Chapter Two
Ailith rarely ventured into the woods without Teller, her fiercely loyal companion, but that morning the dog had limped across the garden whining with every step.
She’d checked his paw for thorns or cuts but found nothing.
She figured that perhaps he’d twisted it or something and needed to rest it. Still, she hated leaving him behind.
Teller had whined low when she slipped out with her basket, his protest pitiful enough to make her pause at the edge of the trees.
But necessity pushed her forward. She needed the herbs desperately.
Her coin purse was nearly empty, and without dried bundles and salves to sell at market, there’d be no money for flour.
Let alone for the inexpensive fabric she’d been eyeing so she could make herself something to wear as most of her clothing was threadbare.
The forest was quiet, eerily so. No birdsong. Only the crunch of her boots over dry leaves and the rustle of her skirt as she moved quickly through the underbrush. She’d just plucked a cluster of yarrow when deep, male voices broke through the stillness.
She froze, her breath catching.
Dropping low, she shoved her basket into a thick patch of leaves and crawled behind a thorny bramble. The thud of hooves echoed closer: heavy and purposeful. Not a casual ride. Not the easy pace of merchants or the laird’s guards on routine patrol. These riders sounded determined.
Ailith pressed herself into the earth, barely breathing. The path, a crooked ribbon through the woods, was only yards away. If one of them so much as turned their head, they’d see her.
She didn’t trust strangers. Not out here. Alone, unarmed, and without Teller. She was too easy a target. She’d heard many stories of women pulled from paths, dragged into trees, found barely alive or never seen again at all.
Her pulse roared in her ears. All she could do now was stay hidden… and pray they passed her by.
The closer they came, the drier Ailith’s throat became. As if fear itself had stolen every drop of moisture from her body. Her heart pounded a furious rhythm in her chest. Her body was tense and still, every instinct screaming to stay hidden.
Then she saw them.
Through a narrow slit in the foliage, she caught glimpses of three men emerging from the shadows of the trees. They looked as if just been in a fight. Cloaks torn. Faces streaked with grime. Eyes wild.
“He was gone,” one of them grumbled.
“By now the bastard’s dead,” another said with a laugh that cracked through the forest too loudly for the quiet surroundings.
Another laughed, low and without mirth, as he slapped his companion on the back. “Aye, he probably crawled somewhere and died. We’ve enough coin now for drink and a warm wench or two.”
The first one who’d spoken pointed toward the village. “To the pub!” he bellowed, voice sharp with triumph.
Ailith’s eyes locked onto the crimson stain that darkened the man’s sleeve there was no mistaking what it was. Blood.
She bit back a gasp, clutching the ground beneath her as if it could swallow her whole. Murderers. They’d killed someone and were now heading toward Tokavaig as if returning from a victorious hunt.
The stink of blood and sweat clung to the air as they passed. Fortunately, they’d not once glanced her way.
Only when their laughter had faded into the trees did Ailith allow herself a full breath.
Ailith waited until long after the men disappeared from view before grabbing her basket and scurrying back into the trees.
But she couldn’t seem to slow her heart, her mind, or her feet.
She found she could not relax even surrounded by the forest. It wasn’t a short walk to reach her cottage, and she longed for the promise of refuge from danger it provided.
Somehow she had to figure out a way to get word to the laird or the village constable about what she’d seen. Though not today. Today, it was best to remain safe at home. Tomorrow, she’d be able to think more clearly.
As she approached the back of her house, Ailith was able to take a long breath and release the tension. It was a humble home, made of stone and wood. But it was also well-built and sturdy, providing her safety from danger.
Teller was barking even before she opened the door. The dog rushed out as soon as she pulled it open and raced around the cottage, not even bothering with a greeting.
It was strange, but perhaps the dog was in a hurry to relieve himself. Ailith went inside and pulled the door firmly closed. Teller would scratch at the door to be let back inside.
Despite the interruption of the men, she’d managed to almost fill her basket. But before she got busy hanging the herbs to dry, she decided to have some cider and warm up the leftover stew. Her fright and hurried return home had left her more than a bit hungry.
There was noise at the front door from Teller, more of a whine than a bark. It was the noise he often made when he’d caught a squirrel or a rabbit.
“Good dog,” Ailith called out, hopeful that it was a large hare, which she would prepare for supper.
Upon throwing the door open, Teller was not in the opening. She quickly looked to the right, nothing. To the left… all the air left her lungs.
There was a man slumped over, and Teller was licking his face.
It had to be the man. The dead man. The one those men most assuredly had killed. Her mind swam as she scanned the area trying to figure out what she should do next. Noting a horse grazing not far off, she immediately recognized the beautiful golden-brown steed. It belonged to Hendry.
Her heart caught in her throat, and for a long moment she was frozen to the spot. Then slowly, she stepped out of her cottage and lowered to look at him.
He was very still, eyes closed, head lolled to the side. Hendry’s face was covered in sweat and dirt, but still she couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. Examining him for injuries, she noted that blood seeped from his side forming a dark pool on the ground.
With shaky fingers, she reached to touch his exposed neck and was relieved when a steady pulse vibrated where she touched.
“Hendry,” she gently patted his cheek. “Can ye hear me?”
His eyelids fluttered, but there was no other response.
“Hendry, ye must wake. I cannae possibly bring ye inside on my own.”
Again, there was no response. Ailith looked to Teller. “I suppose we will have to find a way. And ye will help me.”
After rushing inside and grabbing one of her threadbare blankets, she came back out and spread it on the ground next to Hendry. Then as carefully as she could, she pushed and pulled him until he lay, for the most part, atop it.
“Come, Teller,” she called to the dog. “Pull.”
Thankfully, she’d taught him the command since a pup, pulling with rags, teaching him to tug. It had come in handy many times when she’d required help dragging bundles of wood and such back to their home.
The dog obediently bit into the end of the blanket she’d held out to him and together, little by little, they were able to drag the unconscious man into the cottage.
By the time Hendry lay just past the entry where she could close the door, both she and the dog were panting from the arduous task of dragging the heavily muscular warrior inside.
She made several trips to the well, filling two buckets with water then her pot and setting it over a newly started fire to boil. Ailith pushed hair back from her face as she began the work of cutting away his tunic.
To her surprise, the injury wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. It was a clean cut and should have missed anything vital. She’d practiced healing long enough to know what was and wasn’t life-threatening, and this stab wasn’t. However having lost so much blood was concerning.
After cleaning the wound, she packed it with a poultice and clean bandages, then wrapped his midsection.
If she didn’t find the reason for his loss of consciousness, he could perish. Her heart thundered with dread.
Despite it being an examination to possibly save his life, Ailith couldn’t help feeling awkward when running her hands down his chest, then his sides.
Finally, she turned him onto his side and did the same to his back until she came to the belted britches he wore.
She found a shallow cut on his right side, but it wasn’t bleeding.
“It cannae be helped,” she said out loud as she pushed down the clothing from his hips.
There were no visible injuries that she could see. Ailith took a deep breath as she lowered him carefully onto his back.
Her eyes went directly where they shouldn’t… Gulping at the intrusion, she quickly looked away.
There had been a time when she’d had his body pressed against her.
When they’d spent stolen moments together, exploring one another, touching each other’s bodies until there was a familiarity between them.
Hendry had been her first love. The man she’d been sure she’d spend the rest of her life with.
It was not meant to be, and yes, as she studied his handsome face and powerful body, she couldn’t help the thoughts, as she often had, of what could’ve been.
The fire in the hearth crackled bringing her out of her musings.
Ailith quickly finished removing his blood-soaked britches and boots, leaving him bare as the day he was born, and began inspecting each muscular leg. Once again, she’d not found any injury.
Working with care, her cloth glided swiftly from his neck to his ankles, wiping away sweat and dirt with gentle strokes.
Every pass of the damp linen gave her another chance to search for other wounds, yet again she found nothing.
No gashes. No bruises. Just the lean, powerful form of a man who had been perfectly created.
Then her gaze snapped to his head.
Foolish girl, she cursed inwardly. She hadn’t checked for a blow to his head. Heart hammering, Ailith ran her fingers through the thick waves. Her fingertips searched his scalp, parting strands with care until she reached the base of his skull near the nape.
Her breath caught.
A swollen lump rose beneath her touch. Dried blood clung to the matted strands, and when she withdrew her hand, her fingers were streaked crimson. She let out a breath she’d been holding.
Thank God his hair had staunched the bleeding, but that changed little. Head wounds were treacherous. Slow to show their toll and often times fatal.
He needed to wake.
She rushed to her small bedchamber, snatched two thick blankets, and rolled them tightly around logs from the hearth. Returning to his side, she lifted his head gently and slid the makeshift props beneath his neck and shoulders, elevating him to ease the pressure.
Once he was settled, she pulled a fresh cover over his hips and legs, both for warmth and for modesty. It took all her strength to not stare at his muscular body. It struck her that even injured the man looked powerful and strong.
“Hendry,” she whispered, dipping a cloth in cold water and dabbing it gently across his face. His skin was cool, his color still too pale. “Ye must awaken.”
She tried again. And again.
Cool water. A soft shake. Her voice, rising with urgency. “Hendry, ye must open yer eyes!”
At last, his eyelids fluttered, lashes twitching before lifting just enough to reveal hazy, unfocused blue eyes. He looked at her with a furrowed brow, a faint moan escaping his lips.
Relief washed over Ailith.
“Ye must stay awake,” she urged, touching his cheek. His eyes began to drift shut again, and she gave him a firmer shake. “Do ye hear me, Hendry?”
A breath. Then, “Aye,” he rasped.
Her shoulders lowered as she studied him and reached to touch the side of his neck. His pulse was steady, and the bleeding on his side had finally staunched. The worst might be behind them.
Now all she could do was tend his wound and pray the man she once loved would still be himself when he woke fully.
The contrast of his bright blue eyes to his almost black hair was arresting, and even more so, as he quietly regarded her as she administered to his head wound.
Without any additional bandages, all she could do was wash out the wound.
The next day, she would inspect it and see about perhaps stitching it closed if need be.
He’d fallen asleep, and she worried that he’d not wake.
Deciding it was best to stay close and waken him regularly, she set about dragging the slumbering man to her bedchamber.
“Come, Teller, we have another laborious task to complete before eating.”