Chapter 9
Both Pelna and Gareth stood for a strange moment, looking down at the arrow that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
The breath left Gareth’s body, and he fell to the ground, his eyes bulging.
Before Pelna could even react, another arrow whistled through the musty air of the barn, burying itself in the wood behind where Gareth’s head had been seconds earlier.
Pelna let out a jagged scream, cowering away from the wide entrance to the barn. A third arrow flew, burying itself in the hay inches from Gareth’s face. He was pale, his mouth working soundlessly as he moved to reach for the longbow on his back.
Except he couldn’t. The arrow near his shoulder was clearly restricting his movement.
And meanwhile, he was a stationary target for this would-be assassin.
Pelna moved instinctively. Her rational mind yammered at her to stay where she was, to remain behind cover and allow the unseen archer to finish the job on Gareth if he wished.
Perhaps it was the shocked and horrified expression on Gareth’s face or the pitiful way he kept trying to reach for the bow and shouting in pain, but she found she could not simply leave him so exposed and watch helplessly as he was slain.
She scrambled across the barn, shoving her arms under Gareth’s and hauling him to cover.
Another arrow hit the space where he’d been lying a split-second before and nearly pinned the hem of Pelna’s dress to the ground in the process.
She let out a sharp shriek and struggled with the unexpected weight of Gareth’s muscular body, depositing him in a cobwebbed corner.
“Have tae…shoot back…” he wheezed. “Can’t…let them…press the advantage.”
“Ye are in no condition tae do any such thing,” she informed him breathlessly. “Here, give me that.”
Pelna reached down and took the longbow from him. Its string twanged against the arrow in his chest, and he inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth. Then she grabbed a handful of arrows from his quiver and crept toward the doorway, waiting for her chance.
No matter how fast the hidden bowman may have been, he would still need time to draw and nock an arrow after firing one. If she could get him to lose another shaft, she knew she might be able to depend upon that brief but crucial pause to respond in kind.
Not that she was any good with a bow and arrow or even knew what direction to shoot it. Or that she would be able to see her target clearly anyway through the rain.
Still, she knew that Gareth was right. If no return volley was offered up, then whoever it was would likely keep making their way toward the barn until he was upon them—at which point, they would be defenseless.
Somehow, she doubted the attacker would be dissuaded by a pitchfork any more than Gareth was.
“Nay,” Gareth urged raggedly. “Bring me…over tae the…door…and give me the—”
“Sorry, but we don’t have time for all that,” she told him impatiently.
Gareth winced and grunted, trying to pull himself off the floor so he could press the point.
“Stay there, damn it!” Pelna snapped.
She put an arrow into place, looking at the other arrows that had come in, studying their angles, hoping to determine which direction they might have come from. As she did, another arrow flew in, and it was confirmed; the bowman was shooting in from somewhere to the left of the barn.
Pelna was about to draw the arrow back, then stopped herself, looking at the slant and intensity of the rain outside.
Nay. That’s not all. There’s wind and rain out there, and that’s bound tae influence the angle. Ye must compensate fer that when returnin’ fire, or ye will be sure tae miss wildly.
“Well, if ye’re going tae shoot, then shoot!” Gareth snarled.
Another arrow came in.
There.
She knew where he was positioned now. She was fairly certain of it.
Pelna struggled to pull the arrow back, grunting. The tensile strength was mighty indeed, and it took tremendous effort for her untrained arms to do the job.
“Give it tae me!” Gareth panted. “Ye…aren’t strong enough!”
“If I’m not, then I doubt ye are either since ye cannot even move yer left arm,” she shot back. “Now do be quiet and let me concentrate!”
She held the arrow in place, waiting, her wrists trembling from the exertion.
Another arrow flew in, and she seized her moment.
Pelna stepped out and fired her arrow in the direction of the attacker, then swiftly repeated the process twice more. She knew she hadn’t a prayer of hitting him since she couldn’t even see him, but she hoped she might be able to scare him off, at least.
She retreated to cover again, not wanting to push her luck, and she and Gareth waited, holding their breath.
A minute passed. Two. Five.
By the time ten minutes had ticked by, no more arrows had flown in, and Pelna decided she was willing to risk crossing the barn. She hurried over to Gareth, expecting an arrow to sail in and strike her as she did.
But no. Whoever he was, he seemed to have withdrawn for the moment.
“That was a close call indeed,” Pelna said. “Now, let’s see what we can do about—”
As she got close enough to Gareth, though, she realized that his eyelids were fluttering. He had lost consciousness.
“Damn it,” she hissed. “We can’t have ye bleedin’ anymore, Gareth, or ye’re likely tae expire. And then who knows what conclusions yer own people will jump tae, eh?”
While she spoke to herself, she gently probed the area where the arrow was sticking out of him. It was deep indeed, and worse, when she inspected his back on the corresponding side, she saw that the head had not come out.
This meant that if she attempted to pull the arrow out, there was a better-than-average chance that the head might break off and stay within him. If that happened, it would take a team of healers to safely remove it, and even then, the risk that he would not survive such an operation was very high.
Then again, she couldn’t very well see to his wound properly while he still had a shaft coming out of him like an oversized porcupine quill.
As she saw it, she had two options, both of them hazardous: She could make the attempt at pulling it out and hope the head came with it, or she could snap it off and leave more qualified people to deal with the resulting wound.
Either way, she knew she needed to make the decision quickly so that she could staunch the wound before he lost much more blood and died from it.
“If that unfortunate outcome were tae come tae pass…” she murmured, tearing several strips from her dress’s hem to be used as bandages when the time came.
“Well, the last thing yer people will have heard ye say was that ye were off tae find me, isn’t that so?
And so naturally, they would assume that ye had and that my men had killed ye fer yer trouble.
Which would doubtless escalate hostilities between our clans considerably. ”
Pelna glanced at one of the other arrows that had come through the barn’s entrance and realized it might hold a valuable clue as to which course of action she should pursue. She reached for the shaft and slowly, carefully pulled it from the floor.
Surely the hard-packed dirt was at least as dense as the flesh of a man, if not more so?
If she could draw the arrow free with the head still attached, it might well indicate that that would be the right thing for her to do.
Not only that, but it might give her an idea of what kind of arrowhead she was dealing with.
Quickly, quickly, she fretted. Time is of the essence!
She pulled the arrow out carefully and was relieved to see the head come out with it. The head was small and smooth-sided, and that was a blessing indeed—for if it had been jagged and barbed, it would surely have stuck in place.
“Here we go, then,” she said, grabbing the shaft in Gareth’s body. “This is going tae hurt enormously, so if ye have the power tae remain unconscious through it, I suggest that ye do so…else this will be a dreadful thing indeed tae wake up tae.”
She twisted the shaft slightly in one direction, then the other, hoping that it might loosen it somewhat as well, making it easier to draw out. He stirred and moaned slightly, and for a terrible moment, she thought he might awaken and begin to scream or fight her off.
But no. His body remained mercifully limp, and he fell silent again.
Pelna took a deep breath and slowly pulled the arrow out of his chest, expecting to hear an awful muffled snap that would tell her the head had come loose. Mercifully, though, the entire thing came out intact.
When it did, fresh dark blood began to well up in the wound and spill out.
She tossed the arrow aside and applied a section of the torn dress to it, holding it firmly in place.
It soaked through immediately, and she covered it with another, and another, until finally it held at a single vivid dot in the center of the cloth.
Thank heaven fer that, she thought gratefully. Now, this barn simply won’t do. I ought tae get him inside the house adjoinin’ it, where there are sure tae be drier and more comfortable conditions.
There was still a part of her that was telling her it was foolish of her to remain here with him, that she should go in search of Aidan and Jamie and leave this dangerous place behind entirely.
He had a better chance of surviving now thanks to her, didn’t he?
Wasn’t that enough for her to be able to say she’d done all she could for him and claim that she’d not stayed to do more for fear of her own safety behind enemy borders?
Yes, she knew she could do that. And it was tempting, to be sure.
When she looked at his sleeping face, though, she found that she didn’t see an enemy.
She simply saw a man who had been wounded and deserved more than to be left to his fate out here in this abandoned barn, where he might not be discovered by his own people until it was too late.
He looked vulnerable, even handsome in this way.
Stop thinkin’ of him like some lost little boy, her mind insisted sharply. He has led McDaughs into battle against yer clansmen. The sword he brandished at ye has claimed the lives of many Wallaces!
That was true enough, she supposed. Then again, he hadn’t used his sword against her. In fact, from what she could tell, the thought had never even crossed his mind. Because he did seem to have a sense of honor and decency.
Which, again, made her question all the more what had become of Bran.
“Nay, I don’t suppose we ought tae just leave ye here like a sack of old turnips,” she conceded out loud.
“Nevertheless, movin’ ye is going tae be difficult indeed.
Ye are a large man, and although yer proportions are shaped pleasingly enough, they are nonetheless weighty and prodigious.
So with that in mind, try nae tae squirm too much unless ye are movin’ tae help me carry ye. Understood?”
Gareth did not answer, and so she took that to mean assent.
Pelna put her arms under his again, figuring the best thing to do would be to drag him as she had before. Except, this time, she’d need to convey him all the way from the barn to the door of the cottage next to it.
She managed it a few feet at a time, her back and neck tense enough to ache.
After the first few lengths, she began to feel as though she was the one who had taken an arrow to the chest, as she was so out of breath and her muscles spasmed sharply.
This labor became particularly grueling once they were out in the rain again.
There, she noticed that Gareth’s horse had fled, perhaps due to simple fright, or perhaps because it had taken one of the arrows which were meant for Gareth.
Another complication. But not one she could afford to concern herself with at the moment.
At last, she managed to get him through the door of the cottage and inside, where, sure enough, it was warmer and drier by far than the barn had been. There was a bed in the corner and she hauled him over to it, rolling him onto it with extreme difficulty.
As she looked at him lying there, she noticed that her hands were shaking violently and that she had been sobbing without even realizing it. She had mistaken the sobs for gasps of effort when dragging him and the tears on her cheeks for the drops of rain.
Pelna tried to get ahold of herself but instead she suddenly fell apart, sinking to the floor of the cottage and weeping hysterically at what she had just been through. She could have died.
For that matter, she might still.
The raindrops drummed on the roof above, like the bony fingers of Death tapping impatiently.