How to Forgive a Highlander (MacGregor Lairds)

by Michelle McLean

  “Young Rob is armed as well,” John said, nodding to the stable boy who had joined them and who stood, slightly nervous-looking but determined.

  “I’ll accompany ye, miss,” he said.

  Rose wanted to protest but didn’t have a good reason to refuse his help. And he might come in handy if William was too wounded to move on his own. Finally, she nodded and murmured her thanks. Elizabet gave her a quick kiss on her cheek and wished her Godspeed before being whisked off to bed by an impatient and disapproving midwife.

  Rose gathered her things, and everyone else accompanied her to the courtyard. John pulled young Rob aside for some last-minute instructions, so Rose mounted her horse and nodded at each of them.

  “If you’re not back by tomorrow, we’ll send riders out after you,” Alice said. “I understand your wish to find William, but I don’t want to lose you as well.”

  Rose nodded. “I understand. The place I’m thinking of isn’t too far from here. If he’s not there then…” She shrugged, and her face felt numb, as if all the blood had drained from it. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, forcing a sense of calm she didn’t really feel. She gripped the reins. “I’ll be back soon. Or will send word,” she promised, glancing at Rob.

  Then she turned her horse and led it over to where Rob now waited.

  …

  “There it is,” Rose said, pointing to the almost obscured clearing up ahead.

  “That’s just a ruin, miss,” Rob said. “Surely no one is in there.”

  Rose didn’t answer. She wasn’t going to argue with him. A group of Ramsay’s men had been seen chasing a lone rider in this direction. The search party hadn’t seen any sign of Will on the way there, though they had found one horse wandering back toward Kirkenroch. There was no way of knowing if it had been the one Will had taken or not, but Rose thought it likely. If he were wounded and looking for a place to lay low, this is where he’d come. And that is where she’d go as well, no matter anyone else’s opinion.

  She brought her horse up to the fallen wall they’d used when they’d passed through before, and dismounted. Rob followed her, but he didn’t look very happy about it. She hurried to the door and pushed it open, cautiously peeking inside. It took everything in her not to barge in, but there was really no telling who or what might be there, if anything. The last thing she wanted to do was spook some animal or surprise an enemy who may have taken shelter there.

  The sound of a gun cocking echoed through the small space, and a sliver of sunlight from the open door glinted off the barrel of a pistol.

  “Go away if ye dinna wish to be shot,” a gravelly, raw voice said from the shadows.

  She’d know that voice anywhere.

  “Will,” she said, pushing her way in, ignoring Rob’s restraining hand on her arm.

  Will was lying on the pallet he’d made up for her when they’d ridden through a few days before. Had it been only a few days? It felt like a lifetime ago.

  She stood over him, hands on her hips, and waited for him to lower the gun.

  He squinted up at her. “Rose?” he croaked.

  “Yes. Would you like to put the pistol down now?”

  He snorted. “May as well. ’Tis no’ loaded anyhow.”

  She rolled her eyes, but her heart was thumping in fear, racing with excitement, and clenching with dread at his obviously wounded state. She felt like running out the door and vomiting her breakfast into the flowerbed. Not that she’d let him see that.

  She took a deep breath and got to work.

  She sent Rob out to get her bags and dropped to her knees by Will to assess the damage. Once Rob had brought her what she needed, she sent him out again for wood and set him to making a fire. Will’s clothing had stuck to his wounds and she wet the material down with water in an attempt to loosen it, rather than rip it away. She didn’t want to start a fresh flood of blood if she could help it.

  Will lay there, watching her, his over-bright eyes the only part of his body that reacted as they followed every move she made. He was drenched in sweat but shivered as if he were cold. That, combined with the amount of blood he’d obviously lost, terrified her, though she tried not to let him see how much.

  She failed. She didn’t even realize she was crying until he reached up and wiped the tears from her cheek with a trembling hand.

  “I dinna deserve yer tears, lass.”

  His voice, quiet and broken, destroyed the last bit of control she had. She dropped to his side, pressing her face into the crook of his neck as she sobbed. He held her close, stroking her back and murmuring Gaelic nonsense into her ear. His lips brushed against her temple, then her cheek, and she turned to him, meeting his lips with all the pent-up emotion she’d tried to keep hidden.

  All the fear from the last few days. All the worry. All the pain. All the relief to find him still alive. And the unspoken terror that he might not be for much longer. She gave it all to him. And he took it. His mouth moved over hers like a starving man who’d been offered a lifesaving feast. Every touch of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, filled her with life, strength. Hunger. And another emotion she wasn’t ready to confront yet.

  She finally tore her lips from his and rested her forehead on his shoulder, dragging in one ragged breath after another while she fought for control. He was hurt. Maybe dying. And even if he wasn’t, she couldn’t…they couldn’t…

  She pushed away, ignoring his soft call. “Lass…”

  She stood and brushed her hands down her skirt, then across her cheeks, wiping away the last remnants of her tears. Breaking down like that was unforgivable. Giving in…couldn’t happen again.

  “Rose,” he said, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Where are the men who were chasing you?” she asked.

  She thought he might have laughed, but the sound came out as more of a croak. “I dinna ken for some of them. One fell off his horse. He must ha’ been wounded already. Or a horrible rider.”

  He broke off and coughed, then groaned, grabbing his side.

  She immediately dropped back to her knees beside him, gently moving his hands so she could peel up his shirt. Her breath caught in her throat, but she took care not to make a sound. The wound wasn’t large, thank heaven, but it was deep. The angry, red edges of it puckered around the gaping hole that oozed his life away.

  “One of the other men stopped, I think, to help the one who fell,” Will murmured.

  Rose made some noncommittal noise and rummaged in the bundle the housekeeper had given her for a needle and thread. There were also packets of herbs and fresh bandages. She took the herbs out and smelled them. One she was pretty sure was willow bark. That was good for pain and fever. The others…she didn’t know.

  She didn’t realize she was frowning down at the herbs in her hands until Will reached out a trembling hand and pointed to one of the bundles she held.

  “Make that one into a poultice,” he said. “To put on the wound.”

  “You know what these are for?” she asked, relief spilling through her.

  He nodded. “My granny was a healer,” he said, his voice faint. “And ye’d be surprised how much knowledge ye pick up when ye ride with highwaymen and mercenaries. Men who are wounded often need to tend to themselves, ye ken?”

  She nodded, choking back tears. She called for Rob, who had thankfully made himself scarce earlier. He poked his head back in the door and hurried over when she directed him to make a tea of the willow bark and a poultice of the others. Then she grabbed the whisky out of the bag.

  “Ah, thank Christ,” Will said, lifting his head so she could pour some into his mouth.

  “Take another,” she urged. “This is going to hurt.”

  “What will?”

  His question choked off in a strangled gasp when she poured the whisky over the wound.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. She had no idea if that was the right thing to do or not, but she knew the wound should be clean before she sewed it up,
and the whisky seemed a better choice than the water from the stream that Rob had brought in.

  She set to work stitching the wound closed. If someone had told her a month ago she’d be sewing more flesh than stockings she’d have laughed. At this point, she’d give anything for a nice petticoat to hem. Anything other than Will’s torn flesh.

  “I shot two o’ them,” Will said through clenched teeth.

  “What?” she asked, looking up in surprise.

  His face was pale and beads of sweat lined his brow, but he seemed lucid enough.

  “The other men who were chasing me,” he said between heavy breaths. “I shot two of them.”

  “Where did you get the pistols? And if you had them, why didn’t you give me one? It would have come in handy when Ramsay showed up,” she said with a wry smile.

  Will grabbed her hand, and she stopped sewing so she could clasp his hand tight. “I’m sorry, lass,” he said. “That ye had to face him on yer own. My fault…”

  “No.” She shook her head. “None of this was your fault.” She squeezed his hand and repeated that more firmly at the look of obvious disbelief on his face. “None of this, Will. Do you hear me? The only person responsible for this mess was Ramsay. Who I’m delighted to inform you is dead.”

  Will raised a brow at that. “Ye bloodthirsty wee thing. Ye killed him, did ye?”

  She laughed. “No. Lady Elizabet did. Shot him dead. With a pistol in each hand.”

  “Heh.” A faint smile crossed his lips, and he laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Where did she get the pistols?”

  “I’m not sure, actually. One she already had in her pocket. I felt it bump against my leg when we were running. The other she either already had or she took it off one of the men attacking us. Perhaps Ramsay himself. He was certainly arrogant enough to underestimate her.”

  He smiled again. “Clever lassie.”

  “That she is,” Rose said. “Now hold still.”

  “I would have given ye the pistols if I’d found them sooner,” he murmured. “They were on the horse I took.”

  “You have two?”

  His head twitched slightly in a shake. “Dropped one after I used it. Kept the other. Thought maybe I could find more ammunition once I stopped.”

  “Ah,” she said, putting in the final stitch. “And did you find more?” She bit off the stitch and sat back to grab the whisky and some bandages.

  “No. The other two bastards either got lost or gave up the chase. Either way, they werena with me when I arrived. And I didna feel like exploring just then.”

  “I bet,” she said, pouring more of the whisky over the now-closed wound.

  Will cried out again and panted a few times, his breath hissing out between his teeth. “Christ, woman. Stop doing that!”

  “Stop running into daggers and I’ll consider it.” She handed him the bottle and let him drink a few more mouthfuls while she bandaged up his side with the poultice Rob handed her.

  “Now let me see what you’ve done to your arm.”

  That one wasn’t as bad. Some of the stitches had come undone, but the bleeding wasn’t too concerning so she redressed it before checking over the rest of him.

  Rob handed her a cup of the willow bark tea, and she helped Will sit up enough to drink it. He grimaced at the taste but she made him drink as much as he could hold. She didn’t like how pale his skin was, how weak his hand when he tried to squeeze hers, or the heat that radiated off him.

  It didn’t take him long to fall asleep. She expected him to be restless, either because of the pain or the fever. But he slept heavily. Too heavily. The sight of it sent an icy fear creeping through her. But despite it all, his chest continued to rise and fall. Not as strongly as she’d like. But as long as breath remained in his body, she wouldn’t complain too loudly.

  “How is he, miss?” Rob asked as he handed her a cup of tea he’d brewed.

  “I don’t know. Not good. We need to get him back to Kirkenroch. But…” She glanced out the open door.

  It was growing late. She didn’t want to move him in the dark. She didn’t know the land well enough. They’d need some way to transport him, in any case. He wouldn’t be able to sit a horse by himself, and she didn’t have the strength to get him on one in any case. Even with Rob’s help. He was a good and helpful lad, but he wasn’t much bigger than she.

  “I should ride for help, miss. Bring men back to carry him home. We can fashion a litter. My laird will ken what to do.”

  She nodded, but her glance strayed to the darkening skies beyond the door. She didn’t want to send Rob off into the night alone. Kirkenroch wasn’t too far, but it was a good couple hours’ ride.

  The need to get Will help before he got worse beat at her in a frantic panic. But it wouldn’t do any of them any good if Rob got lost in the night or somehow injured himself and his horse.

  Finally, she sighed. “We’ll stay here tonight. It’s too late to do anything now.” Before he could argue she held up a hand. “In the morning, you can ride back to Kirkenroch and bring help.”

  Rob didn’t look convinced but nodded, nonetheless. “I’ll go get more firewood.”

  “Thank you, Rob.”

  She sat beside Will until her eyes grew heavy. Rob took care of the horses and then puttered around the cottage, making sure there was water simmering over the fire and more wood when they needed it. And he helped her change Will’s poultice and bandage twice. Will didn’t wake again.

  But he still breathed. She took comfort in that, small comfort…but for how long, she couldn’t say.

  Rob wrapped himself in his kilt and curled up on the other side of the cottage by the fire. Weariness pulled at Rose, and she knew she should get some rest as well. She wouldn’t be any good to Will if she was too tired to help him. But she was afraid to sleep. Afraid that if she wasn’t awake to watch the rise and fall of his chest, that it would stop.

  Finally, she curled up by Will’s uninjured side, her back to the fire, and lay as close to him as she could. She made sure the drape of his kilt covered them both, and then layered her cloak over the top of that so she could share her warmth with him. Then she laid her hand lightly on his chest and watched her fingers rise and fall, rise and fall, until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At first light, Rose saw Rob off.

  “Are you sure you remember the way?” she asked him for probably the third time.

  “Aye, miss. This thicket is well hidden if ye dinna ken what ye’re looking for, but once I’m out of this tangle, it’s a straight journey north to Kirkenroch.”

  She nodded, absently patting the horse’s neck. Sending the lad off on his own sat ill with her. He wasn’t really much younger than her. Still, if there’d been any other choice… But there wasn’t. Will needed help.

  “All right, then. Off you go.” She forced a smile and stood back.

  He nodded and turned the horse, but she ran forward again and he stopped, eyebrows raised in question.

  “Be careful,” she said. “Ramsay was defeated but it’s possible some of his men are still about.”

  He smiled down at her. “Aye, miss. I’ll be most careful.”

  She smiled and stood back, lifting her hand in farewell as the horse slowly pushed through the bushes and trees that hid the small cottage from sight.

  She watched the spot where they’d disappeared until she could no longer hear them and then took a deep breath, lifting her head to the weak morning sunlight. Will’s bandage would need changing soon, and she didn’t want to leave him long. But she also needed to gather more willow bark. Rob had shown her where to get more, along with a few more herbs that might aid in healing Will’s wounds. She’d get those before she went back in. And with any luck, Rob would be back with help before nightfall.

  She untied her horse and turned to lead him down to the stream. He could drink and graze while she foraged, and he would make carrying everything back much
easier.

  A gunshot rang out, echoing through the forest. Her horse reared, yanking the leads from her hands and taking off at a dead run, crashing through the thick foliage around their clearing. She cursed under her breath. Damn that horse! And whoever had scared him off.

  Her blood ran cold. Who had it been? She crouched down, her heart pounding frantically. While the loss of the horse was devastating, she prayed it would run off instead of returning. If it returned home, at least it would alert everyone that they needed help, even if it couldn’t lead them back to the cottage. But if it returned to the cottage, it might lead whoever had shot that gun right to them.

  “Rob,” she whispered.

  She glanced back at the cottage door, but there was no sound from within. She waited a few more seconds. No one came through the trees. No other sounds floated to her on the wind. The woods were silent once again.

  Still she waited, arguing with herself what she should do. The thought of leaving Will, even for a few minutes, tore her to shreds. But Rob…if he’d run into any of Ramsay’s men, he could be hurt. Dying. Or already dead. She couldn’t leave him to suffer alone if that was the case. And she had to know. If Rob had been wounded or killed, there would be no help coming from Kirkenroch. She’d need to make plans…

  Finally, she took a deep breath. Sitting there cowering wasn’t going to help anyone.

  “Move,” she muttered to herself, forcing her terror-frozen limbs to get up. She hurried into the cottage and quickly checked on Will.

  He hadn’t moved at all but still lay in the fever-induced stupor he’d fallen into the night before. She tucked his kilt about him and made sure he was fully covered. Then she kicked some dirt over the fire. There was only a tiny thread of smoke rising from it through the small hole in the ceiling, but she didn’t want to take the chance that someone might see it and be led to the cottage.