Becca St.John

by Seonaid

  He strained to move forward with greater speed, even though it was Tarvos doing the moving. Arrows whistled in the night, whizzing past, no more hitting targets. He heard them hitting earth. They were out of range now, needed to be beyond the area a man could search by foot.

  Against his will, he weakened, his head lighter, his body too heavy to control. If not for Seonaid, he’d topple off the beast.

  Tarvos covered the distance, following a bird’s call. His call. Could the nasty maggots chasing them know how to call his horse? Lochlan could have taught them, if he was giving secrets away. But that wasn’t Lochlan’s style. Secrets held power. Lochlan did not give power away.

  Except Lochlan didn’t know Padraig’s whistle. Did he?

  Seonaid gave Tarvos his lead, even though the poor beast was lathered and heaving. She headed toward the sound. At least he thought they did. Mostly, he heard the swoosh of blood pounding in his veins. Nothing else felt real.

  He fought to stay astride, nearly crumpled when Tarvos pulled to a halt. Eyes heavy but open, he saw young Deian just below him, looking up.

  “It was you.” The lad had called to Tarvos. “Good lad.”

  His praise slurred as he slid, unconscious, from the horse.

  vvvvvv

  A line of torches wended their way along the coastline. The Reah’s men, come to deal with the slavers and to save Padraig.

  Seonaid looked down at him. Deian helped lay him on his side, a blanket behind him. Sweat dripping with effort, she broke the point off, pulled the arrow out, pushed him to his back, pressing, with a strength feeding on fear, to stop the bleeding.

  He didn’t offer so much as a moan. Out cold. Or dead. She was no healer.

  “Do you know where they went?” she asked her son. “The two women and the priest?”

  “I told them to go to Eriboll, but you couldn’t see it—the lights—from where we were, so I don’t know where they went. There was so little time.”

  “You did the best you could.”

  “The one kept shaking her head. She wanted to ride away from anywhere there were people.”

  If they had listened to Deian, they could be with The Reah’s men already.

  “How was the other lass? The one who wasn’t frightened?”

  “She kept tryin’ to calm the frightened one, told her to close her eyes and rest. They were on Peregrine, and the priest had the other mount.”

  “Good.” Seonaid nodded. Eyes closed, the lass wouldn’t see where they went. At least something was going right. They’d saved the healers, the priest.

  A lift of the tunic pressed to Padraig’s shoulder proved it still bled.

  “Here, Ma, I’ll hold it.”

  “It needs pressure, weight.”

  “You’re tired.” He pushed her hands away. They were shaking, weak. The whole of her shook with the weight of the night.

  “I don’ want him to die.”

  “He’s breathing, Ma. He’s alive now.”

  She cupped Deian’s cheeks. “You saved us, lad.” She kissed his forehead. “We’d not have made it through the fight without your aid.”

  He pulled away, uncomfortable with affection. Her legacy to him. Not fair. He’d earned his honor, deserved it. She’d see that he got it. A fresh start, without scandal or shame.

  “Do ya’ see that train of torches?” she asked Deian.

  “Aye, that would be men from Eriboll.”

  “Can you ride to them? Tell them Padraig is up here and wounded? If the healers are with them, have them come to his aid.”

  “Will you be all right, Ma?” he asked.

  “Of course, I will be fine, but I won’t go to Eriboll with you and Padraig. Do you understand?”

  “Because you have to take care of the horses?”

  Beyond speaking, she nodded.

  “There’s only the one. Could you let that one go?”

  “No,” she swallowed back the tears. “No, son. It’s best I keep him back here and you remember to go by Eban.”

  “I don’t like that,” he grumbled.

  “Just until I can join you,” she whispered.

  He didn’t say anything and she knew exactly what face he’d be wearing. Mulish and angry, like his father. He needed someone to teach him better. A woman with a mother’s skills. A softer woman, who didn’t go racing into battle.

  “Deian.”

  “Aye, Ma?”

  “Be quick. Padraig needs care.”

  “I’m off,” he promised, and climbed onto Snip.

  “Be careful, you’re more precious than life itself.”

  “I’ll be careful,” he called to her, and rode out of her life.

  Again, she looked to Padraig upon the ground, and lifted the fabric she pressed into his wound. The bleeding eased to a trickle.

  “You watch over him,” she demanded of Padraig, because she could, because he couldn’t hear her and argue with her, over what she was about to do. “And yourself.”

  Hoarse with tears, she hiccupped a sob. “You’re both more precious than life to me.” Head bowed, she lowered, kissed his lips.

  “Goodbye, my love.”

  CHAPTER 12 ~ SEPARATION

  He’d prefer to have died, if this pain meant he lived. Or was this hell? Body ached so bad you’d rather piss yourself than move, head swollen to bursting? Not sure he could, he tried to open his eyes.

  A small eye, green and shining with fury, looked right back.

  “Deian,” he said, or thought he said. His tongue was so thick he wasn’t certain the word got past it.

  “I donna’ want to be called Eban anymore.”

  Fine, he’d deal with that. Sure enough.

  As if he could take that on, when he couldn’t even find a pot to relieve himself, or the strength to do so. He’d not even bother to ask for something to soothe his parched mouth.

  “I don’,” Deian grumbled.

  “Is he awake?” A sweet voice sounded from behind the boy.

  Delicate fingers lifted Padraig’s eyelid higher than he was capable.

  “You’ll be thirsty.” She fussed and produced a wet cloth for him to suck on. That’s what they did for the wounded after battle, as though too much liquid would harm them. He wanted a full swallow.

  Memories surfaced, the punch of an arrow, his tunic sopping up blood to saturation, then rivulets running down his back. Horses, voices, jostling of travel and, worst of all, the searing sizzle, acrid scent of his own flesh when they cauterized the wound. Pain sent him over the edge of awareness to blessed darkness. No memory after that, until now.

  “More,” he rasped.

  “Aye, in a moment.” That female voice again. “This will have to do for now.” She gave him another wet cloth to suck.

  “Did ya’ hear me?” Deian pressed.

  Padraig worked his tongue around his mouth, trying to moisten enough to speak. Deian didn’t budge.

  “Your ma gave you that name.” He fought to get that much, fought to continue. “Not mine to take.”

  “My ma’s not here.” The lad swiped his nose with his arm.

  No, she wouldn’t be. She’d be gone. Left them behind.

  He drifted back toward sleep when arms lifted him, put a cup to his lips. His throat rejected the bitter and foul brew, made him retch; but the lass held his jaw closed, worked his throat like some beast given a pill it didn’t want to swallow. He must be sick, to lose to a lass no bigger than a bairn.

  Their battle over, he found the pain easing, his thirst abating. Padraig opened his eyes to find Deian sulking at the foot of his pallet.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “Have you been here?” his nurse responded. “Three days.”

  “Three days?” If he could have, he would have yelled, but not with a throat raw as butchered game. “You aren’ one of the healers?”

  Stupid question. The healers wore rough homespun garments and spoke with a lilt of the old language. This woman barely had a burr and her skirts sw
ished like silk when she moved. Even in an everyday gown, for tending a sick man, the hues in the embroidery of her bodice were from dyes not found in these lands.

  She rung out another cloth, put it on his head. “The lad said you saved two ladies and a priest from the slavers.”

  “Gone?”

  “Slavers or the ones you saved?” she asked, though she didn’t wait for his response. “We haven’t found the ones you saved, but we caught the slavers who came onto the loch. We’ve yet to find the ship out at sea, though we know there is one.”

  He nodded, not surprised they hadn’t gotten the big ship. It would be off at any sign of pursuit. Easy to hide on big open water like the North Sea.

  Beyond polite conversation, he tried to get his bearings. The chamber, as finely dressed as the woman, must be the chief’s own room. Odd place to put a wounded man who offered no harm. Not even to a pretty lass like this.

  She moved with ease in the space.

  Padraig hadn’t heard that The Reah remarried. Glen Toric had its own problems these last years and Padraig spent more time on the eastern border, well out of reach for such news. Still, it came as a surprise. Everyone knew the old man mourned the death of a wife who’d been at his side for two decades or more. The loss took him beyond the ken for another; or at least, that’s what they all thought. Then again, men had needs. In that case, The Reah certainly found a fetching young lass to meet them.

  “Lady Reah?”

  She turned to him, brow furrowed, head tilted. “Why do you call me that?”

  Deian pushed between them. “Did you hear me? My ma’s not here.”

  “Shhh, shhh now, Deian, you mustn’t rile him. He’s sorely wounded.”

  “He’s awake,” Deian grumbled, but he calmed with the woman’s hands on his shoulders. Which made no sense. Deian didn’t like to be touched. Or he hadn’t.

  “I heard you, lad,” Padraig rasped. “I’ll find her.” Which he would do, if it killed him, but he doubted he’d find her anywhere near. He’d not find her quickly.

  The lass released Deian, tidied Padraig’s blanket. “You’d best rest first.”

  “If not Lady Reah, who?

  “I’m connected to The Reah,” she snapped.

  So she wasn’t pleased to be married to the old man.

  “No, you’re not,” Deian argued. “The Reah said he’d not marry you if all the witches of hell tormented him.”

  Her blush glowed, even in the low light.

  “Quiet yourself, lad,” Padraig warned.

  The lass lifted her chin. “I’d not have him if Jesus himself begged, but—” she instructed Deian, “—my father was The Reah before Angus, which makes me Lady Alissa of The Reah by birth.”

  She must have put something in that awful draught. He wanted to understand, even as unconsciousness beckoned. “The Reah died?”

  “Aye.” Her head dipped in honor of the man gone. “My father’s horse stumbled, threw him. He never recovered.”

  “Angus Reah is chief?” he wondered, even as he fell back into fitful dreams.

  vvvvvv

  Once again, she was leaving. All these good-byes burdened a woman.

  Seonaid looked at the priest, the healers, still wrapped in their cocoons of blankets. Dawn edged the day, and Eriboll was now in sight, just below them. It had been hidden by the night when they stopped.

  Eriboll offered a welcome rest after a troubling journey. The one healer, Angelica, did not fare well. The friar, well-traveled though he may have been, his cloak of office proved a sad defense for two young lasses. Wicked men held little respect for God’s chosen.

  The lasses knew nothing of the world when they set out. Raised as healers, in a society of woman intent on studying and learning, their minds agile but their hearts too soft to see danger, much less thwart it.

  Seonaid wanted to help them, to be their protector. Irony of all ironies, as she traveled to them, they were traveling to the highlands, expecting safety there. Hah! They’d find hospitality enough, but highlanders were as rugged as their land and held no refuge for soft-hearted gals.

  They had come from St. Michael’s Mount. They had come from the exact place Seonaid wanted to go, to be of service.

  The healers were no longer there.

  Where was she to go now?

  She looked back one more time, looked over to Eriboll before jumping up onto Peregrine’s back. Time to let wheres and whys rise to the surface, which they would as they always did with life.

  “You’re going to leave us?”

  Of course, if anyone woke it would be Angelica, the fearful one.

  “You claimed you wanted to protect healers.” Panicked accusation raised her voice. The other two stirred.

  “Eriboll is right there, below you, in sight. You’ll be safe and protected there. You don’t need me anymore.”

  “And after that?”

  Her cry was shrill enough to bring Eriboll’s guard to them. Seonaid couldn’t risk that. She dismounted, even as she itched to ride out. Guards didn’t just walk the walls. They were outside, watching for encroachment from the land.

  Jasmine—calm, sensible Jasmine—reached Angelica first. “Ease yourself, be calm,” she soothed, wrapping an arm around the lass’s shoulder, smoothing her hair. “We’ve done so well, you’ve come so far. We will manage.”

  “She’s to stay with us,” Angelica murmured.

  “He,” Seonaid snapped. She’d introduced herself as Sean and would keep to her disguise.

  The friar studied her, shot a glance to Jasmine, and turned away.

  “You’re no Sean,” Jasmine stated.

  “I am.”

  “You’re not,” the friar chimed in, “and you shouldna’ lie about it even if you have to go.” He looked at Angelica. “She does have to go, Jasmine.” The friar reaped a sharp look, but that didn’t stop him. “We’ve talked of this. Once we were in sight of Eriboll, she—or he, or whoever this person is—would be gone.”

  Mulish as a child, Angelica shook her head. “You don’t understand.” She fisted her belly, turned to Jasmine. “In here, I feel it. She must stay with us.”

  “Oh.” Jasmine’s startled gaze met the friar’s. “You mean in the way young Veri used to know? Without explanation?”

  Angelica nodded.

  “Well,” Jasmine rose, brushing out her coarse spun tunic. “I’ll not stifle Angelica, if that’s what she believes.”

  “It’s her fear speaking,” Seonaid countered. “You’ve no hold on me. I’ve seen you safe this far. The rest is for you to sort out.”

  “Aye, we’ve no hold,” Jasmine argued, “and no doubt you’ve a story that’s sending you away from this land, that makes you want others to think you’re a man, but there’s a reason beyond our knowing that you need to stay with us.”

  “I can’t stay in the highlands.”

  “You say you wanted to help the healers. Was that about leaving the highlands or do you truly want to help us?”

  “I have helped. You’re here, in the highlands, and this is Eriboll. You’ll be safe enough here. Ask for Padraig, Padraig MacKay. He’ll be wounded, and will need you.”

  If he’s still alive, pray God he’s still alive.

  She’d been two days searching for the friar and the healers, and another day to get this close to the town. Fever, loss of blood, infection could have taken him by now. “Tell him Sean sent you. He’ll see you safely to anywhere you want to go.”

  She led Peregrine away, toward her tomorrows.

  “The young boy is yours, is he not?”

  Seonaid turned, pleased to see Jasmine step back from her glare. “Whose business would that be?”

  “You could come with us, as another healer, and see the boy. See that he is well placed in this town.”

  Temptation tugged, no less fierce for the risk. How many times could she say good-bye…?

  “I must leave,” she argued with herself, as much as them.

  “And not know what�
��s become of the lad or this Padraig, who’s been injured?”

  Cruel, that’s what they were. What difference did it make to have her questions answered now, when there would be a thousand more to replace them in the future?

  She had to leave.

  She couldn’t leave.

  “Would you go into the town and come out here in a day or so, give me word?” she asked the healers.

  A last appeal.

  “You’ve said there’d be guards riding the land. They’ll find you out here, faster than any will if you are within the walls of the town. No one will bother you there.”

  “He can’t know I’m there,” she pleaded, knowing Deian would give her away, without meaning to.

  “No, he’ll not know you’re there,” Jasmine promised. “Not dressed as a peasant woman.”

  No more arguments. They had won, though Seonaid knew she’d not put up much of a fight. So she road through the gates of a highland town, dressed as a woman in a homespun kirtle, her raggedly cropped hair hidden under a farm woman’s coif. The perfect disguise.

  CHAPTER 13 ~ A NEW MOTHER

  Icy rain dripped from his hood, onto his face. Deian held tight to Lady Reah’s cold hand as they trudged through the muddy streets. He wanted to see the prisoners, locked up in the dungeon, deep in the bowels of the keep.

  Lady Alissa refused.

  “It’s dirty and smells down there. Why would you want to see the worst of mankind?”

  He’d looked at his feet, shook his head, not wanting to disappoint.

  “Shall we go see the healers?” she asked, all cheery. “They’ve arrived in Eriboll. I want them to look at your friend Padraig. I’ve done all I can, but he needs more.”

  Healers didn’t really interest him, but he liked being with Lady Reah. She made him feel special, fed him sweet treats, tickled him, and played games. Even more, she would hold him in her lap and sing to him. Her voice was soft and warm, and it calmed fears so he could sleep. He missed his mama, but Lady Alissa soothed that ache.

  That’s why he agreed to go with her, because he didn’t know where his mama was, and Padraig slept most of the time, with a wound that was starting to stink.