Abbie sighed and shook her head. “That would be just like Reid. Trying to be the hero and instead running right into a trap. Do you want me to check your wounds?”
“Nay. They just ache. I cannae feel any hint of bleeding and that’s good, aye? It is that stupid grin on my belly causing me pain but no bleeding there either.”
“Good. So all you did was use them all too soon. You may be stitched up but the skin is still broken over the wounds, held together only by stitching—delicate, expert stitches done by a skilled and steady hand.”
Matthew struggled to keep his chuckles smothered. He liked her bite but, at the moment, he was feeling too battered to show her just how much. Perhaps after he was home for a few days. The sound of someone approaching quickly yanked him out of the delightfully bawdy daydream he had been indulging in.
He turned to get a clear look behind them and cursed himself for letting pride make him ride the horse. That bit of vanity had weakened him at a time when he could be needed to fight.
“Why is James riding up so fast?” asked Abbie, glancing behind her and then tugging on the reins to slow them down. “I have a feeling right now and it is telling me that’s not good.”
“Keep going!” yelled James. “Don’t slow down!”
“Go, Abbie,” ordered Matthew as he picked up his gun. “What’s coming?” he called back to James.
“About two dozen armed men. They are wearing a mix of regular clothes and Confederate uniforms.”
“So, marauders or whatever name they want to use this month.” Matthew carefully moved until he was poised to fire out the back of the wagon. “Why the hell didn’t they choose to go south?”
“Because all the folk down there are Confederates and they are keen on slaughtering blue bellies?” He just laughed when Matthew gave him a rude gesture.
James rode up and untied his horse. Matthew waved his thanks and watched the road behind them. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and noticed Abbie had slumped in her seat enough to protect her back some. With a final look at the baby and the sleeping goat, he prayed no shots could reach them and turned his full attention to the men rounding the bend in the road, shifting enough so that his own body also provided some protection for the baby.
The wagon began to move faster but was still moving at a pace that could easily be caught by a man on a galloping horse. All it did was make steadying his rifle harder. All the men following them were pushing their mounts hard. His job was to kill anyone who got too close so he took aim and fired. He cursed at the pain using his rifle caused his injured arm but was pleased that he had hit a man.
Abbie secured the reins, confident that George would keep on the road, and then climbed into the back of the wagon. She grabbed her rifle, checked to be certain it was loaded, and took up a position next to Matthew. She could hear Boyd struggling to get into the back of the wagon himself, but could not lend him a hand. Abbie suspected he would be sorely embarrassed if she tried. Aiming carefully, she fired, and a man fell out of his saddle.
“The horse,” Matthew said, glancing back at George who was staying steady on the road even though his pace was a lot slower than Matthew was comfortable with.
“George will stay straight on the road. It is what he is very good at. He really doesn’t like turning off a road. Doesn’t this lead to your home?”
“Aye, right to the gates. We’re going by the Jones brothers’ cabins now.” He switched to his pistol and fired it, hitting a man who was getting too close to them.
James rode up beside them even as Boyd finally managed to get into the back of the wagon. He leapt from his horse onto the seat and the horses he left stayed close, running alongside George. He then picked up the reins to hold the animal steady.
“George wouldn’t have veered off the road, James,” Abbie said.
“George is a contrary beast, isn’t he? I just thought he’d feel better knowing someone held the reins.”
“Quite possibly. Thank you.” She shot another man at the same time Boyd fired his pistol and a man screamed.
Abbie was just reloading when she heard shots sound from behind them, from behind the men chasing them, too. She frowned as the men pursuing them began to slow their pace and search behind them and to the sides. Puzzled, she was just about to ask Matthew what was happening when he whooped in glee.
“I was hoping they would come,” Matthew said and grinned. “The sound of shooting must have brought them.”
“Who would come?”
“The Jones brothers. Our shepherds.”
“Shepherds?” said Boyd in what sounded very much like horror to Abbie.
“Sorry, lad, but our family raises sheep.” Matthew laughed at the look of sheer disappointment on Boyd’s face. “Makes a nice living.”
Boyd just shook his head. “Is that them?” he asked and pointed to two men riding hard through the trees on the right. “How much help can two shepherds be?”
“Yup, that’s them. And they are Welsh. Trust me, long history of fighting with the Welsh. Although I think those two have been practicing their shooting,” he mumbled as two men fell out of their saddles. “Owen and David Jones.”
The men chasing them hesitated only a moment before they finally noticed how many of them were dead. Helping up the ones wounded, they fled. Abbie had no liking for killing or wounding actual people so made no attempt to shoot at anyone trying to pick up the wounded, but she did wonder why they left. Even with the addition of the shepherds and accounting for the dead and wounded, the men were not yet outnumbered. She shrugged thinking that they had probably thought they had found an easy target only to have it turn out to be not so easy at all.
Then the wagon slowed to a halt and she scrambled over to pick up a now-screaming Jeremiah. It took her several moments to quiet the baby. He was sucking furiously on his fists so she knew the quiet wouldn’t last long. Hunger might not have woken him up, but he would feel it now. The noise and the rough ride were proving to be upsetting for him. Yet she could do little about that. She just hoped they did not have that far left to go.
She got out the nursing jug and moved to the goat only to find one of the Jones brothers petting the animal. “I need to fill his nursing jug.”
“I’ll do that for you, miss.”
He took the jug and easily milked the goat, talking softly to the animal in some language she did not recognize. “Which Jones brother are you?”
“Owen.” He grinned. “The smart one. Ow!” He cast a glare at his brother who had slapped him on the back of the head. “This is David.”
“Nice goat,” said David. “What’s her name?”
“I fear it is Delphinium.”
“Oh, that’ll never work. Got to call them by a name they might answer to, if they are in the right mood to listen.” Owen handed her back the full nursing jug. “Didn’t like all the shooting, did you?” he said to the goat, who nuzzled him and then grabbed his hat in her teeth.
As Owen fought to get his hat back from the stubborn goat, which caused his brother to laugh heartily, Abbie sat down and fed Jeremiah. The Jones boys were a handsome pair in a rough way. Thick, unruly black hair and striking blue eyes in a faintly rugged face made for a look any woman would appreciate. It was not a surprise that David’s wife was trying to help get the other brother for her sister. Not only would the woman be getting her sister a very fine-looking man but it would keep them sisters.
She listened to the men talk as she fed the baby, Matthew and the brothers exchanging news about his family, and she began to feel nervous. There were so many of them. She always felt awkward meeting new people and it was beginning to sound as if there were a lot of them at Matthew’s home. By the time she was patting Jeremiah’s back, Matthew had moved to sit beside her. She noticed he was looking a bit flushed and had beads of sweat on his forehead. Both could be the result of heat and exertion, but she was worried.
“Ready to head out?” he asked.
“In a little bit. He
was badly upset by all the gunfire but I think he will settle down well in a minute now that he is full.”
“Settle him now,” said James. “I’m getting the feeling those idiots have found friends or courage.” James jumped on his horse.
“Another feeling?” she grumbled. “Am I going to have to make George run again? He really hates that.”
“I fear so,” James said, his voice full of laughter. “He’s strange, but he is a big boy. He can handle it.”
“We’ll go and make certain the gates are opened for you, Matthew, and that they know you are running in,” said Owen and hurried back to his horse, his brother following him. “Be back to lend you a hand in a bit so don’t get shot.”
“That was kind of him,” she said and then sighed because Matthew was laughing. Abbie decided she would never understand the things men thought were funny.
She settled Jeremiah in his bed, prayed the baby would be allowed to sleep, petted the goat, and got back in the wagon seat. Abbie really hoped that this time James’s feeling was wrong. She just wanted to settle somewhere for a little while before there was any more danger. She was not so naïve she believed there was any place on earth where there was not some danger, but she really wanted just a little while to enjoy quiet and safety.
“He really needs to stop having feelings,” she muttered as she picked up the reins.
“Until he does, we will listen to them,” said Boyd as he sat down next to her. “Matthew and Dan say his feelings have saved their hides many times.”
“Then let’s head for these gates,” she said, and urged George into a quick pace.
Boyd clutched at the seat. Abbie noticed that even the hand on his wounded arm was working to hold him in his seat but she said nothing. The young man was just too afraid to knowingly try it out but she suspected that would change soon. It would have to occur to him soon. She idly wondered if there was any trick she could use to make him notice it faster.
Her eyes widened with a touch of fear as she glanced back and saw more armed men running after them. Abbie wondered where they were coming from since she had heard that a lot of the army had left the area. She also wondered what they thought they could gain from them as there was nothing obvious that would tempt their greed.
Matthew and the others were doing a fine job of holding them back but she worried about them, especially when she saw that Matthew was back on his horse again. She was going to smack him when she got off the wagon. She understood his need to stand by his friend James but the fool was going to rip his stitches open.
She heard Boyd curse and looked at him but he was staring forward. Following his gaze she frowned as she saw the large stockade come into view. The Jones brothers stood on either side of the open gates and she urged George toward them even though she knew the animal was tiring. The moment she did so, the men ran to leap onto their horses and rush to aid Matthew and James.
“I didn’t think we were going to a fort.”
“This is his home,” said Boyd. “He told me they had put up a fence.”
“A fence.” She shook her head. “He probably thinks that is funny. Are those men up on the walls?”
“I think so. Like coming to a castle, ain’t it, only this one is made of wood.”
“Right now what it looks like to me is safety.”
Chapter Fifteen
Abbie sped through the gates and quickly drew the wagon to a halt. People came running out of the house. She leapt down and rushed to take George out of his harness. She was just freeing him when a tall, dark-haired man rushed up with straw to rub him down. Abbie abruptly stopped murmuring soothing words to George and stared at the man, trying to find something that would tell her he was one of Matthew’s brothers.
“Fine sturdy cart horse, lass. Havenae seen one like this for a while. I am Iain, Matthew’s older brother.”
“Hello, Iain. I am Abigail Jenson.” She then heard gunfire and quickly looked around. “I thought we had run into a fort.”
“Lots of folk think that. Just the MacEnroy place.”
“Oh, Jeremiah,” Abbie cried when a wail came from the back of the wagon, and she hurried over, getting back in the wagon, to collect the baby.
Matthew, James, and the Jones brothers rode in just as she picked up the child. When she began to get out of the wagon several men shut the gates then ran up ladders to a walkway at the top of the wall. She had to wonder what kind of life the MacEnroys lived that made them believe they needed such protection. The moment she was back on the ground a small, blond woman hurried over to her.
“I am Emily, Iain’s wife. Do you want me to hold the babe as you get your goat down?”
“If you would, please.” She gently handed over Jeremiah who still fussed but quickly grew quiet. “It has just been too much noise and fast, rough travel for the child.” She kissed Jeremiah’s cheek then went to fetch the goat.
When Abbie brought Delphinium down, she stood and stared at the goat for a moment. “You need a new name. We are going to be stuck with each other for a while and I cannot keep calling you Delphinium.”
“Delphinium? Who would name the poor beast that?”
“The woman I was staying with. I wondered if the goat ate her flowers so she stuck it with a name, but it could be she just thought it was an elegant word. She kept her goats in her cellar whenever there was trouble and at night. She used to have over a dozen of them but only had five left. I needed the milk though and traded her one of my mother’s quilts for him.”
“He seems to be doing well on the goat’s milk.”
“It does appear to agree with him. Jeremiah is an orphan. The Rebs killed his da and his mother died soon after he was born.”
“So you took him . . .”
“I am not that good. There was an older boy I was thinking of taking, another orphan. I knew babies were a great deal of work and there would be hundreds of other problems to be faced with, but she made me promise to care for him. She was dying.” Abbie shook her head and sighed as she took Jeremiah back into her arms. “The poor boy is stuck with me.”
“Babes don’t require all that much to feel secure. Food, warmth, hugs, and getting their cloths changed regularly. Older children can be much more work,” she added softly as a young boy walked over to her and glared at the baby.
Abbie studied the boy and immediately missed Noah. He had a mass of black curls on his head and lovely brown eyes. “He looks just like a boy I know,” she said. “Well, not just like as the boy I know has red hair but those eyes look very familiar.”
“Where is he?” asked the boy.
“I had to leave him behind for now as I knew it would be a risky journey. I hope it won’t be for too long though.”
“How old is he?”
“Five.” She smiled faintly, wondering if Noah was five yet and knowing he’d be pleased to hear himself called it.
“Oh, so he is still little. I am Ned.”
“Hello, Ned.”
“My nephew, my late sister’s child,” said Emily and she ruffled the boy’s hair. “Look, Ned. I was just meeting Jeremiah.”
“Is that the baby? Is he going to scream a lot, too?”
One look at Emily’s face told Abbie she best swallow the laugh that tickled her throat. Ned obviously had a problem with babies and she recalled some mention of Emily having borne two. So a little jealousy, she guessed.
“Ned, babies cry. They cannot speak like you or I can so it is the only way they have of getting our attention. Now be nice. You know what manners are. Use them.”
“Jeremiah is a very, very young baby, too. He cannot even sit up or hold things.” She smiled softly. “I fear he is so young, he does it in the middle of the night, too.”
“Oh. Just like your two do. Or did. Nuala is pretty big now and quiet. Maybe I should move in with the O’Neals,” he grumbled, and stomped off.
Emily stared after her nephew, and by the time she turned back Abbie was laughing. “How can you laugh?” E
mily said even though her lips twitched as if she wanted to join in. “That was horribly rude.”
“I know. Such a boy thing to say. For a moment I feared he was going to say Nuala was at least human now.” Emily started to laugh and Abbie grinned. “Think he will actually attempt to move in with the O’Neals?”
“Who knows? They only live in a small cottage out the back so it is not like he is running away very far. I fear he may be a bit jealous.”
“A bit?” Abbie shook her head. “Just be glad he is not one to brood on it.”
“I suppose. I fear I know little about boys.”
“I had a brother. Rather hoping I still do. One of those lawless groups of men attacked our home and took him off to fight with them. They beat my da near to death and attacked my mother.”
“And you?” Emily asked in a voice softened by horror.
“I was hiding. I know nothing that happened was my fault, but it is hard to break free of that thought when you know you were hiding away while all the bad happened.”
“You just would have been killed or attacked like your mother and left behind broken.”
“And that is just what she was: broken. She died when Matthew, James, and Boyd helped me fight off another attack. She would not duck, kept trying to protect my senseless and dying father. Eventually a shot took them both down. Then a fire took my home. I left what little word I could for my brother in case he ever returns.”
“It has been a very sad, bloody few years up in these hills.”
“What troubles me is all the innocents. There is no gain there.”
Abbie looked around, spotted Matthew standing between James and Boyd. They talked to three other men she suspected were more of Matthew’s brothers. She narrowed her eyes when she noticed how Matthew kept shifting his stance as if he was having difficulty holding it. The color was stronger on his cheeks again.
“Emily? Could you hold Jeremiah for me again?”
“Certainly.” She took the baby into her arms. “Is something wrong?”
“Might be. I begin to think Matthew is about to fall on his face. It also looks like his fever is back.”
When You Love a Scotsman Page 19