by Scott, B. J.
“But if they suspect that I am still alive, they will not stop looking and could eventually stumble upon this place. Should that happen, and they find me here, there is no telling what they might do to you and your brother, so it is best I leave.” He rolled to his side and tried to raise up on one elbow, but waves of dizziness, crushing pain, and nausea stopped him.
“We have witnessed the atrocities of which these blackguards are capable, so you are na telling us anything we dinna already know.” Malvina placed her hand on his shoulder, then eased him back until Francois once again rested with his head on the pillow. “You canna go anywhere until you are stronger, and would be daft to try. Even if you could manage to get up, you wouldna make it halfway across the room afore you collapsed,” she cautioned as she covered him with a pelt. “You best forget about any foolish notion of leaving, and make up your mind to stay put.” She pressed a hand to his cheek and frowned. “You still have a fever. While you are resting, I will make another batch of my healing elixir. I just pray that you dinna have any more of those horrible nightmares.”
“Nightmares?”
“Aye. When the fever burned hot, you thrashed about in bed like a man possessed by a demon. Despite your injuries and my efforts to calm you,” she explained. “At times it was as if you were fighting a horrible battle. Other times you called out for a lass named Giselle. It was as if you were frantically searching for her, and there was naught I could do to get you to settle down. Is she your wife?”
Francois lowered his gaze. “No. Just a woman I once knew.”
She rested her hand on his forearm. “She must be a verra special lass. You dreamed of her often.”
Choked with emotion and unable to speak, Francois simply nodded. If only she knew how special Giselle truly was, and how he would forever hold her in his heart. “Did I babble anything else in my delirium?” The chalice came to mind, and he hoped he had not said anything about it or its whereabouts.
“Na that I recall.” She tapped her finger to her brow. “Aside from doing battle and calling out to your love, you said naught. At least that made any sense.” She chuckled. “Best you get some more rest. While you do, I will make some broth. When you awaken again, you may wish to try eating a wee bit if you can stomach it. But first, I will see if Murdock needs anything.” She left the bedside and headed across the room.
While grateful for the kindness of Malvina and Murdock, Francois feared for their safety. If able, he’d leave now, but he had to concede she was right when she said he’d not make it across the room without collapsing. He was still as weak as a newly born colt, and there wasn’t a single spot on his body that didn’t cry out in pain. When he heard the click of the door latch, he closed his eyes. He would do as she instructed and try to sleep now, but he planned to leave as soon as he was able to sit a horse.
~ ~ ~
“You are looking much spryer today.” Murdock entered the croft carrying a pile of logs. He placed them beside the hearth, then bent to stoke the fire.
While he still ached in places he never knew existed until now, Francois was feeling much stronger, and hoped he could soon be on his way. He was no stranger to pain and believed with perseverance, he could work through it, but Malvina thought differently.
“My sister said you have been pestering her about leaving.”
“I have been here more than a fortnight. Much longer and I will grow roots,” Francois said. “I appreciate your kindness, but was on an important mission when I got waylaid by the French guard, and I need to finish it.”
“When the time is right, lad. There is naught worth risking your life to accomplish,” Murdock replied. “Listen to Malvina and mind what she says. If you do, you will be up and around before you know it. Push it, and I may have to dig a grave for you after all.”
Francois stifled the urge to argue any further. Murdock and Malvina clearly had his best interest at heart, but neither knew how important it was for him to find Lazarus and complete his mission. Nor did they understand the danger they were in if Bateau learned he was still alive.”
“I wish there was a way to repay you for all you have done for me,” Francois said. “I am feeling stronger, perhaps there are a few chores around the farm I could help you with.” Not only did he see it as a way of showing his gratitude, but he also viewed this as a chance to evaluate his stamina, and to rebuild his strength. He still had a three-day ride or more to reach Fraser Castle and would require every bit of forte he could muster.
“That willna be necessary. Malvina and I are happy we could help you. Besides, she would skin me alive if I put you to work,” Murdock replied. “I think it best that you stay inside and rest until you are strong enough to travel. My sister may be plain of face, but she is a fine sturdy lass.” He wiggled a brow. “If you had a mind to stay on after you are well, and wished to marry, she could give you strong healthy sons.”
Taken aback by the offer, Francois found himself at a loss for words. Remaining in Edinburgh and marrying Malvina was the farthest thing from his mind. He had to complete his quest to find the chalice and deliver it to its resting place, and his heart did, and always would belong to Giselle.
“While a generous and tempting offer, I am afraid I must leave once I am able to travel,” Francois said.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Betrothed?” Murdock badgered.
“Your sister is a fine woman and will make some lucky man a wonderful wife, but I am not that man.” Francois lowered his gaze. “You know the men who beat me did so for a reason.”
“Aye.”
Francois shook his head. “They believe I have information they want, and will stop at nothing to get it. Marriage to me is not safe for any woman. And as soon as I am able, I must put as much distance between me and Edinburgh as possible.” Normally he would not disclose so much to a stranger, but Murdock had already proved his trustworthiness. He could have turned him over to Bateau, or reported the attack to the Scottish authorities. He also could have chosen to leave him in the woods to die. But he did none of those things. Instead, he remained silent about the attack, and did what he could to help him heal.
“That is too bad. I think you are well matched, but I appreciate your honesty and concern for my sister’s welfare. She was a babe when our mother died, and Mam made me promise her on her deathbed that I would look after her.”
“There appears to be somewhat of an age difference between you,” Francois pointed out.
“Aye. There is sixteen summers between us. My mam all but gave up on having another bairn, so she and Da were surprised when Malvina came along. She is more like a daughter than a sister.”
“Your mother would be pleased at how well she turned out, and has you to thank,” Francois said. “I am sure that the right man will come along one day, and make her very happy.”
“Am I interrupting an important conversation?” Malvina entered the croft, carrying a milk pail and a fistful of heather. She placed the bucket on the table, then fetched a small mug for the flowers. “I wondered if you might escort me into town, Murdock. I have an abundance of sheep’s milk I plan to churn into butter, and would like to make some bannocks, but I seem to be out of flour.”
“I could go into town and fetch whatever supplies you need,” Murdock offered.
“That is most kind of you, brother. But in addition to picking up some flour, I fancy a chance to see what new fabrics the vendors might have, so would like to go with you.”
“As you wish,” Murdock replied. “There are a few things I need to pick up as well.” He glanced at Francois. “I trust you can manage while we are gone?”
“Oui. You have no need to worry or fuss over me. I will be fine.” In truth, he was happy to see them go, affording him the opportunity to see how well he could move around the croft on his o
wn and help him to determine when he could leave.
“Gather what you need and meet me out by the cart,” Murdock said to his sister.
Murdock waited for Malvina to exit the croft, then faced Francois. “I would appreciate it if you would keep our conversation about marriage between you and me. My sister gets her feathers ruffled is she thinks I am trying to procure her a husband.”
“You need not worry. Your secret is safe, my friend,” Francois said, smiling. “But I suggest that you do not keep her waiting.”
Murdock nodded and trotted toward the door. “We willna be gone long.”
As soon as Francois heard the door close, he slid to the edge of the bed and allowed his legs to dangle over the side. “So-far-so-good,” he muttered aloud then rose. Once the waves of dizziness and stabbing pain radiating across his chest eased, he took a few steps, waited a minute, then took a few more. Within the hour, he was roaming about the croft. While a few extra days of bed rest was likely prudent, he saw this as the perfect opportunity to leave with no resistance from Murdock and his sister.
Although he was still moving slowly and his ribs throbbed with each step he took, he believed it was better to go now than to wait. He removed the night rail Malvina had insisted he wear, then tugged on his trews and boots. He noticed a roll of linen on the shelf and retrieved it. After tearing the fabric into long thin strips, he used them to snuggly bind his injured ribs. While donning his tunic proved a little more difficult than his other garments, he gritted his teeth, and on his second attempt, he managed to pull it over his head without passing out from the pain.
Finally dressed, he returned to the shelf and grabbed a cloth sack, along with a piece of cheese, some bannock, a bit of dried venison, and a wineskin he filled with ale. Monnet gave him a sack of coin to make purchases along the way to Beauly, but since the attack, he’d seen no sign of it, so he concluded that Bateau or one of his men had stolen it.
His supplies packed, the only thing left to do was to leave a note, thanking Malvina and Murdock for their help, and promising to someday return the horse he planned to borrow. Along with the note, he left the gold cross that belonged to his mother on the table. While it meant the world to him and he hated to part with it, he felt obligated to leave them something in return for their care and the supplies he took for his journey to Beauly.
Several hours had already passed since his benefactors left for town. Francois wanted to be gone before they returned, so he headed to the back door and exited the croft.
Chapter 5
Francois crouched in the bushes, waiting for the stable attendant to leave. He suspected it was close to midnight and had maintained this cramped position for so long, he wasn’t sure his legs were strong enough to carry him the short distance to what he prayed was a warm, dry place to bed down for the night.
Although he had carefully rationed his supplies, the food ran out with nearly a day’s journey to go, and he’d emptied his wineskin before noon today. His mouth was bone dry, and his hollow stomach rumbled so loudly that when the young man exiting the stable paused and glanced in his direction, Francois was certain he had heard the sound.
It was by the Lord’s guidance and a great deal of luck that he had remained one step ahead of the French bastards trailing him, and he’d made it this far. He prayed the information he’d learned when he was in Edinburgh about Lazarus living at Fraser Castle was true, and he was nearing the end of his quest, but would think about that on the morrow. Exhausted and burning with fever, he just wanted to find a place to lay his head.
He’d stumbled upon the stronghold in the dark, and while he knew the Fraser’s castle was in this area, he was not certain if he had found it, or needed to travel a little farther. It was late when he approached the curtain wall, and given he was uncertain if the occupants were friend or foe, he decided to wait until morning to find out. To his surprise and relief, the postern gate remained unlatched, granting him entry. When he spotted the stable, he saw it as the perfect place to hole up for the night.
After anxiously waiting until the lad left and the coast was clear to make his move, he braced his throbbing ribs with his forearm, and gritted his teeth against the pain that racked his body as he rose to a wobbly stance. Careful to remain in the shadows, Francois made his way to the stable and slipped inside.
He squinted. Beams of moonlight streamed through an open window, providing the only source of light. Upon noticing a ladder leading to a loft above the horses, he headed toward it, but stopped momentarily at a barrel filled with water to drink his fill. His thirst quenched, he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and winced, his lips still tender from the assault. Anxious to find a place to rest, he began his agonizing climb.
Upon reaching the loft, the sweet smells of fresh hay and oats filled his nostrils, blocking out the pungent odors of horse dung and leather that had assailed his senses when he first entered the building. He grabbed a blanket he’d found on his way to the back corner and tossed it over some straw before laying down.
Weary and sapped of strength, his eyes closed, but as he drifted off, a noise awakened him. He sat with a start. Beads of sweat dampened his brow and his heart hammered in his chest. He scrubbed his fist across his eyes, then glanced around his surroundings. “Just another nightmare,” he muttered to himself. From what he could tell it was still night, so he prepared to lay back down, but halted when he heard another sound, this time louder than the first, and coming from directly below him.
After crawling to the edge of the loft, he peered down into the main floor of the stable, where he spotted a man unsaddling a horse. Afraid to move a muscle or even to breathe, he watched and silently willed the man to leave.
“There’s a good lad. You’ve served me well this day, and you have earned some oats.” The man tugged the saddle from the animal’s back and placed it on a bale of straw, before picking up a wooden pail and placing it in front of the destrier. “I’m hungry too, so best I get into the castle. Hopefully Cook saved me some food, but I have my doubts. Alasdair and his family are visiting, so I’ll be lucky if there are some crumbs left.” He chuckled. “But food is the last of my worries. I can be sure my wife will be awaiting my return and ready to take a strip off my hide for being so late. Be glad that horses dinna get married.” He laughed aloud, thumped the animal on the rear end, then headed out the door of the stable.
Thankful the man had left, and his hiding spot remained secure, Francois released a ragged breath. As a precaution, he waited a few minutes before returning to his pallet, but halted again when he accidentally knocked over a hay fork on the way. He immediately chastised himself for being so careless, and hoped that no one heard the thud of the tool striking the wooden rail surrounding the loft.
“Who the hell are you, and why are you hiding atop the stable?” a man growled. “State your name and business, or I’ll flay you were you are.”
Francois climbed to his feet and slowly turned to face the man, with his hand resting on the hilt of the dirk at his side. Not that he could muster the strength to use the weapon if called upon to do so. His pulse raced and sweat dripped in his eyes, momentarily blurring his vision. He swayed on his feet, finding it difficult to remain upright in his weakened state. “I pose no threat to you, monsieur. I am but a weary traveler in need of a place to rest. I fully intended to leave before daybreak,” he mumbled, then crumpled to his knees.
The man sheathed his blade and rushed to Francois side. “Franc, is that you? I’ve not seen you in many summers, but that damned French accent, I willna forget.”
“Lazarus?” Francois rasped.
“Aye.”
“Thank the Lord that I found the right place, and you are here.” Francois slumped forward. Rapidly losing the ability to think straight and on the verge of total collapse, he cupped his face with his hands.
Lazarus loope
d his arm around Franc’s waist, then eased him against a bale of straw before placing his palm to his friend’s forehead. “My God, man, you’re burning up. What happened to you? How did you manage to get here in this state?”
Franc’s head swam, partially from the delirium of the fever, and partially from the barrage of questions. He grasped Lazarus’s forearm and caught his gaze. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your beard, my friend.” He scrubbed his hand across his own hair-stubbled chin, recalling how he and his Templar brethren once wore the traditional facial adornment with pride.
“I’ve na worn one since we escaped from Philip’s prison, and you may wish to consider doing the same,” Lazarus said. “Many of those who once proudly wore a beard shaved to make themselves less conspicuous when being hunted by the French Guard.”
“I will take it under advisement.” Franc chuckled, then immediately pressed a hand to his bruised ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath until the pain eased, then peered up at his friend. “I am pleased to see you are alive and well, Lazarus. When we parted ways, I thought we might never cross paths again.”
“I believed the same, and feared I would never have a chance to thank you for saving my life. I would na have gotten out of that damned prison or home to Scotland, if na for your help, and for that I will be eternally in your debt.” Lazarus rested his hand on Franc’s shoulder. “I heard they recaptured and tortured you, then had you executed.”
“You cannot always believe what you hear,” Franc said.
“I always hoped the rumors of your demise were false, but I never expected to find you hiding atop the stable, and in Scotland no less.” Lazarus furrowed his brow. “How did you get here? Surely na on foot.”
“I borrowed a horse near Edinburgh, but the old nag came up lame just before I reached Beauly, so I left him grazing in a crofter’s field.”
