by Fiona Faris
Creeping into the barn she noticed a small fire hearth that was glowing red with embers. That’s strange, to have a fire going in the barn, she thought, even though she was grateful for the light and the warmth. She looked around the small barn, there were no stalls, or animals the sheep must be out to pasture. There was a small loft for hay above, with a single rope ladder for access. In the back corner almost hidden entirely in shadow was a raised pallet, very similar to the one in her own shed. Except on top of this pallet was a bare chested, muscular man. She covered her mouth with her hand to prevent a gasp from escaping. The man moaned again, and Ella rushed to his side. He was covered in sweat and clearly suffering from fever. She looked around for a bucket of water. He needed a cool cloth—with a hand on his forehead she could feel he was burning up. With nothing to be found, she realized she would need to get supplies from her shed. Leaning over the man she put her head to his chest. Feeling his heartbeat through the bandages, Ella felt a strange feeling in her center. His heartbeat was strong, that was good.
“I’m going to help you,” she whispered, running a hand along his cheek. He moaned again, but this time softer. “Shhh, all will be well.”
He turned his head into her hand, and she felt the unnatural warmth of him. He opened his eyes, just briefly, and Ella was shocked to see blood-shot unfocused eyes staring back at her. His irises were the green of polished emeralds. Her heart caught in her throat. He had the same exact eyes as the guardian angel from her dream. He wasn’t coming to her dreams to help her, he needed her help. She didn’t care if it angered Fergus or not, she would help this man. She knew it, like she knew her own mind. He would die without her.
Chapter Five
Ella emerged from the barn tired, hungry, and in search of something to help reduce the man’s fever. She hadn’t slept a wink. Instead she’d spent the late-night hours trying her best to soothe the man with cool cloths. Cool cloths alone would not keep his fever at bay. He needed something stronger, she wouldn’t be able to stand over him every moment of the day wiping his brow. She also needed to change his bandages, which had yellowed with age and filth. However, she didn’t have any cloth to replace them—the cottage was her only answer. Now that dawn was creeping in, she felt comfortable going to the cottage to see if she could find any supplies. Hopefully Sarah kept willow bark handy, the tea could be quite effective in reducing fever. If not, she would have to accompany Fergus to the woods beyond the field to try and identify the right tree to strip in order to make the pink-brownish concoction.
She quietly entered the kitchen, only to see the fire was already started in the hearth and Sarah was standing over it with a kettle going.
“Good marrow tae ye lassie, I trust ye slept well?” Sarah said in greeting.
“Good marrow to you as well. I didn’t sleep as well as I’d hoped, but tis no bother,” Ella replied, sitting down at the table. Sarah set three bowls of porridge down and Fergus came in to join them.
“Good marrow tae ye, Emily,” he said with a bright smile, Ella couldn’t help but return genuinely.
Sarah sat down with them, “Why did ye not sleep well, lass?” she asked, and Ella appreciated the concern the woman showed her. Even though it’d only been a day Ella felt the woman had warmed to her.
“I heard strange noises coming from the barn throughout the night,” she said innocently, watching Fergus grow antsy in his seat.
“Och, what noises?” he asked looking at the ground.
“I’m not sure, but mayhap it was the horse? I can help if you need, he may need constant care through the day.” Ella wasn’t sure which one of them, or if they both knew about the man in the barn, but she was determined to find out. She felt strongly Fergus knew, he was so adamant she stay away from the barn on their walk yesterday, and he was acting strangely now.
“Don’t need no help in th' barn lassie, best ye bide wi' Sarah in th' scullery. She'll need th' help wit her hand the way ‘tis,” he said.
“Could it be Fergus, that there is something in the barn you don’t want me to see?” she asked, doing her best not to laugh, as she could see Fergus’s frustration growing.
“Och, there be naethin' in th' barn ye need tae see lass. An' that's me final word on th' matter,” Fergus said before stomping off.
“Sarah, do you happen to have any dried willow bark?” she asked, turning her attention to the older woman.
She saw the woman freeze and try to quickly recover from Ella’s question. “Why would ye need willow bark, hen?” she asked, with forced pleasantness. Ella knew that Sarah knew exactly what she needed the bark for.
“I think we both know why I need it Sarah,” Ella said quietly. “His fever was bad overnight, and he needs help. If you have the willow bark, I can make the tea in the barn and do my best to keep the man alive,” Ella said, all hints of lightness gone from her tone. She was already fond of Fergus and Sarah, but it was clear Fergus wasn’t going to tell her anything, and she was worried the man would grow too sick if she continued to play games.
Sarah nodded and went to the cupboard to get a jar of the dried herb. “His name is Lucas,” she said. “Fergus will be angry if he knew I told ye.”
“Sarah, I only wish to help. Fergus will have to get over it. I know I’m English, but I mean you no harm. I swear,” she replied.
“I ken, lass.”
“I also need fresh cloth to change his bandages. He may have an infection that needs treatment,” Ella said.
“Aye, dinnea fash yerself, lass. I’ll get ya what ye need,” Sarah replied, rushing from the kitchen.
Lucas, Ella thought. How did you end up here? It seemed to Ella that the Camerons had a history of collecting strays.
Ella had been in the barn most of the afternoon tending to Lucas. She had tried to force the willow bark tea down him, but not having any experience trying to feed an unconscious man, she feared more tea went down his chin than down his throat.
She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Fergus since their row in the kitchen that morning, so when he entered the barn to let her know it was time for the evening meal she readied herself for a fight. But she could tell by the man’s eyes he had no fight in him. He sat down on a bale of hay close to Lucas’s pallet, defeated and tired from a hard day’s work, the old man started talking.
“A good man by th' nam of Magnus brought him tae us. Begged us tae care fur him, he's from a noble Highland clan, named MacGille. He was fightin' against yer people,” he began, pointing to Lucas. So he was a Jacobite, Ella thought. She wondered if he’d fought in the same battle of Dunkeld that the men of Carlisle Castle were readying themselves for. Were Commander Evans or any of his men responsible for Lucas’s wounds? Her heart softened toward the injured soldier.
“We tried our hardest tae bide the law, but when th' sassenach came it was difficult, an' Magnus ye see, he kept us fed, an' brought extra sheep tae stock our herd. We couldnae turn him awa' in his friend's hour of need. But if the Sassenach found out we were hidin’ ‘im here. Well...” he finished.
“I have a pretty good idea, of the punishment you would face,” Ella said, laying a gentle hand on Fergus’s arm. “I’m so sorry you and Sarah have had to struggle, and I mean what I said. I cannot easily repay the kindness you have shown me, but I can help this man, Lucas. I want to help him. I can help with the household chores as well and keep Sarah’s hand on the mend.”
“Ye ur a good lassie, an' good things will come tae ye,” he said before leaving the barn.
“I hope to God you are right Fergus,” she said after him, knowing he didn’t hear her at all.
After the evening meal Sarah gave Ella a stack of cloths that were clean and dry enough to make perfect bandages for Lucas’s wounds. She made a simple poultice of what little honey they had in the cupboard of the cottage, knowing that the honey would help heal any infection. Gathering the cloths, bandages, the last of the willow bark, and a fresh bucket of water she went back to the barn. She had been able to convince
Fergus it was best for Lucas if he moved her pallet into the barn; he gave a little bit of a fight, not wanting to risk Ella’s honor by having her unchaperoned with a grown man, both being seemingly of marriage age. She assured him that Lucas was in no position to compromise her and he relented. The sun had set by the time she reached the barn again.
She was horrified to find Lucas’s fever had gotten worse. He was shivering but his skin was dry and on fire. She quickly covered him with all the plaids in the barn and set to boiling his tea.
“You blasted man,” she said to him. “Why can’t I break your fever?” She moved toward him, placing her thumb delicately on the inside of his wrist hoping to feel a heartbeat. It was weak but there. She tried to force the tea down, this time tilting his head all the way back, so his mouth would open on its own, and massaging his throat as she poured the tea slowly down. It seemed to work, even though he was still out cold, she saw him lick his lips.
“I know,” she said, placing another cool cloth to his forehead. She must be delirious herself, because she swore she saw a slight smile cross his lips as the cool, wet cloth hit his skin. “It tastes awful.” If he kept the tea down and his fever broke, she wanted to try and get him to drink some broth. She was still unsure if he would make it through the night.
She heard the barn door creak and was surprised to see Sarah come in carrying a fresh pail of water, and more clean bandages. The load looked heavy, and Ella tried to get up to help her.
“Och, dinnea fash, Em, I’m fine. Been carryin’ loads bigger than this since I ‘twas a mere lass like yerself. How be Lucas?” she asked.
“His fever is worse, and his heartbeat weak. I don’t know if he’ll live the night. His wounds had festered more than I’d ever seen. Hopefully it wasn’t too late,” she replied, and sank further into the chair she sat in. “Sarah, do you believe in fate?” she asked.
“Och, aye, I learned young nae tae questions th' signs God sends,” she replied.
Ella didn’t want the woman to think she was touched, but she felt a sudden need to unburden her soul. “I think ‘tis my fate to be here,” she said. “I dreamed of Lucas before I came. A man with fire-red hair and emerald green eyes. I was tryin’ so hard to reach him, but he was just out of my grasp. And now here he is, and he will most likely die before I find out why God sent him to me,” she said, placing her head in her hands letting out the sob that had been threatening all day.
“Wheesht, lassie,” Sarah said, moving closer to Ella to place the comforting arm of her good hand around Ella’s shoulder. “Mayhap ye were sent tae fix ‘em, when none other can.”
“So you don’t think I’m touched?” she asked, looking into the older woman’s eyes.
“Nae, nae tetched. Blessed mayhap, but nae tetched,” Sarah said, causing Ella to cry again. She missed a motherly touch so much and it felt good to let Sarah comfort her, but she broke the embrace to prepare more tea for Lucas. This was the trying time. If he made it through the night, Ella was sure he would live, and she wanted to do everything she could to make sure that happened.
Once Sarah took her leave for the evening. Ella forced another dose of tea down Lucas and was satisfied when more went into his belly than onto his chest, she moved her pallet closer to his. She needed to be near enough to him to tell if he stopped breathing in the night, but she knew it was more than that. Something inside her was pulling her toward him. He filled an emptiness she hadn’t even known she felt. Without thinking too hard on it she took his hand in her own and began to pray. For the first time in weeks she had something she wanted from God.
“God, if you exist, please spare this man. I know not why, but please do not let him die this night, or any other in the too soon future.”
He needs to live, she thought over and over as tears flowed down her cheeks in waves. He needs to live, was her last thought before falling asleep holding tightly to Lucas in the glow of the dying fire.
Chapter Six
He knew it was dawn, and he knew he was awake, but Lucas kept his eyes closed wishing for just a moment longer of sleep. He didn’t want to leave the blond haired, grey-eyed beauty of his dreams. In his dreams she smelled of roses and speaks like a fine English lady. In his dream there is no battle of Dunkeld. All of his other dreams had been nightmares until she came. Wretched things filled with blood and the stench of battle. He’d cried out for his brother and father knowing he couldn’t save them. Then the English rose appeared and all was well. He had nothing left to fear, no man could hurt him as long as she was by his side. But he knew she was a dream. An angel conjured by his imagination to make the reality of his current situation more bearable.
His throat was dry, and he tried to remember the last time the old man brought him water. He slowly opened his eyes. There was something in his hand. Opening his eyes, he looked down surprised to see a slender, angelic looking woman fast asleep beside him, holding his hand. Her skin was fair like porcelain, her hair as light as spun gold, and was he imagining it, or did he catch the distinct smell of roses wafting from her as she slept.
Cannae be, he thought. But he knew without a doubt that the sprite laying on the pallet beside his was real, but also from his dreams. She stirred, and in order not to frighten her he closed his eyes again, briefly pretending to be restless and then pausing as if he’d settled back down into slumber on his own.
She placed a cool hand on his forehead and she pulled it back quickly. “Oh my,” she said, “Your fever broke, thank God. You will live.” Her voice was light and airy. Lucas thought, it was like summer breeze floating across the loch. Then she did something surprising, she placed her head on his chest and wept. She wept as if God himself had answered her prayers. He wanted to comfort her somehow, wrap his arms around her and whisper assurances in her ear. Of course he lived. As long as she was with him, he would live forever.
Lucas enjoyed the morning routine his angel had created. She made the most horrible tea known to man, and as an English woman she should probably be ashamed of herself, but he enjoyed when she tipped his head back and with her delicate fingers massaged his throat, urging him to swallow the foul liquid. Lucas had never been sick a day in his life, so he was unfamiliar with the taste of medicine, but he knew tea wasn’t the only ingredient in the drink because not long after drinking it, he began to feel less pain.
“I’m so glad your fever has calmed.” He could hear her moving about the barn, unaware that he was conscious and could hear every word. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t make it until morning. Now I wonder why that filled me sadness. Anyway, when we were girls, Amelia, that’s my sister, and I would hate when mother would make us drink willow bark tea. But mother always said nothing worked better on a fever.” Her mother must hae been a healer, he thought, wishing he could take the sadness out of her voice when she mentioned her mother and her sister.
Throughout the day, thinking him asleep, she had confided a great many details of her life before to him. He knew she hated her father, and after the man betrothed her to a brutish English commander, Lucas couldn’t say he blamed her. She ran away, very cleverly escaping capture. He was glad she did. For a reason he couldn’t name, he did not like the thought of her in another man’s arms. He also knew she lied to the kindly old couple who were keeping them. Fergus and Sarah, she said their names were. Good Scottish names. She told them her name was Emily, but it wasn’t. Her true name was Ella. It was for their own protection, she said, but it still made her feel horrible. Once she had earned enough money to establish herself and her father could no longer harm her, she would make it right with them. He felt himself dozing off to the sound of her voice. He would just rest for a little while, he thought. Just a little while.
He woke from a dreamless sleep, the first he can remember since the battle. He opened his eyes slowly, he was alone in the barn. Ella was nowhere to be seen. She must have left to help Sarah with some of the household chores, feeling comfortable to do so, now that the danger of his fever had passed
. He could tell the hour was late, but sunset was not yet upon them. The light coming through the slatted walls of the barn was different than in the morning hours. He tried, successfully to sit up, it felt good being in a different position.
A memory hit him like a bolt of lightning. It was Magnus, speaking to him in a field. “An' allow my laird tae suffer a worse fate than his poor father? I dinnae think sae. Now hush laird.” His laird? His father’s death came swimming back to his mind. Da, why? he thought in anguish. He had watched the life leave his father, unable to reach him in time. He would never as long as he drew breath forget the look of the man who took his Da’s life. Once he was well, and established as laird, he would mount his revenge.