“I came to find ye,” Mary said quickly. “I couldn’t bear the thought of ye lying here on the field. I’ve turned over more dead men than I care to count.”
Malcolm snorted rudely. “Nasty business ye have taken on, lass. Da has to be furious that ye’ve gone out alone!”
“Father has gone on to Perth, by order of the King,” Mary explained. “He doesn’t know. Mother tried to stop me but I slipped out after dark.”
Malcolm tried to frown and shoved a hand into his hair. “Good lord, Mary.” He sighed and glanced at William. “She’s your sister.”
Kneeling beside Nicholas, William heaved a similar sigh. “Nay, she’s just like you, doing fool things she should not.”
Malcolm prodded his toe against Nicholas. “Ye’ve more than loot there, Mary.”
Mary pressed her hands against her chest as Malcolm crouched beside William. Nicholas had been silent for some time, perhaps even now was dead. She'd been afraid to check. She glanced warily at her brothers as they waited for her answer, looking at her expectantly. A rash decision, perhaps, but she had made a promise, one she’d keep. “I’ve vowed to help him, if I can,” Mary confessed.
Malcolm grunted sourly. “He looks English.”
William drew off one of Nicholas' gauntlets. “No, not English,” William countered, “but a noble all the same. He clearly has money; his clothes although dirty are good quality, his gloves German made most like, by the stitching. Did he have any weapons?”
Mary shook her head. “Nay, someone had already taken them.”
“Ye've no idea who he is do ye?” William asked. At the shake of her head he rolled his eyes. “And yet ye've promised to save him? A fool errand, if ye ask me.” He ran his hands over Nicholas and then laid his ear to Nicholas’s chest. He pulled aside his tunic to peer at the wounds underneath.
Mary sat down on a rock nearby, knowing her brothers would make any further decisions regarding Nicholas’s fate. William continued his inspection, grunting quietly at the damage he found. Mary chewed on her fingernails, watching expectantly. Would they refuse him aid? She had only Angus’s word that the man was a Scot and a friend; though very few would contradict the burly Highlander.
Malcolm tucked Nicholas’ gauntlets into his belt. “I’d hazard a guess he’s not a Lowlander,” her brother decided astutely. “He’s got a wild look about him, even half dead. Did he say anything that might give ye a clue where he’s from?”
Mary shrugged, twisting her hands nervously. “He wore chain mail and he had
a ring that had a symbol of a dagger in a hand, surrounded by a circle.” She folded her hands on her lap with a shiver, remembering the blood on the mail, the damage to the chain mesh. “He speaks without any burr at all, but he doesn’t sound English either.”
Both of her brothers looked at her curiously. “Where is his armor?” Malcolm asked.
“I hid it. It was all I could do to drag him as I have,” she said defensively.
William looked at Malcolm, a faint smile curving his mouth. “An intriguing question, don’t ye think, Mal?”
Malcolm winked at Mary. She heaved a silent sigh of relief for it meant her brothers would take the man in.
William peered underneath Nicholas’ tunic again. “Ye said he was he wearing chest protection then?”
Mary nodded. “Aye, he had a chain mail shirt on under a leather tunic.”
William grunted sourly. “Well, it saved his life. He’s been crushed from what I can tell, plus, like most of the men, sick as well. Supplies have been lacking for most of the army for months.”
“Angus MacDubh said his name was Nicholas,” Mary offered finally, nearly wincing as both men turned toward her with frowns. “He said to let his family know and they’d come to get him.”
A strange looked passed between Malcolm and William. Her brothers knew Angus well. Mal tilted his head back and then closed his eyes. “Aye, of course they would, he’s a treasure this one.” Malcolm grimaced. “It’s worse than I thought then; ye’ve taken on a Highlander.”
“We are to rights Highlanders as well, lad, even if only just a wee bit being so close to the border as Drymen is.” William argued, and then he smiled at Mary. “No disrespecting the man, Mary, but he’s from the wilds, lass. A dangerous lot they are. Ye were a fool to take him on, he might have killed ye had he awoke with ye near.”
Mary shifted guiltily on her rock. “He’s wounded and ill, William, how could he have hurt me?”
William folded Nicholas’ cloak over him again. “Well, it’s done is it not?” William removed a pack from his hip and searched inside it. “I would have hated to heal an Englishman after all this.” He opened a small leather sack and poured something into his hand. “Give me yer water, Malcolm; I need a bit of something to stir this into.”
“Aye, well I’ve something finer than that, seeing as we’ve a Mackay on our hands. Some neat usquebaugh will do the trick a might better.” He pulled a flask from under his cloak. “If whisky doesn’t perk up a man, can’t say what will.”
Mary rested her chin on her hand, leaning forward to watch her brothers take over Nicholas’s care. A Mackay then? They were fierce men, it was said, born warriors most of them, well used to conflict. “How do you know who he is?”
Malcolm looked up from where he knelt beside Nicholas. “Angus MacDubh. To speak of yer man as he did and seeing as a wee lass like you was planning on dragging Nicholas away, he’s got to know him pretty well.”
Mary lowered her eyes. She wouldn’t tell them of Angus’s warning.
“Secondly,” Malcolm added as he put away his flask. “The armor - chain mail is expensive. Few have the means to buy it unless they've noble blood. Nicholas here had it plus leather tunic and gauntlets, thank you very much man.” Malcolm patted the gloves in his belt. “All German made, near the finest to be had. Few are able to acquire such finery, unless . . .” Malcolm rose fluidly to his feet, “he’s a mercenary which then tells me just who the bloody man is.” Malcolm folded his arms over his chest and grinned.
Mary looked at William and shrugged. Mal did like long-winded explanations.
William shook his head. “Glad to know Angus is alive.”
“Aye, and well,” Mary said.
“We’d best get the Mackay home then,” William decided, “before we get accosted by some English bastard ready to do battle again.”
“Oh, they won’t be ready for a few weeks after today’s rout,” Malcolm declared, bending down to toss Nicholas effortlessly over his shoulder.
Mary sat up, voicing the question that had nagged at her since finding her brothers. “And Rory, lads, what’s become of Rory?”
William pulled Mary to her feet and then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I am sure Rory’s good and drunk now. The last we left him they were threatening to chop off his leg.”
“Good lord, no!” Mary cried.
“Ach, no doubt they’d try, but between Rory and the lass sitting on his chest, there wasn’t going to be any cutting going on. He’ll be around when he can.”
Mary sighed in relief. She tucked her hand beneath William’s arm. “How did ye come to find me?”
William pulled her closer. “Well, truth be told, sister, we’d received a note from Mam that ye’d gone off to hunt us down. Rory said to find you or he’d kick our arses to the Orkneys if we didn’t.” He chuckled, eyeing the man lying over Malcolm’s shoulder. “We could have dropped off your wee parcel on the way, but instead, we’ll carry him home like a lost puppy.”
Mary smiled. “And ye’ll heal him?”
William smiled back. “Aye, if that is what ye want, lass.”
***
Sunlight woke Nicholas, the heat warm on his eyelids, the sound of a bird chirping drawing him out of a deep sleep. He opened his eyes to find he was in a small room, hardly big enough for the bed he was in, but respectable with whitewashed walls and simple but well made furniture.
It reminded him of home, of the stark castle his family had called Varrich.
He struggled to sit up, groaning at the complaint from his ribs and shoulder. His chest felt heavy and it took a conscious effort to breathe. He felt his side but only found several strips of cloth binding his ribs. Someone had obviously taken some time to care for him, but just who, he wondered. Nothing registered as familiar in the room,a tapestry on the wall an idyllic scene in the woods that gave him no clue to where he was.
He was not bound, however, which was a good sign he was not in English hands. Had that been the case he would have been in far worse quarters instead of the relative comfort of someone’s bedchamber. He sank back against the pillows with a sigh. His memory clouded, he could recall little of what had transpired after the battle. He would have to wait to see just who had saved him and why.
It did not take long before footsteps in the hall outside made him close his eyes and relax.
He heard the door open as someone kicked it, the wood complaining as it swung wide of the doorway. A jingling of utensils suggested a maid or servant of some kind, but the smell wafting to his nose hinted at someone who bathed regularly in lilac scented water. He waited, holding his breath as the woman set her tray somewhere and then approached the bed.
Her touch on his forehead gave him goose bumps, incongruous as that was, but he held still beneath her hand.
Her fingers gently brushed over his brow. “Oh, yer fever has broken, thank god.”
Nicholas remembered her voice. She had been the one who had taken him from the battlefield. He reached out, opening his eyes to see her turning away toward a table beside the bed. Nicholas caught her wrist before she reached it, jerking her back to face him.
She squealed in alarm and drew back instinctively. He held her fast, disarmed by the fragile feel of her bones under his fingers. He gentled the hold when pain flickered in her eyes.
“Where am I?”
She tried to pull her wrist free but he held her tight. “Ye are in Drymen,” she replied testily.
Nicholas frowned and searched his memory for the place. Bannockburn was not as familiar as home and many of the Scottish clans nearby had fought for the English as much as for the Bruce. Drymen, however, was familiar, the family known to him. “You must be one of the Drummonds then.”
She was pretty as he remembered, her blond, almost white hair pulled back into a braid over her shoulder. The memory seemed distant and misty. He shook his head free of the thought, focusing on the woman again. Norse then - the Drummonds were descended from Hungarian blood, Anglo-Saxons fleeing the ilk of Norman invaders in their day. Her blue eyes were wide, yet she did not seem to ready to flee, but stood within his grasp warily. He drew her closer, forcing her to the side of the bed. “How long have I been here?”
“Nearly two weeks, Highlander,” she said stiffly. “Ye’ve hardly eaten a thing since. I feared more ye might die of hunger than from yer wounds. I’ll not harm ye so release me.” When he did not she scowled fiercely. “Ye have broken yer fever and will be well enough in a few weeks. A token of our hospitality that ye now insult,” she complained with a glance at his fingers.
Nicholas remembered little of the battle, or the days afterward. He was reluctant to let her go, fearing she would flee. “Who else knows I am here?” he asked, coughing the words as his breath caught in his throat, his chest aching at the effort to hold her in place.
She looked at him in concern. “My brothers, of course,” she said and then smiled suddenly as louder footsteps echoed down the hall. “William is coming. Ye can thank him for taking ye in.” She leaned closer to whisper. “Holding me thus, however, will get a dagger in yer heart.”
He let go of her and settled back into the bed, rubbing his chest. She moved back a step and lifted a cup from the tray she’d brought just as a large man stepped into the doorway, blocking any light from the hallway.
“Ah, so he’s awake.”
William made the woman look tiny. Nicholas was over six feet, but this hulking Scot topped him by several inches, with wide shoulders and a well-muscled body. His touch was gentle, however, when he placed a hand over Nicholas’ brow.
“The fever has broken. How do ye feel?”
“Like hell,” Nicholas admitted. He felt incredibly weak, far too vulnerable in the face of such a man like Drummond. It irritated Nicholas, but there was little he could do.
“Well, ye seem a mite better than ye were,” William decided. He sat on the edge of the bed. “We sent word to yer clan when we first returned home and it’ll be some time before they can fetch you.”
Nicholas frowned, studying the man in front of him. “I won’t be here that long; you’ll have to send word to turn back.”
The woman frowned at him from beside her tray, her gaze concerned. “And where will ye go then? Ye should go home to rest!”
Varrich Castle was the last place he wanted to be. Nicholas rubbed his brow as tension throbbed beneath his temple. “I appreciate your help, but insist I will be well enough to be on my way shortly.”
William rose from the bed with a chuckle. “Ach, but we can’t let ye go off alone, man. We’ve already received word they’re coming, it’s too late to turn back now. Ye’ll just have to wait here until they arrive.”
Nicholas struggled to sit up and found a beefy hand shoving him back. William leaned over him. “I’m setting Mary as guard. Ye are not well enough to leave the bed, let alone the keep, lad, trust me I know. And I know it’ll eat at ye to be idle, but we’ve been sent word that under no circumstances are we to let ye go.” He grinned at Nicholas. “In a mite of trouble with the family are ye?”
Nicholas shoved the man’s hand from his shoulder, annoyed at how difficult it was. “What are they offering to delay me?”
“Donald Mackay’s suggested perhaps we marry yer older brother to my sister.” William smiled at Mary who stared at him in shock. “Not that giving her off to a bloody Highlander will even be considered, at least until Rory comes home, that’s for sure.” William shoved Nicholas back into the pillows. “Until things are bit more settled, keep to yer bed or I’ll be back.”
William kissed Mary’s forehead on the way out.
Nicholas rubbed his brow, aggravated by William’s announcement but not sure if it was because his family was on the way or the offer of marriage. For some reason he found he didn’t like the idea of Sebastian marrying the woman at all.
Chapter 3
His voice had set her on edge. The sound, unlike the usual lilting brogue of most Highlanders, was still gruff, a masculine sound that sent goose bumps racing along Mary’s spine. He was a striking man now that he was clean, if still too pale. She drew back when William left, wary and unsettled. The Highlander had moved quick as an adder, his grip a steel vise on her wrist, just as he had when she'd found him at Bannockburn. But shocked as she’d been by the sudden movement, feeling Nicholas’ fingers on her skin had not been the only thing to set her heart racing. It was his eyes, clear now of the dullness of pain, a warrior’s eyes that were sharp and piercing in their clarity. Mary had felt as if he could see her inside and out, and after a few moments, without any clothing as well.
Men did that, but Mary had never felt so affected by the perusal.
He didn’t speak after William had left. She wondered if he would give in so easily. Lifting her tray she turned toward the bed.
“I don’t care to eat,” he said.
Mary smiled to herself. He lay sprawled across the bed with one arm thrown over his eyes. Dark hair brushed his shoulders, clean of the dirt and blood of battle. She’d liked the feel of it as she’d washed it, soft and silky beneath her fingers.
“Act like a child will you?” Mary chided. “Will you stomp yer feet as well? Fold yer arms over yer chest and declare ye are leaving as soon as ye can?”
“I thought I did just that,” Nicholas said from beneath his arm.
“Oh, I missed the stomping
of feet part,” she replied and moved next to the bed with the cup of soup she’d brought. “Shall I feed ye then, Master Mackay? Ye've hardly taken a bite at all this past week except for a few drams of water.”
Nicholas sighed, deeply. “I can feed myself, thank you.”
“Will ye then?” she inquired, concerned. Even though he had improved since coming to Drymen, he was still far too weak. She frowned at the soup and then glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “I’ve spent a lot of time cooking this.”
“No doubt you carried me from the battle field as well,” he replied dryly, most of his face still hidden by his arm.
“Well in that, I did for some ways until I met up with William and Malcolm,” Mary admitted.
“So you did,” Nicholas agreed softly.
Mary was silent and he moved his arm to look at her. Had he been awake then? The thought made her shiver for some reason. “I didn’t think ye realized what was happening,” she said. She’d known he was partly conscious at the time, but had he really been aware of her?
“I heard you talking.” Nicholas stared at Mary intently. “I don’t approve of looters.”
Mary blanched and lifted a hand to her throat. “I didn’t take them.”
“Take what?”
“Yer things, I mean, I did, but only to keep them safe. See,” she moved to the far side of the room, rummaging in a chest. “They are here, yer ring, the chain and the locket.”
She walked back to him, holding out the jewelry, noting he had lifted his hand to his throat. Was it important then, the locket? “See, I kept them safe. The others would have taken them.”
He folded her fingers closed. “Keep them as yet,” he said. He sighed and closed his eyes. “Perhaps William was right. I am not quite ready to rise, but soon.”
Mary tucked the jewelry into her skirt. “Aye, William knows best. The broth is there on the table. I’ll not press ye, Master Mackay.”
She paused at the door, reluctant to leave. How would he fare? Like most men, he was clearly stubborn and independent. It would be his luck to fall trying to get up. She grimaced at the thought and retreated with the feeling he meant to leave before his family arrived.
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 2
