“Forgive me, my lady, for doubting you.”
“You had every right to think what you did, Angus.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “I trust Brice Campbell is worthy of the love and devotion you have exhibited.”
“Aye, my lady. He has more than earned my loyalty. And the loyalty of all who proclaim Brice Campbell their leader.”
Meredith studied the man who would surely sacrifice his life for the one on the pallet.
“Rest now, Angus,” Meredith said, as he leaned heavily on Mistress Snow’s shoulder.
“If there is anything I can do, you must tell me.”
She touched a hand to Brice’s throat and felt the pulse that, though thin and halting, continued to beat.
“You can pray.”
Meredith spread the poultice over the festering wound before covering it with fresh dressings. Then she pulled up the bed linens and sat back on her heels, studying the quiet figure on the pallet.
He was so still. So very still. As though his life was slipping away, breath by breath.
He had not moved since she had first found him. Nor had he moaned or cried out, despite the depth of pain he must be suffering.
The servants drifted into the room whenever they found time, as did all Brice’s men who were able to walk. They would stay for a few minutes, studying his pale face, watching the woman who worked tirelessly beside him. On each face Meredith saw the love, the concern, for this man. It was evident in the way they studied him, with a kind of reverence, and the way they spoke in hushed tones usually reserved for the clergy.
The light through the windows had long since faded into darkness. The only illumination in the room was the fire in the fireplace and a single candle beside a basin on a small table.
The sounds of activity in the castle had ceased. The dead had been removed to the burned-out shell of the storehouse until proper graves could be dug and the grieving families could see to their burial. The wounded had been ministered to and carried to beds and pallets.
Meredith continued mopping the sweat that beaded Brice’s forehead. Her shoulders drooped in exhaustion. Her eyes blurred and she wiped a hand across them, blinking away the desire to shut them tightly.
Meredith looked up at the sound of the door being opened. Jamie crossed the room and knelt beside her. His gaze fastened hungrily upon the still form of Brice.
“You should be asleep,” Meredith whispered.
“I cannot sleep.”
She saw the fear lurking in his eyes. With great tenderness she brought her arm about his shoulder and drew him close. “When Brice awakens he will have you scurrying about fetching so many things you will have no time to rest. Then you will yearn for the luxury of sleep.”
“Do you believe that, my lady?”
“I must,” she whispered. “And so must you.”
She felt the lad tremble. And then, in a burst of anguish, he cried, “I am so afraid, my lady. If I dare to fall asleep, I’m afraid Brice will slip away. And I will never have the chance to tell him how much I love him.”
“Oh, Jamie.” Meredith gathered him into her arms. Against his temple she whispered, “His fate is no longer in our hands. We have done all we can. But I promise you this. I will stay here beside him. And if he should need anything, anything at all, I will see that he has it.”
The lad shook his head from side to side. “I am afraid to leave him.”
“Then stay with him,” she said softly. “Sleep here beside him.”
“Here?” The boy seemed astounded by her offer. Never would he presume to sleep beside so great a man.
Meredith lifted the folded bed linens that Cara had left in case her mistress desired to rest. She would have no need of them since she would never be able to leave Brice’s side this night.
Fixing a pallet beside Brice, she lifted a corner of the blanket and motioned for Jamie to climb inside.
“Brice will not mind?”
“I think he would be pleased,” Meredith murmured, tucking the linens about him.
As she so often did with her younger sisters, she bent and brushed a kiss over the lad’s cheek. “Sleep well, Jamie, along with Brice, in the hollow of God’s hand.”
The boy lay very still, absorbing the shock of her gentle kiss.
For as long as he lived he would never forget her kindness this night.
For long minutes he lay listening to the sound of Brice’s shallow breathing. And though he struggled to stay awake and will life into the man who lay beside him, sleep at last overtook him.
Chapter Twelve
Brice awoke in the inferno he had always known would be his destiny. All around him drifted the acrid scent of fire and brimstone. And his own flesh felt seared beyond redemption.
So this was what it felt like to be doomed to an eternity of punishment. Pain throbbed until he writhed and twisted. And though he thought he moaned, no sound issued from his parched throat.
He knew why this punishment had been meted out to him. He had been so consigned to this penance for failing to save Meredith. In that brief moment when he had seen her in the doorway to his chambers, he had realized that if he did not succeed in fighting off MacKenzie’s soldiers, all would be lost. Meredith, the innocent victim in all of this, would be forced into marriage with Gareth MacKenzie. Once married, he would claim her land and people. And once MacKenzie had what he wanted, Meredith would no longer serve a useful purpose. She would be conveniently disposed of.
That was what had distracted Brice and caused his downfall. It was the presence of Meredith there in the doorway that had made him lose his concentration. Never before had five or even ten opponents worried him. He was a warrior, born and bred for battle. His own mortality had never caused him a moment’s worry. But that was before Meredith. Since meeting the fiery little beauty, everything had changed. The thought of what MacKenzie had in mind for her was more than he could bear. That moment’s distraction had cost him the battle.
Now it had all come to pass. Brice felt an overwhelming sense of despair. He had lost. MacKenzie had won. Even now Meredith was no doubt standing at the altar of a small village kirk, surrounded by MacKenzie men, forced to speak vows that would seal her fate.
Brice was consigned to an eternity in hell.
The pain came again in waves, causing him to arch his body and roll to one side and then the other. There was no escaping it. The flames of hell licked across his skin and stabbed deep into his back. A fire raged inside him.
Something cool touched his face and he clutched at it, holding it to him when it would pull away. In his delirium he imagined that it was a small, delicate hand. Meredith’s hand. But that was impossible. Meredith had been captured by Gareth MacKenzie. She was lost to him forever. Still he clung to the hand, needing to feel it, small and safe in his.
A voice sounded from so far away he could not make out the words. But from the soft, muted tones, from the low, husky whisper, he knew it was Meredith’s voice calling him. Calling out to him from a lifetime away. He lifted a hand and tried to reach her, to answer her, to tell her that he was sorry he had failed her, that even now he would find a way to come for her. But his hand dropped weakly to the linens that covered him. He would rest awhile, to gather his strength, so that he could plan his escape from this eternal damnation. One thought burned in his mind. He dare not rest until Meredith was safely away from MacKenzie and returned to Kinloch House. There she would be safe. There she would be loved.
Loved.
Aye. Though he would never have admitted it in life, he loved her. Loved her as he loved Jamie. Loved her more than he had thought it possible to love any woman. More than himself.
A dipper of cool water was forced between his lips. He swallowed and accepted another before turning his head away. A cool damp cloth was pressed to his forehead and he felt a moment’s respite from the burning heat.
His lids flickered open and he found himself staring into green eyes the color of a Highland lake.
&nb
sp; “Meredith.”
His lips formed the word though no sound issued from his throat.
She smiled and he thought there would never again be anything as wonderful as her smile. As dazzling as the sun on a summer’s afternoon. As warm and comforting as a fireplace on a cold winter’s night.
A hundred questions danced through his brain, begging to be answered. How had she escaped MacKenzie’s clutches? Was the attacking army still here at Kinloch House, holding her prisoner in this very room? His heart stopped. Or was she also dead? Had she been allowed this one visit before entering heaven?
Though his lips moved, the words were scrambled, making no sense. All he could manage was a weak croak.
“Rest now,” she whispered, touching a hand to his cheek. She was merely a vision, he realized. A lovely, ethereal vision.
His lids lowered. Though the fire raged on, he felt at peace. Anything could be endured, even hell, as long as he was granted an occasional glimpse of Meredith’s beloved face.
~ ~ ~
“How does he fare?”
Angus tiptoed into the chamber and peered over Meredith’s shoulder as she changed the dressing on Brice’s back.
“He seems to slip in and out of this world,” she whispered. “I fear he does not as yet comprehend where he is or who is with him.”
“He is a strong man, my lady.” Angus touched a hand to her shoulder and was reminded of how small, how frail, she was. Yet beneath her frailty he had witnessed enormous strength of will. Everyone in Kinloch House spoke in admiring tones of the way Lady Meredith MacAlpin tended their leader, refusing to leave his side even to take her meals. She slept curled up beside him, and ate whatever the servants brought her. And all of her waking moments were spent applying fresh poultices and changing his dressings, and seeing to his every need.
Jamie MacDonald had become her most loyal admirer. To the lad she was more than a great lady; she was a saint. He had told everyone who would listen how Meredith had encouraged him to sleep beside Brice for the first two nights, until he was convinced that his hero would not succumb if he left him. And although Jamie had now returned to his own chambers, Meredith encouraged him to drop by Brice’s chambers as often as he wished in order to chart the progress Brice made.
“Brice will not easily give up his life, my lady. If he is fated to die he will not do so without putting up a fight.”
She gave Angus a tentative smile. “How can you be so certain?”
“I know him, my lady. As well as I know myself. Brice is a warrior.”
“Aye. And from the looks of both of you, there was great damage inflicted upon the other side. How do your wounds heal, Angus?” She glanced at the fresh dressings that bound his head, a sign of the loving care administered by Mistress Snow.
“The pain has nearly subsided. Now it only feels as if someone has buried an ax in my head.”
Meredith laughed and Angus was pleased to know that he had managed to bring a smile to her lips.
What drove the lady? What caused her to stay by the side of a man who had taken her away from everything she loved? Was she suffering guilt because her own people had taken sides with the MacKenzies? Or was there some deeper emotion involved?
Angus glanced at the man who lay upon the pallet. So still. So pale. The two had been inseparable since childhood. Angus had never questioned the goodness of Brice Campbell. He had been privileged to witness Brice’s kind deeds a thousand times. But this woman? What did she know of Brice and his way of life? How was it that she had, after only a glimpse into Brice’s life, decided to trust him, to care for him?
“Do not fear for him. Brice will respond to your tender ministrations, my lady. That other life that tugs at him will give up its hold over him. He will come back to us.”
Meredith gave Angus a grateful look.
At a knock on the door they both turned and watched as Mistress Snow entered, followed by a serving girl carrying a tray.
“This is the broth you ordered, my lady.” Mistress Snow directed the servant where to set the tray, then turned to study Meredith, noting her pale features, accentuated by the dark circles that rimmed her eyes. “If you do not soon rest you will be joining my lord Campbell in a sickbed.”
“I am fine.” Meredith knelt and tasted the broth before nodding her approval to the servant. “Are the wounded below stairs beginning to heal?”
“Aye, my lady.” The housekeeper chanced a glance at Angus before adding softly, “Though it has been a difficult task to keep some of them in bed long enough. Already some,” she said, staring meaningfully at the man who faced her with a grin, “are determined to begin repairs on Kinloch House before their wounds have even begun to heal.”
“I heard the sound of axes in the forest and trees being felled. I thought perhaps only necessary repairs were being made.”
“Necessary.” Mistress Snow gave a hollow laugh. “If Angus had his way, the castle would be as good as new before Brice had a chance to view the destruction left by the MacKenzies.”
“It will cause him pain to know that his ancestral home has been burned by Lowlanders,” Angus said softly. “I would spare my old friend any more suffering. And now I must go below and see to those repairs.”
When he left the room, Meredith glanced at the housekeeper, who was staring at the closed door with a look of concern. “I know that you fear Angus is pushing himself and the others beyond their limits. But it is how a man deals with his feelings of hopelessness. With their leader cut down, and the enemy beyond their reach, they have a need to do something that is physically punishing.”
“How did a sheltered woman like yourself learn such things?” The housekeeper watched as Meredith dipped the spoon into the bowl of broth.
“My father was a peace-loving man. But he was also a warrior.” Meredith held the spoon to Brice’s lips and watched as he swallowed the first trickle of broth. “Each time he was forced to recover from battle wounds inflicted by the English, he quickly undertook a difficult, draining task. My mother explained that it was a necessary part of healing.”
“Your mother was a wise woman.” Mistress Snow gave a loud sigh. “As for me, I would prefer to take Angus to bed and find a gentler way of healing.”
When she realized what she had revealed, the housekeeper blushed to the tips of her toes. “Oh, my lady. Forgive me for my lapse.”
Meredith’s laughter rang through the room. “Oh, Mistress Snow. If you could but see your face.”
“I—must see to the scullery,” the woman said, hurrying to the door to escape her humiliation. “I will send Cara to see to your needs.”
When the door closed behind her, Meredith shook her head and continued to laugh. Then, filling the spoon with more broth, she cradled Brice’s head in her lap and forced a small amount of the liquid between his lips.
It was the sound of Meredith’s laughter that seemed to penetrate the fog that shrouded Brice’s mind. The sound trilled like the gentle warble of a bird. There was no mistaking it. It was truly the beautiful Meredith, come once more to visit him in this place of misery.
He felt his head being lifted gently, as it was placed upon her lap. He inhaled the steaming broth as the spoon was placed to his lips. He tasted its delicate flavor as the liquid slid down his throat, warming, soothing. His parched throat was eased and he gratefully accepted a second spoonful.
From beneath slightly open lids he watched as she cradled his head in her lap and bent over him, intent upon her task. Her hair swirled forward, the silken strands brushing his hand. As she dipped the spoon once more in the bowl, she leaned forward slightly. He felt the imprint of her breasts and experienced a rush of heat that left him flushed and weak.
Now it was no longer the fragrance of the broth that filled his senses. It was the clean delicate fragrance of pine and wildflowers that seemed to surround her. He inhaled, filling himself with her scent, wishing he could fill himself with her.
She brought the spoon to his lips and he o
pened his mouth, accepting the broth. When he swallowed, the warm liquid snaked through his veins, giving him precious strength.
Again and again she fed him, grateful that he no longer fought her. It was the first time he had willingly accepted nourishment. When at last, unable to take more, he pushed her hand away, she glanced down and realized that he was watching her.
The spoon dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. It lay there forgotten.
“Oh, Brice. At last you are awake.”
“Am I?” On his face was a dreamy half smile. “I was afraid you were a ghostly specter, my lady.”
“I am no ghost.”
He glanced around, trying to focus his blurred vision. “Where are we?”
“In your sitting chamber at Kinloch House.”
“Truly?”
“Aye. Truly.” She laughed and laid his head back against a pillow of fur.
He wanted to tell her that he preferred to have his head in her lap. But it was proving difficult to keep his thoughts from scattering. And even more difficult to put them into words.
After a prolonged silence he murmured, “I dreamed I was in hell. And there were flames all about me.”
“There was a fire. Gareth MacKenzie ordered his men to set torches to your home. But after the invading army left, your people were able to put out the flames.”
“And you.” Brice lifted a hand to her cheek. Even that small effort cost him. But it was worth it to satisfy himself that she was truly here and not just a vision. “I feared that MacKenzie had spirited you away and had forced you to wed him.”
“Nay, my lord. I hid myself from view. Had I been braver I would have faced him with naught but my dirk. But like a coward I hid beneath your bed until he and his men were gone.”
“You? A coward?” At her words he wanted to laugh, but his throat was too raw. He lay there letting strong new emotions wash over him.
“And I have been here with you since. Even though I feared I had lost you.” She felt tears fill her eyes and spill over onto her cheeks, but she made no effort to wipe them. Instead she cupped his beloved face in her hands and studied him through the filmy haze. “Oh, Brice. I am so relieved that you have come back to the land of the living.”
Highland Barbarian (Highlander Series) Page 13