by B. J. Scott
“Fortunate? There is no guarantee he’ll ever be able to walk again, Bryce. It is a miracle he’s alive,” the other fellow remarked.
“We’ll worry about that later. Grab a plaid so we can cover him, Alasdair. And fetch my wineskin from my saddle. Make haste,” Bryce ordered.
“There is no use in trying to get him to drink, Bryce. He isna lucid enough. Hell, given his sorry state, he may never wake up.”
Bryce and Alasdair. The names meant nothing to Lazarus.
“Dinna say that, Alasdair. We’ve just gotten him back after more than twenty summers and I’m going to do everything I can to see he lives. I’ll not find him after all this time, only to lose him again,” Bryce said, then wiped something wet across Lazarus’s brow.
Lazarus sighed. The coolness against his heated flesh offered a few seconds of comfort amidst the agony. But it dinna last long.
“No one wants him to recover, or owes him more than I do,” Alasdair said. “When I was a sickly lad, confined abed, he stayed by my side. He read to me, taught me to carve animals out of scraps of wood, and kept me company when he could have been off playing with the other lads or training in the lists with Father’s men.”
Their voices faded in and out, and while Lazarus only caught pieces of their conversation, he’d heard enough to know these two men knew him, or thought they did.
“Maybe it is a blessing if he remains unconscious,” Alasdair said. “He has obviously been severely beaten, his face so bruised and swollen, he scarcely resembles a man. Look at the angle of his right leg. It was definitely broken in the fall, if not before. Judging by the shallow uneven way he’s breathing, I’d wager he as some broken ribs too. And there is no telling what other injuries we canna see.”
“All he needs some rest and a good healer. I wish Fallon were here,” Bryce said. “He’s burning with fever, and she’d know how to tame it.”
Lazarus had two names to put to the voices, but he still had no idea who they might be. He’d caught a glimpse of a few of the men prior to the battle, and while he thought one of them looked vaguely familiar, he couldn’t put a name to the face. Given the timber of his voice and the way he’d challenged Louis, he guessed the one named Alasdair was a leader, a gruff man who feared nothing. The one he called Bryce sounded a bit younger and had a gentle touch.
“Well, Fallon isna here, Bryce. We’ll have to tend to him the best we can.”
“We canna stay here,” Bryce said. “It willna be long before news of the battle reaches Berwick, and someone comes looking for him. And we dare not take him to town in search of a healer for fear of being arrested. Until Connor can square things with Robert the Bruce, we need to lay low.”
“Aye,” Alasdair said, “but he canna ride in his condition, so we’ll have to make something to carry him on.”
“Best we hurry. A couple of the French warriors managed to escape the skirmish. They ran off like frightened rabbits, but I have no doubt, they will be back with reinforcements,” a third man said. “The rest of the brigands are dead, so they pose us no threat. But I dinna wish to tarry any longer than we have to. How’s he doing, Bryce?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose. Where have you been, Connor?” Bryce asked. “You disappeared after the skirmish and Alasdair and I were starting to worry about you, brother.”
The voice of the third man, the one they called Connor, echoed in Lazarus’s head. But he didn’t recognize it either. He wanted to call out, to ask these men who they were and what they planned to do with him, but he couldn’t muster the strength. Despite the fog clouding his mind and the constant waves of excruciating pain, he listened intently to every word they said.
“I took Ian, Garrett, and some of the men back to the spot where the battle took place,” Connor said. “We buried the French soldiers. Given they are on foreign soil, there was nowhere fitting to lay them to rest.”
“The sadistic bastards got what they deserved. They dinna warrant a proper burial,” Bryce said. “I’d have left them for the wolves to feast upon their ballocks.”
“Trust me, the thought crossed my mind,” Connor said. “But we figured leaving their carcasses strewn about was not a good idea. They may be foreigners, but we dinna need to draw attention to ourselves or the fact there has been a skirmish until we were far and away.”
“The bampots dinna have to die,” Alasdair grumbled. “If the fools had just let James go, they could have been on their way. I gave them every opportunity to surrender him and leave, but their leader insisted on a confrontation.”
James? Another meaningless name rattled around in Lazarus’s head. Perhaps they’d mistaken him for someone else and hadn’t meant to rescue him after all. If it was planned, he wished he could thank them. But there was no way to know if they had an ulterior motive. Regardless, once Father Marquis learned of his escape, the priest would not rest until he was recaptured.
“If you recall our conversation with Brother Simon,” Connor said, “he told us they were following orders from a higher authority.”
“And a rogue priest, no less,” Alasdair added.
“The bastard obviously wanted something very badly to do this much damage to a man,” Bryce replied. “Perhaps James can tell us more when he wakes up. But until then, we need to find a safer place to tend to his injuries.”
At hearing Simon’s name mentioned, a sigh of relief escaped Lazarus’s lips. He could rest a little easier knowing he had been the target of their rescue. But why?
“What about the abandoned convent Brother Simon mentioned?” Alasdair asked. “He said if the rescue attempt was successful, he’d meet us there. Monks are trained in the healing arts, so he might be better suited to care for him than we are. Once James is able to travel, we can take him home to Fraser Castle. No one will dare come for him there.”
“You’re right,” Connor said. “I recall passing the priory a mile or so back. We’ll take him there and I’ll send Ian on to fetch Brother Simon. I just hope we willna worsen his condition by moving him again. What say you, Bryce?”
“To move him in this weakened state is risky at best,” Bryce replied. “But if we dinna do something soon, he’s going to die. We have no choice but to take him to the convent, and pray he survives the trip.”
“Ian,” Connor shouted.
“Aye,” a man replied.
“Ride to Ayton Abbey and fetch Bother Simon. Tell him what has transpired and have him bring his healing supplies,” Connor said. “Make haste.”
Ian Fraser. Lazarus suddenly put a name to the face he thought he’d recognized before the battle began. The same man who’d aided him and Sheena the day she was attacked. But what was he doing here? He said he lived in the Highlands and was only passing through Berwick on clan business. He should be long gone by now.
However, if this was the same man, the reason he was here really didn’t matter. Lazarus had trusted him with Sheena’s life and would trust him again with his own. His rescuers knew Brother Simon and Ian was going to fetch him. But as a sense of calmness washed over him, Lazarus thought about Sheena and Quinn. Were they safe? Or would they bear the brunt of Marquis’s ire?
“I’ll go to Ayton Abbey as quickly as my steed will carry me and return with the monk. He will know what to do,” Ian said. “And in the meantime, try not to fash. The Lord would not let you find James after all these years, only to take him from you again.”
Was James his real name? Like the other names he’d heard mentioned, aside from Ian’s, it still meant nothing to him. Lazarus swallowed hard, waging his own private battle against the excruciating pain, while doing his best to remain conscious and aware of what was going on around him. But when hands grasped his shoulders and hips, then lifted his body from the ground, he was grateful when he was consumed by darkness.
“What is taking so lon
g?” Connor asked. “Ian has been gone the better part of the day and should have been back with Brother Simon by now.”
Lazarus moaned as the haze clouding his mind slowly lifted and he once again became painfully aware of his predicament. But try as he might, he could not find the strength to speak or open his eyes. Why the Almighty chose a slow agonizing death was beyond his comprehension, but he wished the Lord would show mercy soon and free him from this torture.
“Patience, brother. It was at least a three-hour hard ride to the abbey and back,” Alasdair said. “I’m certain they’ll be here soon. If not, I’ll personally go and find them.”
“I hope they werena intercepted by Marquis or his men,” Bryce interjected. “His fever is worse and I’m not sure how much longer he can hold on.”
“I’m back and I’ve brought the monk,” Ian announced. “Sorry it took me so long, but we had to make sure we werena followed.”
“Dear Lord. What have those fiends done to you, my son?” Simon said.
Lazarus immediately recognized his friend’s voice and the gentle brush of his hand across his brow.
“He’s on fire. How long has he been like this?” Simon asked, the urgency in his voice unmistakable.
“Since we found him,” Bryce replied. “Can you save him?”
“I’m going to try,” Simon replied. “Fetch my bag of herbs and some water. I’ll also need any clean cloth you can find, and several long, straight, sturdy branches. And hurry. I must set his leg and try to get this fever down.”
Drawing on every ounce of strength he could muster, Lazarus managed to partially open one of his eyes. “Simon,” he rasped.
Simon placed a finger against Lazarus’s lip. “Shhh, dinna try to speak. You must save your strength.” He gently lifted Lazarus’s head before bringing a wineskin to his mouth. “Can you try and take a sip?”
With a shaky hand, he pushed the flagon away. “Sheena . . . Quinn . . .” Lazarus paused to draw in a ragged breath. “Are they . . .”
“They’re fine. Dinna fash about them right now. It is you we must be concerned about.” Simon offered Lazarus another drink and this time he accepted.
“I brought what you asked for, Brother Simon,” Alasdair said. The man who had challenged Louis on the trail hovered over them holding a canvas bag, his expression grim.
Simon eased Lazarus’s head to the ground, then accepted a canvas satchel. “Thank you, Alasdair, and none too soon.”
“Bryce is fetching some water, and Connor is searching for branches you can use to make splints,” Alasdair informed them. “How is he doing?” He leaned closer and frowned. “At least he has one eye opened. Poor bugger couldn’t open the other if he tried.”
“Aye, they gave him a brutal beating,” Simon said. “When your brother returns with the water, have him boil some, then bring it to me in this mug.” He took a clay vessel from the sack and handed it to Alasdair. “I need to make an herbal potion that will hopefully bring down the fever.” He crossed himself. “God willing.”
Alasdair nodded, took the cup, then trotted off before Lazarus could find the strength to ask why these men saved him from the French guard. He glanced up at Simon. “Who . . .?”
“Dinna speak. You must rest.” Simon offered Lazarus more to drink, but he swept his hand away.
“There are things I must know.” Lazarus sucked in an agonizing breath then continued. “Who are those men and why . . . why did they help me?”
Simon met his gaze. “Do you really think it necessary to discuss that now? I believe it would be better to concentrate on getting you well, then answer questions.”
“I may not get the chance to ask again.” Lazarus inhaled slowly, his lungs and chest feeling like an anvil was sitting upon them and growing heavier with each breath. “Or a chance to thank them.”
“There will be plenty of time once you’re well,” Simon said with conviction. “You’ve stayed alive this long and must continue to fight.”
“You never answered my other question, Simon.”
“What question?”
“Sheena and Quinn? Are they together and safe?”
Simon lowered his gaze. “The lad is still being held at Coldingham Abbey. And Sheena is sequestered with the sisters at St. Agatha’s convent until my return. Our return,” he quickly added. “I felt she would be safer there.”
“If Quinn is still being held, I must go back for him.” Lazarus tried to roll to his side, but crushing pain in his chest and right leg stopped him cold.
Simon placed his hands on Lazarus’s shoulders and eased him to the ground. “That was foolish. You’re in no condition to sit up, let alone go after the lad. You have several badly bruised, if not broken ribs. Your right leg is fractured in two places. Not to mention you have a fever and other assorted injuries too numerous to count.”
“But, Quinn, he needs my help. I promised Sheena,” Lazarus sputtered. “I’m going and you canna stop me.” He made another attempt to get up, then lay back down and draped his forearm over his eyes, wishing the earth would stop tilting and his head would stop throbbing.
Alasdair returned, carrying a mug. “What is going on?” He squatted beside Lazarus, a deep frown creasing his brow. “Easy, man. Lie still before you do yourself more harm.”
“He has the foolish notion he can rescue Quinn from Father Marquis,” Simon said.
“The lad is still a prisoner?” Alasdair asked. “Why?”
Simon nodded. “When Sheena spoke to Marquis last, he said that he would release Quinn after Lazarus was on his way to France.”
Lazarus could not believe his ears. “Sheena talked to Marquis?” He wanted answers. “I told you to keep her as far away from the abbey as possible? When? Why did you permit her to speak the sadistic bastard?”
“Easy.” Alasdair rested his hand on Lazarus’s shoulder. “Let Simon finish.”
Simon lowered his gaze. I tried to stop her, but she refused to listen. It was right after we came to see you at the abbey. We were about to leave when the guards confronted us.”
“Was she harmed in any way?” Lazarus asked.
Simon looked him in the eye. “Nay. It appeared one of the guards, I believe his name was Louis, might try to take advantage of her, but Father Marquis came along, interrupting his attempt. He dismissed Louis, then demanded we tell him what we were doing at the abbey.” He blew out a heavy sigh, then continued. “Sheena lied. She told Marquis that she had come to plead on her brother’s behalf. Fortunately he bought the story and as far as I know, never found out that we had been to see you.”
“And Marquis let her leave without issue?” Lazarus asked.
“Aye, but he refused to let Quinn go until you were on the ship and safely away. That is how we found out you were being sent back to France. The stubborn lass dinna want to leave without her brother, but I insisted.”
Alasdair scratched his head. “I dinna understand. If he had Lazarus in custody and the priest already arranged to send him back to France, why did no one challenge the bastard’s right to hold the lad?”
Simon shrugged. “I canna be certain, but am guessing he figured as long as he had Quinn, his sister would hold her tongue and not tell anyone what transpired at the abbey. Father Marquis is a powerful man, driven by greed, and he does what he does for selfish reasons. He committed atrocities that would not be condoned by the church if anyone found out.”
“But you know, as does his sister,” Alasdair pointed out.
“Aye. He doesna fear Sheena because in his eyes and those people who know her, she is a woman of ill repute and her word would mean nothing. Plus, he threatened to harm Quinn if she said anything, and knew fully well she wouldna risk her brother’s life. ”
Alasdair nodded. “I suppose if the lass is a whore, her word would mean naught.�
��
Lazarus grabbed Simon’s arm. “She’s not—” A wave of pain and nausea stifled his attempt to speak. He was fading fast, his mind so thick with fog, he could no longer concentrate on what was going on around him. “I must . . .”
“What is he trying to say?” Alasdair leaned closer.
“He wants you to know that the rumors about Sheena being a woman who lifts her skirt for coin are not true,” Simon replied. “She was unjustly accused and marked as such.”
“She is not a whore,” Lazarus said, then rolled his head from side to side, fighting to stay awake.
“Easy. You must rest.” Simon smoothed his hand across Lazarus’s brow. “We know the rumors about Sheena are false. But, for now, they may be the only thing that has saved her life. There is no telling what Father Marquis might have done to her, had she been a woman he thought people might listen to and rally behind.”
“Do you think the priest will harm her or the lad?” Alasdair asked.
“So far, they remain uninjured. But one can never know for certain. That is why I hid Sheena at the priory with the nuns,” Simon explained. “Just in case Father Marquis decides it would be better to depart for France leaving no witnesses behind. I’m sure he assumes Lazarus is on the ship as we speak, and he plans to leave Scotland in the next few days.”
“But he still has the lad,” Lazarus groaned.
“I dinna think he will harm Quinn. He is but seven summers old and poses no real threat. However, as a bargaining chip, he has proved valuable. I pray before he leaves Scotland, Father Marquis will set the lad free.”
“We canna take that chance.” Alasdair pointed at Lazarus. “And you, brother, are in no shape to go after them. I’ll gather some men and we’ll pay this Father Marquis an unexpected visit. I’m sure we can reason with him.” He slammed his balled fist against his open palm. “Besides, I’d fancy a few minutes alone with the bastard. Show him what it feels like to be on the receiving end of a beating.”
