by Aileen Adams
Grunts erupted from her throat as she gathered enough strength to roll onto her side, pulling Ceana off balance.
The woman was a fearsome sight; red hair tangled, face smudged with dirt. And she was strong, so very strong. But it was the look on her face that frightened Heather most.
Her pupils dilated, her nostrils flaring, her lips pulled back and teeth clenched, Ceana looked like a wild animal. Her fingers curled into claws, reaching for Heather's face, trying to scratch out her eyes.
As she rolled sideways, she caught a brief glimpse of Jake and barely managed to squelch a scream.
No!
He lay on the ground, face first, unmoving.
No!
At that moment, fighting for her life, for Jake's life, she realized the truth. What her heart had been trying to tell her for quite some time.
She loved him! The thought of him dying left her feeling bereft. He couldn't die, not now.
Ceana managed to plant her knee just below her rib cage.
A gush of air exploded from her lungs. She couldn’t move, stunned for a moment, which gave Ceana the chance to grab a handful of her hair and yank. She screamed in pain and outrage. The cry of pain transformed into a grunt of fury as she balled a fist and punched at Ceana, just like Jake had shown her. She went for the nose, but Ceana turned just in time and her fist collided with her left cheek bone.
Trying to ignore the pain in her hand, she tried to hit her again, but at that moment, Ceana released her grip on her hair.
Heather tried to reach for her arm, but lost her grip.
Ceana rolled away, scrambling away on her hands and knees, one hand swiping at the dirt, searching for the dirk.
Heather made it to her knees just as Ceana found the knife, wrapped her hand around its handle, and then stumbled upward, rushing toward Jake, the dirk raised high above her head as she collapsed to her knees beside him, ready to plunge it into his back.
Heather, ignoring her fear, her pain, and the fatigue that pulled at her limbs, managed to tackle Ceana around the waist just before the knife plunged downward.
With an enraged scream, Ceana lashed out with the dirk.
The blade sliced along the upper part of Heather's left arm.
She felt the sting of pain, the warmth of blood. She made a fist again and swung hard at Ceana’s face. This time her fist made contact with Ceana’s mouth. Blood dripped from the gash in her lip, bloodying her teeth, making her fearsome expression even more terrifying.
“You are dead!” Ceana muttered, her breath escaping her chest in gasps. The pulse pounded in her neck.
It was then that Heather remembered something else that Jake had told her not long ago and took the message to heart. She tried to tamp down her own emotions.
Ceana was infuriated, and fury evoked recklessness.
“You've failed again,” she ground out.
“We'll see,” Ceana responded, taking another swing with the dirk.
Heather grimaced against the pain and lifted her left arm to block the blow with her forearm while at the same aiming her fist again at Heather's nose. She made contact and felt the crunch of skin and bone beneath her fist.
The impact on her knuckles was more painful than she had anticipated. Without thought, she lashed out again. Her fist struck the underside of Ceana’s jaw.
The dirk flew from her hand as the banished healer toppled backward. Heather took the advantage and pounced, pummeling the woman, unable to halt the blind fury that once again overcame her senses.
Jake wouldn't approve, but she couldn't help the warm tears filling her eyes and blurring her vision. She couldn't tamp down the rage flooding through every muscle in her body. This woman had tried to kill Jake, had tried to kill him in a cowardly way.
She struck Ceana’s right ear with her fist.
The woman cried out, snarling epitaphs. Soon, her attempts to defend herself ceased, and she lay dazed and unmoving beneath Heather's blows.
Heather’s ears rang, her head swam, and every muscle in her body seemed alive with a myriad of her emotion. Her breath gushed from her chest like the harsh gasps of a sobbing woman.
What had gotten into her?
She wasn’t a violent person!
But now, gazing down with distaste at Ceana, she had to fight the urge to wrap her hands around the woman's throat and throttle her.
How dare she!
How dare she try to kill Jake!
How dare she kidnap her sister!
The desire for revenge surged upward.
“Stop… Heather… stop.”
At first, she thought it was Ceana begging for her to stop, but then she realized that the woman lay still beneath her, eyes half closed, grimacing in pain.
Jake!
Still straddling Ceana, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Jake trying to roll over, his head turned toward her, one hand raised.
“Heather, stop.”
His calm voice had an immediate effect on her.
She forced her gaze from Jake and back down to Ceana.
The rage evaporated, leaving her exhausted, trembling, and weeping, her shoulders shaking. She felt nothing but a bone-numbing weariness as her mind spun with confusion.
Scrambling off Ceana, Heather quickly crawled toward Jake, eyes wide, heart pounding, searching his face.
He looked so pale, his expression taut and filled with pain. Blood pooled beneath him. He was losing too much blood!
Before she could stop him, he grunted in pain, reached up and grabbed the arrow shaft protruding from his right shoulder with his left hand. He broke it off, swallowing up the garbled cry of pain as he did so. He flung the shaft off to the side as Heather stared down at him in amazement.
“You shouldn't have done that,” she gasped. “You shouldn't have done that,” she repeated. She knew that much from watching Sarah care for other wounded men. She gazed down at him, frozen with indecision.
Blood pulsed slowly from his shoulder. Not gushing, but still flowing at an alarming rate. She also saw the growing pool of blood beneath his back from the sword thrust.
Which to staunch first?
She quickly scrambled back toward Ceana, grabbed the dirk from the dirt, and then hurried back to Jake. She quickly slashed off a strip of her underskirt. Wadding up the material, she pressed the quickly folded square around the short shaft of the arrow that still protruded from his shoulder.
“Hold that,” she ordered.
Jake moved to obey, though she could tell he weakened fast. He was barely able to press his hand firmly against the wound.
She quickly cut off another chunk of material, folded it, and turning him slightly, was able to press it against the gash in his lower back, just above his right hip. She needed Sarah. She had no idea if Jake’s wounds were mortal, but one thing she did know.
He was losing too much blood. If he lost too much blood, he would certainly die.
She didn't know what to do.
She gazed back into his face and saw that he had slipped into unconsciousness. His bloodstained hand had fallen from holding the bandage. She reached for it, pressing firmly, fresh tears flowing from her eyes.
“Jake, fight! You can't die! You can’t!” she ordered. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
She knew he was hurt badly. She knew that she had to get him back to the manor, but she had no idea how she was going to do that. He was too weak to stand on his own.
She glanced toward the tree under which they had taken shelter from the rain. The horses! Perhaps she could use the horses to drag him beneath shelter. Perhaps long enough to stop the bleeding. Then she could worry about getting him up on a horse.
Would she be able to? Maybe, if he regained consciousness.
If not…she didn't know.
The landscape was too rough to craft some sort of litter to drag him behind the horse down the mountainside and back to the manor. The trail was too rocky and steep.
Besides, she
didn't know where she was.
She had ended up falling over the ledge because she was lost. Now, with Jake unconscious, she still had no idea where to find Duncan Manor.
Not only that, but she had to worry about running into Clyde or another member of the McGregor clan.
“Jake…” She shook her head in frustration and focused on stopping the bleeding from the wound in his shoulder.
When that looked like it was slowing slightly, she put her attention on the stab wound in his back. That wound was not bleeding as badly, but she had no idea what kind of injuries that sword thrust had done to his insides.
She glanced up, looking toward Ceana. Maybe she could somehow convince the woman to help save Jake's life—
She was gone!
Heather stiffened and darted her gaze around the clearing, heart pounding with alarm.
Where was she?
She cursed herself. What a fool she was!
She had been so focused on Jake that she hadn't kept an eye on Ceana nor taken stock of her surroundings.
Another cautionary lesson from Jake’s instruction that she had ignored.
She glanced to the left, eyes wide with surprise as she saw Ceana scrambling onto the back of her horse. The other horse, ridden by a dead clansman stood nearby, tugging at the greenery of the still dew-laden branches of a shrub.
Heather's heart thumped dully in her chest.
Ceana could have taken the bow and arrow still lying on the ground near the horses. She could have shot her, and she wouldn't have been any the wiser.
Foolish, foolish girl was she!
Without a backward glance, Ceana headed down the slope, following much the same path as her companion had only minutes ago.
The riderless horse followed.
The soft sound of hoofbeats ebbed.
Silence surrounded Heather and Jake.
Complete and utter silence.
Not even the sound of a bird or the chattering of the squirrel to break it.
She glanced down at Jake. He wasn't moving. At all.
Her heart plummeted as she quickly placed her fingers on the side of his neck, seeking life.
It was there, though soft and irregular and certainly not pulsing.
If she didn't get him help soon, he would die. She didn’t doubt it for a moment. She gazed around, afraid and uncertain. She couldn't leave him here, not out in the open and exposed to the weather and the potential return of Clyde or Ceana. She also had to get help and the sooner, the better.
She had to get Jake onto one of the horses. Had to get him down the mountain and back to the manor, but he was the only one that knew the way.
“Jake, Jake, you have to wake up. Please!”
She placed her hand on his cheek. His skin felt cool to the touch. The mist began to fall. Inside she felt like crying in despair, but she forced herself to think. Think! What would Jake do if the situation were reversed? She thought. He would get her to some sort of shelter.
She looked back over her shoulder, toward the trees where the horses were tethered. The tree where the saddle blankets still provided some shelter from the rain. If she could get him back under the trees, ensure that the bleeding had stopped, and find him some food and water, she could risk leaving him to find help.
She didn't think any further beyond that. Didn't even want to contemplate what would happen if she couldn't find her way back to the manor.
The throbbing in her knee had returned.
Alone, frightened, and dreading what would happen if she didn't succeed, she slowly rose to her feet and assessed the distance between where Jake lay now and the trees that had sheltered them only a short while ago.
She had to do it. She didn't want to do it this way, but she would have to drag him back to the pine tree, beneath its sheltering boughs. She didn't want to grab him by the shoulders and drag him that way. Doing so might move the shaft of the arrow and cause the point to nick a vital blood vessel, hastening death. It seemed that the only way left was to drag him by his feet. That might be easier, logistically anyway. Rather ignominious for a warrior like Jake, but she had to work with what she had, which meant with the little strength she had left.
Fortunately, his feet already faced the small copse of trees. Not sure if she was strong enough, she nevertheless crouched down, her back now to Jake.
Her knee protested, but she forced herself to ignore the pain. She positioned her hands so that she could grasp each of his ankles. Hunched over, tucking his feet beneath her armpits and grabbing hold, she took a step.
Or tried to.
He was heavy, so very heavy!
He didn’t budge.
Taking a deep breath, ignoring the pain and aching muscles and the sensation of heat and burning in every muscle in her body, coupled with the bruising her fight with Ceana had certainly caused, Heather redoubled her efforts.
Hunched over nearly double, she leaned forward and tugged with all her might.
He moved. A little bit, but he moved!
Glancing up only occasionally to gauge her direction and the distance, she pressed forward, placing one foot in front of the other, surging forward a few inches at a time and then repeating the process. Her muscles trembling and straining with exhaustion.
Was this how Jake had felt climbing up the cliff with her hanging from his back? Probably. But he had made it. He had persevered, so she would too. His life depended on it.
Every once in a while, he emitted a groan, but she couldn't stop to comfort him. She did glance back over her shoulder once and saw him sprawled out, arms now extended over his head.
A streak of blood marked the path from where he had fallen to where they now stood, perhaps halfway to the shelter of the trees. She was glad he was unconscious and couldn't feel anything—much—as his body slid over the hard dirt, pebbles, and low-lying clumps of grass.
She fought against the tears, the despair and the worry burgeoning inside her. She took a deep breath and stared at the ground, choosing her footing, taking one step, pulling, and then taking another. Her muscles trembled with fatigue. More than once she stumbled to her knees, despairing that she had enough strength to get him to the shelter.
It seemed to take forever, but she finally reached the tree under which they had taken shelter. She ducked, protecting her face against the overreaching branches as she crouched down even more, her thigh muscles burning, her knee protesting, and her back aching with the efforts of dragging Jake beneath overhanging pine boughs.
Finally, with one last massive effort, she surged forward, nearly a foot this time, and then collapsed in a heap, hunched over, her body folded over her legs, her forehead resting on the ground, so exhausted she couldn't move.
Gasping for breath, she eventually straightened her back and glanced over her shoulder, praying that she had pulled him in far enough.
She had done it!
She rested for several moments, her breath gasping, her chest heaving, her arms trembling with fatigue. Every muscle in her body screamed in pain and protest. Only with effort did she manage to shift her position. She wasn't finished yet. Still so much to do.
Carefully, she tried to make Jake as comfortable as possible. She maneuvered one of the saddles so that she could use it for a pillow for his head and shoulders, which might even help staunch the bleeding.
That was a concern. While not bleeding as heavily as before, his wounds still oozed. Sarah would know what to do. Sarah always knew what to do when it came to healing.
All she could do was try to completely staunch the blood. She maneuvered his arms down by his sides. She then removed the blood-soaked pieces of cloth and tore another strip of cloth from the bottom of her kirtle. After folding it, she gently pressed it against the wound.
He moaned, but she ignored the sound.
She had to do this. Sarah had told her once how important it was to keep wounds clean. Glancing down at her underskirt and kirtle, she shook her head. Not clean, but she couldn’t do anything ab
out that right now.
The most important thing was to stop the bleeding. If she could get Jake back to the manor in time, Sarah would be able to deal with infection—maybe. She tore Jake's shirt open at the shoulder and saw that the arrow had embedded itself deep into the meat of his chest, entering below the collarbone. Blood still dribbled from the entry wound. As gently as she could, she wrapped the cloth around the shaft of the arrow and curled her fingers around it, pressing down to help staunch the flow of blood.
Worried that the growing chill would only serve to hasten Jake's dire situation, she assessed her surroundings.
What could she do to make him more comfortable? He lay on relatively dry pine needles. Glancing around, she saw the tattered remnants of the blanket he'd used to construct the rope. She grabbed it and covered his shoulders and chest with it. She then ducked back outside and hurried back to the small clearing where the fight had taken place. She searched for her dirk, finally found it, and also grabbing Jake's shield, returned to the tree.
She placed the shield between two close-growing branches, hoping that it would serve to block the breeze at least a little bit. With the dirk, she cut smaller branches nearby, covering his torso with the branches as best she could. It was all she could do.
He moaned.
She tried to resist looking at his face, but couldn't help it and was startled to find his eyes open and staring at her.
18
Jake struggled to open his eyes. Why was that paltry effort so difficult? He felt exhausted, so much so that even though he tried to move, he couldn't. The heavy scent of pine wafted into his nostrils.
What happened? Why was he—
It all came back to him in a rush. The fight with the McGregors. The arrow strike through the shoulder. He had fallen, unable to defend himself against another arrow when suddenly Heather darted past him and took a flying leap that toppled both her and Ceana to the ground. They had fought.
His heart pounded, and he tried to lift his head. Felt pressure on his chest, something lying heavily on top of him. He managed to open his eyes.
Confused at first, he saw only shadows, and slight movement, but then realized he was lying on his back beneath a pine tree.