Chapter 7 #2
Rose’s vision cleared enough to see the ragged plaid at eye level and Deidra screeching and struggling in the man’s other hand.
Fury and fear twisted inside Rose. She drove her fist into the man’s groin.
He pitched over and back, releasing Rose, but dragging Deidra down with him.
Rose stumbled to her feet, pain radiating through her back.
She ignored the pain and kicked the villain.
“Let her go!” she screamed, then she kicked him in the head and stomped on the arm trapping Deidra.
He howled and cursed but released the child.
“Deidra, run!” Rose yelled.
Deidra sprinted toward the cottage. Rose started after her, but the man was on his feet already, furious.
Blood poured from his nose. “Stupid bitch!” he yelled, his voice strange and nasal. He lurched at Rose.
Rose ran in the opposite direction, praying Deidra found a safe place to hide rather than more trouble.
Her breath wheezed in her chest, burning.
The pain in her back seized at her, making her stumble.
Her pursuer tackled her, dragging at her hair and arisaid.
She slammed into the ground, bringing her hands up to break her fall.
Stones cut her palms, and the impact jarred her shoulders.
His hot, stinking body covered her, suffocating her.
She bucked crazily, blind terror gripping her.
The back of her head slammed into his face and he gasped, his weight easing enough for her to crawl forward on her elbows.
A glint of metal caught her eye, and she scrabbled for it.
The man snatched at her skirts, seizing her ankle and yanking.
He laughed wickedly, his grip punishing.
Rose fell, twisting so she landed on her bottom and kicked wildly at him with her free leg.
She heard a feral growling and moaning and realized it was herself.
She drove her heel hard into his face with a grunt of effort and was rewarded with a crunch.
He roared his fury and pain but didn’t release her.
Still, she gained the few inches she needed to grab her dag.
She rolled onto her back and swung the gun around, the hilt gripped hard in both hands.
He lumbered up, bloodied teeth bared, hands already reaching for her.
He paused only a moment when he saw the gun barrel aimed at his face, then he threw himself at her, his bearded, misshapen face distorted with rage.
Rose pulled hard on the trigger. The wheel lock spun, scratching pyrite.
Sparks showered around her as the gun discharged with a deafening blast. The force of it sent her reeling back, knocking her head into the ground.
A cloud of smoke surrounded her. She dropped the gun, useless now, and coughed, scooting backward. Her attacker lay in a heap on the ground, part of his head gone. Rose closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath, her stinging hands pressed to her chest. Her heart raced, and she felt nauseated.
A sharp twinge in her back reminded her of Deidra.
She scanned the moor around her. The fighting was over.
The wind whispered over the moor, disturbing the tufts of grass.
Horses meandered about, two of them cantering together playfully.
Where was everyone? Her heart raced again as she limped hurriedly to the ruined cottage.
She counted four bodies of broken men and spotted several more dark mounds further away.
She found Wallace on the ground inside the cottage, leaning against a wall, grasping his side. His hand was dark and wet.
Rose dropped to the ground beside him. “What happened?”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “Sword wound. Not bad.”
“Let me see.” She pulled his fingers away and pushed his plaid off his shoulder, then removed his leather vest. The linen shirt beneath was crimson with blood.
Against his feeble protests, Rose peeled the shirt off. “I need some water,” she murmured, scanning the interior for their supplies. A water flask was near and she grabbed it, returning to her patient. She pulled the cork out and held it to Wallace’s mouth so he could drink.
“My thanks,” he gasped.
Rose poured water over the wound. Wallace hissed, and the muscles along his side contracted. The gash was deep but not mortal, slicing him along his ribs.
Rose let out the breath she’d been holding. “It will be fine. I just need to stitch it up. Let me find the others first.”
She stood and through a gaping hole in the wall, she saw Drake approaching. Strathwick followed, holding his daughter by the hand. Rose finally allowed herself to truly breathe, putting a trembling hand to her mouth. Everyone was safe, and, it appeared, the broken men vanquished.
As soon as they entered the cottage, Strathwick growled, “I told you to keep riding! Why did you come back?”
His gruff tone brought her up short, and she snapped, “I didn’t mean to! It was Moireach—I lost control of her. She went mad.”
“That cow went mad?” He pointed.
Moireach had wandered to the hole in the wall and gazed in blandly. Deidra giggled.
Rose had no explanation for the mare’s behavior. Her back ached and a wounded man needed her help. She had no time to argue.
“My box,” she said wearily and left the cottage to fetch it off the horse, chastising Moireach all the while for being such a naughty beast. When she returned, Strathwick was kneeling beside Wallace, inspecting the wound in his side.
Annoyed, Rose hurried to join them, edging Strathwick out of the way. “What are you doing?”
“I thought I might heal him,” he said dryly.
“No—it’s not bad.” She brushed his hands away. “I’ll stitch it and it will heal normally. Waste not your magic on something I can easily tend.”
“And if it festers?”
Rose turned to look at him, her mouth tight with doubt.
“I do it now,” Strathwick said patiently, “and cause myself mild discomfort, or I do it later and am laid up for a whole day at least. I choose now.”
“It might not fester.”
“Let her sew me up, my lord,” Wallace gasped. “I owe you my life, I can ask for naught more than to give fate her chance with me. Mistress MacDonell is a fine healer; it will be fine.”
Strathwick gripped Wallace’s shoulder and gazed at him with grim affection. “And that is why I want to do it.” He turned to his brother. “Gather up the rest of the horses. Take Deidra with you.”
“No!” The word exploded out of Rose without warning, surprising even herself.
Everyone stared at her in astonishment.
She hesitated, her mind racing for an explanation but drawing a blank. Nevertheless, she could not allow Deidra to go off alone with her uncle. She said, “I’d like Deidra to stay here.”
Strathwick shook his head decisively. “Nay, I never allow her to witness a healing.” He nodded to his brother. “Go.”
Drake extended his hand for Deidra to take. “No,” Rose said, standing and grabbing Deidra’s arm, pulling the child close. “It’s not safe. What if there are more broken men?”
Strathwick stood, too, his patience clearly wearing thin. “There aren’t—and if there were, she’d be safer with Drake than with you, lass. At least he follows my orders.”
“Does he?” she bit out, her eyes narrowed on the dark-haired young man now gaping at her.
Strathwick’s brows drew together in confusion and annoyance.
Drake stepped forward, indignant. “What mean you?”
She glowered at him and said in a low voice, “You know what I mean.”
His eyes narrowed and his face grew hard. His words were clipped with anger. “No, I don’t.”
“Since no one seems to know but you,” Strathwick said, his voice rife with barely controlled irritation, “I beg your indulgence on this. What are you accusing my brother of doing?”
Rose should have kept her mouth shut. The timing was not right, but after the night’s harrowing events, her emotions were raw and close to the surface.
She thought of telling them to forget about it, asking pardon for her insinuations, but she knew that wouldn’t do now.
They would not forget. And besides, she wasn’t sorry.
There was something empowering about saying it aloud after all the years she’d suffered her own pain and humiliation in silence.
Rose pinned Drake with an accusatory look. “Why don’t you tell your brother about the secret you and Deidra are keeping from him?”
Drake shook his head in confusion, then abruptly his eyes widened in surprise. He turned to his brother guiltily. “Oh…that.”
Rose nodded in cold triumph. “Aye, that.”
Strathwick spoke through clenched teeth, hands braced on his hips as he glared at the two of them. “Someone prithee explain to me what ‘that’ is.”
Drake shoved a hand through his hair. “Now? Can you not tend Wallace first while Dede and I see to the horses?”
“Why?” Rose said angrily, taking a step toward him and pushing Deidra behind her. “So you can take Deidra outside and get your stories straight? So you can threaten her?”
“What the hell?” Drake cried, his face darkening with furious indignation.
Rose whirled to face Strathwick. “He has been doing things to your daughter. Making her touch him.”
Strathwick turned on his brother, his eyes icy. His voice was low and menacing. “What is she saying?”
Drake sprang at her suddenly, grabbing her arms, giving her a hard shake that rattled her teeth. “Are you mad?” he sputtered. “You vile bitch—I would never—”
Rose pushed at him, clawing at his face with her nails. Strathwick was between them, shoving them violently apart. They glared at each other over Strathwick’s arms, panting.
“She told me!” Rose pointed at Deidra, who stared at the adults around her with wide, frightened eyes.
Strathwick frowned at Rose, worry creasing his brow. He gave his brother a long look, then pushed his shoulder lightly and pointed to him to stay where he was. Strathwick squatted in front of his daughter. “Squirrel?” he said with forced calm. “Has Uncle Drake made you keep secrets?”