Chapter 17
"Help me get to Finnian," Brodie said, severe, burning pain lacerating his chest.
"Aye, let's pick him up," Conner told Eachan.
The two brawny guards carried him up the cliff steps, then sprinted toward the tower. Saints, he had never been so weak. Would he pass out?
"Tell all the guards to be on the lookout for the Earl of Talnaroch. He may retaliate," Brodie said through clenched teeth. "Tell Kenneth."
"Aye, chief."
As they approached the portcullis, Conner yelled, ordering the guard to open the side gate.
It seemed no time had passed when a searing pain yanked Brodie, roaring, from the darkness.
He lay in his own bed with people running around in a panic, yelling. His mother sobbed.
The gash on his chest burned like hellfire, near unbearable, but he couldn't move. His own guards held his arms and legs! He blasted them with curses, ordering them to release him.
"Keep holding him. Stay calm, lad," Finnian said. "I'm cleaning your cut with whisky so I can stitch it. 'Tis deep."
"Damn you, old man!"
"Brodie," his mother cried. "Please, I beg of you, let him stop the bleeding and sew your wound! I feared you were dying!"
"I'm nay dying, Ma!" he growled.
"I'm sorry I caused you pain, lad," Finnian said. "But you will thank me one day. The whisky will prevent festering." Finnian motioned to someone at the door. "Bring the tisane, lass."
Elsea appeared in his line of vision like a blonde angel, her eyes red. Hell, he didn't want her to see him like this. The sight of the blood might cause her to faint and hit her head again.
"Help him sit up," Finnian told the guards holding his arms.
But moving to sit up intensified the agony. Grinding his teeth, Brodie growled.
"You must drink it," Finnian said. "'Twill take away most of the pain."
"Aye, take a sip, Brodie," Elsea whispered and carefully held it to his lips, tilting it just enough for him to take a mouthful of the bitter herbal tea.
He grimaced. "I prefer whisky to this vile drink," he mumbled.
Elsea observed him with a frown, her eyes dark and her lashes moist. "I would nay have shown you where the castle was if I'd known you would get injured so badly."
"Nay. We rescued the females abducted the other night, the eight from the other galley."
"Oh, I'm glad you found them. Were any of them injured?"
"Nay."
"Thank the saints."
After Brodie finished drinking the bitter concoction, Elsea stepped back, and Finnian stitched the long cut.
Brodie clenched his teeth and grimaced every time the needle pierced his flesh.
He wanted to curse and throttle the old man for this torment.
Of course, he wouldn't, for Finnian was the best person for this job.
Brodie couldn't move, anyway. One of his guards held each of his arms and legs.
Someone had thrown a plaid over his lower body so he wasn't completely naked.
Soon the remedy worked its magic, and he drifted to sleep.
***
ELSEA WATCHED brODIE'S chest rise and fall to make sure he still lived. When the guards had carried Brodie into the great hall earlier, he'd been pale and unmoving, his chest and torso covered in blood. Her breath froze within her lungs.
A guard held a candle close to the wound, a straight, deep cut across Brodie's left pectoral muscle. Finnian's fingers were surprisingly nimble as he stitched it.
While she observed, she prayed for Brodie's healing and recovery.
Soon, Finnian completed his task and placed a clean bandage over the wound. The bleeding had diminished, and only a little seeped out.
"He'll sleep for a while." Finnian rose. "You can release him now, lads," he told the guards. "If we need your help again, I'll let you know."
Most of the people quit the room. His mother kept ringing her hands and pacing.
"Go, find your bed, Lady MacCain," Finnian said, washing his hands in a basin the maid had filled.
"Nay, indeed. I'm staying right here."
"As you wish." Finnian inclined his head and dried his hands on a linen towel. "Let me know if you need anything, or if he awakes in pain. I'm going to have a wee nap." He ambled from the room, looking exhausted.
Elsea waited near the door, while his mother sat in the chair near Brodie. He slept, his breathing audible but calm, his lashes dark against his pale cheeks. Good heavens, how much blood had he lost?
"Go back to bed, my dear," Agatha whispered to her. "'Tis late."
Elsea curtsied and proceeded to her bedchamber, feeling out of place, not wanting to leave his room. She should be Brodie's wife and by his side, but she wasn't. His mother was the closest female to him.
"Please God, help him heal and recover," she prayed.
After pacing for several more minutes, she crouched and prodded at the fire, then placed a small piece of driftwood on it.
Earlier, just after they'd brought Brodie to his chamber, Finnian had removed the sealskin from the lower half of Brodie's body and handed it to her for safekeeping.
The thin, filmy garment radiated a chilly, magical sensation.
She'd rushed to this room and submerged it into a basin of cold water to soak the blood out, then hurried back to his chamber.
She wanted to sit by him now, but his mother might not approve. She might think Elsea was overstepping.
A light knock sounded at her door. She opened it, finding Agatha standing in the corridor, her eyes still red.
Alarm blared through Elsea. "How is he?"
"Sleeping. I saw the light beneath your door and thought you must still be awake."
"Aye."
She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "I wondered if you would be willing to sit with him for a short while?"
"Of course."
"I appreciate it, my dear. You're a sweet lass. Please pray for him."
"Indeed. I am." Elsea banked the fire and carried her candle to Brodie's chamber. Everyone else had left, and someone had stoked the low fire that burned in his hearth.
If he awoke and found her there, would he glare and growl at her? She didn't care. After depositing the candle on the table, she sat on a chair by the bed. His breathing was strong, deep, and even. Someone, mayhap his manservant, had washed the blood off him while she'd been in her chamber.
She studied him at her leisure, as she had not been able to do in a long time.
He was indeed the most handsome man she had ever beheld.
His midnight hair, brows, and stubble shading his square jaw were a stark contrast to his too-pale skin.
His excessive pallor frightened her, and she offered up another prayer.
Her gaze wandered over his sensual, chiseled lips.
They might appear carved from stone, but she remembered how soft yet forceful they were during a staggering kiss.
Her gaze drifted to his broad shoulders and muscular arms...
so strong. And yet, brought down too easily with the slash of a blade.
She wanted to press her lips to his forehead.
Nay, that would not do at all.
The kisses from earlier that night burned in her memory, deep, devouring kisses that claimed her heart, seduced her body, and bonded her soul to his.
All his kisses were heavenly, but as scorching as the fires of hell. Why had he made love to her if he hated her?
During the months of their betrothal, he had kissed her at every opportunity when they were alone with no one to catch them.
And a few times, they had succumbed to a passion such as she'd never imagined possible.
These indulgences were not simple carnal pleasures, but an entwining of their souls.
When that ended, life was all downhill from there.
Bland and mediocre. Bleak skies and dreary emotions. What was left? Naught... until now.
He might still hate her, but she could watch over him and pray that he lived and healed soonest. She cherished him and his masculine beauty, the person her heart craved most. Even if he could never be hers again, she would commit him to her memory.
Brodie moaned, moved his head, and lifted his hand toward the bandage over his wound.
"Nay," she whispered, taking his wrist and lowering his arm. She feared he would rip off the bandage and start the wound bleeding again.
Sitting back, she held his strong hand in hers, cherishing his warmth.
A new thought occurred to her... was he fevered? Easing forward, so as not to wake him, she pressed her lips to his forehead in a soft kiss. Nay, he was normal temperature, thank the saints.
Sitting down again, she kept his warm hand in hers and leaned back.
Silently, she trailed prayers through her head for a few minutes, then fond memories she'd shared with Brodie.
Especially the recent memory from the cave.
Would she ever get to experience that again?
Would he survive this injury and the blood loss?
***
PAIN STABBING AT HIS chest, Brodie opened his eyes.
Faint light shone at the window. Do not move, he told himself.
He remembered being cut during the skirmish and ran the scene through his mind.
Warmth surrounded his hand, and he looked down.
A woman's hand held his. He lifted his gaze, finding Elsea asleep in the chair, her head drifting to the side.
Wee blond tendrils had escaped the braids and framed her angelic face.
What the devil was she doing here, holding his hand?
The cave. Saints! What paradise and hell at the same time. His muscles tensing, pain gored him even more fiercely. He clenched his teeth, hissed in a breath, then muttered a curse.
She startled awake. "Oh. Are you in pain?" She leaned forward.
"Aye," he assured her, his voice rough. "What are you doing in here?"
"Making sure you're all right." She drew her hand away, and he instantly missed it.
"Indeed?"
"Do you wish me to leave? I'll go get your mother." She stood.
"Nay," he growled. "Damn it all." He didn't want his ma harping at him now. "You stay." He leaned his head back and tried to relax so the pain would diminish. But it would not.
Someone tapped on the door.
Elsea strode forward and opened it.
Finnian stepped in, carrying a cup, and gave a deep nod. "M'lady." He approached the bed. "Are you awake, m'laird?" He set the cup on the bedside table, and the bitter scent of the steaming brew wafted to Brodie.
"Aye." Though he wished he wasn't.
"How did you sleep?" Finnian inquired.
"Your concoction knocked me out."
"Good. Are you in pain now?"
"For a certainty." He couldn't recall a worse physical pain, though this was not his first sword wound.
"Well, I've brought you another tisane, but with less poppy." He motioned to the cup. "'Tis still too hot to drink. Allow it to steep a little longer."
"Fine." Though he wished Finnian would put more poppy in it. Or several drams of whisky.
"Do you remember how you got injured?" Finnian asked.
"Of course. A minor skirmish."
"Well, 'tis a serious wound, lad."
Brodie ground his teeth as another pain spiked. "I ken it."
"You lost a lot of blood."
"But nay too much. I will live."
"I believe you will. The cook is preparing some fresh haggis and black pudding for you."
The thought of it turned Brodie's stomach. "Why?" he said with disgust. "I cannot eat a bite right now."
Finnian shrugged. "When you're able. 'Haps at midday or this eve. 'Twill help rebuild your blood." He turned to Elsea who stood at the foot of the bed. "When the tisane cools enough, can you help him drink it?"
"Aye."
Finnian ambled toward the door. "I'll have the maids bring you broth."
Brodie didn't know whether he could handle that either. Time would tell. "I thank you."
Finnian inclined his head with a smile, then left.
"I might choke down some broth later," Brodie muttered and glanced at Elsea.
"'Twill help you." After lighting a candle at the hearth, she set it on the bedside table.
"'Haps you should take a nap," he suggested. With the dark circles beneath her eyes, she looked exhausted. Had she stayed awake all night for him? Vaguely, he remembered her helping him drink Finnian's vile brew last night.
"I slept a few hours." She resumed her seat by the bedside table and pressed her fingers against the cup. "'Tis still too hot. I wish it would cool so you could be free of pain sooner."
He did not notice any malice in her azure gaze.
Saints! 'Twas almost too much, enduring the agony from his wound and the heartache she inflicted at the same time.
Indeed, there had been no physical pain in the cave.
Only astounding pleasure. However, her earlier words...
when she'd told him to strangle her and throw her lifeless body into the sea.
He would never! God help him, the mere thought of that demolished him, trapped his breath.
Even after the hell she'd put him through, he still didn't wish her any discomfort whatsoever. How daft was he?
"Were all the women unharmed... the selkie females?" she asked.
He appreciated her concern for them. "They appeared to be well. The bastards were holding them in the dungeon, and we had to rush them out of there."
"They had not been... abused?"
"I hope not. I'll have to ask Chief Scarth later. On the way over to the castle, the males took the female's sealskins so they could shift on shore and swim back to the island. Because of my injury and the blood loss, Daavar and Harcus helped me travel back here."
"Thank the saints," she whispered.
"We had nay choice but to kill or injure several of the guards. And you were right, that damned Wilona MacRae was there."
Elsea gasped.
"She appeared out of thin air behind the enemy I was fighting, distracting me. That's when the whoreson sliced my chest."
Elsea's jaw clenched. "That bitch," she seethed.
Brodie was a bit surprised at the unsavory word coming from her mouth, but her brothers had trained her in everything. "Aye, well, she must be taken down."
Elsea nodded but did not comment, which he was glad for. If they killed the witch now, his curse would remain forever.
"After meeting the selkies," Elsea said. "I feel an even stronger urgency to help them. They're so kind and loving, so pure of heart." Tears glistened in her eyes. "I'm even more enraged at how the knave is treating them. Given the chance, I will kill him myself."
Her words startled Brodie. Not just her words, but the resolute look in her eyes. She was not jesting. She truly wanted to kill the man.
"Nay, lass. 'Tis my duty. You must stay safe."
"You're too injured just now. They must be stopped immediately, and the other women found as soon as possible."
"I ken it." The same worries plagued him. Her determination boosted his resolve to recover sooner rather than later. "The guard you called Randall was there," Brodie continued. "In the dungeon, guarding the females. I told him to flee. Since he's so new, I doubt he's loyal to the bastard."
"William will not have him back, 'tis a certainty."
Brodie shook his head. "He'll be furious that so many of his guards were killed in the skirmish. I told the rest they had best run, for he would string them up, but he may have plenty more back at Dalthort. He could come here and attack."