Chapter 11
BENEATH THE WINE AND brEAD
Oliver hissed through gritted teeth as Sorcha ran another pass over his wound. Neither of them had realized just how late the evening had gotten, the stables walls had hidden well the sinking of the run and rising moon. He had refused the idea of waking his mother so she could tend to him again.
“Taryn was always the healer,” Sorcha told him apologetically. “And if she could nae do it, then Aila was next in line. I am afraid I never spent much time practicing my bedside manner.”
She wiped the blood off his bare skin, trying to be as gentle as she could. Oliver leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling of his mother’s surgery.
“You are doing just fine,” he assured her. “Even with all of my mother’s skills in the healing arts, she has yet to find a way to take the sting of some of these cleansers away.”
Sorcha nodded and bent back to her work.
Oliver was perched on a table, positioning the bleeding wound at nearly eye level for her, his hands gripping the edge.
She tried to do the things she had seen her friends do for wounds, tried to clean it the best she could without causing any unnecessary pain.
Taking such care with Oliver, doing everything she could to ease his suffering, was a shift that shocked her.
Although she hadn’t wanted the man to die, it was only this morning that she had been content to drop him at the door of his home and leave without bothering to know if he survived.
It seemed impossible that so much could change for her in such a short period of time, and yet here they were.
“Tell me something,” he urged, still clenching.
“What would ye like to hear?”
She sat back and fanned her hands, trying anything to take the sting away.
“Anything. Everything. Something to distract me,” he breathed. “Who are Taryn and Aila? You have mentioned them before.”
“They are my sisters.”
“Ah. Do you have a large family? Are you close to your parents? Will they be organizing a search party for you?”
Sighing, Sorcha ducked her head, trying to decide just how much to share with Oliver.
Glancing up at him through her eyelashes, she thought of his own vulnerabilities.
Not only had he shared his past with her, his biggest hurts, but he had quite literally bared his chest to her, giving her free rein to his wounds.
It symbolized more than she could say. And it loosened her tongue.
“I had a large family,” she began slowly, rising from her seat to search the shelves for a salve. “My father is a merchant and my mother is his partner in every sense of the word. They were blessed with eight children, though they only ever saw us in one of two ways.”
“And how is that?” Oliver asked.
She could feel his eyes on her as she moved throughout the room, candles burning around them.
“We were either mouths to feed or hands to rake in more money.”
It was a blunt assessment, but the only one she could stomach at present. Her parents were wealthy, having done well for themselves. But their greed knew no bounds. It was that greed that had driven Sorcha to run from home.
“Which were you?”
Oliver’s question was gentle enough, but it still stung all the same.
“They arranged for me to marry another wealthy merchant. A friend of my father’s. They would have shared trade routes, wares, and profits, each man doubling their business with the marriage.”
“So why are you here then? It sounds as if you could have been a great lady.”
“Lady to a man older than my father with rotten teeth and an even worse penchant for drink? Nay, thank ye,” she scoffed. “I left home in the dead of night with only a small pack and my brother’s boots.”
“You left your family?”
“Are they truly family if they are willing to sell ye to the highest bidder?” she asked in reply.
“I found Aila and Taryn nae too long after. They had each left their homes as well for reasons all their own, but we managed to make a wee family for ourselves with each other. Aila taught us how to fight. Taryn was the healer and cook.”
Oliver hummed thoughtfully as she returned with the herbs she needed—lavender and willowbark jars—and a few clean bandages.
“What did you provide other than your lovely company?”
There was a note of teasing sarcasm to his words, but Sorcha let it pass, too weary to argue anymore.
“I was the brains, I suppose. I could talk us in and out of any situation we found ourselves in. It had been my life’s work to sell things to people who didnae need them.
It was nay hard thing to change to convincing people to part with the things we needed to survive—food, a warm blanket, a horse at a better price. ”
She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she spoke.
“Remind me to guard myself against your charms, then.”
With a chuckle, she pressed the herbs against his cut and started to wrap the bandages around him again.
His shoulders were so wide that she had to step closer, and closer still, until she was in between his legs, her arms looping around him, passing the roll from one hand to the other.
His breath was warm atop her head. He smelled of horses and honey and cedar.
It was intoxicating, robbing her of her train of thought.
“Where are Aila and Taryn now?”
His question pulled her out of her own mind and back into the harshness of reality.
“Aila married Laird Lachlan Kincaid some weeks ago. We met him in the ruins of his family seat and found that our causes aligned. As I told ye before, Baron Dudley destroyed nearly the entire Kincaid Clan, leaving only those who could outrun the guards alive.”
“How brutal.”
“Aye. We somehow managed to adopt three wee orphans into our makeshift family; Elsie, Christopher, and Arran. Arran is Lachlan’s godson. To hear the both of them tell the tales of that day is quite haunting.”
She knotted off the bandage and wiped her hands clean on her apron.
“We had managed to make a happy wee family. Aila and Lachlan at the helm. A handful of lads and lasses running around. The few remaining survivors of the Kincaid Clan back to reclaim their homes. My sisters were close.” She paused on the mournful thought.
“They are my people now. My home. I would do anything to keep them safe, anything to protect them from harm.”
Oliver gathered her hands up in his, a gesture growing more familiar by the hour. Understanding lingered in his eyes as he watched her.
“I know the feeling well, Sorcha. It is a heavy burden to carry, but one I would not throw off for any amount of money.”
“Aye,” she breathed. “That is why I went to the Baron’s estate. I suspected he had captured Taryn. They were once betrothed, but she ran from him. I thought he had finally managed to find her and kidnap her. But I saw nay sign of her.”
“You risked your life for your friend?” he asked incredulously.
“There was nothing else I could do,” Sorcha defended.
“Aila and Lachlan went in search of allies to help us stand against the Baron. But they had nay need of me. I thought I had a better chance of finding Taryn on my own. So aye, I risked my life for her and I would do it a hundred times over if I had to.”
Silence, thick and heavy, hung between them. She gently pulled her hands out of his, needing the space to be able to breathe, to be able to think clearly.
“We are more alike than I thought,” Oliver admitted.
She studied him for a moment, watching shamelessly as he tugged his shirt back on.
“Aye,” she agreed. “I think we are.”
“These lands, these people,” he told her, gesturing with his hands, “they are mine to own and manage simply because of who my father was. It was little more than luck that secured my place in the world. But I do not take my role lightly. I do not lord my position over my people.”
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean, it is their lives and homes and families that are most impacted by my decisions. So I give them an equal chance to voice their needs. With every big decision, I hold a council, a chance for members of my lands to come and give their opinion. I have already called one to discuss the Baron’s proposal.
They have a right to know what is coming.
If there is to be a war between the English and the Scots, I want all of my people to be as prepared as we can be. ”
She was stunned into silence once more.
“I would like for you to stay and attend,” he offered.
“As I have already said, it is far too late for you to ride out on your own, and I am in no fit state to accompany you home. But if you will stay for the night, stay for the council, then I will do everything in my power to see you brought to wherever you wish to go after.”
“Ye want me to stay so that I can be another example of the savagery of the Scots?” she scoffed, not letting herself believe that Oliver was being earnest. “Something to stand in the middle of yer council for yer people to point and jeer at that furthers yer point about siding with Dudley?”
He blinked in surprise and slowly started shaking his head.
“Of course not. What a ridiculous notion. Do you truly think so low of me that you imagine I saved you from the Baron only to bring you to my home and give you the same treatment? No, Sorcha,” he said sternly.
“I want you to attend so that my people have the benefit of hearing your perspective. You know things we do not. They will benefit from hearing what you have to say.”
Exhaustion rolled over Sorcha with a wave so powerful that it almost knocked her feet out from under her. She wavered and Oliver reached out to grab her, placing steadying hands around her waist. He pulled her in close, leaving her no choice but to press her palms into his chest.
“It has been a long day.”
The excuse was offered with kindness, she knew, but she still felt a rush of heat in her cheeks.
“I daresay it has been a longer one for ye,” she countered, her eyes staying on the floor.