the best, believe me. I heard what they said about being displaced by Morven and his gang. You don’t really want them to find out you’re married to McRae – the man who caused them to lose everything, do you?’
‘For the hundredth time, these evictions have nothing to do with Cameron,’ she hissed. ‘They are all down to his factor.’
‘You are the most mulish woman I ever met.’ He crossed his arms on his chest. ‘How long are you going to hide from the truth?’
