by Fiona Faris
“I ken, ye will, lad,” Fergus replied, before leaving the barn.
Lucas tried to move off the pallet, it was slow but eventually he made it into the standing position. The wound on his side where he had been run through was the most painful, but he found standing up eased the pain. He walked slowly over to where Fergus had left the bread and cheese. He had just had the broth Ella brought him, but his stomach wanted more, and now. He figured by the early autumn light, he must have been the barn for close to three weeks, and he didn’t think he had been eating much in that time. When he looked down at his battle beaten body, he saw he had lost a lot of the brawn and muscle MacGille men were known for.
The barn door creaked again, and Lucas turned around, watching Ella walk toward him with fear in her eyes. His heart seized. He hoped she wasn’t afraid of him, the last thing he would ever do is hurt the lass. Then he realized it wasn’t fear of him that had her in such a state, it was fear for him.
“Lucas,” she said sweetly. “You shouldn’t be up and about. ‘Tis too soon, ‘tisn’t safe.” His heart melted at the sound of his name on her lips, and she wasn’t so angry that she no longer cared for his well-being. That was a good sign.
“Och, Don’t fash yerself lass. I be braw. I needed some scarn, uh, I mean food, is all. I'll get right back tae bed no worse for wear, promise,” he replied, taking the plate and settling back into the pallet, slowly.
She didn’t say another word, but her deep yawn told Lucas she was exhausted. He half expected, after the way she tore out of the barn earlier that she would have spent the night in the cottage, hiding behind Fergus for protection from the half dead Highlander in the barn, but she surprised him. She took a cup of water from the bucket and wet a few cloths, placing them by his pallet. “Just in case your fever comes back in the middle of the night,” she said, before tucking herself into her pallet next to his. He ate in silence as she moved around to get comfortable, and she was asleep before he finished his meal.
He woke in the middle of the night from a searing heat at his side wound. His brow covered in sweat once again. This time not from fever, but from pain. He tried to keep his breathing slow and measured as to not wake Ella, but he wasn’t having much luck. He rolled over onto his other side and the movement made him holler out.
Ella stirred, and opened her eyes. “Lucas, what is it?” she asked, the same fear in her eyes as when she saw him standing earlier.
“It's my wound, lass, it burns hot an' hurts like hell,” he told her through clenched teeth.
“Roll onto your back let me take a look,” she replied. He noticed her slight gasp when she saw the bandage, and looking down it was just as he feared. The wound had opened, and blood seeped through. “Okay, we need to change your dressings, and you say the wound is hot to the touch?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said, breathing heavy as the pain kept coming in waves.
“You will have to let me take a look. I need to pull the bandages off. It is going to hurt like hell,” she said. Lucas momentarily forgot about his pain, he had never heard a lady use such language before. He thought he quite liked it. He could tell she was a good healer, he was the living proof, but something in her curse told him she was also headstrong and not to be ignored. He helped her remove the bandages, and thankfully the wound didn’t look like it had festered, but it had opened up in a small spot toward his stomach.
“I will need to close the wound with thread. It will hurt, and you may even pass out from the pain. I have a little bit of a poultice I made for Sarah’s hand earlier left. It is specifically for burns, but I think the same healing properties in the comfrey will help with the pain once I sew you up. Lucas, do you understand all of that?”
“Aye, lass, just get on wit it, will ye?” he said.
He watched as she pulled a bit of thread and a needle from her cloak. She dipped the needle in water then held it over the fire. Curiosity got the better of him.
“What did ye dae that tae th' needle fur lass?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“I’m not exactly sure,” she replied. “My mother always said a ‘burnt needle is a healing needle’ and I guess it stuck. It won’t be hot when I start to stitch you up,” she promised.
When he saw she was satisfied with the heat on the needle, she threaded it and moved toward him. He braced himself as the needle went in. With a tight intake of breath, he thought he was doing well bearing the sharp pull of the thread as Ella trussed him up like a goose for feast. But he started to feel waves of dizziness come over him. “Breathe, Lucas, you have to breathe,” she implored. It seems he had no trouble taking the breath in but had forgot how to let the air out of his lungs. “If you don’t breathe man, I shall be forced to slap you again.” He looked at her and saw seriousness in her grey eyes. He temporarily forgot the pain, as he smiled at her tenacity. Aye, she was a stubborn lass, he thought.
“There you go,” she said stepping back after she finished her sewing. She placed honey over the wound and wrapped fresh bandages around his waist.
“How did ye get it tae no hurt so bad, lassie?” he asked as the pain started to subside, and his breathing returned to normal.
“I used a flower, my mother taught me when I was a girl. The comfrey flower, when crushed and made into a poultice, would help to stop or slow pain on certain wounds. I also put some honey on the wound. I don’t know how, but honey seems to stop festering from taking over,” she replied. She moved over to the fire and water bucket to clean herself off, and Lucas was transfixed. He knew the healer at Cadney had bottles and vials of herbs, but he never had reason to ask the old crone what she used any of them for. He found he could listen to Ella explain her knowledge of healing forever, and never be even the slightest bit bored.
“Why does is smell so flowery, like a ladies perfume?” he asked. She turned back to look at him and flashed the most glorious smile. He thought that she must have borrowed the brightness in her smile directly from the heavens.
“That would be the lavender,” she said, moving back toward him and placing a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. He closed his eyes, breathing her in. Her own scent mixing with the honey and lavender.
“Did you never hurt yourself as a boy?” she asked.
“Nae, ne’er. I was a tough laddie,” he said softly, keeping his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of being pampered.
“You are still tough,” she said. He could hear the smile on her lips. He raised his hand and took hers, moving it from his head.
“That’s kind of ye lass, but I sure don’t feel tough layin’ here on this pallet,” he replied.
She moved her hands to the cloth, adjusting it on his forehead, moving to rub his cheeks, moving down to rub his shoulders.
“Ahh lass, as good as it feels with yer hands on me, I’m afraid if ye dinnae stop I’ll be wantin’ tae kiss ye again,” he warned. She stepped back. He opened his eyes and stared at her for a long time. He felt heat building between them, her eyes darkened with what he hoped was desire, before she turned away from him to tidy up around the barn.
It was still hours before dawn, he didn’t want to be the cause of anymore of Ella’s exhaustion. “Lass, will ye nae come back to try an’ get some sleep?” he asked.
“That’s probably a good idea,” she replied. Lucas thought he could be imagining it, but was there a slight catch in her voice?
She settled into the pallet beside his. He covered her gently with his extra plaid. Listening in the quiet dark as her breathing became even and she settled back into a peaceful slumber. He had dreamed this English rose into existence, and he wasn’t sure how, but he fell asleep determined to convince her she could trust him.
Ella woke up with the sunrise, wrapped in Lucas’s plaid. It smelled like wood smoke and his natural masculine scent which married cedar and maleness. She felt a hot blush rush up to her cheeks as she remembered how she had touched him during the night, and his confession of wanting to kiss her again. She buried herself deeper
into the plaid.
She had been so angry after he stole the first kiss, but more at herself than at Lucas. She had never felt anything close to the type of stirring inside her that she felt being near him. When he surprised her by being awake, she felt off kilter, and it was something she didn’t enjoy. His kiss, on the other hand, had surprised her to her very core.
Lucas's lips had been soft. Inviting. Commander Evans was the only other man who had ever kissed her. Evans's lips had been dry and forceful. There was also force behind Lucas’s kiss, but it was different. He didn’t want to take anything from her. She knew that, and when he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, she thought she would die from shame and pleasure. She hadn’t wanted him to stop, and that scared her.
The same feelings that he awoke in her when they kissed, had overcome her in the middle of the night after she stitched his wound and changed his bandages. He looked as handsome as the finest English gentleman in the glowing firelight. More so, because he had stepped right out of her dreams and into reality. Even with the red growth of his beard he was compelling to look at, and touching him was even more so. When he told her he didn’t feel tough with his wounds, her heart broke for him. He was the strongest man she had ever met. A lesser man would’ve died four times over with the wounds Lucas had, and the fever. But not Lucas, he had survived.
She rolled over to face him. Even though they slept on two separate pallets, they were close enough to each other for her to hear the light snores that came from Lucas. She smiled to herself. What would Amelia and Gwen think if she told them she had been sleeping so near to a man who was not her husband. And a handsome highlander to boot. A small giggle escaped her, and Lucas slowly opened his eyes, blinking back the sunlight. Embarrassed to be caught awake, staring at him and giggling, Ella quickly ducked her head under the plaid.
“Good morn, lass. What has ye sae happy this day?” Lucas asked. His voice husky with sleep. She peeked out of the plaid to see him stretching his long tan arms up over his head as he let out a deep yawn to welcome the day. A shiver ran down her spine. No one man had the right to look so damn content, especially wounded as he was.
“Nothing you need worry yourself about Lucas MacGille,” she answered sternly, as she got up and went to stoke the fire. She smiled to herself, keeping quiet about her quaint secret.
“Verra well,” he said. Ella knew better than to think that he would give up so easily. “What should we dae today? Mayhap sit around the barn and watch the hay mold?”
She heard the humor in his voice. He was definitely starting to feel better. After his wound opened the night before she didn’t want him to over extend himself, but she had an idea.
“No, I think it may be time for you to leave the safe haven of your pallet,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
“What dae ye hae in mind then ye wee minx?” he asked, his playful tone making her blush more.
“A meal outside in the field,” she said. “It is the Lord’s day after all. I will see to Fergus and Sarah, we should all join together.” The would go only far enough to enable Lucas to start to gain back some of his strength. She only hoped she wasn’t pushing him too much.
“A meal in a field?” he asked with a questioning look that made Ella think the poor man had never been asked to share a meal with others.
“Yes, the day is lovely, and you will never fully recover holed up in this stuffy old barn,” she said. Her decision was made and Lucas was left looking at her with his mouth opened and his jaw slacked.
She left the barn heading toward the cottage house. The day truly was lovely. It was one of the rare early fall days of the north where the sun was warm but the breeze was cool. She knew the deeper cold was coming soon. She only hoped Lucas was well enough by then to bear it. She had every hope he would be completely mended come winter. She wondered if, once he was truly well, he would leave right away for his home. He must have people who cared for him, that he cared for. She had a horrible thought. What if he had a wife and children? She hoped not, especially with the way he kissed her. She didn’t understand why, but she hoped beyond all reasonable hope that he was unattached. After all, she dreamed him up, in a sense she felt that he belonged to her. She shook her head. What a silly notion, she thought. He was a real flesh and blood man, and not a figment of her wild imagination. Although it would be too cruel a fate if he had a wife waiting for him. She decided that when the moment was right, and they were sharing their meal this afternoon, she would summon the courage to ask him.
Chapter Nine
“How is it ye ken so much about the grasses and flowers?” Lucas asked Ella as they walked arm in arm across the pasture of soft grass toward Fergus and Sarah. The older couple sat surrounded by food and drink on a plaid, and Lucas was hungry but in no rush. He was enjoying Ella’s company and being outside in the sunshine. She had identified so many flowers and herbs since they left the barn. Her knowledge made his head spin. He could barely tell a thistle from a sprig of heather, yet his English rose knew the proper name for almost every piece of greenery they passed.
“I learned most of what I know from my mother, she had a great affinity for plants of all types. In our family home she had a lovely, large garden, and the grounds around our home in Derbyshire were flush with hundreds of varieties of wild flowers and plants.” He liked her shy smile, and that she was not used to being the center of attention.
“Tell me more about yer family lass.” He wanted to keep her talking. He found he needed to know everything about her. Being out of the barn with her like this, walking through the fields made Lucas feel normal for the first time since he’d left Cadney with his father and brother to take up arms against the English. He didn’t realize how much he missed it. Even though they had to move slowly because of the pain in his side, he felt better than he had in weeks and it was all because of Ella.
She gave another smile, and his heart melted with the pressure of her sweetness. She had so quickly managed to disarm him. He found he liked it, liked her.
“My mother, you already know, was a healer. She married my father young, and died in childbirth when I was only six and ten. I have a younger sister Amelia, she was light of my mother’s eye, she was three and ten at the time. Three years younger than I. Amelia, or Amy as we call her, is my best friend, and most important ally.” He noticed a tear forming in the corner of her eye at the mention of her mother and sister, he gently moved to wipe it away.
“Ye miss ‘em terribly, eh?” He kept his tone soft, which Ella appreciated.
“Aye,” she replied. “I hated having to leave Amelia behind, but I knew shew couldn’t come on this journey with me.” He liked it when she used Scottish expressions. The words sounded light on her tongue, the marriage between her sweet English accent and the few Scottish words he had heard her say, he felt as if he could listen to her talk for an eternity.
“What happened to the bairn?”
“He was to be our brother, David. But he died along with my mother. Father was never the same after their deaths. He became withdrawn, disinterested in Amy and I at his best, cruel at his worst.”
“Och, ‘tis a shame lass, a father ought never treat his angels thus. Is that why ye hatched that escape plan that brought ye here?” he asked with a sly wink. She looked at him with surprise.
“How much of my ramblings were you awake for you brut?” she asked, lightly hitting his shoulder, but only faking her anger. Lucas could see the lightness in her eyes.
“Enough to know ye were verra brave, lass, I would nae hae wished the evil fate yer da had in store for ye on me own worst enemy,” he finished. “One day, I hope ye get to see yer sister again.”
“Thank you, me too.” They continued to walk in silence, but only as fast as Lucas’s wounds would allow. It suited him fine, it had been too long since he had a nice walk on a pretty day with a pretty lass.
“What about your family Lucas? Do you miss them?”
“Aye, I hae a brother, Gavin,
an’ a bonnie wee sister Milly, short for Millicent. She an’ Gav are twins, but she got all the sweetness and he all the fire.”
“And a wife?” Lucas cocked an eyebrow in her direction, a touch amused, and he could’ve sworn she was shaking a little as she asked. So the little lass wanted to know if he was spoken for, eh? He stopped walking and turned her to face him. He wanted her to see in his eyes that he meant what he was telling her.
“No wife, lass. No bairns, either. I promised me angel mother, Lady MacGille, I’d only marry for love, and that hasnae happened, yet.” He watched, enchanted, as relief flooded her eyes. He liked knowing that she felt the attraction between them as keenly as he did.
“Your mother is Lady MacGille?” Ella asked him, ducking his gaze and quickly changing the subject by questioning his mother’s title. He realized that even though the surname MacGille was only found in his clan, Fergus and Sarah must not have realized which MacGille he was, therefore how would Ella know.
“Aye, me da was the Laird of Clan MacGille,” he said solemnly.