“That would be Ben Denham land now,” a grizzled Highlander offered, scratching his badly scarred cheek. “The meirleach bought it last year when it came to auction.”
Hugh swallowed the fury that threatened to choke him. He turned to three of his most trusted men. “Ride there,” he ordered in a clipped voice. “Search hard, and if you find a man riding who has a musket, I want him brought here. Even if it’s the laird himself,” he stressed, meeting each man’s gaze in turn, “I want him brought here.”
After they rode off he divided the rest of the men into search parties, ordering them to fan out in ever-widening circles before doubling back. If the attacker had been a stranger and was still on MacColme land, they would have him within the hour. That done, he rode up to the site where he gauged the shot had come from, and dismounted to begin examining the ground with senses trained through almost fifteen years of combat.
“One rider,” he determined, studying a set of hoofprints. “And he wasna riding a Highland pony. The hooves were shod.”
Lucien followed him. “How can you tell that?” he asked, leaning forward to peer at the tracks. “I canna see a thing.”
Hugh continued walking, his gaze never leaving the ground. “That is because you were never trained by an Indian guide, as was I,” he said, noting that the tracks turned to the east.
“The man who shot my wife waited by that small tree for us to ride past. He dismounted to shoot; you can see his boot print there.” He indicated a mark on the ground. “And after shooting Caroline he remounted and rode east … to Ben Denham land.” He spoke the name with a savage ferocity that had Lucien studying him with marked concern.
“Hugh,” he began cautiously, “I understand your anger, but I urge you to practice every restraint. A feud between the clans just now would play into the hands of the English, and that would do none of us any good.”
Hugh turned his head to sear him with a glare. “Dunhelm shot my wife,” he ground out, his hands clenching into fists. “What do you expect me to do? Kiss him for it?”
“Wait until you have proof,” Lucien urged, his gloved hand closing over Hugh’s wrist. “With that you can see him hang, but if you act without it, you’ll only cause bad blood between our clans. Besides,” he added with a frown, “what makes you so certain it was Dunhelm as did this?”
Hugh rubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to force himself to think with his mind instead of his heart. “We had words,” he said, and told Lucien the details of Caroline’s kidnapping. “That bastard Westhall was there,” he concluded, his jaw tight as he remembered the earl’s parting words. “He promised to stay well away from us, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t convince Dunhelm to do his foul work for him. Doubtlessly he got Dunhelm to do away with Caroline as a means of avenging himself.”
“You sound convinced of that,” Lucien said, watching him.
“I am,” Hugh said grimly. “And when I get my hands on Dunhelm, I will convince him to admit as much.” He gave the other man a smile that made him blanch. “Tracking the enemy isn’t the only thing I learned from Sesquadech, Raghnall. Dunhelm is as soft as a girl, and I doubt he’ll last long once I start on him.”
“You’d torture him?” Lucien’s eyes threatened to pop from his head.
“With the greatest of pleasure.”
Lucien shuddered, then drew a deep breath before speaking. “Dinna you think you had best consider every other alternative first?” he asked carefully. “Dunhelm is too much a feardie to shoot at anyone. And try as I might, I canna see him having the wit and the patience to sit and wait for you and your wife to come wandering by. And what is his reason? What is his prize? He may well be kittled with you, but do you really think he would shoot an innocent woman to salvage his pride?”
Hugh’s head was beginning to ache. He wished Lucien would cease his prattling; he was making him think, and he didn’t want to think. He wanted to stain his hands with the blood of those who had dared harm his Caroline. He wanted them dead and burning in hell for hurting her so grievously, but how could he do any of these things if he couldn’t find those who were to blame?
“It has to be Dunhelm, or that pig of an uncle of hers,” he said wearily. “Who else had cause to harm her?”
Lucien’s protracted silence drew Hugh’s notice, and he raised his head to give the other man a wary glare. “Raghnall? Is there something you’re nae telling me?”
Lucien fidgeted uncomfortably for several seconds before answering. “I’ve tried telling you the feeling ran hard against your English bride, but you wouldna hear of it,” he said with visible reluctance. “I know you thought to bend the others to your will, but you of all people should know how strongly a Highlander would resent being led where he wouldna go.”
For a moment Hugh feared he would be ill. He could feel the puke rising in his throat, and the sickly sweat dappling his forehead. “Are you saying one of my men, a man of my own clan, shot Caroline?” he asked, horrified to realize that Lucien’s words made a dreadful sort of sense.
“I’m saying that before you lash Dunhelm to a burning stake you at least consider the possibility,” Lucien replied with a surprising note of gentleness in his voice. “I know it must pain you to think so, Hugh, but I fear it is something you had best consider. I am sorry.”
Hugh didn’t answer, speech beyond his capabilities. Not even his father’s denouncement had hurt him like this. This was a betrayal so vile, so stunning, he couldn’t seem to find his way past it. A MacColme or one under their charge had lain in wait for them. He had raised his rifle, trained it on Caroline, and he had pulled the trigger. That he’d meant to kill her was obvious, for had she not turned just then, the bullet would have struck her full in the chest.
“Why?” He wasn’t aware he had spoken until he heard the word leave his lips. He turned to Lucien, shaking so hard he feared he might fall. “In the name of God, Lucien, why?”
Lucien laid a comforting hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “As to that, I canna say. Perhaps he felt justified in what he did, or perhaps he was too filled with hate to care, but either way I dinna see that it matters. You must surely see that you no longer have the choice of letting your wife remain at Loch Haven. When she is recovered, you must send her away.”
“Send her away?” Hugh echoed, gazing at Lucien in shock. “Why the devil should I do that?”
“Because if we are right, and ’Tis a MacColme who is responsible for this, what is to keep him from trying again?” Lucien pointed out with deadly logic. “And next time, what is to keep him from succeeding? You must send her away, laird. It is the only way you can guarantee she will be truly safe.”
She hurt. Caroline lay on her bed, her brow puckering as she moved her head restlessly on the pillow. She was also roasting, and she wondered why the maid had piled so many blankets on top of her. She tried to push them off, but the small movement sent agony shooting through her and she cried out in pain.
“Hush now, love,” came Hugh’s voice, and she felt the gentleness of his touch as a cool cloth was laid upon her forehead. “It’s all right. You’ll soon be fine, I give you my word on it. Shh.”
The words were meant to reassure, she was certain, but they vexed her instead. She opened her eyes with a surprising amount of difficulty, and scowled up at him. “What rot,” she said, her voice sounding as if she had a cold. “How can all be fine when I am near to burning from all these blankets? Get them off of me.”
A slow smile lit his eyes. “So ’Tis up to giving orders you are,” he murmured, reaching out to touch her face. “I might have known ’Twould take more than a musket ball to take the thorns from my English rose.”
Caroline glared up at him, wondering if he’d been at the whiskey while she was resting. He certainly looked as if he’d been imbibing, she brooded, staring into his face and seeing the shadows beneath his light grey-green eyes, and the tired lines bracketing his full mouth. His jaw was heavily shadowed by stubble, and his hair hung in lank str
ands about cheeks that looked decidedly leaner than she remembered them being.
“What has happened to you, Hugh?” she asked, holding her hand out to him. “Have you been ill? Tell me truly, now.”
To her horror a silver tear escaped his eyes to trickle down his face. “No, mo cridhe,” he said in a voice that shook with emotion, “ ’Tis not me who has been ill, but you.”
“Me?” she exclaimed, and then in a rush a confusing tangle of images unraveled in her mind. She could see herself riding back toward the castle with Hugh, and then she could see him shouting at her, warning her to get behind him. She could remember turning, and then she remembered the white-hot pain that tore through her, sending her into a black pool of darkness.
“Musket ball,” she whispered, and then another image of an older man’s face dripping with sweat filled her mind. She remembered the smell of blood, and the stomach-churning pain as he poked and prodded at her arm. “Got it!” she remembered him saying, a look of triumph on his face as he held up an ugly black piece of metal. “Got the bastard!”
“I was shot?” Her voice shook as she put the images together and reached the horrifying conclusion.
Hugh’s face grew ashen. “Yesterday afternoon,” he said, kneeling down to gently kiss her cheek. “We were riding back from the Browns’ cottage, and were ambushed. I am sorry, love.”
“S-sorry?” Caroline repeated, her eyes filling with tears. The babe! she thought, her heart rending in two. Oh, God in heaven, had she lost the babe?
“I should have had a better care of you,” Hugh said, his voice filled with remorse. “I’ve been a soldier nearly half my life, and I led you straight into that ambush like a lamb to the slaughter. ’Tis my fault, and I am sorry, so sorry, dearest.” His voice broke on the last word, and he buried his face against her neck, his grip desperate as he held her.
Caroline was unsure what to think. If she had lost the baby he would surely have said something, wouldn’t he? She reached up to stroke his hair. That he had not filled her with cautious hope, but she wouldn’t let herself rest until she knew for certain. She glanced up and saw Aunt Egidia hovering by the foot of the bed, and scraped up a weak smile.
“Is the doctor here?” she asked, wondering how she’d manage to have a private word with him.
“At this time of night? I should say not!” Aunt Egidia snapped, her lined face set with grim annoyance.
“Besides, once the bullet was out we had nae use of him. I can tend a sickling better than some black-coated sgoitiche from Edinburgh.”
“Dr. Stephenson is nae a quack, Aunt.” Hugh raised his head to send his aunt a reproving frown. “He did as fine a job as I have seen getting the ball out.” He glanced down at Caroline, and offered her a poor attempt at a smile. “You’ll have a scar now, leannan, like mine. Do you mind?”
“No,” she whispered, thinking that if a scar was the worst she got from this, she would thank God every day of her life.
“Wheest! Do the pair of you mean to go on blithering half the night?” Aunt Egidia grumbled, rudely elbowing Hugh to one side. “ ’Tis past midnight, and I would be seeing my bed before the cock’s crow! Here, drink this now,” she ordered, thrusting a glass strong with the smell of wine beneath Caroline’s nose. “Hugh, lift the child’s head for her. Do you expect me to do all?”
Hugh’s hands were gentle as he carefully lifted her up, supporting her so she could accept the glass.
“What is in it?” she asked, sniffing the contents warily.
“Sweet red wine heated wi’ spices and an egg whipped in it,” Aunt Egidia snapped. “And ‘twill do you no good to turn your nose up at it either, for drink it you will, if I must pour it down your throat. Now, stop this fussing and get on wi’ it. I’ve no time to waste pampering you.”
The grumbling complaint made Caroline smile. “Yes, Aunt Egidia,” she murmured, and dutifully did as she was bid. To her surprise the drink was quite delicious, and she needed no urging to finish the glass. When she was done Hugh lowered her back down on the pillow. She glanced slowly about her, taking in more of her surroundings as her senses returned.
“Where is Mairi?” she asked, noting the other girl’s absence with some surprise. She would have thought nothing could have kept her sister-in-law from her side if she was truly ill.
“Asleep,” Aunt Egidia said. “The poor lass was near to collapsing before I insisted she lay down. I tried sending this great lout off as well, but he is as stubborn as ever he was.” She glared at Hugh with marked annoyance.
“I’ll nae leave my wife,” Hugh said simply, wrapping his fingers around her good hand. “You go to bed, Aunt, I’ll sit with Caroline until she sleeps.”
Aunt Egidia’s great beak of a nose twitched with obvious displeasure that Hugh would defy her. “Well, if you’re going to be a fool, Hugh MacColme, dinna be a bigger fool than you can help,” she said tartly. “Climb into bed wi’ the lassie; that way at least you might get a few hours’ rest. But no loving, mind,” she added with a shake of her gnarled finger. “You’re nae the one of you in the shape for it.”
After she’d gone there was an awkward silence, then Hugh gave a reluctant chuckle. “The army is mad for not admitting females to the ranks,” he said, humor melting some of the bleakness from his eyes. “Can you imagine the general that one would have made?”
“She would have made Grandfather pale in comparison,” Caroline agreed, her smile fading as she saw the fatigue that was stamped in Hugh’s face. “But she does have the right of it, you know,” she added, giving him a wifely frown. “You look exhausted. Come to bed, Hugh, before you collapse.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Are you certain, my love? I fear I may do you some injury if I move wrong in the night.”
“You won’t hurt me if you lie on my good side,” she said, patting the mattress beside her. When he still hesitated, she smiled sweetly. “I will sleep better if you are with me.”
His lips twitched with reluctant humor. “You have been too long about Aunt Egidia, annsachd,” he murmured. “You’ll soon be as clever a conniver as she is.”
“A truly terrifying thought,” she said, smiling. Her eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and she strongly suspected the drink Aunt Egidia had pressed on her had been laced with something other than a whipped egg. Fighting the drug’s effects, she lay quietly on the pillows, watching her husband disrobe with loving eyes.
To her surprise he donned a nightshirt before climbing into the bed, and when he settled carefully against her side she said, “This is the first time since our wedding night you’ve worn anything to bed. It seems rather strange.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to her tousled curls. “Don’t get used to it, sweeting. I’m only wearing it in case you take a turn in the night, and I need to fetch someone in a hurry. I would swoon from embarrassment did Aunt Egidia see me with naught a stitch to cover me.”
The image brought a sleepy grin to her lips. “I daresay that would prove somewhat disaccomodating,” she murmured, unable to keep her eyes open another moment. Hugh was stroking her hair, and the comforting warmth of his body next to hers acted as a soporific, lulling her into a gentle sleep.
When she awakened several hours later Hugh was still beside her, his face buried against her neck and his arm wrapped loosely about her waist. Her arm was beginning to throb most painfully, and she decided that must have been what awakened her. She wondered if she should rouse Hugh and ask him to fetch her some laudanum, but one glance at his face dissuaded her. Poor darling, she thought, her heart aching with love. She would wait a little bit longer, and if the arm continued paining her she would wake him then.
While Hugh slept on Caroline lay quietly beside him, trying to remember more details of what had happened. She had brief flashes of Mairi, tears in her beautiful green eyes, bending over her, and talking to someone she couldn’t see. Other images, these of Hugh, his face hard as he spoke in low, furious tones about revenge, came next, and she wonde
red who he had been speaking to. Had they found the man who shot her? she wondered, and shivered at the thought. Her movement, small as it was, brought Hugh jerking up, and she saw the panic flare in his eyes as he came more fully awake.
“Caroline?” he said, his arm tightening about her waist. “What is it? Are you in pain?”
“No, I am fine, leannan,” she lied, not wishing to alarm him. “My arm is a trifle sore, but it is not more than I can bear.”
He levered himself up on one powerful arm and stared down into her face. “Are you certain?” he asked, his eyes filled with shadows as he studied her. “The doctor left some powders we were to give you when you awakened. Shall I fetch them?”
Caroline started to say yes, but then her stomach gave a sickening roll and she changed her mind. “No, that is all right,” she said quickly. “If I am careful and do not move suddenly, it should soon settle down.”
He studied her for several more seconds, his face working as if he was fighting back tears. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he reached out a shaking finger to lightly stroke her bandaged arm.
“I can’t bear the thought of you in pain,” he said, his voice raw with agony. “I would do anything, give anything, to take the hurt from you. I would die gladly, if it meant I could take the bullet instead of you.”
“Hugh!” She gazed at him in horror. “You can’t mean that!”
He gave her a tired smile. “Can I not?” he asked, then shook his head. “I was in the army near to fifteen years, and in that time I have seen a hundred men fall, a thousand. I thought witnessing such carnage had prepared me for any horrors I might see. But when I saw you jerk, when I saw the blood on you and realized you’d been shot, I knew I was prepared for nothing.”
“But it wasn’t your fault!” she said, tears in her own eyes as she realized how fully Hugh blamed himself for what happened. “How could you know someone would—would—” She could not continue.
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