“’Tis not for you,” she said abruptly.
“Then why?”
“You have the look of a noble or man of wealth. There may be a ransom. A reward.”
A light in his eyes dimmed, and an unexpected stab of self-disgust went through her. She had purposely rebuked him, wanting to distance herself. She had tended wounded men before, men not her husband, and she had never felt anything but pity and a fierce desire to defeat death.
She felt something more now. She told herself it was pity, but pity was no longer a part of her. She admired his fierce determination to live. Anyone else with his wounds would have succumbed. There was something indomitable about him, and it reminded her of Will.
She hadn’t saved Will. Mayhap she could save this man.
He closed his eyes. The rosemary slowly took effect, and finally the Scot slept, though fretfully.
Would he remember what she had told him? It was ever so important. Audra had no guile, nor did Kimbra want her to have it.
Anxious to return quickly, she left and rode Magnus to Jane’s hut and found Audra sitting on a stone in front of the door. Her daughter’s worried face creased into a toothy smile.
“How’s my love?” Kimbra said as she dismounted and swept her daughter into her arms for a hug.
“I have to talk to Jane,” she said, setting her daughter down. “Can you wait here and watch Magnus?”
Audra beamed.
“Remember what I told you. Do not get too close and do not make a quick movement. It could startle him.”
“I will sing a song to him.”
“I think he would like that very much.” And he would. Audra had a sweet and true voice.
The door opened as she started to knock. Jane welcomed her with a smile.
“Thank you for keeping Audra.”
“She is a joy.”
“I will be home this night, and hopefully the next nights.”
Jane’s face fell. “I will miss her.”
“I suspect you will see her soon. I will bring her over to visit, along with some bay leaves for your legs.”
Jane nodded. She had pain in her legs, and Kimbra’s bay leaves could be made into an oil that relieved it.
Kimbra said her farewell and hurried out to Audra. It had been only seconds, but she worried about her daughter, nonetheless.
The sweet sound of her daughter’s voice stopped her. She was singing an old lullaby to the horse. The picture, and melody, sent pangs through Kimbra’s heart. What if she was endangering her daughter by shielding the Scot? She should forget this fancy and ride immediately to the Charlton, the acknowledged leader of the family, and tell him she’d found a Scot. Let him decide whether he would be kept as a hostage.
But she truly didn’t know what he would do. And the hours she had spent nursing her patient had created a responsibility. She would wait until he had more strength. Then she would decide her next step.
She waited until Audra had finished her song, then swooped down on her, lifting her high and into the saddle. She walked the horse to a block and mounted. Cuddling her daughter on the way home, she asked what she had done the night before.
“Baked bread,” Audra said with no little pride.
“You can bake mine,” she replied.
Audra turned her head to face her.
Was she doing the right thing?
She had to tell Audra now about the stranger. She couldn’t let Audra walk in on a strange, naked, and badly wounded man without warning.
“There is a man staying with us,” she said. “He was hurt in the battle two days ago. You must be very quiet so he will get better.”
“May I help?”
“Not now,” she said. “Mayhap later.”
“Who is he?”
“He is a Howard,” she said, hating herself for lying to her daughter. She doubted Audra would know the name, but she would remember it. She remembered a great deal.
“Was he a friend of father’s?”
“Aye,” she lied again. It would be as good a tale as any. Will had had many friends.
“Then I am glad we are helping him.”
“You will have to be very good. And very quiet.”
“I will,” Audra promised. “I will fetch some flowers for him.”
“I think he would like that very much.”
Then she had to say one other thing, for she wouldn’t be surprised if she had a visit by Cedric. “You cannot say anything about him,” she said.
“Why?”
Kimbra had known that question was coming. Every statement prompted a “why.”
“Because the Charlton may not approve of a man staying with me, and I fear no one else can care for him as I can.” That, at least, was true.
“Is he sick like Papa was sick?”
“Aye.”
“Could he die?”
She would not lie about that. “Aye, he could, but I will do everything I can to see that he does not.”
“I want to help.”
“You can sing to him later,” Kimbra said.
“I can help with the fire.”
That was the last thing Kimbra wanted.
“No,” she said more sharply than she intended. Yet she had a fear of fire. She always had. She had conquered it because she had to. But the fear of it never went away, and she didn’t want her child near it.
Audra’s eyes started to tear at the unaccustomed rebuke.
Kimbra’s heart cracked. She leaned over Audra. “I want nothing to happen to you, love. But there are other ways you can help.”
Audra’s small back had slumped, but now it straightened. “I will be very careful.”
They arrived back at the cottage. Bear happily barked a welcome and gave Audra a wet kiss when she was back on the ground. Audra hugged the big dog, as he frantically waved his tail.
“You can help me tend Magnus,” Kimbra offered, and Audra happily followed her into the small stable.
Kimbra took off the bridle and asked Audra to hang it up. Then she lifted the saddle and lowered it to the ground. “Can you get Magnus some water?”
“Aye,” Audra agreed happily.
Kimbra handed her the empty bucket hanging in the stall. Hopefully, fetching water from the barrel would distract her from asking any more questions about the stranger.
Kimbra rubbed the horse down, then put a blanket on him, just as her daughter appeared, carrying a bucket that looked as heavy as she was. Water sloshed as Audra tried to balance it, walk a step or two, then set it down again. Kimbra leaned over and took the bucket and hung it up for Magnus.
Then she took Audra’s hand and they walked to the cottage. She tried to hide her anxiety. Though she had not been gone long, she found herself hurrying so fast that Audra practically had to run to keep up.
They went inside, and she gave Audra the wooden horse Will had carved for her. It reminded Kimbra again of Will. Two years gone now. The pain was fading, but then there were moments …
Kimbra hugged Audra and went into the room where she’d left the Scot. He was awake. Not only awake but sitting up with naught but a corner of the blanket covering his man parts.
His forehead was wet with effort, and his eyes were clouded with pain as he looked up at her.
“I cannot stay,” he said.
“And where will you be going?”
“I thought about … what you said. I must be … putting you in danger. I should leave.”
“You would not be getting far,” she said, softening the sharp edge by touching his shoulder. The contact sent a jolt of heat through her, and it was not from a fever.
She stood there stunned. There was awareness in his eyes as well.
“I do not want anyone finding me here,” he protested.
He was the first man other than Will who had ever cared about her safety and well-being. She resented the fact that she was drawn to him because of it. She did not want to like him. She did not want to admire him. She wanted nothing to do with
him but make him well to spite all the death she’d seen, and mayhap collect a reward.
“My clothes?” he asked.
She wondered if he remembered that she had cut the plaid from him and left it behind. “They are still on the battlefield. The ones I used to replace them—they belonged to my husband—are drying in front of the fireplace. They were bloody.”
He looked down at himself, the bandage around his arm, the poultice tied to his leg, the blanket partially covering him. He looked up, his eyes searching, looking for something that she couldn’t give him.
“I cannot take them.”
“You prefer wandering about without clothes?” Her voice was sharper than she intended. But she wondered what would have happened if she had not arrived when she had.
“I cannot repay you. I do not even know my name, nor where …” He stopped, bewilderment and frustration again filling his eyes. “I do not even know if I have a wife, bairns.”
She did not know what to tell him. She had never encountered anyone who had lost their memory.
She wondered whether she should show him the jeweled crest she had taken from him. Mayhap it would spark a memory. But that and the ring the Charlton had allowed her were all she had of value for that night’s work, the only protection that might save her from a marriage she feared, the only assurance she could care for her daughter.
He will get his memory back.
He must. Without it, he would be of little use to her. Or to himself. What would happen to a wounded man wandering about the dangerous border without horse or arms or memory?
The thought chilled her. Especially now when he seemed more concerned about her welfare than his own. While he healed, she could listen. If he was a noble, surely someone would be looking for him.
Did he have a father, a brother who would pay for information as to his whereabouts?
Did he have a wife and children waiting for him?
“You must lie down again. My daughter is outside and might decide to enter at any time.”
He glanced down at his nakedness and nodded. “I suppose I would need those clothes,” he said wryly.
“You will have them later. When they dry. For now, you must promise you will stay quiet. ’Tis the only way you will heal.”
His gaze caught hers. Troubled. Filled with pain. Confusion. Stubbornness. He did not want to give in.
She touched his face lightly. The skin was only slightly warm under the bristle on his cheeks and chin. He wore no beard, which was most unusual, but it appealed to her. His hair was shorter than fashion, too, but she could not tell its true color at the moment. It needed a good washing.
He surrendered and lay back down with a sigh that was more groan, though she suspected the surrender would be short in duration.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I will be on my way.”
He would not get far. Not today. Not tomorrow. Even with that will that was so evident. There was only so much a body could tolerate. He had lost a great deal of blood. The pain from his ribs and his leg must be almost beyond bearing.
Once he was lying down, she checked the poultice. It had soaked up fluids. She would fix a new one as well as a potion for the fever. She would pray, as well.
She went into the other room and slumped down on a chair. Audra had left the wooden horse and was playing with her straw doll. “Is he going to die, too?”
“Nay, love. Not if I can help it.” She suddenly thought of something Audra could do. “Would you pound these herbs for me?”
“Aye,” Audra said eagerly.
“You will have to be careful not to hammer your own fingers.”
“I promise,” Audra assured her.
Kimbra put the herbs on the table and gave Audra a small wooden mallet with which to pulverize them, then added a log to the fire and heated more water. She was beginning to move slower and slower, the loss of sleep weighing on her.
But the Scot’s injuries couldn’t wait. As the water started to boil, she looked at Audra who leaned over the table with concentration, trying very hard to reduce the greens into powder. And doing very well.
“That is very good,” Kimbra praised, taking the powder and mixing it with hot water and oatmeal. She took the mixture into the other chamber. The Scot was still awake, his eyes on her.
“I’ve made a new poultice,” she said. She pulled down the blanket covering him and placed a towel underneath his leg as she took the old poultice off and wiped the foul-smelling substance from his leg. She spooned the fresh mixture onto his leg, seeing his body tense as the poultice touched the raw wound. She then tied a cloth around it to hold it in place.
“Are you a soldier?” The small voice came from behind her. Audra had followed her inside. She’d been too weary to remember to close the door.
She looked at her patient. Would he remember what she had told him?
“Aye, I expect so,” he said. He hastily pulled the cover over the lower part of his body.
“My papa was one, too.”
“And a very brave one,” the Scot said.
Audra gave him a lopsided grin. “Aye. He was handsome, too. My mater told me so.”
Audra went to the side of the bed and gazed down at him.
“You do not have a beard.”
He felt his face as if unaware of that fact.
“Nay,” he simply agreed.
“Why?”
That look of bewilderment flooded his eyes again, as he sought to find a reason and could not.
“’Tis a rude thing to do, asking a man about his appearance,” Kimbra scolded.
Audra’s smile disappeared, and she ducked her head, her bottom lip trembling.
“That is all right,” the Scot said. “It is a perfectly reasonable question.”
Audra gave him a grateful smile.
“In truth, it feels good,” he said.
An explanation that could or could not be the real reason, but it satisfied Audra. At least for a moment.
He moved slightly, winced again, before smiling slightly. “And whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
Audra giggled. “I am Audra.”
“A bonny name for a bonny lass,” he said.
Every word was a struggle. Kimbra heard it in his voice, yet he wanted to make a child feel better. She saw Audra smile in a way she hadn’t for a long time.
Her heart thumped harder. For her daughter who missed her father. For the man still very ill.
Then she heard Bear barking, the bark that foretold visitors.
Fear ran through her.
Cedric? As much as she wanted to, he was not a man to ignore.
The barking increased. Thank God for Bear.
She stooped down to Audra’s level. “I want you to go up to the loft and stay there until I tell you to come down. I want you to be very quiet.”
Audra’s eyes were solemn as she looked up at her. She knew about quiet. The Charltons had been raided, just as they had raided, and her cottage was away from the peel tower. They had practiced quiet before.
She nodded.
“No matter what you hear,” she added. “Promise?”
“I promise.” But it was a tiny uncertain voice.
“Go, then,” she said.
She watched as Audra left the room. She turned to the Scot, “Be very quiet.”
He nodded.
Kimbra hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her. She was grateful that Will had insisted on a door. He’d planned on many more bairns and had said a bit of privacy might prove fruitful. For a moment, she smiled inwardly at the memory. She looked up at the loft. Audra had disappeared, probably into the pallet there.
Then Kimbra turned her attention to the pounding on the door.
It wouldn’t be a raid, not in the middle of the day. But her visitor could be far worse. She glanced out the window.
Cedric Charlton stood there.
She went to the fireplace, took up the nearly dry clothes the Scot had worn, and quickly
ducked back into the sleeping chamber. His eyes were open. She put her finger to her lips, asking for silence and placed the clothes on the bed then left.
Her stomach clenched, but she readied herself for battle as she went to open the door.
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About the Author
Patricia Potter is a USA Today–bestselling author of more than fifty romantic novels. A seven-time RITA Award finalist and three-time Maggie Award winner, she was named Storyteller of the Year by Romantic Times and received the magazine’s Career Achievement Award for Western Romance. Potter is a past board member and president of Romance Writers of America. Prior to becoming a fiction author, she was a reporter for the Atlanta Journal and the president of a public relations firm in Atlanta. She lives in Memphis, Tennessee.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Patricia Potter
Cover design by Mimi Bark
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0104-5
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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