The Highlander's Honorable Savior (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 4)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Go back!” he heard somebody bellow, but he ran on. He saw two men on horses, still wheeling and chopping where their men had been. The horses were too big to follow the footpath after them, so they stayed where they were, manning the clearing with wounded fury.

  “Alec?” Arthur roared. He heard nothing. Then, just as he was about to leave, he heard a yell from the ground. He ran to where a wounded figure lay. The attackers had perhaps six armed soldiers with them, apart from the two knights, but they were blocked from the clearing by their bulk. Arthur grabbed Alec and hauled him upright.

  “Alec! No, lad.” He felt blood, slippery and wet, running down his shoulders from where Alec lay across them. He felt sick. He had come to respect their leader a great deal. The thought of him dying, here and now, was too much for him. He heard a roar behind him and he turned to see the knight bearing down on him. Feeling his instincts take over, he ran down the track, the sound of the hoofs behind him giving him a burst of speed he hadn’t thought he had.

  He reached the pathway as he had before. This time, he could hear no sounds of men, pursuing or running ahead. He was alone, it seemed, with the weight of Alec, his companion, bleeding on his shoulders.

  “Not too far now,” he said, to reassure himself as much as the man he carried. He heard Alec groan.

  “No…Arthur, no.”

  “Stop your chatter,” Arthur said affectionately. “I’m taking you to the others. None of us are going to let those bastards have you.” He felt himself laughing, though he was hurt to the core. “You’re too bad for Heaven, and Hell isn’t ready for you.”

  He heard Alec grunt and knew he was laughing. His heart lifted a little and they ran along down the path. He saw a man ahead of him and stopped, legs collapsing.

  “Whist! Arthur! What’re you doing, you madman?”

  “I found…him…” Arthur panted. He was exhausted, legs trembling, body aching. He gently rolled Alec to the ground. Bert bent over him, a frown creasing his brow. He turned around and yelled.

  “Brodgar? Get back here.”

  Brodgar came back – they heard slow footsteps cracking and crunching through the underbrush. Arthur looked up at him wearily.

  “I found him. He’s bleeding. I don’t know what to do with him?” he said the last as a desperate request for help more than anything else. He leaned back on the tree behind him and watched, head whirling, as Bert and Brodgar sat.

  Brodgar felt Alec’s chest. Bert touched his shoulder, where the blood poured from. It had stopped now, a dull trickle more than a flow.

  “He’s still got a heartbeat,” Brodgar said swiftly. “Hey, Bert! Take this.” He unwound his belt. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

  “Aye,” Bert agreed. “But how?”

  “Tie it here,” Brodgar explained, gently lifting the unconscious body of Alec. They wrapped the cloth belt around his shoulder and made a knot over the wound. They tightened it until Brodgar grunted with satisfaction. “That’ll stop it.”

  Once the wound was bandaged, the three of them turned to each other, frowns on foreheads. Arthur cleared his throat.

  “What do we do?”

  “There’s four of us,” Brodgar pointed out.

  “Three,” Bert said.

  “Four,” Brodgar continued pointedly. “And we can’t stay here. Somebody betrayed our whereabouts, clearly.” He spat.

  Arthur nodded. He had his suspicions, but he wasn’t about to recriminate the dead. They were alive, and that was all that mattered. He stared at the others, wondering what they planned.

  “We should find shelter,” Bert said practically. “We’ll have to take him with us,” he added, jerking his head at the prone form of their leader.

  “Aye,” Brodgar nodded. “But, where can we go? Anybody in these parts might be on the side of the English. Somebody was, clearly.” He inclined his head towards the clearing, whence they had just come.

  “I have a plan,” Arthur said. He didn’t like to suggest it, but one thing they could do was to retrace their steps, back to the farm again. “There is somewhere we know is safe.”

  It seemed as if he didn’t have to say it. Bert nodded. He glanced back at Alec, who lay behind them. He was so still that Arthur wondered if there was nothing left for them to do to help him. Bert saw where he was looking and cleared his throat. “We’ll get him back.”

  Arthur nodded. They had all decided the same thing, it seemed. All of them wanted to take Alec back to the farm. They looked at each other and Arthur shrugged his cloak off his shoulders, throwing it over his body where he lay against the tree trunk. “We need to sleep,” he said.

  Bert nodded. “I’ll make a fire.”

  “I’ll check down the path and see if those bastards are following,” Brodgar offered. “If they try and come up here, we’ll finish them.”

  He sounded more confident than any of them felt. Arthur nodded. When Brodgar had gone, he turned back to Alec.

  “Will he live?” he asked Bert. His companion shrugged.

  “We’ve done what we can. Keep him warm – that’s the only other thing that’ll help.”

  Arthur nodded. He drew the body closer to the fire, letting his cloak partly cover Alec. When Brodgar came back, he did the same.

  “Nobody there,” he said. “Blighters have all gone.”

  Arthur swallowed hard. The immediate danger was over and the horror started to fill him now. He felt sick. It had been utterly unexpected, what had happened. They hadn’t thought anybody would have had the chance to give them away. He closed his eyes and wished that the images would stop playing over and over again through his mind. He saw the knight ride out, sword cutting downwards in a killing blow. Heard someone scream.

  Bert coughed, breaking the horrifying recollections. Arthur sighed. Pulling his cloak up to his chin, he closed his eyes again and tried to sleep.

  The sound of something falling woke him. He opened his eyes, wondering where he was. It was cold. His legs and fingers were numb.. It was light, a steel-gray morning. He blinked and looked around. The scent of a cold fire met his nose, and the sweet scent of rainwater. He stood. Pins and needles raced through his feet and made him gasp with shock. He gritted his teeth and leaned back, waiting for the feeling to wear off.

  “Want breakfast?” Bert’s voice cut through the fog in his brain. He turned to stare at him. A thread of smoke floated up from the coals, and he noticed Bert was striking a flint, trying to get the fire going again. He nodded.

  “Please,” he agreed. He looked around the clearing. Brodgar was over by some trees. He limped over and joined them by the fire. He had his hat in one hand, and Arthur saw it contained a load of mushrooms.

  “Breakfast is served.”

  Arthur chuckled. He glanced over to where Alec still lay on the cold earth, a cloak thrown over him for warmth. While the others busied themselves with breakfast, he went to check on the wounded soldier.

  “Hello?” he shook him gently. He jumped when the man groaned. “Alec!”

  “I’m sleeping. Not deaf,” the man whispered. His lips were gray, his skin white. One eyelid moved but he didn’t open either eye. Arthur stared at him, a grin stretching his face with joyous disbelief.

  “He’s alive! Bert! Everyone!” he waved to them, yelling without thought. “He’s alive!”

  “Aye, grand,” Bert muttered. “And if you don’t stop yelling your head off, we won’t be either.” He lifted a pot up to hang over the fire. Then he looked up and grinned. “Good. I hoped the silly fool would make it.” He looked about to cry.

  Arthur shook his head, joy and surprise making him lightheaded. “Och, lads,” he said. “Isn’t it grand? We need to feed him.”

  “Not yet,” Alec said in the same harsh whisper. “If you try and shove food down me, I’ll choke to death. I’m cold,” he added.

  “Bring him here,” Brodgar said, as Arthur lifted him. He heard the wounded man cry out and he cradled him as gently as he could against his shoulder, thin
king that they would need to find a cart if they were going to carry him to the farm successfully.

  While they ate breakfast – mushrooms and some hard bread from somebody’s pack – they thought about the journey back. Arthur frowned. They were a week away from the farm, at least, and they needed to get back there. It was one place, at least, where no enemies lurked. However, if they were going to get Alec there and they had even the slightest hope of his being alive, they had to find another way to transport him.

  “A cloister.”

  He said it aloud without realizing it. Two pairs of eyes stared at him.

  “What?” Bert asked. Brodgar seemed swifter to understand. He nodded.

  “Bless you!” he exclaimed. “You’re right! All we need is to find some monks or holy sister, and they’ll patch him up as right as ever,” he clarified for Bert. He nodded swiftly.

  “You’re right. Well…there’s bound to be something somewhere.”

  “Stonewell Abbey – it’s about two miles away, I reckon,” Brodgar supplied, making a gesture. “It’s going to be hard to get him there, what with the dark and all, but I reckon we can do it.”

  Arthur nodded. “We’re going to have to try.”

  As he lifted the man onto his shoulders, grunting and groaning with the effort, he thought about what they would do next. It was imperative, he thought, to get back to somewhere they knew was safe. The only place he knew for sure was free of enemies, was the place they had left a week ago.

  Hume farm.

  Which meant that he would be brought face-to-face with Bonnie once more.

  Surprise At The Farm

  Bonnie went outside. It was unseasonably cold, a fresh coating of frost on the grass. It was still morning and the sun had not yet risen fully, meaning that the yard slumbered in a gray half-darkness. The water in the bucket had frozen and Bonnie winced as she cracked it with a staff. The ice chimed and sang as she broke through. She watched her breath condense in front of her. Then she stopped and stared.

  Something had moved in the woods.

  Holding her breath, Bonnie crinkled up her eyes and stared again to where she had seen the movement.

  The morning was still dark, the sky slate gray. The trees were black sketches on the background of charcoal. It was almost too dark to see, but she knew when she saw it again that her eyes had not deceived her. Somebody was walking in the woods.

  “The devils.”

  Bonnie felt her blood freeze, but she wasn’t frightened. Her instinct was to run at them, brandishing the wooden stick she gripped so strongly in her hands. She felt resolute and, before she had thought about it, found herself striding towards the forest.

  “Who are you?” she shouted. “Don’t think nobody’s looking! I saw you. Come out here! Show yourselves!”

  She heard her own words echo and die. Nobody replied. She felt her courage evaporate. It was truly stupid, what she was doing. The soldiers who’d destroyed Berwick were desperate, dangerous men. Cold sweat ran down her back and she stood where she was, almost too afraid to move. As she stood there, she heard a twig snap.

  “Come and get me,” she whispered under her breath; a challenge. “I swear I’ll make this harder than you think.”

  She heard footsteps. She stared.

  “Bonnie?” a voice whispered. She found herself looking into incredulous brown eyes. “What’s going on? It’s me,” the voice added.

  Yes, she thought, staring at him, it was him. Tall and pale-haired, brown eyed and broadly built, it was assuredly Arthur. His eyes stared into hers, confused and sad.

  “Bonnie?” he said. “Don’t you recognize me?”

  “Arthur.” Her voice was flat. Strangely, she wasn’t pleased. It was as if all those days of not having him here, all that feeling of betrayal, had grown and broadened and lived inside her, until, suddenly, it was more than she could bear, to see him again. There was a feeling, growing and building in her chest, but it didn’t feel like gladness.

  “Bonnie?” his face twisted, registering confusion. “What happened? Aren’t you surprised to see me?” he sounded as if he pleaded.

  “I suppose you want to come inside.” Her voice was a hard one.

  “Bonnie…”

  She turned around, cutting off his questions. Holding her back straight, she walked up the path to the front door. She didn’t turn around to watch him, but went inside.

  He grabbed the door and held it, following her. She didn’t turn around to look at him. She heard his footsteps on the flagstones in the empty kitchen, but she didn’t look at him.

  The fire was cold.

  Bonnie went to it and laid on more kindling, listening as two other men walked inside. One of them had been carrying something, for she heard him grunt as he lowered it off. She lit the fire, focusing on what she was doing. She ignored the men who filled up the kitchen behind her.

  “Arthur? You sure we can stay here?” one voice asked. Bonnie guessed it to be a younger man, about twenty. He sounded worried and she would have laughed, but for the feeling inside her.

  “We’ll wait and see.” Arthur’s reply was guarded. That did make her want to laugh. That she had made him unsure of his welcome was some small comfort. He had made her unsure of absolutely everything, by leaving her, by acting as he had.

  “It’s cold in here,” an older voice complained. Bonnie bit her lip. Playing host to three soldiers was not going to be as easy as it seemed at first. Especially three soldiers who seemed to believe everything should be made just so for their comfort.

  “Bert, shut up,” an authoritative voice said. It didn’t come from any of the men she could see, and she looked around for its owner.

  She spotted him sitting on the floor by the door, as he continued. “It’s warmer in here than it is outside,” he said. “And when the fire is lit, it’ll be warmer. You’re a lucky lad, you know.”

  “Yes, sir,” the voice she recognized as Bert grumbled.

  Biting her lip to keep back her smile, Bonnie loaded on a larger log and turned around to face them.

  Four men occupied the spacious kitchen. Two sat by the wall. Of these two, one of them – the owner of the authoritative voice – was deathly pale. He leaned on the wall behind him, his body held rigid. Beside him, a big-shouldered sort sat, his elbows resting on his thighs. Another man leaned on the wall, young and nervous-looking. Arthur was still standing by the door, watching her with utter confusion.

  “Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “I don’t know who any of you are, but it’s plain you are in need of rest.”

  Her voice fell into silence. None of the men said anything. Fine, she thought lightly. A group of lads whose mothers never taught them manners. “I’ll put the kettle on, and you can wash the grime off your faces,” she continued as if they were children. Arthur?” she tried not to snap at him. “The bread is in the basket, over there by the window. You know where. You can cut bread for all of them. Bert?” she said the one name she knew. “Come over here and help bank up the fire, please? I’ll fetch more water.”

  “Thank you, Miss. Yes, Miss,” Bert, who proved to be the big man with the broad shoulders, stammered.

  She glanced over at Arthur as she left, and saw the shocked look in his eyes. She ignored the stab of pain that she felt at having to talk to him so harshly. He had treated her the same way without a care, running off without even saying goodbye. She couldn’t let him get away with it, even if causing him even a second of pain cut into her like a physical wound.

  She went outside to fetch water and then turned back to the fire. Every so often, as she waited for the kettle to finish boiling, she glanced up. Arthur was in the kitchen, cutting bread at the kitchen table. His shoulders bunched as he cut slices with a big knife.

  He moves so gracefully, she thought, watching him reach for a plate. Her heart thudded and a tear ran down her cheek. How could she bear to live without his presence? How was she supposed to ignore him, pretend that he didn’t exist for her anymo
re? She sniffed and tried not to cry.

  “I’ll take over for you, lass.” The soldier, Bert, was at her side. “It’s frightful hot that close to the fire, eh?” he spoke respectfully. Bonnie drew in a shaky breath.

  “I have to go outside.” She stood up, letting him sit where she had been and strode out of the room, tears running down her cheeks.

  She sniffed and tried to wipe her face. She knew she was being silly. She had better things to worry about than Arthur. Barra was right – she should forget him.

  “I have to tell the others we have guests.”

  Barra was spinning already, and Mr. Hume was busy tending the flocks. She strode up the path to the barn, boots crunching the ice. As she did so, she heard someone call her from behind.

  “Bonnie! Wait!”

  She spun around. Arthur was striding through the snow, his hair lifting in the slight breeze, eyes troubled. He took her hands in his. His eyes held hers.

  “Arthur, leave me be.” She looked at him, feeling the pull of his brown eyes on hers. “I have to find Mr. Hume. You can’t just stay here without warning them.”

  “I know,” he said, a little desperately. “Bonnie…please. I’m sorry.” He looked down at his feet, his shoulders slumped. He looked ashamed. “I’m so sorry.”

  If he had made excuses, or railed at her, or tried to ingratiate himself with her, she would have scorned him. She would have turned away and forgotten about him, even if every second of doing so tore into her like sharp stones tearing at her feet. Yet to apologize – simply, bravely, without excuse – that was something she had never expected.

  “Arthur,” she said, clearing her throat, which was tight with feeling. “You don’t owe anybody an apology.”

  “But, Bonnie…I do,” he whispered. “I left you. I turned my back on you without warning. I didn’t say goodbye.” He sounded strained.

  She looked at his face closely, studying it for a sign that he lied, but she could see nothing. He was truly upset. She cleared her throat.