by Pam Binder
She stood, stepped in front of the boulder and aimed for the man’s head. There was a thud, a cry of pain and then the man crumbled to the ground.
Lachlan was covered in blood, barely able to stand, yet he headed in the direction of where the man had fallen. In the meager light his face was filled with blind rage. Amber drew back. It was not the Lachlan she knew, but a man possessed. She had to do something to break this trance, to stop the killing. She moved quickly toward him, grabbing him around his arm.
“Leave go of me, woman.” His voice was low and menacing.
A white-hot fear seared through her; it was as though he had become a stranger. Would he harm her? She had to trust in the man she knew. She held onto him tighter and concentrated on keeping her voice calm. “Lachlan. It’s over.”
Lachlan shook his head as if to protest, but the wild look in his eyes slowly faded. He gazed at her, and then at the bloody sword in his hand.
He slumped forward, dropping the blade to the ground. His voice was only a whisper in her ear. “You did well. Find Angus.”
His face was ashen, but the angry mask had disappeared. Two arrows still protruded from his body as he swayed on his feet. Amber fought back the tears, wiping the moisture from her face. She needed to be strong.
“I’m not going to leave you.”
Lachlan sank to his knees. “I will hold you to your promise.” His jaw tightened as he tried to stand.
“Help me to the castle, before I turn the banks of Loch Ness red with my blood.”
Torches on either side of the door to Lachlan’s chamber cast shadows over Angus as he lay sleeping on the floor. Amber stepped quietly over him and pushed open the door. Pausing, she held her breath as the sleeping giant mumbled. When he’d quieted, she entered the room.
A single candle flickered on a table near the bed. Lachlan lay on the covers as still as the effigy of a knight on top of a coffin.
His shirt and tartan were so soaked with blood from his wounds that the colors of the plaid were obscured. The strength in Amber’s legs seemed to dissolve. She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes and concentrated on remaining calm. There was no way she could help him if she became hysterical. She reached out for the bedpost to steady herself. She had expected to find Lachlan resting comfortably, his wounds cleaned and dressed with care. Instead he looked like a prize candidate for infection. She marched back over to the door and yanked it open.
Angus woke with a start and scrambled to his feet. He rubbed his eyes. “You are not to be in the laird’s chamber.”
Lachlan was wounded. There was no other place she wanted to be. Angus might be formidable in size and strength, but that did not bother her. At the start of each school year there were always a few of her students who tried to see if she was serious about her classroom expectations. Her methods always worked. Treat them with respect, ignore the posturing, and don’t back down. She straightened and her voice rang with authority.
“I will need water and plenty of dean linens.”
“Lachlan will recover in two days. The effort is not needed.”
There was that blasted forty-eight hour thing again. “I’m not leaving until you bring me what I’ve asked for. You may think Lachlan is the kind of man who can survive being attacked by a dozen men, but even the strongest person can die from infection.”
He shrugged. “I heard it was only five.”
Amber couldn’t believe it. They were debating the number of men Lachlan had fought, while he lay on the bed bleeding to death. She pressed the point she was trying to make.
“I will help Lachlan whether I have your cooperation or not.”
Angus smiled and made a bow. “I shall have Una bring what is needed.” A frown creased his forehead. “Will you be putting needle to thread, and sewing up his wounds?”
She looked over at Lachlan then down at her hand. Marcail had done a good job stitching the cut, but Amber had nearly fainted before the task was completed. She doubted she’d be able to keep her hands from trembling if she had to sew Lachlan’s wounds. Amber turned back to Angus and shook her head.
“If that’s necessary, I’ll ask for Marcail.”
Angus seemed to relax. “I shall leave my friend in your care.” He turned and headed in the direction of the Great Hall.
Alone, Amber approached the bed. She took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeves as she removed Lachlan’s shirt. She bit her lower lip as her stomach churned. The arrows had been removed and long, jagged wounds punctured his chest. The queasiness returned. Keep your mind busy, she ordered.
Sweat formed on her lip. She wiped it away then examined his injuries. They would need to be cleaned and bandages applied. She turned toward the door. What was keeping Angus?
The smell of blood was suffocating and the chamber was too warm. She brushed damp hair away from her forehead and willed the room to stop spinning. She was going to get through this.
Someone touched her shoulder. She flinched.
Una stood behind her carrying a bucket of water and clean linen strips. “You look as pale as a shroud, lassie. Others can tend the laird. It is not a task you need perform.”
Amber felt tears burn her eyes. “Yes, it is. When Marcail took care of my hand she put a vile-smelling concoction on the wound. It looked terrible, but it worked. Could you make some for Lachlan?”
Una shook her head slowly. “The laird is to have nothing of the sort. You may clean his wounds, that is ” all.“
Amber looked at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. He looks like a human pincushion. His wounds are deep. I think one arrow pierced his lung, another his heart and one…”
Una patted Amber’s arm. “The laird will be fine, you’ll see.” Her expression remained serious and warning was implied. “He will heal in the same manner as did O’Donnell, if you ken my meaning.”
Amber rubbed her temples. “No, I don’t see. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
“Now, lass, ‘tis not my place. I shall fetch something for you to eat. You need to keep up your strength if you are determined to hold a vigil while he recovers.“ She paused at the doorway. ”
“Us a hard road you have set yourself upon. Guard your heart.”
Amber listened to Una’s footsteps as they grew faint down the hall. The woman’s words echoed in her ears. She felt as though she’d spent her life building a barricade around her heart. Just when she’d finally begun to dismantle the walls, Una was advising her to put them up again.
Blinking away her tears, she cleansed Lachlan’s wounds, then wrapped them with bandages. Why hadn’t Una agreed to give him the medicine? She shook her head, stepped back and looked at her handiwork. Not a bad job, if she did say so herself. Thank goodness for mandatory first aid classes in her school district.
Sitting down in a chair beside the bed, she suddenly felt very tired and very uneasy. Lachlan’s coma-like behavior was familiar. Una had mentioned O’Donnell. She paused. Both men had lapsed into a deep sleep after they’d been injured. But the similarities were more pronounced. Both men lay on their backs, as though they waited for something. The legend spoke of an immortal. She’d chosen not to think too much about that possibility, until now. She shuddered. It was eerie.
The door opened. Una had returned, bringing a tray with wine and sliced meat. A cough made the old woman shudder as she set the tray down on the table beside the bed. A deep sadness seemed to weigh her down.
“Are you all right?”
“Aye. I feel my age more of late, but ‘twill pass.” She nodded toward the bed. “He is a good man, that one is. Teach him how to cherish life, if you can.”
Una picked up the clothes and bucket of water and departed.
Firelight danced in the hearth, as if trying to lift Amber’s mood. It wasn’t working. Everyone spoke of Lachlan as if he were a man who was drowning, and worse, as if she was the only one to save him.
She looked over at him. His face was as pale as the linen bandages wound ar
ound his chest, but his breathing was steady and strong. She leaned back in the chair remembering O’Donnell. Both men should have had raging infections from their injuries. But they didn’t even appear to have slight fevers.
Amber stood. She was too restless to sleep. It was almost the first of November in the Highlands of Scotland and the weather was balmy. She remembered the legend; the seasons will alter their natural course, the barriers of time will be broken.
Amber jerked awake and sat up. Rubbing her neck, she looked out at the black sky. It was the dead of night. Muffled sobs came from the direction of the window. Amber looked over at the bed. Lachlan was still in a deep sleep. But someone else was definitely in the room. She turned in the direction of the sound.
Gavin sat “in the far corner of the room. He looked up at her through tearstained eyes and handed her The Canterbury Tales.
“I thought you would read to my brother.”
Kneeling down beside him, Amber held him close. She scolded herself for not thinking of him sooner. Of course he would be worried about his brother. The adult world typically forgot about the children when something like this happened.
“Lachlan will be just fine.” The words sounded mechanical. She hoped they sounded more convincing to Gavin.
“Oh, I know he will get better.” Gavin pulled away from her and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “But MacDougal won’t. Why can’t he be like my brother?”
Amber rocked him gently. “I’m sorry, Gavin.”
Words were inadequate when you’d lost your best friend. Part of her had been inconsolable when Shadow died. The one thing that had pulled her through was being able to talk to her brother.
She wiped the tears from Gavin’s face with a corner of her dress. “Why don’t you tell me a story about MacDougal the wolfhound? Something funny he did.”
Gavin pulled back and shook his head. “1 couldn’t do that. We are not supposed to talk about someone once he is dead.”
That was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard and she almost blurted out her opinion. “Would you mind if I talked about MacDougal?”
He shook his head.
“Do you remember the time at the festival when he ate so many fruit pies the hair underneath his chin was as red as Angus’ beard? Or how about the time when he tried to fish? He would snap at the water, and then look over as if to say, ‘Hey, I’m trying my best. Is it my fault the fish are so slippery?’ ”
Gavin giggled. “MacDougal took up most of the space on my bed. Sometimes he would stretch and I’d end up on the floor.”
Amber laughed. “My dog did that. I never told anyone. I was afraid they would make him sleep outside.”
“Me too.” He frowned. “I like remembering. Why do you think I’m not supposed to do that?”
“I have no idea, but I do know one thing.
Remembering all the wonderful things those who are no longer with us have done is a way to keep them always in our hearts. Then they can live forever.“ Gavin snuggled closer. ”Aye, I think so, too.“
Early-morning sunlight streamed through the window onto the sleeping Lachlan. Amber bent over and blew out the candles beside his bed then sat down. She leaned back against the chair. Her eyes felt heavy. She’d slept little in the past two days between watching over Lachlan and comforting Gavin. Reaching over the bed, she covered Lachlan with a blanket. Not that he needed it but fussing over him made her feel useful.
The bleeding had stopped after the first full day. During the second, he hadn’t seemed to move a muscle. If she lifted the bandages, what would she find? Scars?
She paced back and forth in front of the bed, then realized she’d worn a path in the rush-strewn floor. Pausing in front of Lachlan, she made her decision.
Amber pulled back the blanket and began to carefully unwind the bandages. This was crazy. All she would accomplish was to open his wounds and to acknowledge the fact that she’d allowed her imagination to run wild. It was a journey to somewhere in between The Island of Dr. Moreau and never-never land.
Her hands shook as she removed the last linen strip. His injuries had healed. She had a moment’s elation at the thought he’d survived before the realization hit. Lachlan’s chest was bare, the muscles well defined and… there were no lingering puncture wounds from the arrows. She staggered back. Impossible.
A knock startled her. Quickly she hid the bandages and covered Lachlan with the blankets.
Marcail entered. She was wearing red brocade and her hair was tucked neatly in place.
“I have heard that you insisted on caring for Lachlan.”
Amber combed her fingers through her tangled hair. All she could do was nod. Her body was still shaking. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Her suspicions had been confirmed. It had been the same for Gavin and now, she suspected, O’Donnell as well. No scars. She felt her knees go weak and reached over to the bedpost for support. There were voices in the hall. Before she could understand what they were saying, two serving women, red-faced and out of breath, hurried into the room.
Marcail motioned to the adjoining room. “Pull out the bathtub and fill it all the way to the top.”
Within the next half hour a parade of women passed before Amber, until the tub was filled with steaming water.
Marcail smiled. She touched Amber on the shoulder. “Your vigil has tired you greatly. Please, allow yourself this luxury. It will soothe your mind as well as refresh your body.”
Amber tried to smile in response to the woman’s kindness. There were several things she should ask Marcail: had she made a decision about O’Donnell, had anyone heard from Elaenor, how was Gavin doing, and had they buried MacDougal. But the concept that Lachlan couldn’t die dominated her thoughts. Her heart felt as though it was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. All she could do was to hold on. The thick, wooden bedpost was the only reality she could trust.
The women left, followed by Marcail, plunging the room into a smothering silence. Amber fought the overpowering desire to run. She needed to think this through calmly. She wandered into the adjoining room and stared at the wooden tub until her vision blurred. A bath might indeed calm her down. She peeled off her clothes, threw them on the chair and tested the water with her hand. It was already starting to cool. She climbed in and leaned her head back until it touched the edge. She closed her eyes. The world she had begun to build around Lachlan had shattered like a china plate. No matter how you tried to repair the porcelain, you’d always see the cracks.
Amber sank deeper into the bath, feeling the water swirl around her as the realization hit her full force. He was immortal. She would age, become feeble and infirm, an albatross around Lachlan’s neck, while he would always look like a Viking warrior.
A slight moan came from the direction of the bed. Amber sat up and water sloshed over the sides of the tub spilling onto the floor. She heard the sound again. This time mumbled words were added, but she couldn’t move. It was almost as though she were afraid to see his condition.
He was coming out of the deep sleep. He muttered the words, “Time is an illusion.”
The world that had stood still moments before began to spin. The words he’d spoken repeated themselves over and over. She knew them so well. It was the first part of the inscription written in her aunt’s copy of The Canterbury Tales. “Time is an illusion and love the only reality.”
The door to the other room banged open and a crowd of people hurried in. Amber made a wild grab for the towel on the hook. One consolation; they weren’t paying any attention to her. They were all huddled around Lachlan’s bed. She stepped out of the tub, made for the archway and crept out of sight.
Chapter 12
Lachlan watched her flick a linen cloth over the mantel. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m dusting.”
He reached out and grasped her wrist. Beneath his fingers her pulse raced as if she had been running.
“I have servants who can accomplish that t
ask.”
“Of, course you do. But I’m really upset, and this always worked for my aunt.”
He paused and knew he did not want to hear the answer to his question. “Why are you angry?”
Amber pulled away from him and backed toward the fireplace. “You should be dead, or close to it.”
“You are ”not pleased I survived?“
She turned to face the empty hearth. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. At first no one would let me in to see you. I had to sneak past Angus and found you unconscious on the bed. There was so much blood.”
He pulled her against his chest. She was trembling again. “My injuries were not as serious as they appeared.”
Amber turned in his arms and looked up at him.
“It’s more than being able to recover from such a terrible attack. You don’t have any scars. I know, I checked.”
“I am alive. Is that not enough?”
“No it’s not. I need to know why.”
Lachlan released her and walked over to the window. He opened the shutters and a cool breeze drifted in. Stars dusted the cloudless sky. He cursed Angus for dropping his guard and letting Amber into his chamber. Lachlan drew in a deep breath. No, he could not blame his friend. This woman would have moved the castle to accomplish her goal. And her mission had been to help him. It was important that he trust her.
“I have more than the normal ability to recover from injuries.”
“No kidding. It’s more than that.”
Lachlan nodded. “Aye, it is more.”
Amber began to drum her fingers on the bedpost “You are immortal.”
She had said the words calmly, too calmly. He turned and looked at her and read the confusion in her eyes. “I know it is hard for you to understand the concept.”
She shrugged. “You’d be surprised at what I would be able to ‘understand.’ I’m assuming this is a family trait?”
He nodded, aware that she was building to something. He wished he knew whatever it was, so that he could be better prepared for the battle.
“O’Donnell, Angus, Marcail and all the people who crowded around your bed, are they also part of this immortal club? And while we’re on the subject, why were they in your room?”
