Ellenor swallowed and renewed her attention on Dugan’s wound. “I will be as soon as I get this poultice on. He needs to be back at Fàire Creachann, out of the cold and where he can be tended better.” She glanced at the afternoon sun. It took two hours of hard riding to get where they were and it would be several more to return, especially with Dugan needing to be carried. Traveling at night was dangerous, but it couldn’t be helped. “We’ll have to stop often so that I can check the stitches and his bleeding.”
Cole’s deep blue eyes narrowed and then he shook his head. “You’ll be returning with me. If Dugan arrives alive, you can tend him then.” He then pivoted and barked out some clipped instructions.
Ellenor considered arguing, but Jaime stared at her and gave an almost imperceptible shake to his head. “Nay, my lady. The laird is right. The man who did that is still out there and it is more important to get you back to safety. I wasn’t thinking when I asked you to come out here. I only knew if you hadn’t come…”
“Dugan would be dead,” Ellenor finished for him.
“Aye.”
She swallowed and then knelt down to finish wrapping the poultice so that it would stay on the wound. She made the bindings a little tighter than preferable, but she hoped it would provide additional support to keep the gash from reopening. By the time she was done, Cole was back by her side, helping her to stand. Wordlessly, she allowed him to guide her to her horse and help her mount. Minutes later, they were gone and Dugan’s fate was in the hands of the Lord.
The ride back was uneventful, but silent. No one felt the need to speak. In Ellenor’s case, she didn’t know what to say. They arrived and handed their weary dismounts to a sleepy stable master, who had just retired for the evening. Cole walked her to the odd-shaped tower she had guessed was the keep. He told her to go to the third floor and that he would return shortly. She nodded and watched him head across the grassy yard to the Lower Hall.
She was tempted to find Brighid and bring her up to speed. Her friend no doubt was pacing the floors, wondering what had happened and was probably fearing the worse. Unfortunately, Ellenor had no idea where she was. That was probably a blessing for Ellenor was not in the right frame of mind for company or being hammered with questions. Mostly because so many of them had no answers.
She longed for a place to organize her thoughts and consider what had been said, and even more important, what had not been said. For years that place had been a small lake where she enjoyed swimming in the nude. The water rushing over her skin had a calming effect that she thought unparalleled until the first night she had slept in Cole’s arms. Here, at Fàire Creachann, water surrounded her, but it was inaccessible and far from calm. The crashing waves pounded the cliffs, but the sound had a hypnotic quality and Ellenor found herself drawn to its music.
Opting to delay going inside, she moved across the yard to the open area along the wall. The thick clouds from this morning had thinned, allowing pockets of moonlight to shine through on the castle and the sea. Ellenor stared at the glittering view. Memories of her father came forward, telling her to make a wish. Tonight, she wished for many things, but most of all, she yearned to know her husband a little better.
He loved her and she him, but that singular emotion was far from insightful. Years from now, she would know what to expect and could prepare herself for his reaction. She would know if he would want to talk about his plans and, if so, when. She would know if he wanted feedback or if he would rather be left alone. A trust beyond their emotional bond would have been planted and cultivated, something only time could do. Meanwhile, she could only be herself and find out the hard way what was too little and too much. Regardless, she fully intended on being by Cole’s side, supporting him in whatever way she could. The question was, would Cole accept it?
Ellenor did not intend to interfere with his responsibilities as laird, but sitting meekly by the side was not something she could endure for long…if at all. And nothing in their short relationship gave her any insight as to how Cole planned to integrate her with his life.
Oh, how she wished she knew her husband better.
Ellenor stared at the endless sea. A strong wind coming off the An Cuan Sgìth caused her to shiver. The clouds had started to thicken again, and the masses blocked the moon, turning the area nearly pitch black. Only the sound remained. The scene was a metaphor for the events that had been unfolding for weeks.
The attack had been almost inevitable. Even who was injured could have been predicted. Dugan’s intentions had been on trying to help. That was obvious, even to the most unintelligent. His decision to move the men, however, was debatable. Then there was Leith, Dugan’s best friend. Was he still? To know, Dugan needed to survive, and if he did live, he needed to prove just whom he was loyal to…his friend or his laird. Ellenor considered the puzzle for a while, but in the end was no closer to an opinion. Loyalty to friends ran deep with these Highlanders. Cole’s promise to Robert proved that. However, honor was just as important, if not more, and Dugan had pledged his to Cole.
A bright light flickered across the yard and Ellenor glanced over her shoulder to see the hall’s door open and several men step out. Cole was among them. The door swung shut again. Cole turned and began walking toward the keep but the rest headed toward the makeshift living quarters established near the well and old kitchen. Ellenor grimaced. Donald was among those shadows and that meant Brighid’s temporary home was far from ideal.
Ellenor swung her gaze around to the keep. A light glimmered from two windows situated close to each other high along the tower wall. A fire was lit somewhere inside that room. Her and Cole’s room, a place she had yet to see.
Cole must have seen her and adjusted his stride accordingly. When he reached her side, he pulled her into his arms and held her for several seconds, as if just having her close made things better. “Come, let’s retire. On the way, I’ll tell you what I can.”
All the tension and worry of whether he would shut her out vanished with that one comment. Ellenor felt as if a large boulder that had been pressing down upon her was suddenly lifted. The need for explanations went with it. Just knowing he was willing to share was what she needed and he had given that to her.
Ellenor leaned into his side and allowed him to steer her toward the keep. “Tell me about Leith.” It was the one subject she knew the littlest about and was the most dangerous.
Cole didn’t answer, but Ellenor could feel his chest rise and fall quickly as if he were chuckling. “Leave it to my wife to ask about the one man everyone else avoided.”
“Then what were you talking about?”
“Dugan.”
Ellenor frowned. “What can you do or decide until you speak with him?”
“That wasn’t the point.”
Understanding suddenly overcame her. “Oh,” she whispered. They had discussed Dugan to avoid discussing Leith. Ellenor could appreciate why. The men, no doubt Donald in particular, were grappling with the concept of someone treating their laird in such a way. A concept Ellenor had no problems facing. There were bad men in this world, and they did not always belong to a distant warring country. Sometimes they slept next to you. Pretending otherwise was a quick way to getting hurt…or worse. She had learned that the hard way.
“Tell me about Leith,” she prompted again. And listened as Cole told her all he knew.
Chapter 15
“Roll over on your side,” Ellenor instructed for the second time.
“Ahh, what would I do without you, love?” Dugan inquired dreamily as he did her bidding.
Ellenor raised an eyebrow but decided to let the endearment go. It wasn’t the first time Dugan had tried flirting with her, but those other times he had been delirious with fever. “Well, at least you no longer think I am an angel sent down to guide your way to heaven,” Ellenor replied.
“But I do,” he countered. “The most beautiful Scottish angel in the land.”
“I’m not Scottish,” Ellenor informed h
im, leaning over to examine his wound. Her hair fell and he reached up to tuck it behind her ear. She jumped back out of reach.
Dugan was stunned. Her reaction had not been one of chastity, and recoils such as the one she just exhibited were not caused from mere discomfort. Every instinct in him screamed out that she needed protecting. Never did he want to see that look of panic in her eyes again—especially related to him.
“I promise not to hurt you.”
Ellenor gave her head a little shake and forced ease into her expression and stance. She returned to his side and gave him a little push, indicating for him to roll back over. “Of course not. You just startled me.”
“Well, just in case it was something more, know that I am the commander of this clan and can protect you. I will make sure you are well treated.”
Ellenor’s hands froze in shock. The man had no idea who she was. “I’m glad to hear it, because as Lady McTiernay and the chieftain’s wife, I expect no less.”
The blood drained out of Dugan’s face. He reached over for the pitcher Brighid had left out for him and took several swigs. “You’re…you’re…the laird’s wife? The one he went down to marry?”
“I am. Now, hold still.”
The stitches had held during his transport to the castle, but the skin around them had grown red, puffy, and had begun to ooze stuff she knew wasn’t part of the healing process. Fever had set in soon afterward. She had felt helpless, knowing only to keep cool compresses on him and keep replacing the poultice on his wound. She fed him some of the weed Hagatha said fought delirium, and after two long days, the fever was gone. The pain, however, wasn’t.
Brighid had placed a couple of crocks of mead near him, and judging by the empty ones on the table and the nearly empty one in his hand, Dugan was grateful for the anesthetic help. He took another swallow as she finished. “Will I live?”
Ellenor smiled and said, “I need to replace your dressing, but yes, I think you will live. However, you will have to remain quiet for a couple of weeks and I expect by then you’ll be howling about your living death.” She walked over to where she had placed the herbs and began to make a paste.
Dugan swallowed the rest of the crock’s contents and grunted. He tossed it on the floor and waved a finger in her direction. “I shouldn’t say this so I won’t. But you are pretty. I mean really pretty. And nice, too. Pretty and nice.”
Ellenor glanced back and rolled her eyes. “And you, Commander, are drunk.”
“Aye, very. Gotta be. The only thing to keep the pain away. Not to mention I got stabbed by my best friend.”
“You try to induce sympathy where there is none.”
Dugan tried to prop himself up on his elbows and groaned with agony.
Ellenor used her chin to point to the crocks full of mead. “Might want to watch the stuff.”
“And you know what else you are? Honest. An honest angel sent here to help me.”
“I’m not anyone’s angel.”
“You’re the laird’s.”
Ellenor shook her head. Dugan would probably never believe Cole’s nickname for her, babag. Filthy woman was about as far from angel as one could get.
She walked back over, sat down next to Dugan, and removed the old dressing. She grimaced as she cleaned the wound. She was hurting him, but he didn’t say a word. He just held his breath. Finally she was done.
“Did I hurt you too much?”
Dugan shook his head. “Not comfortable, but that’s not what’s ailing me the most.”
The man was green and Ellenor bit her bottom lip to keep from chuckling. “I’m guessing that you are not a drinker.”
“Avoid the stuff usually. Seen what it does. Makes men say and do stuff that they shouldn’t.” He paused as Ellenor placed a new poultice against his side. “God, you are beautiful.”
“And I’m nice and honest.”
“And married to a man who doesn’t like people.”
Ellenor put Dugan’s hand against the cloth to hold it in place as she began to bind his side. “Cole likes people.”
Dugan shrugged. “Well, maybe, but people don’t like him.”
“I do.”
“And that doesn’t make sense. He’s not likable! I’m likable. I mean, don’t you like me?”
Any other time, Ellenor would have torn into Dugan, but she knew it was mostly the mead talking. “I must admit that I do.”
“And you’re surprised by that. I can tell. You like me, but you don’t trust me.”
Ellenor tied off the binding and stood up. “Trust has to be earned and we just met.”
He watched as she went to the basin and cleaned her hands of his blood. “Your husband…everyone trusts him,” Dugan slurred. “He commands respects and gets it. I try to do the same and even my own men ignore my orders.”
Ellenor turned around, leaned against the table, and dried off her hands. “You’re talking about Leith now.”
“He was my friend. My best friend and he betrayed me.”
“Can I ask you a question? How can you lead a friend? I’ve never met anyone who could.”
Dugan tilted his brow with a look of uncertainty. “What do you mean?”
“Only that commands are issued from superiors, and friends are equal. Friends make decisions through agreement, so when you stepped into a leadership role, you cannot be surprised when those closest to you rebelled.”
“So are you saying none of the men can be my friends? That sounds miserable. Not to mention lonely.”
Ellenor stood up and went to look out the window. Dugan was in the only other tower with a floor and a ceiling, and while his room wasn’t nearly as large as those of the keep, it did have a lovely view. “You’re right. It is lonely. Maybe that’s why not just anyone can be a good leader.”
“What about the laird?”
Ellenor turned around. “What about Cole?”
“Donald…Jaime. They are his friends.”
A frown overcame her features. “I would say that they were the closest things he had to friends for a long while, but in the truest sense of the word? No. I don’t think they ever will be. After being together for years, there is enormous respect and trust between them, but there is also a distance, one that will never be bridged. Cole gathers information. He listens, and then he makes his decisions alone. He always has.”
“Don’t know if I could do that. Have no friends.”
“Cole has something better. Me.”
Dugan took another swig of mead. “That makes twice he’s beaten me. He’s laird…and he has you.”
“I’m not a prize.”
“I doubt being laird is either.”
Two pairs of eyes followed Ellenor. One watched in silence as she descended the staircase, enjoying how her hips swayed as she moved. The other stared from afar when she exited. One pair knew her movements intimately; the other had never seen her before.
One gaze was heated, thinking about the night, and her skin, and how he would tenderly caress it to make her come alive with desire only for him. The other gaze was very cool and firm. He thought about her as well. Pleasure came in different forms and it was rare to find a woman who agreed with his sadistic tastes. Even rarer was to find a woman who intrigued him. And this one did.
She was smiling just a little, as if she had a secret. Her expression was unguarded and tender, and both men yearned to know just what had made her laugh, if only to herself. Her head was arched slightly, revealing the delicate curve of her neck. She walked over and spoke to one of the servants, and each man imagined it was himself she was speaking to, hearing her voice, warm and sensual, whispering a willingness to indulge in his fantasies.
Loins tightened and hearts began to pound. Both men wanted her and they wanted her to want them. And for each, the strength of the sudden driving need was bothersome. For neither could have what they wanted…to be alone, with her, if only for a few minutes.
Both men began to make plans.
Only one man had
the right.
Cole waited until Ellenor had left the tower to emerge from the shadows of the staircase. He couldn’t remember the last time he had hidden from anything, but today he was glad he had followed his instincts.
Brighid had stopped by the hall to find her husband and found him instead. Cole had told her where Donald was and she had informed him that Dugan was finally awake. She had failed to mention, however, that Ellenor was tending him.
His hand was on the door and was about to give it a shove when Dugan’s garbled attempts at seduction hit him like a broadsword to the head. Cole had managed to find just enough control to pull his hand back and sink onto the narrow sitting bench below the corridor window. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that pummeling an ignorant, drunken man may make him feel better, but it would not help him discern the truth. That was when he realized he didn’t have to. All he had to do was listen.
And he did, and while he still didn’t know why or how Dugan was injured, Cole had verified one thing and learned another. Dugan was a fool, but a loyal one.
Cole stepped into the room and stared at the semi-prone figure nursing a drink straight from the pitcher. Dugan’s blue-gray eyes found and met Cole’s piercing stare. He waved the pitcher haphazardly and said, “Come in. Hit me now and put me out of my misery, laird.”
The man was incredibly drunk. It was amazing he could even speak. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Do you know who I was just talking to?”
“An angel.”
Dugan’s brows turned into deep furrows of confusion. “Damn you. Is there nothing you can’t do? Now you’re into reading a man’s mind. Well, read away. I’ve nothing to hide except my shame and I can’t even hide that anymore.”
At the completion of the slurred speech, Cole realized the man had not been lying when he had said he never drank. Most men had learned at an early age how to hold their tongues, regardless of the amount they imbibed. Dugan was acting like a fifteen-year-old caught inside the buttery.
Desiring The Highlander Page 33