She nodded, unwilling to argue any longer. Whether or not he returned changed nothing. “In the meantime, will you help me get the things I need?”
“I will, though I dinna approve.” She frowned.
Dressed in brown wool from head to toe to blend into the background, Alethia woke Hunter in the predawn hours of the morning and urged him to hurry getting dressed. She was anxious to check the snares she’d set the day before, and she wanted to be in the blind she’d prepared by the deer path before sunrise. If all went according to plan, she’d have a brace of coneys or fresh venison to share with the clan this evening.
It had taken a week to set up camp next to a stream feeding the lake. She kept her tools and weapons there, along with a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved tee, and wool jackets she’d made for herself and Hunter. She’d built a wooden rack for drying meat and frames for stretching hides.
She and Hunter crept out of the keep through the kitchen, taking up the oatcakes left for them as they went. They ate their breakfast as they walked along the path through the kitchen garden to the postern gate in the inner curtain wall. She took Hunter’s hand and led him to the boat Ian had loaned them, careful to keep to the shadows along the way.
Once on shore, they hid the boat in the brush and followed the stream to the small clearing where their camp was located. Alethia had made a small lean-to under a large oak where she kept her things. She quickly changed into her street clothes and folded her gown and chemise, stowing them away. It wouldn’t do to return with bloodstains on her gown, and jeans made everything so much easier to maneuver. Tapping Hunter, she gave directions. “Stay by me. Do not wander. Watch what I do, and I’ll teach you as we go.” Taking him by the hand again, she set out to check her snares, following the signs she’d left to mark the way.
They passed a thicket of wild roses, and she made a mental note to bring a basket to gather the rose hips. The vitamin C from rose hip tea would be needed during the long winter months ahead. She looked for other useful plants along the way, her eyes searching the ground and brush they passed through.
By midmorning, she’d gutted and skinned six fat hares. They hung from a branch on the oak while she worked to scrape the fat and flesh from their hides. Her kettle of water hung over the fire from the tripod she’d made from green wood. Hunter’s job was to keep the fire fed, and he scurried through the forest to collect wood.
She felt good for the first time in days. Her efforts would contribute to the well-being of her tribe—or clan. Tonight the people she cared about would eat a stew made from the hares she’d snared. She had six furs to tan, a good start toward preparing for winter. All her snares were reset, and if they were successful, she’d have six more tomorrow.
Venison could wait. This week, hares and other small animals were the furs du jour.
Work kept her mind off her fear for Malcolm. She didn’t let the thought that he might not come back enter her thoughts. When dark feelings threatened, she forced herself to think of other things.
By late afternoon she could do no more. She and Hunter cleaned up and packed everything away for the day. She washed her hands and arms in the warm water she’d kept heated and changed back into her gown. She smothered the fire and gathered the hares. They were bound in pairs by the feet so Hunter could carry his share. “You were a great help today. Tomorrow we’ll come back and check the snares again.”
“Tomorrow I get to skin them?”
Boys and gore. She smiled at him and ruffled his short hair. “I’ll let you try. It looks easier than it is. I’ve had many years of practice.” She couldn’t help but be pleased. Hunter had shown himself to be an apt student and very eager to learn. Gathering up her share of their burden, she took his hand and started down the path to the boat.
A twig snapped behind her, and she froze. Turning slowly, she probed the shadows surrounding their camp. Hunter tugged on her hand. “What is it?” he asked.
“Probably an animal attracted by the smell of our kills.” She gave their surroundings one more look. Turning again toward the path, Alethia headed back to the island.
Liam stepped out of the forest into the clearing as True disappeared down the trail, Galen beside him. He looked about him at her handiwork with a mixture of frustration and admiration. “What the devil is she up to?”
“Does she no’ realize we can see the smoke from her fire, Liam?”
“Nay, it did no’ occur to her.” They’d known it couldn’t be an enemy’s fire. Still, the men on guard duty were puzzled by the smoke rising from the forest. None of the villagers would be out knowing they were on alert for an attack by the Comyns. Relief that they’d come to him rather than investigate on their own washed through him. “You did well to come to me, Galen.”
“Aye, I knew it could only be one of our own. We would have seen if there were strangers on our land. What was Lady True wearing? I’ve never seen the like on a lass.” Galen walked around her camp, examining everything.
“I dinna ken.” He’d averted his eyes when she’d changed back into her gown and saw to it Galen did as well. ’Twould surely send Malcolm into fits to learn any of his men had watched her disrobe thus. “They must be a garment the men of her country wear. Why does she carry such a garment with her?”
“I dinna ken.” Galen shook his head.
Liam walked over to the furs stretched inside their wooden frames. He could scarce believe it. Aye, ladies hunted, but they did not often butcher or skin their kills, nor did they tan the hides. Their clan had a tanner for such. He shook his head. “’Tis obvious she’s skilled at what she’s about, though I dinna ken the why of it. All she need do is ask for what she needs.”
“Would you?” Galen asked.
“Would I what?”
Galen rubbed the back of his neck before he spoke. “If ye were snatched from Scotia, transported to a foreign land far across the ocean, and were taken in by people you did no’ ken, would you ask for the things you need?”
“Humph, nay. I’d be anxious to prove myself an asset.” Walking over to the lean-to, he reached out to touch the faded indigo fabric of her strange trews. Heavy and coarse, he’d never felt anything like it. Their Lady True held secrets and depths he could only guess at. “Think you our Lady True seeks to prove something here?”
“Mayhap.” Galen shrugged. “She’s a woman. What do I ken about how a woman reasons?”
Liam grunted. “What do any of us ken about how a woman reasons?” He’d been charged with keeping her safe, and he would. How to do so had been left up to him. “Galen, mayhap ’twould be best to let her continue to hunt. Malcolm wants her to remain on the island behind the curtain wall, but I see no harm being done here. Being occupied thus will keep her mind off worrying about him.”
“Malcolm will be displeased.”
“Aye.” He grinned. “He will. Certainly he would prefer she hunt than to make herself ill pining away for him in her chamber.” Besides, Liam admired her skill, and he enjoyed a good coney stew. ’Twas good she kept busy. He’d been concerned when she’d taken to her bed for two days and nights. This seemed the perfect solution.
With a constant guard in the hills surrounding their village, they would have fair warning if an enemy approached. It would be a simple matter to get True back to her boat and to the island now that he knew her exact location. Curiosity overwhelmed him. “What will she hunt next, do you think? Wild boar?” He laughed aloud at the picture in his mind.
“I hope not.” Galen shot him a look of alarm. “Malcolm will have our testicles for it if we let her risk such a thing.”
“Yours maybe.” He grinned at Galen. “I’ve always been able to outrun him. We’ll post a guard, only men we trust. See to it, Galen, and instruct them to keep their distance. We canna have any of them see her disrobe. Form a perimeter of safety unobtrusively. I’ll take a turn when I can get away from my duties.” He looked around the neat, efficient hunting camp one more time, bid Galen follow and walked back into
the shadows of the forest. Shaking his head again, he wondered how Malcolm would react to all of this. Liam looked forward to finding out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the fortnight since he’d discovered True’s hunting camp, Liam had been surprised to learn that everyone working in the keep knew what she was up to. They also knew Malcolm had forbidden her to leave the confines of the curtain wall. And yet, not one of them had come forward to tell him of her daily forays to the mainland.
She had their loyalty.
Their cook, Molly, even went so far as to leave breakfast out each morn for her and Hunter. Even more amusing, they all blamed Malcolm, referring to True as the “puir lass,” whom he’d left without first providing for her needs. Putting the last tally down on his inventory, he shook his head and smiled as he left the buttery. The whole situation had become ludicrous.
Entering the great hall from the rear of the keep, Liam heard True’s name mentioned. He recognized the voice of Angus’s wife, Alice, and stopped to listen.
“You ken what we must do, Margaret,” Alice said.
“Aye. There’s nothing for it but to find our Lady True a proper husband. I had thought Malcolm would claim her. Though she has no dowry, he certainly seemed inclined.”
“Margaret,” Alice scolded. “He’s the one who caused her to labor as she has in the first place. Nay, to my way o’ thinkin’, young Robley’s our man. My Angus told me he declared for her the day our clan found her.”
“Humph, he’s a womanizing rapscallion, that one. I say Liam is the best choice for our Lady True. He’s always been the more responsible of Robert’s two lads. A finer man you couldna find. And comely as well.”
“Mayhap, but Robley is willing.”
“Ye’ve a point there,” Margaret conceded.
Liam ran his hand over his face and backed away. His amusement turned to dismay. No doubt his little brother would embrace their plan with fervent enthusiasm. Even if he wasn’t serious, he’d go along with it to goad Malcolm.
For certes, Liam was in a bind. If he procured furs and hides for True, putting an end to her need to hunt, the keep would be rife with speculation he wanted her for himself. And it would make no difference that he claimed to do so on Malcolm’s behalf. His people loved to gossip. In their minds, such a scenario would surely lead to an entertaining confrontation between him and Malcolm for True’s hand—more fodder for their wagging tongues.
Pretending that he didn’t know where True went every morning put him under an enormous strain. No one said a word about the fresh venison and coneys they ate each night for supper. Even his Aunt Lydia turned a blind eye.
Liam left the keep through the kitchen, avoiding the curious looks sent his way by Molly and her assistants. He hoped Malcolm would return soon. He hadn’t seen his own Lady Mairen in over a month, and he longed to lose himself in her sweet embrace.
Thoughts of his love turned his mind to the Comyn clan. Now more than ever he and Mairen would have to take care not to be discovered. Once the Comyn laird learned of Malcolm’s retribution in Nairn, he’d know for certain he harbored a spy within his holding.
Fearing for Mairen’s safety, Liam had taken steps months ago to plant someone he trusted in the Comyn keep to watch over her. And even though Mairen had not been the source of Liam’s information, the Comyn laird would take his frustration out on his only daughter. Just as he’d done with Mairen’s mother, until the day she died. He’d killed his own wife, and none would convict him. ’Twas a beating gone too far, one too many times.
The setting sun sent golden beams of light through the trees surrounding her clearing, alerting Alethia it was time to pack it up for the day and return to the island. She and Hunter were loading the boat when the warning horn sounded in the village. Two tones.
It had to be Malcolm and his men!
Alethia threw their things in a heap on the bottom of the dingy, helped Hunter in and shoved the boat off the shore in a rush. Only two tones had sounded. Did that mean there were no wounded? She rowed for all she was worth, aiming the small boat like a missile for the island. Once there, she dragged it into the brush, grabbed what she could carry and started for the keep, confident that Hunter would follow with whatever he could manage. She’d return later for the rest.
The moment she entered the kitchen, all eyes turned to her. The concern emanating from them nearly bowled her over. “What is it?”
“It’s Malcolm, lass.” Molly walked over and took the bundles Alethia held.
“Where is he?” Her heart hammered against her ribcage, and her mouth went dry. She’d known. All along she’d known something would happen, and now it had. She tried to swallow past the lump and couldn’t.
“In the great hall being tended by his men. He’s been hurt. I’m boiling water as ye said to if there be wounded.” Molly gestured to the cauldron in the hearth. “What would ye have me do with it, my lady?”
“Fetch my basket for healing and bring it to the great hall. You know which one I mean?” she signed to Hunter. He nodded and was off in a flash. Alethia ran. As she reached the great hall, the sight before her froze her to the spot. Angus approached Malcolm’s bloodied body lying prone on one of the plank tables, a knife glowing red hot in his hand. Alethia gasped in horror. “Stop! Don’t you dare touch him with that!”
Angus froze, startled by her shout, and Liam took her by the arms, turning her away from Malcolm. “True, we must stop the bleeding. His wound is deep, and he’s lost too much blood already. ’Tis certain to cause fever if not cauterized. This would have been done in the field if Malcolm hadn’t insisted he be brought home first.”
“It must be done quickly.” Angus moved toward the table.
She jerked herself free of Liam’s hold and placed herself between Malcolm and the glowing blade. “I want to see him.” Cautiously she moved closer. Malcolm was deathly pale, his clothing soaked in blood. His eyes found hers. She swallowed the sob threatening to escape and bent to examine him just as his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp.
His wound had been unwrapped to sear. He’d been cut open from his left clavicle to the bend in his elbow. Alethia could see exposed bone at his shoulder, and the deep cut through the bicep oozed blood. “If you sear him with that blade, his arm will be damaged forever.”
“If I dinna, he could die from blood loss or fever, lass. Give way.” Angus took her forearm to move her from her place. For the first time, she noticed the others in the hall. Lydia and Elaine stood frozen in place as Alethia stood firm. “Lydia?” Alethia met her eyes. “He’s your son. Will you let me try to help him?” Lydia nodded, and relief washed through her.
“Beth, get me hot water from the kitchen.” Hunter ran to her side with her basket. “I need light.”
Elaine responded immediately, bringing lit candles close and placing them on the table. Alethia’s hands trembled as she rolled up the sleeves of her chemise. What did she know about stitching flesh? Nothing. She only knew the wound needed to be cleaned and disinfected to prevent fever, or worse, gangrene. This was Malcolm. She couldn’t fail him. Surely this was the moment for which she’d been brought to this time and place.
Beth returned with hot water, and Alethia washed her shaking hands and arms with the soap she’d tucked away. As she began the daunting task of cleaning Malcolm’s wound, thoughts of tetanus from a rusted blade flitted through her mind. Dear God, so much could go wrong. She fought the urge to retch, and inhaled deeply several times and forced the fear out of her mind. Stitching skin together couldn’t be that difficult. Certainly not any more difficult than sewing deer hide.
Except this was the man she loved lying before her so pale and still.
If she had been with him, could she have prevented him from being wounded? Anger and frustration at being left behind flooded her—and her hands steadied. Glad for the moment he was out cold, she doused the wound with the whiskey.
Alethia hovered, threaded needle in hand, unsure how to
proceed. What stitch should she use? Holding her breath, she made the first stitch near the bend in his elbow, wanting to get to the deepest part of the cut first. She concentrated fully on closing the wound and worked silently for what seemed like hours. Her back ached from bending over him. A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and Alethia glanced up for a second to see Lydia by her side.
“He’ll live, True. He’s lost quite a bit of blood, and he will be weak for a se’nnight at least, but ’tis no’ a mortal wound if he’s no’ taken with a fever.”
Alethia nodded, turning back to her task. When had the tears started? Malcolm’s breathing seemed too shallow, and his skin felt cold and clammy. “Beth,” she called.
“Aye, Lady True?” She was at her side in seconds.
“Can you get blankets to cover him? And please ask Molly to prepare a hot broth of beef or venison. He’ll need fluids.”
“Besides the wound, he took a nasty blow to the head.” Robley stood at her elbow. “We were ambushed not a league from home. ’Twas Hugh and the remaining Comyns we routed from Meikle Geddes.”
“And what of Hugh?” Elaine asked the question that burned in Alethia’s mind.
“Once he knew he couldn’t win, he fled like the coward he is,” Robley said, his tone flat.
“And you did no’ pursue him?” Lydia asked.
“Nay. We had Malcolm to tend, and he wished to come home.”
“Hugh’s day will come,” Angus added grimly. “Malcolm will want the privilege himself, aye?”
Once she finished stitching him back together, Liam and Angus came to carry him to his chamber. She followed, anxious to remain by his side.
Lydia stopped her. “My dear, you are needed in the hall. There are other wounds to tend. Malcolm’s chamber is no place for you right now. Once he’s taken care of, then you may go to his side with Elaine in attendance.”
“But—”
“Liam and Angus will see he’s bathed and put to bed.” Lydia turned her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle push away from the stairs.
True to the Highlander (The Novels of Loch Moigh) Page 17