Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Once the portcullis was raised, they clattered into the courtyard, Duncan yelling for assistance.
Two young lads from the stables came running out and together with Duncan, they eased Ewan out of his saddle, while a third assisted the ladies to dismount.
Duncan and one of the grooms helped Ewan to the infirmary.
Once there, the healer, Esmé, a tall, forbidding, older woman, her grey hair held tightly in a woven bun, directed them to place Ewan on a low wooden pallet with a rough woven blanket thrown over it.
Isla reached for Tyra’s hand as they hovered behind the men. Her face was puckered, her lips turned down, anxious tears glazing her eyes.
“Dinnae fash, Isla,” Tyra whispered soothingly. “He’ll be all right. The healer will attend tae him now.” She could only hope her words were close to the truth.
Once Ewan was positioned on the pallet, groaning slightly, his face now white as a snow rabbit’s fur, Esmé’s nimble fingers unlaced his shirt. She took a quick look at the slash across his chest and wasted no time in slicing away his vest and exposing the wound.
It was a long cut that went from under one arm almost to his waist, yet it was not deep. ‘Tis nae a killing wound, I am most happy tae say. It will repair quickly.”
Loud grunts of relief spread around the infirmary and the lads who’s assisted Duncan headed off to their tasks.
Once Esmé had staunched the blood flow with icy water, she prepared a tincture of healing herbs and honey to cleanse the wound.
“Oh, I cannae watch.” Isla, put her hands over her eyes, moaning softly. Duncan looked up and Tyra signaled to him. He nodded and hurried to Isla’s side.
“There’s naught else we can dae. I believe our braither will be well.” He took Isla’s hand, comforting her and turned to Tyra.
“We can leave him in the capable hands of Esmé,” he said quietly.
Tyra shook her head. “Nay, I wish tae remain wi’ him.”
Duncan nodded. He placed an arm at Isla’s waist, and they slipped away, a trickle of tears on Isla’s cheeks.
Tyra slipped closer. “May I help? I’ve often assisted the healer at me home castle on the Isle of Skye.”
Esmé nodded. “Good. Take this sponge and cleanse the wound, while I prepare a healing salve. ‘Tis well, the lad willnae need stitching.” She went on with melting beeswax and pounding burdock root and mullein with her pestle.
Ewan’s eyes were closed, but when Tyra leaned over him with the bowl and sponge, he eyes flickered open and he granted her the hint of a smile before closing them again.
Tyra dabbed at the ugly wound, cleaning away the already dried blood. She hated seeing Ewan so pale and still on the pallet. Her stomach was churning, fearful for him, and she was suddenly swamped with the sense that this was all because of her.
He’d entered the fray without hesitation. She knew with certainty that those men were not mere bandits, intent on waylaying heedless travelers bound for the castle.
They were MacDonald’s henchmen. She’d recognized one of the men who had led the attack as one of the soldiers who stayed by her fiancé’s side at Scorrybreac.
They could only have been present near the causeway because they had tracked her from the castle and were carrying out orders to either kill or abduct her.
Ewan, along with his brother and sister, had been put at risk of harm or even death, because of her.
Any doubts she’d harbored about Harris being responsible dissolved.
Once Tyra thoroughly cleansed Ewan’s wound, Esmé carefully smeared it with the freshly-made salve and bound it with strips of linen.
“The laird is strong. This wound will heal quickly.”
By now Ewan’s eyes were open. He raised himself to a sitting position, wincing, yet to Tyra’s relief, much brighter. She wrapped a hand around his shoulders, careful not to disturb the new dressing.
He shook his head. “Dinnae fash, lass, I’m all right.”
Placing his hands on the side of the pallet he lifted himself, standing a trifle unsteady. Tyra was quick to take his arm, helping him as he straightened.
Esmé handed Tyra a small jar containing the remainder of the salve.
“Reapply this tomorrow. If there is fever call fer me at once.”
Straightening, but with Tyra still holding him steady, he took several faltering steps toward the door.
“I am greatly relieved that ye are alive. I ken the ambush would nae have taken place if I had nae been in yer company.”
He leaned a little on her and she braced to give him what little support she could. The press of his body sent a deep ripple of wellbeing through her – the sense that she was where she should be, by Ewan’s side, lending him her strength.
Fortunately, Duncan reappeared at that moment, and her concerns about Ewan’s ability to make it up to his chamber vanished. Duncan lent his strong right arm to assist his brother, despite the expected protestations that no help was required.
“I can manage on me own.”
Duncan snorted. “Just mind yer manners big lad and allow others tae lend their help when they can.”
Tyra could not restrain a giggle as they strode together across to the keep and up the stairs to Ewan’s chamber.
Once Ewan was settled in relative comfort in front of his fire, Duncan departed, giving his gruff brother a quick salute and a nod to Tyra as he went.
Tyra looked among the garments hanging in Ewan’s garde robe and found him a worn but clean, linen shirt, which she took over to him as he sat bare-chested – save for the linen binding his chest.
“Here.” She proffered the shirt. “Please stand and raise yer arms.” He stood, a hand on the back of the chair and went to raise his arms. Wincing, he grunted in pain. “Slowly daes it, milaird.”
Once he’d inched his arms to shoulder height, Tyra eased the shirt over his head so that he could place his arms in the sleeves. Her arms around him, she lowered it, taking great care not to cause him pain.
She looked up to find his eyes on her. The breath hitched in her throat as their gazes locked. With scarcely a thought she raised herself on tiptoe, her lips meeting his in a soft kiss.
He wound his arms around her, holding her close, while she breathed in the scent of his skin, the faint scent of burdock, sweat, leather, horse.
She melted against him, their kiss slow, gentle, sinuous, their tongues languidly teasing. The release of the pent-up terror of the ambush, the relief of their escape and her joy that Ewan was alive and holding her in his arms were all in the kiss.
When they eased apart, gasping air, and pulled back, Ewan’s eyes were downcast. He faced away from her, his arms dropping to his sides.
“I am sorry. I dinnae ken what came over me. I shouldnae have treated ye so.”
She looked at him, her brow puckered, shaking her head.
What is he saying? Was he nae the one tae initiate our kiss at the inn? Did he think I was rebuffing him then?
She was confused, washed with shame at her boldness.
“Dinnae apologize.” She turned and stepped toward the door. “I was tae blame. It was I who should apologize fer being so forward.”
She needed time and space to clear the bedeviling thoughts roaming free in her mind.
Her hand was on the latch when she heard him call, “Please wait, Tyra.”
She hesitated then turned to face him. He had called her by her name.
“Please take a seat. There are things we need tae discuss now.”
“Things that cannae wait?”
He shook his head, easing himself into his chair by the fire.
She returned and took the chair beside him, her cheeks burning with chagrin.
He spoke kindly. “I dinnae wish ye tae regret what passed between us.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes, finding there the same confusion that bedeviled her.
“I have placed ye and yer loved ones in danger. I shouldnae be here.” “Nay lass, dinnae say that. We were fortunate and escaped today’s ambush.”
“’Twas nae good fortune, but the skill and bravery of two warriors who were ready tae fight and save us.” She pushed a strand of loose hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear.
He took a deep breath, gazing into the fire. “’We have agreed tae wed and I’ve nay intention of allowing Harris MacDonald tae in the way of that decision.”
“Surely, ye—?” He’d not wish to go ahead with their betrothal now he’d witnessed the danger firsthand?
He shook his head. “I’ll instruct me braither tae hasten at once and call the Council tae an urgent meeting at first light on the morrow. I wish us tae wed without delay.”
She gasped.
“’Tis the only way I can keep ye safe. Until we are wed the risk is great, but once MacDonald understands that ye’re the Lady of Eilean Donan, he’ll ne’er attack. Fer if he daes, he’ll bring down the full strength and might of the Mackenzies on his head.
His jaw tightened and for an instant she glimpsed the rage flickering in his eyes.
She rose to her feet, her heart fluttering wildly against her ribcage. “I understand the need fer haste Laird Ewan. Now, if ye’ll excuse me, there is much I must see tae if I’m tae wed without delay.”
Reaching for her hand he brought it to his lips and brushed it with a kiss before she turned and fled the room.