Chapter Eighteen
-DECLAN-
From the moment we came across the slain villagers, I had an uneasy feeling that something bad was going to happen. While some might say that was a safe assumption based on such a gruesome attack on innocents, it felt more intuitive.
And it felt connected to Astrid.
Like her, I strongly suspected that Norse had not executed this slaughter despite their language scratched here and there.
This was the work of someone who wanted to make it look like Astrid’s former countrymen had done it to rile up their fellow Scots.
And the moment we learned we’d finally caught up with the men who’d been claiming troublesome Norse were in the area, I was certain it had been them.
If that were not upsetting enough, Alexander's allowing Astrid to remain dressed like a shield-maiden only made things worse, as evidenced when we confronted the swine soon after. If I’d had my way, I would have cut them down where they stood, just for their disgust of her, but alas, I did not, and it cost me dearly when one of the men we’d confronted ran her through with a dagger.
After that, mayhem ensued, and unknown assailants had slain the remainder of the troublesome Scots before any of us had a chance to retaliate. Now I stood alongside those men as they helped me protect the king and Astrid.
“’Tis them!” Astrid gasped. Oksana whimpered at her side as my lass staggered back against the wall, pressing a hand to her wound. “They are the wounded Norse I tended to at Largs.”
“Bloody hell,” Alexander exclaimed, rounding his eyes at them, as shocked at seeing them here as the rest of us. “’Tis!”
By then, everyone had fled the building, eliminating any further threat to the king’s life, so I sheathed my blade and raced to Astrid, never so terrified. The color had drained from her face, and she bled profusely. When I went to scoop her up before she slid to the floor, she shook her head.
“I need something to wrap around my waist to slow the bleeding,” she managed, seeming determined to remain on her own two feet.
She looked at the Norse warriors with gratitude, briefly conversing with them in their language before focusing on Alexander, remarkably coherent given what had just happened to her.
“It seems they have been tracking me, determined to protect me,” she said while I saw to her wound.
After tearing a strip from my tunic, I gently wrapped it around her waist, my heart in my throat at her injury's location. I had been on enough battlefields to know it wasn’t good.
Yet it was clear enough in her gaze that she would see these Norsemen protected before she gave into the pain she had to be suffering.
“They wished to repay me for saving them from the Land of the Dead,” she went on, pausing as one of the men spoke to her again, and she translated, sounding surprised.
“They now wish to swear their loyalty to me and my new king, whose life they just protected to compensate for being ordered to invade his shores and fight his countrymen.”
Alexander narrowed his eyes at them for a moment, clearly trying to figure out how to handle the situation, which was indeed unusual. As was their far-too-swift recovery, yet he didn’t speak to it at the moment. Rather, he focused on what mattered most right now, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
“This can wait,” Alexander said, worry in his gaze as he took in Astrid’s wounded state. “We need to see to you first, lass. ‘Tis a substantial wound.”
“I know precisely what kind of wound it is,” she said.
“And I know what it will do to me.” The most stubborn, fearless lass any of us had likely ever met, she raised her chin in defiance.
“But I would first have your assurance that you will grant these men their request and no harm will befall them.”
“Aye, of course,” Alexander assured her, evidently needing no further convincing. Either that or he was simply willing to say whatever she needed to hear so that we could tend to her. “’Twill be as they requested,” he vowed. “You have my word.”
No doubt wary of his speedy assurances, she narrowed her eyes. “Ja?”
“Aye,” he repeated, frowning. “I dinnae make a habit of breaking my word, lass. Especially to those who have done so much for me.” His brow furrowed, and he cocked his head, growing frustrated with her putting us off. “Now, could we please see to you?”
“Soon.” Beads of sweat pearled on her forehead, giving away her excruciating pain while she assured the Norsemen they would be safe.
Then, if that were not enough, she focused on the slain Scotsmen next.
“Before things get worse for me, I would like to know who these men really are. If they carry anything that might reveal their identity.” She winced in discomfort and struggled to breathe.
“If we figure out from where they hail, we can quell future unrest and…”
Unable to continue fighting off the inevitable, Astrid’s words trailed off, and she would have slumped to the ground if I had not scooped her up.
Moments later, her eyes fluttered back in her head, and she passed out cold.
My hand shook with fear of losing her, as I brushed a damp lock of hair from her forehead, praying she would not leave me.
Not like this. Not so soon. We had only just discovered each other. Only just found love.
“Find the magistrate and get a bloody healer in here!” Alexander roared at anyone willing to listen.
“And see to Astrid’s wishes. Meanwhile, Gustav, you are good at seeing to wounds in battle, so…
” He frowned and looked around in confusion, his face getting redder by the moment. “Where the bloody hell did Gustav go?”
“Something tells me ‘twas nae to go fetch the healer,” Stewart fumed, having already begun to search the fallen men. He handed the king a flask he had found on the tallest one. “’Tis Clan MacGreggor’s motto engraved in that, aye?”
“Och,” Alexander said softly. Disappointment and anger flared in his gaze. He shook his head. “It cannae be.”
“And this one wears the MacGreggor’s colors beneath his tunic,” another of Alexander’s men informed him grimly after searching one of the other fallen.
“This one too, my liege,” a third man said.
“No wonder Gustav threw his blade into the first one’s neck before he could finish his sentence,” Stewart said, seeing it as clearly as the rest of us. “He was probably about to reveal something he should not have.”
“Go after the bastard,” Alexander ordered several of his men, his dark brown gaze blazing with fury. “Now! And bring him back alive. I intend to look him in the eyes when I tell him his fate.”
Scrambling to do his bidding, several left, as the magistrate and a little old woman with bent shoulders and leathery skin came in, hobbling along, clutching a satchel.
“Nay,” I cursed softly under my breath to the king, shaking my head. “She isnae going to be able to—”
“Set 'er down on that table, laddie,” she barked, hearing me just fine, it seemed, despite her feeble appearance.
Gesturing at a nearby table with her bony hand, she continued barking out orders not just to the king himself but to the Norsemen, evidently speaking their language fluently enough, because they were off to do her bidding.
“’Twill be all right, wee beastie,” she seemingly said to Oksana. Having been whining by my side, the husky quieted, her eyes calmly trained on the old woman as if she understood she was here to help.
In the meantime, following orders, Stewart cleared the table so I could lay Astrid down, and Alexander returned with several clean towels from the buxom bartender, who had returned to help however she could.
“Let us see then,” the healer murmured. She removed the bloodied strip of tunic, muttering away while pressing a fresh cloth into it, shaking her head. “’Tis nae good.”
I couldn’t say why I felt a flicker of hope when I should not, given that Astrid’s injury was a death wound, other than I had seen several miracles as of late.
First, Soren, then the wounded Norsemen.
Yet that hope swiftly waned when the healer sniffed and scrunched her nose as if catching the scent of something foul.
“The bloody bastard put something on his blade.” She pressed her thin lips together and looked at me, of all people, as if she could see straight inside me. “You'd best prepare yourself, laddie. She willnae be with you much longer.” She shook her head again. “’Tis nae survivable.”
Clenching my jaw, I did my best to keep emotion from my face for the sake of our secret marriage, but it was damn difficult, if not impossible. “Surely, there is something you can do. Anything at all.”
“I can make her comfortable.” She sighed. “’Tis the only…”
She trailed off when Astrid stirred, and her lips moved as if she were trying to say something, but her voice would not work.
“What’s that, lassie?” The healer put her ear to Astrid’s mouth and listened for several moments, nodding as if she caught what she was saying.
Eventually, she pulled away and looked at me.
“She claims she needs to return to your da where she keeps her herbs.
Florie will know which ones. ‘Tis her only hope of survival.”
Frowning, I shook my head in disbelief. “Can she make it that far?”
“’Tis unlikely.” As she pursed her lips, I swore her gaze lingered on Astrid's cross and perhaps even the talisman underneath as she considered my lass. “Yet if anyone could, something tells me ‘twould be her.”
“Then you must try to get her back there, Declan,” Alexander said, yet again making me proud to call him my king. “Take Stewart with you and whomever else you need to move swiftly.”
“’Twould be them who can move you the swiftest in the snow.” The healer looked at the Norsemen who had returned with various things for dressing Astrid’s wound, and told them what was happening in their language. Then, she winked at Oksana. “And I imagine you might be able to help, too.”