“Weel, Rocky, do ye think he’ll make it? Hmph! Do ye think we’ll make it? Now we’re three bucks without a bit of food or any way to get it—no dirk, no rifle, no arrows. I dinna suppose you feel like headin’ oot into that mess to bring us supper, do ye?”
Rocky came over to the prone patient and pushed his nose into the crotch area.
“Get away, that’s rude, Rocky,” Ian said absently, concentrating on finding a way to get food; he was suddenly hungry.
Rocky did it again, and this time woofed, trying to get Ian’s attention.
“What, did the lad hurt his private parts or somethin’?”
“Woof, woof.”
“Okay, I’ll check it out, but it doesna feel right. It’s rather personal with humans, ye ken.”
Ian lifted the young man’s jacket, looking for the buttons so he could get the pants down. There weren’t any, but he did find a thin rope holding them up. He huffed in frustration; he couldn’t untie the rope because his hands were too swollen to work the knot. The pants did look like they were too big, though.
“Worth a try,” he said, and pulled on the pants with the outside of his palms held together like fire tongs. After a long minute of tugging first one side, and then the other, he had the pants down. All he could see in the dim firelight was that the boy was wearing strange undergarments. Ian grabbed a stick of wood and set it on the fire to flame up. While his back was turned, Rocky came over and started nosing the boy in the crotch again.
“Stop that—it’s bad manners.” Ian picked up the now flaming piece of wood and held it over the area Rocky was so excited about. He could smell the blood, too. But it didn’t smell like blood from a wound. It smelled like a woman.
It was blood, and he was a woman! Apparently, she was on her courses. She was messy down there, but it would only be a minor clean up. He really didn’t want to intrude, but if he didn’t, her pants would be soiled. “Lord, dinna let her wake up. This isna lust or desire, I’m simply tryin’ to be my brother’s, er, sister’s keeper. And please, Lord, let her heal. She helped me, now let me be a tool in Yer hands to help her. Amen.”
It had been quite a while since Ian had prayed. He had thought God didn’t care about him and that was why the men had come to kill him. It just wasn’t in him to let them take his life, though. He was born a fighter, would most likely die one, too—but it looked like today was not the day for it. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be hers either.
He had done all he could for her—which wasn’t much beyond washing her with snow water and giving her a pillow. Sleep was just possibly the best medicine. And it was definitely the only one available.
*13 Caving
Now what should he do? He looked down at himself in the dim light. His clothes were disgusting. He pulled off his filthy buckskin shirt with an angry vengeance, threw it down beside the fire, and then scooped handfuls of dirt onto the smears of blood, vomit, and piss that covered it. He rubbed the powdery soil into the leather with a circular motion, using the still somewhat undamaged outside edge of his hand. He flipped it over and furiously repeated the process. He performed his ‘dry cleaning’ method several times until the shirt was soft again and ‘cleaner,’ then shook it out, and tossed it into the farthest recess of the cave.
Next, he untied his leather belt, dropping his breechclout and attached leggings at the same time. They were in worse shape than his shirt. The bastards who bound and beat him had made him walk through hot embers and broken glass. He remembered one man shouting and laughing, “Hey, his feet are on fire,” and started to piss on him. Then they all joined in. He sniffed, then groaned with the unwelcome recollection. Apparently, at some point in one of his beatings, he had shat himself. He scooped dirt onto the pile of buckskin. It was doubtful his clothes would ever be clean enough, but these were the only ones he had.
Even though he was now naked, Ian wasn’t cold despite the snow falling outside. His body had grown warm with his newly awakened rage. He grabbed the gray rag that had bound his head, dipped it into the water, and began cleaning his lower body as best he could. When he was done, he threw the cloth into the fire. Not only did he not want to be reminded of shitting himself and being pissed on, he didn’t want there to be any chance the rag could be used for any other purpose. He rubbed the leggings and breechclout into the ground, performing the cleaning chore a second time by using the rough flooring as his washboard. When he was done, he took a flat rock and pushed the disgusting soil he had used for laundering into the fire, purging it of the remaining stink and filth, then threw the pants into the pile with the shirt.
Burning the remnants of his shame helped, but he still felt emotionally dirty. He grabbed the pan and squatted in front of the fire, pouring the warmed snow water over his loins, scrubbing vigorously with just his hands. His rage was building. How dare someone—or some ones—make him hate his own body, humiliate him, and make him lose control of his bowels. His anger was making him hot all over. He started slapping himself, cursing in all the languages he knew …
“Ow.”
The cry of pain brought him back to reality. The voice wasn’t very loud—he wasn’t even sure if it was real. He more felt than heard the noise. He looked over at the lass. Her mouth was moving, but no noise was coming out. Her eyes were still closed—she must be moaning in her sleep.
Ian’s angry tirade had worn him out. He was still physically weak, and the lass’s rescue had used up what little strength he had. If only this had happened last year, last month, or even last week, when he was his normal self—healthy and clear-headed—then moving a mysterious, unconscious young female over snowy and rough terrain would not only have been a fairly simple task, it would have been intriguing, and hopefully, pleasurable.
Right now, his mind and body were spent. He hadn’t eaten in days, had been beaten to a pulp by a group of degenerate heathens, and had been awakened from a deep, comatose sleep by his dog biting him on the ear. He didn’t know where he was or how long he had been unconscious. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep. Before he could do that, though, he needed to put another log on the fire, offer Rocky the leftover water, and scoop up more snow for melting.
Too much had just happened. For self-preservation, he closed off all thoughts, consciously numbing his brain, as if packed in ice. By using this old trick, he could force his raw hands to work just a little longer.
Ӂ
It seemed as if it took hours to get those small tasks done, but he knew he would be glad he had done them in the morning. “Rocky, watch fer bad men and dinna let the fire go out. I canna stay awake another minute. I’ll deal with everythin’ else in the morn. Dinna wake me unless men or beasts attack. And no more ear bitin’, ye mangy cur,” he said, bumping shoulders with Rocky.
Ian readied himself emotionally for his new sleeping arrangements. He had to lie next to the lass. Healthy, tired, or half-dead, that situation appealed to him. He had to lie parallel to her; there wasn’t much room in the cave. He positioned himself carefully, making sure he didn’t touch the unknown young woman—she might be someone’s wife. He shuddered at the thought that she might belong to one of the men who had kidnapped him. “Nae, not her,” he whispered softly.
The cold wind and snow were blowing into the cave now, skirting around Rocky’s massive bulk that only partially blocked the entrance. His feet were warmed by the fire, and the proximity of the dog was keeping his head warm, but his bare torso was shaking from the frigid air and cold ground. Lying near the lass was pleasant enough, but she didn’t radiate much heat from a foot away.
His mind ached for sleep, but his naked body was shuddering, too cold to relax enough for slumber. The fire would die down during the night, and their stony shelter would be even icier in the morning. The only coat and blanket were being used by her. He was sure she wouldn’t mind sharing with him.
“Weel, I hope she’d share,” he whispered. He gingerly took the coat off her, put his arm in the right sleeve, then lay down next to h
er, cradling her back against his chest. He turned the blanket sideways so it covered the lower half of both of their bodies. A few minor adjustments and their legs and hips were covered. He pulled her body close to his, then stuck his arm into one sleeve, leaving the side of the jacket draped over her.
“Lord, I dinna ken what I did to deserve this comfort, but I thank Ye. Please, jest keep us safe, and let me know what Ye want me to do. Amen, and good night.” And with that, Ian fell into a deep, restful sleep.
Ӂ
“Mmm,” Ian crooned as he awoke, immersed in a comfortable, warm feeling, as if he had just eaten a hearty dinner and was sitting around the hearth with friends and family, trading stories and drinking whisky. He was enjoying that twilight zone between dreaming and reality where thought and substance merge, holding a warm, beautiful woman and…
His eyes popped open, but the rest of him froze. This wasn’t a dream. His left hand was holding a very soft, very real breast. He realized that one part of his anatomy was definitely aware of her authenticity. He pulled away from her, adjusted his early morning stiffness so he wasn’t poking her, and then snuggled back, almost to the same position. This time, though, he placed his hand lower so he wasn’t cupping her breast, but could still enjoy its nearness and warmth.
Ian tried to return to that peaceful, sleepy place again, but bits and pieces of his recent torture exploded like lightning flashes in a summer storm, revealing a dying animal. He squeezed his eyes tight, clenching his jaws with the effort, trying to keep out images of his own personal horror, but all it did was make his face hurt.
He was wide-awake now, and fully aware that he was uncomfortable in another way. It felt as if he hadn’t taken a piss in days. He gingerly pulled his arm out of the coat, leaving the sleeve under her head as a pillow, draping the rest of it around her upper body.
He started to stand, but quickly dropped back to the ground, reminded of two of his infirmities: his wounded feet. Still on his knees, he made his way to the opening of the cave. He reached upwards, arched his spine, and took in deep recharging breaths: the crisp autumn air refreshing, invigorating.
It was as good a time as any to mark his territory. “Ahh…” The relief of his bladder also helped clear his mind of the wooly fluff of his long and deep slumber. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so hard, but did know he hadn’t been able to sleep peacefully in years. He hurt all over, but felt alive and human again.
Suddenly, mental images of his abduction and torture burst forward into his conscious mind again. He quickly pushed them back. There were better things to think of than seeking revenge. Right now, right here—just a few feet away—there was a warm human female in need of someone to take care of her. Whether she was the one who rescued him and tended to his injuries, he didn’t know. But if she was, she was one hell of a woman; one he wanted in good health. He wanted to thank her properly.
He reentered the cave and found a colorful bandana by the makeshift bed. He sniffed it—it smelled clean—so he dipped it into the pan of warm water. He dabbed it on her lips to see if she would lick the drops. No luck. He tried again, this time with success. She wasn’t awake, but her instinct to suck was there. Her full lips pulled at the cloth, getting all the moisture out of it. He took it away, rewet it, and tried again. Not this time—evidently she had had enough. She sighed softly, and then sank back into her deep sleep.
Ian couldn’t decide what needed done first. He felt worthless. He was limited because of his feet. He couldn’t walk at all, nor go very far by butt-scooting or kneeling, and couldn’t even hold a dirk—not that he had one anymore. “Rocky, go find us some breakfast,” he said in frustration.
Rocky jumped up and headed out through the hedged entrance, not looking back, knocking the bushes further away from the access, eager to hunt for his family’s food.
“Weel, there’s somethin’ I can do.” Ian took a piece of the stacked firewood between his palms and used it to pull the branches back over the opening. He’d figure a way to make a more permanent closure later.
He walked on his knees to the improvised bed to check on his charge. She was beautiful—even if she was drooling a bit. “Are ye awake? Can I do somethin’ fer ye?” He saw her mouth move again, but still no sound. He bent over, close to her face, and asked again louder, “Can I help ye?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, but her eyes stayed closed. No reply—she was still unconscious. “Weel, get yer rest,” he mumbled, then turned away to get the pan of water.
Ӂ
I was suddenly awake, although I didn’t remember falling asleep or anyone trying to rouse me. I saw Ian at the fire. He must have awakened while I was sleeping. He was naked, so I averted my eyes. I couldn’t help myself, though, and glanced up again to look at his long, knobby back that ended with a dark, fuzzy crack.
“Hello, Ian. Are you feeling better?” I said, making sure my eyes were low and my voice loud.
Ian swung his torso halfway around and nearly tossed the water on me. I couldn’t help but grin. “Ouch!” The grinning hurt my face. I shut my eyes and gulped in embarrassment, afraid that I was staring at his nakedness or that he’d think I was. “What happened to your clothes? I’m sure I left them on you.”
Ian grabbed the blanket from my legs and held it over his middle.
“Aye, they were on me when I awoke, but they were so filthy, I couldna bear to be in them. I cleaned them and me up a bit. They’re in the back, airin’ out. I was jest about to see if they were wearable when ye started moanin’.”
“Go ahead and get dressed,” I said, my eyes still closed. “I won’t look.”
“I dinna mind if ye look. I’ve never been bashful. It’s jest ye gave me a start. I was afraid ye’d never wake up. Are ye thirsty?”
“Yes, I’d love a drink. Is there anything to eat?”
“I sent Rocky out to bring us some breakfast. I hope it’s somethin’ easy to fix. I was, um, relieved of my dirk.”
Ian held the pan up to my mouth. I looked down into the bottom of it as I drank. I pulled my head back and with my eyes, offered him the last of it. He accepted it and said, “Thank ye.”
His eyes widened in realization. “Ye called me Ian. How did ye ken my name?”
I told him the truth: “Rocky told me.”
“Are ye telling me ye understand that beast?”
“No, it’s more like we played a game of twenty questions and I won. Actually, it only took a few guesses to figure out your name. He acted all excited when I called you “Man.” From there I deduced that you weren’t an Ann, Ban, Can, or Dan. When I asked about ‘E-Ann’ he went nuts. He’s a smart dog—or is he a wolf?”
“I dinna ken, he was a weaned pup when I found him. He and I have been together a long time. I think he’s more like a brother to me than my own brothers. At least he’s here—they’re both back in Scotland.”
“So that’s where you’re from. Do you live around here now?”
“Right now, I have no home,” he said glumly. “Um, I think I’ll get my clothes on now if ye dinna mind.”
I turned over, onto my belly, and tried to get up. “Ouch!” It was that darned right wrist. I dropped to my elbows and managed to roll back onto my fanny.
Ian stopped at my yelp and saw I was holding my hand. “Is there somethin’ I can do for ye?”
“Yes,” I replied a little too curtly. “Can you tell if I broke a bone?”
“Aye, if it’s severe, I can.”
Ian gently took my hand from my chest, stretched it out, and then turned it over. It wasn’t as painful that way. Then he pushed on it. “Ouch! That’s where it hurts,” I complained, bringing my hand back to my chest.
“I think ye’ve naught but a sprain. Dinna use it for a few days, and it should be fine. Do ye want me to bind it for ye? I found a bright colored kerchief that would look right bonnie.”
I giggled, “Yes, please do, doctor. But I doubt your bandaging could look as magnificent as what I had on you ye
sterday. Your hands were purple and swollen, so I packed them with bags of snow and bound them with psychedelic bandanas.”
“Weel, first, I am nae a doctor. And second, thank ye fer tendin’ to my hands. The last I recall, I was wonderin’ if they were gonna fall off at the wrists, the way the ropes were bindin’ them so tightly. And third, what is cycle deltic?”
“Psychedelic, you know, flower power—I survived the ‘60s and all that?”
“Weel, I guess I can say I survived the ‘60s, and I ken that flour is powdered wheat, but I dinna ken about cycle deltic.”
“Psychedelic is bright colors in wild patterns, like that bandana.”
“Aye, I’ll take yer word fer it. Now, let me have yer hand, and I’ll bind the kerchief ‘round it. How’s yer heid?”
“I have a splitting headache, but I think I’ll survive. At least I can sit up straight. But this is weird—I can’t remember my name. It’s funny that I know your name, but not my own.”
I was a bit hesitant to say anything more about my memory loss, but I had to ask. “Did you know me before today or yesterday?”
“Nae, I canna say I did. Do ye remember where yer from or yer parents’ names?”
“No, but I do recall a little bit about taking care of you and Rocky. I don’t remember my birthday or address, but do know how to talk, obviously.”
My memory loss had bothered me at first, but now I was intrigued. “Tell me what you know about me; maybe that’ll spark a memory,” I suggested happily.
“I recall Rocky bitin’ my ear to wake me and get me to come outside. Once I was out there, I saw a body on the ground. I thought ye were a lad because of the clothes. Ye were alive, but ailin’.” Ian shrugged his shoulder. “Then it started snowin’. Rocky and I had the devil of a time gettin’ ye inside. I cleaned ye up a bit, found out ye were a lass,” Ian mumbled something incomprehensible, “and then, weel, I just bundled us up, fell asleep, and here we are.”
Naked in the Winter Wind Page 11