Shouting and war cries snagged his attention. From the opposite direction, Highland warriors with swords and targes stormed down from the crest of the hill on foot.
Torrin's horse reared unexpectedly and almost unseated him.
"Damnation." He held on. Once the horse was on all fours again, he drew his sword and slashed at the marauders nearest him. "MacBain," Torrin growled, recognizing the knave amongst those fighting.
Torrin's abdomen was still healing, and therefore still weak and sore from the wounds, but he would not allow this miscreant to defeat him. Thankfully, with the dozen MacKays, Iain's men and Torrin's men, they were evenly matched.
Once Gregor MacBain had felled one of the MacKays, he charged Torrin. When he slashed Torrin's horse's flank, fury consumed Torrin. With a scream, the horse kicked at MacBain and spun. Torrin brought his sword down across MacBain's shoulder, slicing through his doublet and shirt. The man cried out and leapt back, blood soaking his clothing.
After grabbing his targe from his saddle, Torrin jumped to the ground, for an injured horse was unpredictable. The animal bolted away from the fighting.
Torrin was disappointed to see that he hadn't cut MacBain's sword arm, but the opposite one. Still, the cut would slow him down. The bastard's face was red and his teeth clenched. Good. Now he knew what Torrin had suffered. With his shoulder injured, MacBain had a difficult time holding his targe and dirk in fighting position, which left him vulnerable.
After sliding the leather straps of the targe onto his forearm and yanking his dirk from the scabbard on his belt, Torrin stabbed his sword toward MacBain's stomach, but he deflected the blow with his own blade.
MacBain bared his teeth and sliced at Torrin. He easily blocked it. Shoving his targe and dirk toward MacBain, he trapped the man's sword arm and jabbed his own sword toward MacBain's side. The blade slid deep into the flesh at near the same place MacBain had wounded him three weeks ago. MacBain screeched and stumbled back.
Pain burned across Torrin's leg. Damnation, the bastard had cut his thigh. Torrin redoubled his efforts and stabbed MacBain in the chest with his dirk, then again in the side.
Wide-eyed, the man cried out and dropped to the ground.
One of MacBain's men attacked Torrin from his right. He blocked his sword slash just in time. Seconds later, Torrin stabbed the man in the gut and cut his throat.
A horrid pain sliced across Torrin's back. Growling, he spun to find another of MacBain's men behind him.
"Coward!" Torrin yelled. He blocked his next blow with the targe, then drove the shorter man back with strike after strike. He shoved at the bastard with his targe, then used his dirk to stab him in the sword arm. The man howled in pain and tried to escape, but 'twas too late. Torrin slashed and stabbed with his sword, sending the bleeding man to the ground seconds later.
He turned to find some of the MacBains fleeing into the bush and up the hill. Several of them lay on the ground, dead or dying.
"How many did we lose?" he asked Struan, thirty feet away.
"Saints, Chief! You're badly injured again. We need to stop the bleeding."
Iain ran toward him, his shirt and doublet bloody.
"Are you wounded?" Torrin asked him.
"Only a few minor cuts."
Iain glanced down at Torrin's leg, below his sliced plaid. "You were cut badly. We have to get that bleeding stopped."
"Luag's dead!" Struan yelled, kneeling by him.
"Nay!" Torrin limped toward them, seeing that indeed his guard was unmoving, and drenched in blood, his eyes staring sightlessly. "Damnation." Luag had been by his side most every day since he'd become chief.
"Two of the MacKay guards were killed," Iain said. "And eleven of the MacBains."
Torrin shook his head, saddened by the death of Luag and also two of their allies. How he hated the MacBains. "Bastards," he growled. But at least he had killed their leader.
"Sit on the ground and let me see your wound," Iain said.
Torrin did, pulling up his plaid to bare the deep cut on his thigh. "One of the bastards sliced my back, too."
Iain muttered curses and pulled off his own shirt. He wrapped it around Torrin's leg twice and tied it tight. "That might slow the bleeding a little. Let me see your back."
Torrin pushed himself up, but when he stumbled, Iain helped him stand. He ripped the fabric of his shirt where it was sliced to better see the cut. "'Tis not as bad as the other one," Iain said. "But we need to get you to Munrick quick so the healer can stitch you up. We're only a couple of miles away."
"Aye," Torrin said, suddenly going lightheaded.
Sim found Torrin's horse and led him forward. Pain lancing through his leg and his back, Torrin examined the cut to the horse's flank. It had bled some but was not terribly deep. He believed the horse would recover.
Agony bore through him, making mounting seem an impossible task. Dizziness assailed him and he caught against the horse and saddle. The bandage on his thigh felt saturated with hot blood.
"Struan!" he shouted at his sword-bearer, and though he tried to hold onto the saddle to keep upright, he felt himself sliding to the ground as all around him went black.
***
Torrin dreamed he was searching for Jessie in the night. Someone had stolen her away, MacBain or Haldane, he wasn't sure which. But all was dark, and he couldn't see. He couldn't find her.
"Jessie!" he yelled.
A strong hand on his shoulder pushed him back. "Torrin. She's not here right now."
"Iain?"
"Aye."
"Where is she?" Torrin opened his eyes to see that he lay in his own bedchamber at Munrick, a few candles lighting the dark room.
"Still at Dunnakeil."
Burning pain consumed his leg and his lower back. The skirmish. He remembered killing MacBain.
"You lost too much blood in a short amount of time," Iain said. "You were not fully recovered from your earlier injury when you got these."
"Aye." He well knew that, but was he going to survive? Would he ever see Jessie again? He slid down into the darkness yet again.
Chapter Seventeen
At Dunnakeil, Jessie forced herself to eat supper at the high table. Though her family and friends surrounded her, she was intensely lonely. Torrin had been gone four days, and she missed him terribly.
One of the guards rushed across the great hall to the high table. "The MacKay guards who went south with MacLeod are returning. We saw them in the distance," he told Dirk.
"Why are they coming back so soon?" Dirk shoved up from his chair and strode quickly across the great hall with the guard. Several others followed, including Jessie and Isobel. Was Torrin returning, too? What had happened? The MacKays had planned to travel south with Torrin to show him where Nolan was buried. They wouldn't have had time to do that.
When the soldiers rode through the portcullis, she was shocked to see two dead bodies, completely wrapped in plaid including their heads, lying stiff and straight, tied to the horses' backs. A cold chill shook her, and tears filled her eyes.
"Who is this?" Dirk demanded, motioning to the dead bodies. "What happened?"
"Henry and Ross," Dougal said, his blue eyes pain-filled. "MacBain and his clan attacked us just this side of Munrick. 'Twas a terrible skirmish. One of the MacLeods was killed, too."
Nay! Jessie hurried forward. "Who?"
"The one they called Luag. Chief MacLeod was injured badly."
Icy fear poured through her. "Nay," Jessie whispered. Isobel put an arm around Jessie and held her close.
"MacLeod has two wounds and lost more blood. Iain told us that he was out cold for most of the night while we were there, and he has a fever."
Devastation crashed in upon Jessie, making her feel as if she were suffocating. "Saints," she hissed, her heart breaking. Tears filling her eyes, she felt herself trembling, but was unable to stop. She was so far away from him when he needed her.
"We killed eleven of the MacBains," Dougal continued.
"Chief MacLeod killed Gregor MacBain."
Jessie pressed her eyes closed. She was glad that bastard MacBain was dead, but more importantly, she had to see Torrin. Having so many severe injuries only weeks apart might be more than his body could deal with.
After Dirk gave his men orders, he headed toward Jessie.
"I have to go to Torrin," she said.
Dirk nodded. "I'll take you. We'll leave at first light. I'm glad you weren't with him. You could've been killed."
That was true, but she wished she was at Munrick now. It had likely been two days since Dougal and the other MacKays had left Munrick. Had Torrin grown worse during that time? Was he still alive?
***
"Dirk and Keegan will keep you safe," Isobel told Jessie in the solar that night.
"Aye." Too nervous to sit, Jessie paced before the fireplace, wishing they could leave this very instant, though she knew they couldn't travel very well in the dark. Too dangerous.
She had packed a few changes of clothes and had the servants prepare foods that wouldn't spoil during the trip. She prayed they could make the journey quickly for she had to reach Torrin as soon as possible. Flora would go, as well, and take her healing herbs. Jessie didn't know how skilled the healers were at Munrick. Aiden was going to take care of her puppy, Greum, so she didn't have to worry about him.
"I pray Torrin is much improved by the time you arrive at Munrick," Isobel said, sitting on the settle, her dark eyes worried.
Jessie nodded. "It kills me not knowing how he is at this very moment."
"I pray there will be no more attacks," Seona said. She turned from the window, tears in her eyes.
"Indeed." Isobel faced her. "Are you well, Seona?"
"Aye. But…" Seona wrung her hands and averted her gaze.
"What is it?" Isobel joined Seona at the window and took her hands.
Seona swallowed hard and smiled through her tears. "This may not be the best time to tell you this, but… I am with child."
"What?" Isobel exclaimed, then hugged Seona. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"I only learned of it this morn. I wasn't feeling well and Keegan sent Nannag in to check on me. She thinks I am with child."
"Saints!" Isobel said. "Keegan does fast work."
Jessie forced a smile and embraced Seona. Though she was truly thrilled for her, she was still too devastated by the news of Torrin's injuries to give a real smile. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you and Keegan." She pulled back. "I'll ask him and Dirk to stay here for their own safety. You both need them now more than ever, since you will soon be parents. The MacKay guards and a couple of Keegan's brothers can take me safely to Munrick."
"Nay! Dirk wouldn't hear of it," Isobel said.
"I'm certain they will be safe and fight off any attackers," Seona said, though she still looked worried. "They did on our long journey across Scotland."
Isobel nodded. "Dirk and Keegan are two of the best at fighting."
"I just pray that we make it in time," Jessie whispered.
***
Two days later, Jessie and over twenty of the MacKays traveled south through the rugged granite mountains and along the green moors, interspersed with lochs and bogs. She had gotten little sleep the previous two nights, being terribly worried about Torrin. Last night, they'd stayed in Scourie with Lewis MacLeod, a friend of Dirk's.
Today, she rode between Dirk and Keegan. Half of the MacKays rode in front of them and half behind. Uncle Conall, Dougal, and Little Conall accompanied them. Jessie had also brought along her young maid, Dolina, and Flora.
Heather bloomed on the hills but Jessie barely noticed. Though she normally loved looking at the purple heather, all she could think about was taking a walk through it with Torrin. Tears filled her eyes. Annoyed, she wiped them away and hoped the men didn't notice. Dirk and Keegan would understand, of course, but she didn't want to appear weak.
She knew the two would much rather be back with their wives at Dunnakeil.
"I thank you both for bringing me," she said.
"No thanks needed," Dirk said.
"Indeed," Keegan agreed.
Though she had hoped they would talk more, to take her thoughts off her dark fears, they didn't. Did they suspect that Torrin wouldn't be alive when they arrived?
She bowed her head and tears dripped from her eyes. Please God, keep him alive.
As late afternoon approached, Jessie could not believe how tired and sore she was. It had been a long time since she had ridden a horse for more than a few minutes. She feared she would be unable to walk once she dismounted.
A glistening loch reflecting the blue sky came into view in the distance as they rode carefully down a rocky incline.
"'Tis Loch Assynt," Dirk said.
"We are close?" she asked.
"Aye."
Her heart rate sped up and her stomach knotted. Pressing her eyes closed, she said another prayer.
Minutes later, they arrived at a smoother trail by the loch's edge and kicked their horses into a gallop, her heart pounding at the same quick pace.
A castle came into view in the distance. That had to be Munrick. As they approached, she saw that the gray stone castle had three towers and sat on a small island in the loch. 'Twas a beautiful, magical setting with the green hills in the background.
She imagined Torrin inside the walls. Would he be better or worse?
As they drew nearer the guard house and drawbridge, the men riding in front of them moved aside, allowing Dirk and Jessie to approach first.
Sim was one of the first people she recognized.
"Chief MacKay, Lady Jessie! Am I glad to see you," he greeted, his eyes wide with excitement. "Lower the bridge," he told the other guards.
"Are you certain?" one of them demanded, frowning and eying Dirk suspiciously.
"Aye, these are our allies, and they're here to help the chief."
"How is Laird MacLeod?" Jessie asked.
"He's alive but ailing something fierce. Thank the saints you've come. You can help him recover as you did last time."
"I hope so." She blinked back the tears burning her eyes once again.
The gate opened and the drawbridge was lowered. She, Dirk and the rest of the MacKays proceeded across into the walled cobblestone bailey.
Jessie quickly dismounted, her legs and derriere so sore she could hardly move. But she forced herself to walk stiffly toward the entrance. Where was Flora? She stopped and turned, seeing that one of the men was helping her dismount. The healer, completely unaccustomed to riding a horse, waddled forward. "I'm coming, m'lady," she said, carrying her satchel.
"Lady Jessie! Thank the saints."
She turned to find Iain standing in the portal.
"Come inside." He offered his hand to help her up the steps, then helped Flora. "Torrin needs you and your healer now more than ever."
"Is he bad?" Jessie asked.
Iain frowned. "Aye. I'm afraid so."
Please, God, don't let him be too far gone. She followed Iain along one end of the great hall and up a narrow turnpike stairwell, Flora and Dolina trailing behind. At the end of a short corridor, Iain opened a door and motioned her inside. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll send a maid to assist you."
Jessie rushed into the bedchamber. Torrin lay in a large four-poster bed with his eyes closed, his skin was so pale. "Saints!" She touched his feverish brow. "Torrin?"
His eyelids fluttered and then he moved his head. "Jessie?" 'Twas naught more than a breath.
"Aye, I am here."
Frowning, and with seemingly great effort, he opened his eyes a crack. "Missed you."
Tears filled her eyes. "I missed you, too. You must get better."
"Aye."
"I've brought Flora, the healer, with me."
At the moment, she was conversing with another woman in the corner of the room, near the door. Another healer, perhaps.
Torrin's hand moved from beneath the layers of blankets and clasped onto hers
.
"Have you eaten anything?" she asked, holding his hand tight.
"Not hungry."
"How long has it been?"
He shook his head a little and frowned. Saints! Could he not even remember when he'd last eaten? "Would one of you go see if there is any fresh broth in the kitchen?" she asked the two women. "And if there is, bring some. Some ale, too."
"Aye, m'lady. My name's Margie. We tried to get him to eat, but he'd have none of it." She hurried out the door.
Well, at least they'd tried. He would have to eat for her; she'd make him.
"Is she the healer for Munrick?" Jessie whispered.
"Aye. Their main healer passed a few months ago. Margie admits she isn't well trained."
"Saints! Torrin, why on earth did you not hire a competent healer?"
"Didn't ken I'd need one," he whispered.
She shook her head.
"I need to examine his wounds and see if they are festered," Flora said.
"Aye." Jessie said. "I'll help you." Knowing one of the injuries was on his left thigh, Jessie moved the blankets aside while trying to keep his groin covered, although she was certain Flora had seen countless naked men while performing her healing duties.
Flora removed the bloody linen bandage from his thigh, revealing a swollen, angry gash. It had been roughly stitched up. Jessie wanted to mutter several curse words, but kept her lips sealed tight.
"'Tis a festering wound. I must bathe it, then apply a poultice." Flora turned to the MacLeod maid who waited near the door. "I'll need a kettle of boiled water if you please."
"Aye." The maid hastened away.
"It looks bad, does it not?" Jessie asked.
Flora nodded.
"You can help him though, aye?"
"I will certainly try, m'lady. But you must pray. Your prayers seem to work miracles." Flora dug into her satchel and pulled out several wee cloth pouches of dried herbs.
Jessie nodded, her throat closing. Her prayers had been answered thus far. Torrin was alive, as she'd asked. Now, she must ask for his rapid healing.
Holding his hand, she kissed his overheated forehead, then silently said a swift but heartfelt prayer.
My Notorious Highlander (Highland Adventure 5) Page 24