by Terry Spear
“Help me to get the men on their horses, and I will take them far away.”
“All right.” Anora helped Niall with the first of the men.
Though he was trying to use only his strength to lift the brigand, she could see the strain on Niall's face, the sweat on his brow, and the pinched expression as he groaned a little with the effort. He was hurting badly, and she did her best to lift as much of the man's weight as she could.
After settling the two men on two of the horses, Niall said, "If you will bring two of the horses to the cellar, I will haul them up from there and you can help me again."
“I am deathly afraid of horses. You get the horses and I will retrieve this villain’s tunic and belt that he removed in my room.” She should have gotten them when she retrieved her pitchfork, but her thoughts were so scattered with concern, she wasn't thinking clearly.
Niall nodded and strode to the place where the villain's horses munched on her garden. She scowled at the sight and hurried into the cottage.
The brigand's effects in hand, she hastened to help Niall heft one of the men who had been in her cellar across the horse's back.
“I am glad you came into the cottage when you did. Thank you,” she told Niall.
Her muscles already straining from helping to lift these men, she was certain she would be aching from all the effort later today. But she couldn't help worrying these men's friends would soon return.
"I only wish I could have come to your rescue sooner. One of the men in the byre had the gall to fight me." They heaved the brigand who she had fought in her cottage onto a horse behind another man. “I knew the man who attacked you. He is known for his attentions toward the ladies.”
“Was,” she said dryly.
"Aye, lass."
When all of the men lay across their saddles, save one who Niall stacked with another, he mounted his own horse. “Are you certain you will be able to manage, lass?”
“Aye.” She wasn't sure he could do this alone, and she'd much rather be with him than alone if the others returned to look for their men. But she knew it would be dangerous if she went with him and the rest of their kin found them together. She worried, too, for Niall. What if they caught him? What if he was in so much pain from his own wounds, he could not return? Or if he did, what if the men were here at the same time and caught him upon his return?
He hesitated to leave her behind.
“The others may suspect something is wrong if I am gone, too. What if they were to stay until I returned? As dangerous as the situation is, I believe it would be better to do it this way. If anyone asks, they came, looked for you, found naught to concern them, and left. They will never suspect I had anything to do with making their men disappear. I will tidy things up," she said, the blood left in a trail on her main room floor instantly coming to mind, sickening her. "Then I will tend to my sheep as though naught is wrong.”
With her stomach twisting in knots, Anora waited for him to agree.
Niall gave her a small smile. "You, bonny lass, would make any Highland warrior proud."
And then he turned and headed away from her home with his silent party.
Tears filled her eyes. She couldn't help worrying that he might never return. And she couldn't help how much his words affected her. She couldn't remember anyone saying he was proud of her.
As soon as Niall disappeared beyond the hill, she dashed back inside the cottage to clean up the blood. After scrubbing away all of it, she pulled the straw for Niall’s bed under her own. Then she hurried into the byre and looked at the blood that spotted the hay. Her heart thundered in her ears as she feared the men would return at any time and she was still not done.
Quickly, she used her hoe to move some of the dirt about to absorb the blood. Then with her pitchfork, she pulled the straw over the area, and raked out the hay to make it appear as though it had lain there for some time. If anyone found her so out of breath, most likely flushed as hot as she felt, and her hair in disarray, what would they think? Mayhap that the brigand had had his way with her and not that she had just helped hide evidence that all their men were dead.
Trying to slow her breathing and act as though nothing was amiss, she returned to her cottage for her bucket, and after filling it with water, started a fire to cook her dinner like she would do any other day. Only this time her hands shook as she prepared the meal. And her heart was still beating way too fast.
All she could think of was the dead man who had lain on her floor, and she glanced in that direction, again looking for blood, as if it would suddenly reappear. She would see it in her mind's eye forever.
Then she worried about Niall again—how dangerous it was for him and in his weakened condition also. What if he took a tumble from his horse—and that brought fresh chills to her overheated skin—remembering the one that had injured her so as a young girl. What if he was too weak to climb back into the saddle once he took care of the men? Or he passed out from the exertion?
And then what if the brigands found him?
She had to quit thinking like that. He would be fine. She couldn't think of it any other way.
She gathered herbs and tossed them into the pot. Afterward, she took the beef that Matthew had hung in the cellar the night before, then returned to the cottage and skewered the meat with a long metal rod. When she hung the meat over the fire, the juices dripped into the flame, making a sputtering sound.
The clip-clop of horses cantering toward her cottage had her heart pounding all over again. Running to the window, she peered out to see several men enter her yard on horseback. Two dismounted and headed for her cellar, and she gasped.
“Oh, I did not check the cellar for blood,” she said under her breath, her skin prickling with fresh tension.
Chapter 9
About eleven Highlanders dismounted and while some entered Anora's byre, another threw the door to her cottage aside, making her jump back as the door slammed against the wall.
She told herself not to wring her belt between her hands, to look the blackguard in the eye, and to quit shaking!
The black-bearded Highlander stood before Anora, his blue eyes hard, and said, “Where is Camden?”
“Who?” She thought she sounded firm, unafraid.
His eyes studied her, watching her every reaction, and she was trying her hardest not to react as though anything was wrong.
He tilted his head to the side, considering her appearance. Trying to learn if his man had had his way with her? If she'd been willing? Or if he hadn't had time to do the deed and left in a hurry? Because she wasn't screaming and wailing, this man had to know Camden had not raped her.
As much as it was killing her not to blurt out which way the men had taken off so she could be rid of these men—she waited for him to answer her, still not lowering her gaze. And she knew it was a challenge, but she couldn't act meek and mild. 'Twas too late for that.
“The man who came here with four of our men to search the place,” he finally said.
She attempted to steady her breathing before she spoke. “He came and then he left.” She tried to sound sure of herself when she felt anything but.
“Oh?" He looked suspicious. "We havena seen him. Which way did he go?”
“In that direction," she said, motioning in the opposite way that Niall had gone and was afraid her hand shook, so quickly dropped it to her side. "He found naught here to interest him.”
The Highlander's eyes narrowed again. “That is hard to believe once he spied you in the pasture.”
She'd made an awful mistake. Why had she not told them what she had planned to? That they had thought they spied Niall heading in that direction? She made up stories all the time—but never under duress like this.
“He was quite forceful, that is true, but when one of his men shouted that he had seen one of the men they were looking for or some such thing, I could not hear all that well because the other men were outside and well... Camden was here with me. But he took off with
his men. Now that they are gone, I can prepare dinner for my family for when they return, and take my sheep back out to pasture as they need to be fed as well.”
She hadn't meant to explain all her plans for the day, but once she got to talking, she couldn't quit. Did he see how nervous she was? If so, mayhap he would believe his presence frightened her after what Camden had tried to pull, and she thought he intended to do the same.
Two men walked into her sleeping quarters to search there and not finding anything, walked back into the main room and shook their heads.
“Nothing there, either,” one of the men said as he returned from the byre.
She wanted to sigh with relief, but her stomach was still twisted into knots.
“Find anything?” she heard a man say to another as the men left the cellar.
“Blood from the meat the woman hangs in the cellar is all that I found.”
The mention of blood had her heart skipping beats. She barely breathed.
Without another word to her, the man in charge of this group turned and walked out the door with his men. Anora finally took a shaky breath. The men mounted their horses, then took off again.
For a moment, she stood frozen, relief—that they believed her, and apprehension—that they would soon discover no sign of their men, filling her with mixed emotions.
She again prayed that Niall would be safe from harm as she ran back outside to pasture her sheep. “Charlie!” she called. He bounded in from the field, making her frown. “Where have you been when I could have used your help? Some guard dog you are.”
She couldn't settle the way her heart was pounding, and the worry the men might return when they never found their comrades in the direction she had sent them.
Anora motioned for the dog to take her sheep out and fairly out of breath, she hurried out to the field and found her staff where the man had thrown it. Nearly the entire time she was with her sheep, she watched the horizon for Niall’s return. And in the opposite direction—for the brigands as well.
***
Travelling west in a stream while towing the horses that carried the dead brigands, Niall was certain he couldn't be dying. He was in too much pain for it. His thoughts focused again on Anora, fearing for her, despite believing the choices they'd made were the only ones they could have. He'd hated having to ask Anora to help him heave the Murray bodies onto the backs of the horses because of his damnable weakened condition. And he hadn't wanted to leave her behind to face the rest of the men who had come with these Highlanders. The lass should never have had to deal with any of this.
Wanting to get back to her as soon as possible, he needed to take these men far enough away, covering his tracks as much as possible, so that no one would find them soon. While he walked the horses, he also searched for any sign of Gunnolf. Earlier, when he'd looked for him, Niall had been on foot and had not been able to cover that much distance. He'd been in as much pain then as he was now though.
His side hurting him something fierce, he crossed two streams and then proceeded to walk along another for several miles, ever vigilant in the event anyone caught him hauling the dead men. He'd come up with what he believed was a plausible enough explanation just in case—they were his brethren, and he was the only survivor. He at least had the wound to show for it. Though how he could explain the stitching…
If it came to that, he hoped no one would ask to see his wound. If he ran across the Murray clansmen, he knew he wouldn't live through another battle.
The area was isolated—scattered trees, the sound of a breeze ruffling their leaves, the water trickling over the rocks in the stream, and the horses splashing as he led his party toward their temporary resting place. The sky was filled with clouds, but thankfully it didn't look like it would rain anytime soon.
When he finally found a secluded area surrounded on two sides by hills, a river on the third, and trees on the fourth, he thought it the perfect place—an idyllic spot for the horses to graze. Though the area would soon offer a macabre setting once he arranged all the bodies where it would appear as though the men had fought well.
He really didn't want to set them up in such a manner—as they had not fought well—too busy drinking of the lass's mead, or taking a nap in her byre. He would rather the leader of these men knew the truth. But to Niall's way of thinking, it would be better to simulate a great battle had occurred so that the rest of their men would not believe the fight had taken place at Anora's croft.
Feeling as though he could pass out at any moment the way he was aching, Niall set about the task of preparing a small battlefield. At least he would not have to lift any more bodies onto the backs of horses.
Even pulling the bodies off the horses hurt his side though, and he cursed a couple of times, worried Anora's stitches might have pulled loose. He gritted his teeth as he leaned down to move another body. The pain shrieking through his side was the worst he had ever suffered. He wanted desperately to sit down and try to breathe through the pain, but he feared if he sat, he would never get back up.
Struggling to finish his work so he could leave and return to Anora, he unsheathed the men's swords, and rested them beside their fatally wounded warriors. He positioned the men to rest on their sides or backs in very nearly the same position as when they had fallen after he killed them before they were able to retaliate to much of an extent. He would never have managed to survive the ordeal—wounded as he was, and with so many to fight—if he hadn't taken advantage of the situation.
He studied the last man for a moment longer, wondering what to do with him. He no longer wore his plaid or his belt and no one would probably believe the man had rushed off to hunt him and Gunnolf without first redressing. Hating the odious task, Niall dressed the man in his plaid and belt, then situated him on the ground face down—in disgrace—for what he had been about to do to Anora.
Niall stood back and observed the men in their final moments of glory—as much as none of it was true—and satisfied it looked as realistic as possible, he took hold of Gunnolf's horse's reins. Niall mounted his horse, and again used the stream to hide his trail.
He went in a different direction this time, still looking for any sign of Gunnolf, and prayed that he would find him and return to Anora and see that she was safe.
***
Guardedly relieved that the Highlanders had not returned, Anora stayed out in the meadow the rest of the morning. Several times, she'd been tempted to walk in the direction of her cottage, though she needed to let her sheep graze longer. But she was dying to see if Niall had made it back to her home.
When the sun grew high in the sky, she returned with her sheep, trying not to run, praying he was in her bed sound asleep. She hurried to pen up her sheep, then rushed into the cottage, no sign he was here, then raced into the sleeping room.
"Niall?" she said, crossing the floor to the bed in the dark and ran her hands over the sheepskin covers. Tears filled her eyes. He had not returned and she feared the worst. Either he had run into trouble with someone, or he had collapsed from his injuries. Or both.
She was torn with trying to locate him, though on foot, she was afraid she'd never find him. Wiping away tears, she vowed to check on the meal, in the hopes that he would still return and he'd need sustenance right away.
After checking on her soup, she stared out the window. Not seeing any sign of Niall, she threw chunks of bread into the kettle, and stirred until the bread dissolved, thickening the soup to perfection.
“Go to the door and listen for Niall,” Anora said to Charlie, hoping her dog would pick up sounds of Niall's return, if she could not hear him. If Niall did not find his way back to her cottage, she was searching for him, despite being certain he wouldn't wish it. And the greater uncertainty that she wouldn't be able to locate him.
Charlie sat at her feet. She frowned at him. “You are a good sheepdog, but not good for much else.”
Charlie wagged his tail. Anora chuckled, tears suddenly trickling down her cheeks
with worry for Niall.
“What is so funny?” Niall asked, as he pushed the creaking door aside, then entered the room.
She wheeled around, her heart giving a little start. Then relief at seeing him alive and well washed over her. She released her ladle and ran to him and threw her arms around him, hugging him to her breast.
He grunted a little, and she worried about his wound, but she could not let go. “Oh, Niall, they returned. There were eleven or twelve of them. I told him his men had headed northwest, but I could not be sure.”
Niall brushed a curl of hair off her cheek and gave her a light embrace in return. “Good, lass. Did you miss me?”
She couldn't help the tears in her eyes that were running again down her cheeks.
"Nay, lass. 'Tis all right just yet."
She felt so needy, wanting more of his touch, a tighter embrace, but he seemed distracted.
“The soup is ready, but I should check your bandages first before we eat.” But she didn't let go of him.
He kissed the top of her head. "Aye. Let me remove my belt. I hoped you would take a look at them when I returned." He pulled away and unbuckled his belt.
Anora stared at Niall's tunic, surprised he still wore John's tunic when she had not seen his own drying over the fire.
“What is wrong, Anora?” he asked, as he put his sword on the table.
“You are wearing John’s tunic. Where is your own?”
“I hid it in the byre this morn. It would not have been a good idea to leave it lying about. Besides, you have not mended it for me yet.” He gave her a small smile.
Loving the way his mouth curved up in a teasing light, the way his dark brown eyes met her gaze and held it, the way he touched her with a tender caress—she realized just how much she had missed him.
Anora took a deep breath, glad he was all right. “Aye, 'twas much too wet last night. I will mend it today. My stitches may not be as fancy as what you are used to though.”
