Chapter Eight
The bothy they came across appeared to have not been visited for quite some time. A thick layer of dust covered the sparse furniture, but there was dry wood stacked near the fireplace that they could use for a fire.
After helping Errol into a chair, she placed the logs in the fire, thankful they were there and that she wouldn’t have to waste time collecting wood.
Once she had the fire started, she moved to the one bed in the small space.
The throws were old, but they would do. She pulled them off the bed and brought them outside to shake them out.
She kenned she should do the same to the mattress, but there wasn’t any time. Errol had been bleeding quite heavily since he was first cut, and the bleeding got worse the longer they rode. She was scared that he wouldn’t be able to stay astride his horse if they had to ride much longer.
After she remade the bed, ensuring to put one of the throws down for Errol to lay on, she helped him to the bed.
He laid down with a grunt, a wince distorting his face.
Moira was certain he was hurt even more than he was telling her.
They needed clean water but didn’t have any other than the filled skins they carried. They would have to do for now. She would look for fresh water after she took care of Errol.
She looked around the bothy to see what type of supplies had been left behind, hoping there were items of use for their situation.
She found a stack of folded linens, and pulled a couple from the middle and shook them out.
Since they were covered for the most part by the linens surrounding them, they were the cleanest of the bunch.
From her satchel she pulled out a needle and thread. Thankful to Seema for handing them to her afore they parted.
“Just in case,” she had said with a sad smile.
Moira thought she was being silly.
Until now.
She shivered at the thought of how much danger they were in. Afore they were attacked, Moira saw their journey as an adventure. Danger never crossed her mind.
Now she realized how wrong she’d been.
Looking through the cupboard, she found a few bottles of ale. Not kenning how long they’d been here, she wouldn’t drink them, but she could use them to clean Errol’s wounds. She grabbed one and after dragging a small table near the bed, she placed all the items she’d gathered atop it.
Errol caught her hand. “Lass, I will be fine. I just need to rest a bit.”
He reminded her of Seema. She’d uttered those exact words at the inn.
“I agree, ye will be fine. Howe’er ye still need stitches, though I must warn ye. At home, sewing was no’ an interest of mine, so these may no’ be pretty, but they will staunch the bleeding to be sure.”
He gave her a small smile. “I am no’ the least bit surprised that ye found no interest in sewing.”
“Watch it,” she warned. “I may be tempted to punch ye in yer arm for yer teasing.”
“Duly noted. In my bag is a skin of ale, can ye get it? I think I’d like a swallow afore ye start.”
She did as he asked and handed him the skin. With a grunt, he pulled himself into a sitting position and took a long pull. After he was done, he met her eyes.
“I’m ready,” he said, lying back in the bed.
Cutting away the remnants of his bloody sleeve, she revealed the wound. It was deep but the slice was clean.
“This may burn,” she warned as she poured the ale on the cut.
Errol hissed through his clenched teeth but said naught and remained still.
Moira was thankful it wasn’t a jagged cut. Her sewing skills were not aught to be proud of. But with no other choice available she set to work threading the needle, and afore starting, she said, “I apologize.”
His eyes clashed with hers. “Dinnae. I am thankful for yer assistance.”
Biting her lip, she wiped away the blood as best as she could, then pierced his flesh with the needle, drawing it through to the other side. She couldn’t help but cringe each time she repeated the action.
Errol watched her with a pained expression but said naught.
She began to hum. An old tune her mother used to sing to her when she was a wee lass. She didn’t ken why, but it released some of the tension filling the room. Even Errol, for all that he was going through, seemed to relax a bit, which made the process easier.
His eyes never stopped watching her. She tried to ignore his gaze. Ignore the heat that blossomed in her belly. But it was hard. Even as she concentrated on the task at hand. Thankfully, her stitches held and by the time she finished, the flow of blood had stopped.
“Ye did good, lass.”
With a small smile playing on her lips, she began to wrap his arm in clean linen. “Ye may no’ thank me once ye see the scar left behind.”
He chuckled. “It will join all my others.”
She frowned at that. For some unkenned reason, the thought of him having so many scars bothered her. Though it shouldn’t.
He was a fierce warrior. Had fought alongside his family, just as her own brother, Alpin, had with hers. If she were to guess, she was certain they could compare battle scars and come out even.
“Ye should probably rest. Ye lost a large amount of blood.”
Errol sat up in the bed, picked up the skin of ale she’d placed there, and took a long swallow. Gingerly, he rotated his shoulder, testing the limits of how much movement he still had.
Other than dealing with the pain of the cut, he still had full use of his arm. The wound wasn’t near enough his shoulder to cause issue there.
Outside, the birds had ceased their singsong.
It was getting later in the day. She assumed they were hiding in their nests to wait until the morn.
She looked warily at the door. She’d bolted it shut, but if someone had wanted to enter, they wouldn’t have much of a problem.
The bothy provided shelter. But it was old. Weathered.
“Dinnae fash. We are safe.”
Moira studied Errol’s face. “How can ye be sure?”
“The men that ambushed us were working alone. More than likely they heard us speak of what we were doing at the pub last eve.”
That made sense.
“They wouldnae have told many more people. The more people, the smaller the cut.”
She worried her bottom lip as she thought about the different things that could happen to them. “What if someone realizes they are missing and comes looking for them?”
Errol shook his head. “Nay. I dinnae see that happening. This is the safest place for us tonight. In the morn, we can finish our journey to the next stop.”
Looking around she kenned he was right. It didn’t make sense to travel this late in the day.
Her stomach growled, echoing in the empty cabin.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she laid her palm on her stomach. “I fear the meal we ate at the inn this morn is long gone.”
“Are ye for certs ’tis just hunger and no’ the same affliction that has dropped the others?”
“Aye. I feel fine.”
Errol pushed off the bed and stood beside her.
In doing so she was reminded of just how very tall he was.
He towered over her slight frame, and she had to crane her neck to look up and meet his eyes.
Eyes that watched her softly. He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her face, but he paused mid-air.
For a few moments his hand hovered there before he masked his expression and dropped it to his side.
She took a deep breath. For the briefest of moments, she wondered what it would feel like for Errol to caress her cheek. What was she thinking?
“Ye shouldnae be standing.” She said to focus her thoughts on something else other than the handsome warrior standing afore her.
Placing her palms on his chest she gave him a gentle nudge toward the bed.
He didn’t budge, but heat warmed her palms, moving up her arms to stain her cheeks with a blush, she was certain of it.
She snapped her hands back as if she were burned.
His face softened again, but his eyes burned into her. Had he felt that same heat?
Then he looked away and whatever had passed betwixt them was gone.
Moving around her, he picked up his sword, and tucked his dagger into his boot.
“Where are ye going?”
“We need to sup and there is naught here to stave off our hunger.”
“But yer arm…”
“’Twill be fine. ’Tis no longer bleeding thanks to ye. ’Twillnae take long. Mayhap get a pot ready?”
She nodded. Then thought of something. “But wait. We dinnae have water.”
He paused, his hand on the door latch after he’d lifted the bolt of wood that secured the door. “There has to be a well around here. I will look for that first. Stay inside, lass,” he ordered quietly. “Please, for once, listen to me.” When his eyes met hers, they were soft with his plea.
Wetting her dry lips with her tongue, she nodded. Adding more things for him to fash about would do neither of them any good, so she would do as she’d been told.
He disappeared outside, closing the door behind him. The interior of the bothy, though small, felt huge without Errol there to fill the space. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Even with the fire burning bright, she suddenly felt chilled. His heat had warmed the room.
As she tried to gather her thoughts, the realization of what they had gone through earlier finally settled over her.
They’d been attacked.
They could have been killed.
And for what? For something that so far alluded to a secret love pact between the MacLeods and the Harts.
Sighing, she forced herself to move. Keeping her body busy would keep her mind from focusing on what they’d endured earlier.
On a low shelf, Moira found a large pot that they could use to cook whatever it was that Errol managed to catch. The fire burned bright, and she now noticed the spit that had been hung from one side of the fireplace to the other.
The door opened and Moira spun with a small squeal.
“’Tis just me, lass,” Errol announced. In his hands was a bucket.
“Fresh water?”
“Aye.” He placed it on the table and turned to the door again. “No one is about. ’Tis only us in the area. Ye neednae fash so.”
She hadn’t realized that she had her palm clutched over her heart. Words escaped her and even if they would come, she didn’t trust her voice. Her heart was beating frantically. So, she only nodded.
Errol ducked back outside and she let out a slow, steadying breath.
Being in the bothy was much better than sleeping outside, open to all the elements, including more bandits that could be tracking them.
Aye, Errol said there weren’t any more. But she didn’t trust a word of what that louse had said before Errol silenced him forever with his fists.
Would he really admit if there were others that were going to follow behind?
Nay, she didn’t think so.
Opening the door to the one cupboard near what she believed was a prep table, she was surprised to see several corked pots.
Picking up one, she tugged on the cork. It had been sealed snuggly and took her a couple of tries to remove it.
Once she did, she smiled. The spicy scent of pepper assaulted her nose.
Were all of these spices? If so, she was fairly confident she would be able to season whatever meat Errol was able to find.
A cook she was not. Nor did she have any ambition to be one, but she’d watched Oona prepare enough meats to ken that the answer to an edible meal was the spices one added.
By the time Errol returned, she had managed to open all the pots.
“A single hare, but ’twill get us fed and provide sustenance enough until the morrow.” He grinned sheepishly, the look completely transforming his features. “I dressed it for ye. For some reason, I thought that wasnae aught ye were familiar with.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she tried to school her face into a serious look, but judging by Errol’s laughter, she failed. Huffing out a breath, she approached and took the carcass from him. “Ye are correct. My da wouldnae be proud.”
At the mention of her father, his brows drew together. “Aye, well, ye were verra handy with the needle and thread. I’ll be sure to convince yer da of that if he doesnae strike me down first once he learns that we are traipsing about in the highlands alone.”
She waved her hands in the air in dismissal. “Pfft. Ye returning me home safely will garner his thanks and naught more.”
He grunted.
Moira didn’t think Errol believed her, but it was the truth. Her da was kenned as a fierce warrior, and he was, but he was also right and just. His moves were well thought out. Having Moira return home in one piece, hopefully, with a treasure as well, would be all her father needed.