by Aileen Adams
Fenella, meanwhile, dismounted and dashed into the fray.
“Fenella!” Jake cried out, but she paid no mind to the man whose soldiers she’d met on the road to Ben Nevis. While she was most grateful to him and always would be, he was not Donnan.
She needed Donnan.
There was Padraig, standing beneath the shadow of a tree, falling to his knees beside…
“Donnan!” Her mournful cry caused the men around her to stop whatever they were engaged in and turn her way. She pushed aside those who barred her from reaching her love.
And nearly tripped over the body beside his. She did not recognize the man at first glance, not until she saw his eyes. A shudder ran through her as she realized she looked upon what was once Angus Cameron.
It mattered little—not at all, in fact, as she sank to her knees beside Donnan.
Padraig spoke quietly to him as he rolled Donnan onto his side.
“What happened?” she gasped when she took stock of the blood-soaked tunic.
“Stabbed him,” Padraig muttered, his teeth clenched. “I tried to warn him, but it was too late.”
“Donnan?” She brushed the hair from his face, but he did not stir at the sound of her voice. She pressed her fingers to his throat and found his pulse.
“He’s breathing,” Padraig confirmed, though the words sounded grim. “And there is still blood coming from the wound.”
Jake Duncan joined them. “He is badly wounded?”
“Aye,” Padraig announced, “though breathing.” He leaned Donnan against Fenella to keep him on his side and tore the tunic further open at the sight of the wound.
Jake handed Padraig a container of water, which Padraig poured over Donnan’s back. Fenella’s stomach turned at the sight of the hole which instantly filled with blood until it overflowed.
“I need something to press to the wound to slow the bleeding,” Padraig muttered, and Jake called out to one of his men to fetch something from his saddle.
She looked down at Donnan’s sleeping face. She could pretend he was sleeping, that his eyes were merely closed due to fatigue at riding all day and fighting a man such as Angus Cameron. She brushed the hair back from his forehead, trailed her fingers along the length of his scar.
Would that he would wake and tell her to keep her hands to herself. Anything at all. He could shout at her, be coarse and cruel, dismiss her memories as something she merely made up. Anything, as long as he was alive to do it.
Bending, she brushed her lips against his ear. “Ye must live,” she breathed. “Ye must, for I love ye and ye said ye felt the same. We must have our time together, do ye understand me? We deserve that. I have waited too long for ye. Already, I thought ye were gone once, that I had lost ye, but ye came back to me. Do not leave me now, my love. I beg ye.”
Her tears dripped onto his skin as she hovered there, whispering words of love her heart had held close and silent for so many years. Everything she had ever longed to confess.
He had to hear her. He must hear her. She would accept nothing else.
Jake unrolled a canvas pack. “My sister-in-law is a healer. Highly skilled. She healed me when I was near death—far worse than this one here,” he added with a glance Fenella’s way. “She never allows me to go out for anything, but especially not something like what we did today, without bringing nearly everything she uses.”
“How did ye know to come?” Padraig asked, watching as Jake poured another liquid on the wound.
“This will clean it,” he explained, then said, “My brother has spies who patrol the edges of the lands which border ours. We’d heard of stirrings in Clan Cameron and he wished to be prepared for anything Angus and his lot would bring our way. He heard of the clan making a move toward the area and wanted us out in force today, in case we met up with them.”
He grinned, shaking his head with another look at Fenella. “Instead, we met this lass. A fine rider, she is. She told us of what was taking place here, and we came on the run.”
“Donnan would be proud of ye,” Padraig assured her with a firm nod of his head.
“He will be proud of me,” she corrected. “When he wakes. He will be. And if he is not, I shall give him the devil of a time.” But he would be. She stroked his hair, looking down at his dear face, and told herself he would be.
“I need to sew the wound now. Never my favorite part, I must admit, but it has to be done.” She looked away, unable to stomach the sight of Jake Duncan using a needle and thread to close the wound.
But it would save her love. It simply had to.
“Right, then. Now, a poultice.” Jake’s hands moved with great sureness, his fingers flying over the pungent powder which he shook out of a pouch before combining it with a bit of the same liquid he’d used to cleanse the wound prior to sewing.
“She trained ye well, seems,” Fenella observed, admiring his skill and deftness.
“Aye, as I said, she saved me from near-death. I watched her mix poultices for me, along with anyone else I’ve happened to see her heal over the years. It has been a long time since she came to my aid, and it’s glad I am to be able to do the same for another.”
She loved Jake Duncan at that moment. Loved his sister-in-law, whoever she might be. Loved Padraig for staying there, holding Donnan steady while Jake worked on him.
After applying a thick layer of green-tinged paste, Jake pressed a clean linen square over all. Then, the three of them worked together to wrap bandages around his torso without disturbing the wound overmuch.
“He ought to sleep for quite a while,” Jake observed once all was finished. He poured water over his hands to wash away the blood. “If he wakes, he ought to drink a great deal of water, some of which ought to be mixed with a tincture to ease the pain. Do not allow him to move if it can be helped.”
He stood and looked at what had been a bloody scene only minutes before. When Fenella turned to see, she could not have been more surprised to find only Padraig’s men there. “Where did the Camerons go?” she asked, feeling as though she were just waking from a dream.
“They retreated,” Rodric replied as he approached. He was filthy, drenched in sweat, but his face bore a victorious smile. Her heart warmed for Caitlin’s sake, and for the sake of their children. “Donnan and Padraig convinced more than a few of them that this was a fool’s errand. We fought the rest, and when they caught sight of the Duncans riding up?” His laughter told the rest.
“How many did we lose?” Padraig asked.
“None.”
“None?” Both he and Fenella asked at once.
“Grant ye, there are wounded men. Brice took a sword to the shoulder, but the man is in good spirits. It will take more than that to do him in.” There was no ignoring the relief in his voice.
“I’m glad to hear of it,” Jake smiled, patting Rodric on the back. The two of them spoke as though they were friends. She recalled hearing Rodric speak of their time together in the army.
Turning to Padraig, she asked, “What ought we do now?”
“Och, I was about to ask ye the same.” He looked down at the sleeping Donnan, left on his side that he might not disturb the wound.
Jake broke in. “If I might, I believe he ought to complete the journey to Ben Nevis—not now, mind ye, but perhaps tomorrow. There is a cart somewhere in our line, full of supplies. He might ride back in it once he is a bit stronger.”
She exchanged a look with Padraig, who shrugged. “If there is a skilled healer there, it may be for the best that he not return to my house. We have no one with that level of skill. We ought to; it has been on my mind for quite a while.”
He looked down at his friend. “Sarah Duncan could not save my brother, but that was no fault of her own. He had already gone for too long with his wounds, and they were far too severe. I know she did all she was capable of. She will treat Donnan well, I am certain.”
They decided to spend the night right there, in that place, and to leave in the morning. It was a
lready winding down into evening, and exhaustion settled heavily in Fenella’s very bones.
Jake took a good number of the men back to their land but left roughly half behind in case the Camerons decided to return. Padraig ordered Rodric to lead the men home in the morning, after they’d had the chance to rest in the wake of battle.
She was uncertain whether the man who built the fire was Duncan or Anderson. It mattered not. What mattered was hot food to eat and light by which to observe Donnan, to be certain he still breathed.
“Ye must rest,” Padraig murmured after several hours.
She shook her head. “How can I? You ought to.”
He merely smiled. “As ye said, how can I?”
And so, they spent the night under a spruce tree, silent except to comment on Donnan’s condition, his breathing, the warmth of his skin, whether there was any blood oozing from beneath the bandages.
Jake had left the pack full of supplies and had instructed them to change the poultice and bandages at dawn. Fenella waited with her stomach in knots, looking up at the sky again and again as though it would suddenly be light and signal the time had come.
“He did it for ye,” Padraig murmured after many hours, causing her to jump in surprise. “Och, forgive me. I didna intend to startle ye so.”
She waved it off, though her heart beat at a furious rate. “What did ye say? He did what for me?”
“Fought him.”
There was no need to explain who he meant. “He did?”
“Told me he would—mind ye, he did not start the fight. He merely wished to speak to the men, to tell them what their leader had in mind. He tried to put a stop to as much of the fighting as he could before the fighting could begin, though he wanted badly to fight Angus Cameron.”
“For what he did to me,” she murmured.
“Aye. For what he did to ye. That is not the sort of thing a man takes lightly, lass. Especially when he cares for a woman as Donnan cares for ye.”
She blushed at this.
“I dinna mean to embarrass ye; it seems I dinna intend to do much of what I do,” he chuckled, and she joined him. “But I tell ye this to say that he intended to avenge ye even before ye arrived. It was always his desire to pay the man back for treating ye as he did.”
“And he did,” she observed with a shaky laugh. It was difficult to believe Donnan—the man she loved so tenderly—was capable of killing.
“There was a hole in my back, and a blade pointed at my throat, if that helps ye know why I killed him.”
Fenella gasped, looking down to find Donnan looking up at her. “You are awake!”
“I suppose I am. I expected to awaken in Heaven.” His smile warmed her to her core. “Perhaps I did.”
26
Donnan reached for Padraig’s hand, which his friend offered with a tight clasp and a smile. “Ye did well for yourself yesterday.”
“As did ye,” Donnan reminded him. “And ye didna nearly get yourself killed.” Truth be told, he was still uncertain as to whether he would ultimately survive. It was for Padraig’s and Fenella’s sakes that he kept his spirits as high as he could.
She was beside him in the cart Jake Duncan had insisted they use for the journey to Ben Nevis. “Are ye certain it would not be better for me to go with ye?” he asked Padraig, watching as he mounted his horse.
The Anderson men were moving out, returning home, some of them limping and bandaged, but on the whole, much better off than Donnan might have supposed when he heard the entire Cameron force was on the way to meet them.
“I understand why ye would ask,” Padraig replied, “and the journey would be an easier one—mostly flat land, but I have the utmost faith in Sarah Duncan. She’s with child, or so I understand, else she would have made the ride out.”
He did not begrudge the woman for staying home, child or no child. She owed him nothing. The Duncans, on the whole, owed him nothing. He was the one indebted to them for not only having saved his life, but for coming to rescue of so many others.
It was not easy for him to be indebted to another he did not even know.
One look into the eyes of the woman beside him served a reminder of how important his healing was, and how she very hard she would work at making certain he went.
She had not laughed when he’d suggested she might kill him if he did not obey her wishes.
Rodric and the others waved and wished them well before beginning their ride down the wide road. Brice’s arm was in a sling, his shoulder heavily bandaged, but he seemed to be in high spirits. They all were, as they’d been victorious.
“Tis a shame,” Fenella mused as they started off. Her gaze remained on the retreating men.
“A shame?”
“That Padraig does not have a woman to return to. The rest of them do, and they’re all but bursting with excitement to see their loved ones. But not Padraig. He is a good man.”
“That he is. I hope he finds someone, someday.” Donnan’s hand closed over hers, and she smiled.
It was a tired smile which vanished almost instantly. “Ye need to rest,” he murmured. “Sleep, please. I know ye did not sleep last night, and ye rode hard yesterday.”
She merely shook her head, forcing a brighter smile this time. “I would not waste a minute with ye. And if ye need something, I would wish to be awake.”
“I could wake ye.” Though it was no use, and he knew it. She would do whatever it was she set out to do, no matter his protests.
As she had ridden out behind them to warn of the attack. He was still of two minds about that, and the tincture both she and Padraig had insisted he drink of before the journey served to dull his mind, along with his senses.
And yet, he could not help turning it over and over. She had gone out to do what she could to save him, not knowing whether it would be possible or if she would even arrive in time.
It did not matter that she’d reached them when she had, for it had been too late.
But riding onward from there had brought her together with the Duncans, which had ended the battle. She might have saved many lives—including his own, as Jake Duncan himself had treated Donnan’s wound.
In the end, all he wished to know was whether he ought to praise her for taking such a risk or warn her against doing anything so foolish in the future.
For he did wish to have a future with her.
She would need to be alive and well for such a thing to be possible.
“What are ye frowning about? Are ye in pain?”
Yes, he was, no matter how much he’d taken to ease it. “Nay, lass. Just asking myself if ye were truly in the right, being as reckless as ye were.”
“I have never known a man more stubborn or ungrateful in my life,” she groaned.
“Dinna call me ungrateful. I will be grateful to ye for the rest of my days, lass. I would be more grateful if ye didna take such risks with your safety.”
“I did what I felt I needed to do,” she replied, arching a brow. “Would ye have it any other way?”
“Nay, which is why I frowned.”
She laughed before kissing his forehead. “Ye ought to rest. Try to sleep—ye will not be able to feel the pain when ye sleep.”
He doubted sleep would come, as the movement of the cart only served to make the pain greater. Even so, it was better than sitting up in the saddle. Still, he closed his eyes if only to oblige her.
When he woke, the Grampians surrounded them.
In his surprise, he forgot to remain still and nearly pushed himself up into a seated position.
“What do ye think you’re doing?” Fenella demanded when he howled at the stabbing fire in his back.
“I… forgot…” he panted. “And I didna know I had fallen asleep.”
“You have been asleep all the day,” she informed him with a half-smile. “We are nearly there.”
Sure enough, the sun had all but disappeared behind the peaks, leaving the sky a peculiar shade of blue streaked with pink and gold c
louds. They had been riding since just before dawn.
“I canna believe I slept all the while,” he murmured.
“Your body needed the rest, even if ye didna believe it did.” Her hand covered his forehead. “Still no fever, gods be praised.”
He scowled at her. Even in the dim light of early evening, the exhaustion on her face was plain to see. He could hear it in her weak, thin voice as well. “Do tell me ye didna spend the day tending to me while I slept.”
Her tired eyes hardened. “And if I cannot say any such thing, Donnan Ross? Do ye plan to punish me?”
“And do ye expect to be rewarded for going all this time without a bit of sleep?” he demanded in return. Even in pain, he could not help but be stirred to righteous anger as the cart made its slow, rocking way up the winding mountain pass.
Her anger was as fierce as his own. “Ye must understand something. I love ye. I told ye I did. When I love a person, I cannot rest until I know for certain they’re well. I do not know any such thing about ye. How could I sleep without knowing?”
He growled through gritted teeth and turned his gaze to the sky, which did not argue with him. The remainder of the journey was spent in silence, as he watched the sky go from blue to deep purple, then to black. Stars revealed themselves one by one, pulling his gaze from one to the other until he knew not where to look.
He nearly stopped himself from speaking of it with her—she would not wish to speak to him, and certainly not about the stars—then asked himself why he insisted on behaving like a fool.
Only yesterday did he believe he would never see the woman again.
How much did he long to tell her then? How much would he have given for just a moment in her presence? To feel her in his arms? To talk about the stars?
“This reminds me of the nights I spent at home, before I started out to find ye,” he murmured, still gazing upward.
He waited, the sound of her breathing all he had to assume she still lived.
“How so?” she whispered after what felt like an eternity.
“There was so much work to be done—the whole place fell to ruin, or was nearly doing so when I arrived. I cleaned out the stables, the barn, which were all but empty, and took to sleeping out there at night when I was simply too tired and sore to do any further work that day. There was a hole in the roof of the stables, and I would look up at the stars through it before falling asleep.”