Chapter 30 #2
He leaned over and helped her sit herself up against a sturdy bit of the wooden frame.
He rearranged her skirts, then squatted down in front of her.
He pulled the dirk from his boot and handed it to her.
“Hide this in your skirt. If anyone comes in, wait until they’re close, then bury it with all your strength into their belly.
Upward into the heart is best, for they’ll die more quickly that way. ”
“Bet you didn’t learn that in judo class.”
“Nay, it was the first thing my sire taught me.”
“What a life.”
“It had its beauties as well.”
“I suppose it did.” She sighed. “No interruptions. No modern annoyances.”
“No running water,” he said dryly. “But I’ll see what I can do for you.” He paused. “I don’t know about a wash. The stream is very cold and the only fire I dare build would not warm you adequately.”
“It’s your nose, not mine,” she said gamely.
“And my nose finds you as sweet as roses,” he said. He took her hand and kissed it gently. “I’ll return as quickly as possible, hopefully with something to eat. And herbs for your finger, if you like. Keep your dirk handy and please do not use it on me.”
She nodded, looking quite sure of herself. Or she would have, if her fingers hadn’t been trembling so badly. He pretended not to notice.
“I won’t be far,” he said. “The stream is no more than twenty paces from the hut and whatever is edible will be nearby. The herbs I need will likely be deeper in the forest, but it won’t take me long to find them.
” He stood, then turned and opened the door.
He looked at her one last time. “I’ll return soon. ”
“I know.” She smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“I’m certain some day I will have the flu or something equally as debilitating. You can tend me then in repayment.”
She went quite still. He did, too, truth be told. If that wasn’t something of a commitment, he didn’t know what was. He wanted to breathe, truly he did, but there seemed to be an appalling lack of air in the hut all of a sudden.
“I’m a lousy nurse,” she said finally. “But I’ll try.”
“Aye,” he managed.
“I could learn something useful from Moraig,” she offered slowly. “Herbs and that kind of thing.”
“She knows much.”
“Hmmm,” Madelyn agreed. “I imagine you do, too.”
He nodded unwillingly. “Aye. A bit.” That was an understatement, but it was something to even admit any knowledge at all. It occurred to him that perhaps it might be time to make a change in that part of his life now, too.
So many changes.
So long overdue
, whispered his heart.
He took a deep breath, then smiled at Madelyn. It had come out as something of a grimace, but he was laboring under a goodly bit of self-inflicted duress.
“I’ll return quickly.”
She nodded. He left, before he gave up any more ground to his heart. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to be blurting out a proposal soon.
He went out and found his horse where he’d left it, standing quite miserably under the shelter of a tree.
Patrick rubbed his ears as he took off the bridle, then rubbed the beast’s nose.
He continued to rub and pat as he stripped off the horse’s gear.
He set everything out of the wet, led the stallion to better shelter under a tree, then left him to forage for himself.
Actually, grass was starting to look rather palatable.
He walked to the stream and looked about for something to use as a waterskin.
There was nothing useful, but he could likely manage some sort of marginally watertight weaving if he took the time for it.
He chose the widest-leafed weeds he could find and set them in a pile.
Next he leaped over the small stream and carried on with his search for something to eat.
It was late in the year, but there was enough to exist on if one knew where to look.
And he knew, thanks to the lessons he’d had from different souls during his youth.
He’d learned about herbs, how to use them and what to avoid, from the village midwife, a woman of indeterminate age who had watched every child in the village make its entrance into the world.
His father had raged against his poor use of time, so Patrick had taken to covering his lessons with boasts of having bedded every virgin in the village.
His father had been impressed.
He had learned volumes about healing.
He’d foraged for herbs for the woman, telling his father he was going out to slay wild beasts. He’d done that as well, but he’d also always come home with bunches of useful things hidden under his plaid.
From a traveling minstrel brave enough to venture so far north in the Highlands he’d learned how to eat what the good earth provided in whatever season he found himself.
The man had possessed a robust laugh and an uncanny ability to find everything edible within a ten-meter radius.
Patrick had taken to heart everything he’d said.
If the minstrel had been ingesting things that were poisonous, he would have been too dead to put fingers to his lute.
All of which left Patrick where he was now, kneeling in the mud next to a healthy clutch of yarrow.
He let all his fears wash briefly over him, all his self-recriminations for not having saved Lisa, all his years of denying everything he’d been in his youth and everything he’d learned there. It washed over him.
And then it was gone.
And so simply, too. He sat back on his heels, lifted his face to the sky, and let the drizzle fall unimpeded upon him.
Six years of suffering, six years of agonizing, six years of foolish recriminations.
Gone.
In an instant.
He took a deep breath. He watched that polluted wave recede and vowed then to never dip his toes in it again. The ocean was full of all sorts of waves. It was well past time he started sampling others.
He gathered the yarrow, then went to look for other healing things. And once he’d filled the little pouch he’d made from a corner of his plaid with herbs, berries, and a decent selection of roots, he went to look for a bit of wood he could carve into a bowl.
He retraced his steps, collected the pile of weeds he’d left on the near side of the riverbank, and started back toward the hut.
Madelyn screamed.
He dropped everything and sprinted for the hut, drawing his sword as he ran.
He flung the hut door open only to find a man sprawled over Madelyn.
The man was groaning. Patrick leaped forward, hauled the man away and threw him out of the hut.
He followed immediately, his sword in his hand.
But apparently there was no need for further work upon this soul. The man looked up at him.
“MacLeod ... whore . . .” he managed, then he said no more.
Patrick reached down and pulled his own dirk free of the man’s belly.
He looked at him in the fading light. It was a Fergusson clansman, one he’d seen the night before looking at him quite suspiciously.
Actually, the entire clan had been looking at him suspiciously, so this lad was hardly any different than the rest.
But to have followed them so easily?
It did not bode well.
Patrick hefted the man over his shoulder, took him deep into the woods, and heaved his body into the underbrush.
He could do nothing else. He walked back, took the lad’s horse, and left it conversing companionably with his own—horses had so much more sense than men—then went back inside the hut.
Madelyn was still in the same place, trying to catch her breath.
She was holding her hand up in the air. Her finger was bent at an odd angle.
He knelt down next to her and reached out to grasp her hand.
“Broken again?”
She nodded, her teeth chattering.
“Well, that saves me the trouble of breaking it to reset it, doesn’t it?”
She looked at him, her whole body trembling violently.
She looked like a woman who had had enough.
More than enough. So much of enough that she was well on her way to a place she didn’t want to go.
He put his other hand on her knee, ignoring the damp place there where the Fergusson clansman had bled on her.
“Aren’t you the handy one,” he said lightly, “even with a wounded paw. I believe I’ll keep you to guard my back.”
She was still gasping for breath. “I can’t joke—”
“Of course not,” he said. “So, did he say anything to you?”
“He said,” she began, then she took a deep breath, “he was going to do what Simon should have done to start with.”
“Rape you or kill you?”
“Both.”
“Well,” Patrick said easily, “best that you had at him first then, aye?”
She nodded jerkily.
He would have to talk to her about it, but later.
For now, he simply sat down next to her and pulled her into his arms. She made some hyperventilating sounds, but didn’t weep.
He supposed she was too shocked to weep.
He could certainly relate to that. He’d taken another’s life to keep his own when he’d been but ten-and-three.
I’ve killed, in defense and in anger. Do you think I don’t bear the stain of that on my hands?
Jamie’s words came back to him faintly, as if from a great distance. Patrick would give them to Madelyn, when he thought she could hear them and believe them. For now, he merely held her tightly against him and let silence do its work.
Eventually she stirred. She looked up at him in the very faint bit of light left in the hut.
“This is a brutal time period,” she said.
He smiled. “Aye, and you, my lady, have seen some of the worst of it.”
She was silent for several minutes. “I don’t think I can see anything else of it right now.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Give it time, love. Give it time.” He pulled away and rose. “I’ll go fetch what I dropped, then set your finger properly.”
“All right,” she said weakly.
“Then we’ll see if some healing sleep doesn’t do us both some good.”
She made a brief sound of protest.
“I sleep lightly,” he said quickly. “I’ll keep us safe. And if I cannot,” he said, “we’ll leave it to you.”
“Patrick, I can’t joke about this.”
“I know,” he said soberly. “I know, Madelyn. But it was either you or him. It’s that simple.”
She sighed, but her sigh was more an unsteady quaver. “It doesn’t feel that simple.”
“It never does,” he said quietly. He picked up his dirk, wiped it off with some dirt, then laid it down next to her. “I’ll return immediately.”
He left the hut, stood and listened for several minutes, but heard nothing but the faint sounds of night falling. Perhaps they would be safe.
But it looked as if Moraig’s spot was not going to suffice them for much longer. Perhaps for the night, then they would have to move on. It was a pity, he realized with a faint bit of surprise. He’d been looking forward to a few days of peace and quiet with only Madelyn for company.
Well, there would be time enough when they returned home and sorted things out. Aye, time enough for a great many things.
He took a final look about, then ducked back inside the hut.