Highland Treasure

by Lynsay Sands

  Thinking to tell her his plans, and perhaps discover if Alick was right and she was struggling to maintain the pace he’d set for this ride, Rory urged his horse off the path to allow Alick’s mount to pass and waited for Lady Elysande to reach him. It was the only reason that he noted her trouble and was able to grab her up before she tumbled out of the saddle and to the ground.

  Chapter 2

  “M’lady!”

  It was a wonder Rory heard that shout over Lady Elysande’s scream of pain as he pulled her into his lap, but he did. Glancing around to see the English soldier trying to maneuver around the riderless mare to reach them, Rory barked, “Get her horse!” even as Lady Elysande went limp in his arms.

  Much to his relief the man obeyed at once, pausing to gather the reins of his mistress’s horse, though his expression was dissatisfied and anxious as he did.

  Rory lowered his gaze to the woman lying unmoving in his arms. Her veil had shifted, revealing half of one cheek, and the swollen skin there, black with bruising. Mouth tightening he shifted her to a more stable position in his arms and urged his horse to continue down the steep pass into the valley. He would have to wait until they reached the valley floor to examine her and he now wanted to get there as quickly as he could. Someone had beaten the lass. She needed tending.

  It was a good twenty minutes before they reached the valley floor and stopped. Elysande was beginning to stir by then, but hadn’t woken fully. She was moaning though, a low, pained moan between gasps for air that he knew spoke of agony. Rory didn’t understand what was paining her until Tom and Simon leapt from their horses and rushed to his side to take Elysande from him. It was the way they handled her that told him it was more than her face that was injured. They were careful to grasp her from each side, holding her upright by her upper arms as if she was walking, though she hadn’t yet regained consciousness. They carried her to an open area like that and set her slowly and cautiously down on her left side. To him that meant there was something wrong with her back, or perhaps her right side, or both.

  Cursing, Rory dismounted.

  “Let me see her,” he growled as he reached them. “I’m a healer. I can help.”

  Much to his surprise, Lady de Valance struggled to sit up, saying, “I do not need a healer.”

  Rory stopped at her feet and stared down at the top of her coif at that soft growl. She was awake.

  “Ye’ve bruising on yer face,” he said finally when not one of them looked up at him. Tom and Simon were crouching on either side of their lady, both eyeing her with concern as she stared down at the hands she held clenched in her lap. Regaining her composure was his guess, or waiting for pain to end. He’d seen it often enough with the wounded. The utter stillness, almost not breathing, as they waited for their agony to ease.

  Rory guessed that the worst of it had finally passed when she sighed and seemed to sag a bit where she sat. After a moment, she raised her head, peered at him through the filmy veil and said wryly, “I have bruises everywhere. But there is naught you can do about bruising, is there? Besides, ’tis not your healing I need, my lord, but your escort and your sword arm if there is trouble.”

  Rory blinked at the words. He wasn’t used to being needed for anything other than his healing abilities. In fact, he could not recall ever having someone require something else from him, especially not a strong sword arm. It wasn’t that he was not good in a battle. These last few years his brothers had insisted on his training with them in the practice field. Considering all the trouble his clan had encountered of late, he’d seen the wisdom of the suggestion and had set himself to the task. The activity had increased his bulk and he was now nearly as good as Aulay with the sword. He was just not used to anyone having a need of that new skill. It left him feeling a little taken aback, and yet he felt his chest puff up a bit at the same time. She needed his escort and protection.

  “Right,” he muttered aloud with a nod, then shifted uncertainly on his feet, before adding, “Ye’re probably hungry. I’ll fetch ye an oatcake to—”

  “We have food,” she interrupted, and then turned toward Tom and instructed, “Fetch the sack with the chicken and cheese. We shall share it with the Buchanans.”

  There was more than chicken and cheese in Lady Elysande’s sack. It held two roast chickens, cheese, bread and apples. Enough for all of them to eat well for the one meal at least. There was even a little left over when they finished and remounted.

  Rory watched with a frown as the English soldiers argued briefly with their lady about how to go about getting her in the saddle before she finally gave in to the necessity of allowing them to lift her onto it. He wanted to offer to have her ride with him, but suspected she wouldn’t appreciate the offer, so held his tongue.

  “Will she be all right?” Alick asked softly beside him as they waited for the two English soldiers to mount up and follow their mistress to them.

  Rory shook his head, not sure of the answer himself. If her back had been abused as badly as her face had appeared to be in the glimpse he’d got, riding could not be comfortable.

  “We’ll go slowly,” he decided, but Elysande heard him as she approached on her mount and shook her head.

  “Nay. Do not slow for me. I want to reach Sinclair as quickly as possible,” she said firmly.

  Rory scowled slightly, thinking that would be a mistake, but didn’t voice his concern. Shifting his gaze to Conn, he shrugged and said, “Ye heard her.”

  Nodding, Conn took the lead out of the small clearing. Inan immediately followed, but this time Rory had the lass and her men fall in next so that he and Alick rode behind with Fearghas and Donnghail. He wanted to keep an eye on Elysande to judge for himself how she fared. If she showed signs of having trouble keeping up the grueling pace, he would signal Conn to slow. Or take her on his horse whether she liked it or not. Although, Rory supposed, sitting leaning back against him would not be comfortable for her either if her back was paining her.

  He contemplated that problem over the next two hours as they galloped through the early afternoon. It had been cold when they left Monmouth, but was growing colder still as the day drew on. It was quite frigid by midafternoon when Lady de Valance began to sway in her saddle again. Rory whistled to signal for Conn to stop and urged his horse up past the English soldiers to reach the mare’s side.

  “Ye’re wearying,” he said without preamble when Elysande drew her mount to a halt and turned to peer at him.

  “I am fine,” she assured him, sitting up a little straighter. “There is no need to stop for the night so early. I will manage.”

  “Ye’re no’ fine,” Rory argued. “Ye’ve done well, but ye’re beginning to struggle and I’d rather no’ have to sew up a head wound, or bury ye do ye break yer neck falling from yer horse.”

  He couldn’t see her expression, but the way one hand clenched around the cloak she was holding closed and the other on her reins told him she wasn’t pleased. “I do not wish to stop so early. I want to get as far from—”

  “I was no’ suggesting stopping,” he interrupted, and when she stilled and tilted her head, Rory said, “Ye can ride with me.”

  He watched the veil billow slightly as she heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Riding with you at my back would be more painful than riding alone.”

  “Aye. I thought it might,” he admitted. “But what if ye rode at my back? Would that pain ye too?”

  She seemed to still at that, and he could sense the uncertainty rolling off her. “At your back?”

  “Aye, behind me with yer arms around me waist. Ye could lean on me back, and we can tie yer hands together to keep ye in place should ye fall asleep.”

  A moment of silence passed and then she said, “Aye.”

  Rory nodded and leaned to the side to retrieve the small length of rope he kept with the medicinals in a sack that hung from his saddle. By the time he straightened with the rope in hand, her soldiers had dismounted and moved up to help her from her horse to his
. Rory waited and watched, ready to offer assistance if it was needed, but unwilling to touch her without permission.

  From his position he was able to see that Elysande had been sitting astride her mare rather than sidesaddle. He’d suspected as much, but the thick, voluminous fur-lined cloak had draped down either side of the horse, hiding her well enough to make him unsure. Now, as her cloak flapped open, he saw that aside from her unconventional choice in riding position, she also wore unconventional clothes. Lady de Valance had men’s breeks under her gown, the skirts of which had been hitched up to allow her to sit astride the animal. The knowledge made him think of his sister, Saidh, who had absolutely no qualms about wearing men’s clothing when she wanted to. It made him wonder about this woman’s character. Was she bold and daring like Saidh? Or had it only been necessity that had made her don the breeks?

  Rory didn’t know. Hell, he didn’t know anything about her except her name and that she was the half-English cousin of Campbell Sinclair. He hadn’t asked his questions of her while they ate their meal as he’d intended. Her posture had been so exhausted and stiff as they’d sat on a fallen tree partaking of the food her men had presented that he’d left her to cope with her pains and consume her meal, which she had managed to do with the veil on. She’d simply slipped the food under the cloth and up to her mouth. But he really needed to ask some of those questions swarming around inside his head soon. How had she come by the bruising she admitted to? Why was she traveling with only two men rather than a large contingent? Why was she going to Sinclair at all?

  Rory was distracted from his thoughts when Lady de Valance was finally settled on the saddle behind him and he felt her arms slide around his waist. He glanced down at her hands in her fur gloves. Despite the fact that her chest brushed his back, her hands barely met, the tips of her mitts merely reaching each other. Hoping that was because she was petite and not a sign that he’d gained weight during his stay in England, Rory tied one end of the rope to one wrist over the gloves and then tied the other to her second wrist, leaving a little slack so it didn’t pull on her while they rode.

  “Is that all right? It’s no’ too tight?” he asked once he was done.

  “Nay. ’Tis fine,” she assured him quietly.

  “Sleep if ye wish,” Rory suggested. “I’ll ensure ye stay in the saddle.” When Elysande didn’t respond and remained stiff and upright behind him, he glanced around to be sure someone had the reins of her mare. Seeing that the soldier named Tom had taken on that chore, he whistled to Conn to let him know they were ready, then urged his horse to follow when Conn, Inan and Alick headed out before him.

  They rode like that until near dark. At first, Lady de Valance remained stiff and upright behind him, but gradually she began to relax and lean into him. When she finally slumped against his back, he knew she’d either fainted or fallen asleep. Either way, it was for the best. She was right—there was no healing for bruises except the passage of time, and sleep could only help with it.

  Elysande didn’t wake up right away when Rory finally called a halt to their journey. Not even when he untied the rope around her wrists. It wasn’t until her men had lifted her from his saddle and had her halfway to the ground that she woke and then it was with an agonized cry that she quickly cut off. She remained stoically silent after that as they set her down, but he suspected the movement was causing her great pain and wished he could see her face to know just how much. He also wished he could examine the bruises to see how much damage she’d suffered, but suspected that wasn’t likely to happen. The woman was covered from head to toe and her complete refusal of his help earlier made it obvious she would not willingly reveal her injuries to him. That being the case there was little he could do except perhaps offer her a tincture to help her sleep through the pain.

  That last thought had Rory grabbing his bag of medicinals the moment he’d dismounted and opening it to see if he had the weeds needed to make such a tincture. Much to his relief he did have them. He also had the metal chalice he carried with him to mix such tinctures in. All he needed was water. His gaze slid to the river that sided one end of the clearing they’d stopped in. It was narrow, and ice was forming along the sides, but the center was bubbling with moving water. It would be cold, but would do.

  Rory glanced around for Lady Elysande then. She was moving stiffly away into the woods, no doubt to find a private spot to relieve herself and manage personal issues. He’d have the tincture mixed and waiting when she returned, he decided, and walked to the river’s edge to scoop up water with the chalice. She’d be asleep within minutes after drinking the tincture he planned to make for her and that would be a good thing.

  Every step Elysande took seemed to jar. Her muscles screamed at the movement and her skin would have wept if it could have. So would she, but she’d cried herself dry hours ago, grateful for the veil that hid her body’s response to her pain. Elysande wasn’t one who usually cried, but she hadn’t been able to stop and hadn’t tried. It wasn’t just the physical pain that brought the tears on. She was grieving too, and knew those tears must flow at some point. Better to let them out while she was on horseback and no one was likely to hear, than to be sobbing when she was surrounded by the men.

  Elysande made herself walk a good distance from the clearing before she decided she’d gone far enough to ensure privacy while she took care of her personal needs. She then leaned her good shoulder wearily against a tree, giving herself a moment to gather strength before she bent to the effort of pushing her breeches down, hiking her skirts up and squatting to relieve herself. It was all hard work for her at this point, but pulling up her breeches and straightening was even harder and for one moment she feared she’d have to suffer the humiliation of calling for help to rise. But the idea of the pity on the men’s faces was enough to force her upright despite the screaming agony it caused.

  Elysande paused again to rest, leaning her face and chest against the tree as she waited for her breathing to slow. Dear God, her life had become some sort of hell, and so quickly. She’d never suffered such pain in her life. Not like this. Feeling depression and grief pressing down on her, she shook off her thoughts for now. She couldn’t let herself weaken. She needed to remain strong. At least until she reached Sinclair.

  She had no idea how long the journey was, but surely they could be there within a week at the speed they were traveling? Then she could collapse and let her aunt and cousin deal with everything while she healed. One week. Seven days. She could bear anything for seven days, Elysande assured herself. She would just take one day at a time.

  Sighing, she lifted her head and straightened. She was turning to head back to the men when she heard the sound of bubbling water. On impulse, Elysande moved toward the sound until she broke out of the trees onto the edge of a fast-moving river. This was the sound she’d heard, the water rushing downstream, splashing over and around the rocks and boulders in the riverbed.

  Elysande stared at it for a minute, noting the ice forming on the sides where outcroppings forestalled movement and the water was still. It would be bitter cold, she knew, but cold was supposed to be good for bruising, wasn’t it? At least her mother had always told her that it helped. Usually that was directly after an injury though, and it had been a couple days since she’d suffered hers. On the other hand, the cold might numb her pain a little.

  At this point Elysande was willing to try anything, including a dip in the shallow icy river. Except that she didn’t trust herself to be able to get in and out with her body as weak and pained as it was now. But perhaps she could dip the tunic she wore into the water and then put it back on. That might help a bit, numb her back and ease the pain enough to let her fall asleep. Sleep was her only escape from it at the moment.

  Aye, she’d try it, Elysande decided grimly, and reached up to undo the clasp that held her cloak together.

  Rory used a small branch he’d found to again stir the tincture he’d made, and then glanced toward the spot where Elysand
e had disappeared into the trees. She was taking an extremely long time about her business. Long enough, in fact, that he was starting to worry. He wasn’t the only one. He’d noticed the way Tom and Simon were watching the woods and talking quietly, concerned expressions on their faces.

  Alick’s arrival at his side drew his attention from the men and he glanced at his brother as he settled on the log next to him. “She’s been gone awhile.”

  Rory grimaced. Alick was the least observant of his brothers. If he thought it had been a while, it had been much longer than he’d realized.

  Cursing under his breath, Rory handed the full chalice to Alick, muttered, “Hold this,” and then stood. He would just go check on her and make sure she hadn’t fainted or run into difficulties of some sort, Rory told himself as he headed for the woods. He wasn’t at all surprised when the two Englishmen hurried to follow him.

  None of them spoke as they moved into the trees. Rory didn’t because he was listening for any noise that might lead him to the lady. He supposed that was also why the other two men were silent. They’d gone quite a distance when Tom suddenly grabbed his arm and pointed ahead and to the left a bit.

  Rory stopped to look, but didn’t at first see what had caught the soldier’s attention until movement caught his eye close to the ground. It was a lighter brown amid the dark brown tree trunks about forty feet ahead, and he watched it briefly before he recognized what he was seeing. Lady de Valance was kneeling on the cold hard ground in nothing but a pair of breeks and a light-brown tunic that was partially obscured by the long, silky black hair now flowing freely down her back.

  Grunting acknowledgment that he’d seen her, Rory started slowly forward again, thinking that he would just ensure himself she was all right, and then retreat if she wished it.

  He was just ten feet away when a splash of silver blue drew his gaze to the clothing lying in a pile next to her, but then movement drew his gaze back to Elysande. She had straightened and was now removing the tunic she wore, pulling it slowly up to tug it off over her head. Rory jerked to a stop, stifling a startled mutter when Tom didn’t stop fast enough and bumped into his shoulder. They all stood silent then, watching as Lady Elysande’s back slowly came into view, revealing inch by painful inch of the mottled red and black color that covered most of her back and her right side, leaving only a strip of pale unblemished white skin on her left side.