Alistair: A Highlander Romance (The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 40)

by Jo Jones

  “This way.” Brie said, guiding him toward her noisy contrivance. Her arm wrapped his waist, as if she could actually hold him, should he start to tumble. It alarmed him to think he might fall and take her with him. Though her head came almost to his chin, she seemed such a wee bit of a thing. He feared his weight alone could crush her.

  ’Twas comforting to have her so close. He missed her touch as soon as she released him to lean against the long black seat of the rumbling noisemaker. He yearned to ask her to make it cease, but refrained.

  “Sit here, and when you’re ready, we’ll put you on.” She glanced toward the back where she’d tied a slab of wood. “I don’t think the sled is a viable option.” She pulled a container from beneath it, removed the top and handed it to him. “Take a drink while you get your bearings. How are you feeling?”

  He took several long swallows, sure water had never tasted so good. At least he imagined no’. How strange to no’ even ken that much. “I’m well, thank ye, lass. Just a wee bit of a headache but otherwise in fine fettle.” Thankfully, the glasses she’d given him, hid the lie in his eyes. ’Twould be grand if his head would just explode and get it over with. And surely his cramped and twisted back muscles, would soon give up nettling him? But he wasna so confident about the beastly kink in his neck.

  Gus turned a circle at his feet, tongue lolling and tail wagging. “I dinna ken how to thank ye, Brie. Ye, and Gus, for helping me.” He handed the bottle back and looked down at his simple attire. Longshirt, jacket, plaid, belt and sporran—empty, by the weight of it. “I’ve naught tae offer ye, but if there is something I can do in return? Wood for yer fire? Whatever ye need, I’m at yer service.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Brie said. “Let’s just focus on getting you fixed up for now. Swing your leg over that seat and then move back a little.” Once he was settled, she slid in front of him. “Hold on.”

  “Tae what?”

  She laughed, a light, melodious sound that drifted over them and into the trees. “Whatever you want. That small rail behind you. Me. Whatever is comfortable. We haven’t far to go, and we’ll take it slow and easy.”

  He slipped his arms around her narrow waist, his chest brushing her back as he inhaled her soft scent. Despite the horrid contraption, he’d almost be willing to stay this way for a while, if his head would just roll off his shoulders and leave him be.

  “I’m afraid this road might be impassible for several days,” she said over her shoulder. “Depending, of course, on the weather. The clay is much worse further down, so until that section of the road is completely dry, even this 4-wheeler couldn’t get us through. Hopefully, by the time I can get that tree cleared out of the way, the road will be dry, we’ll have you fixed up, feeling better and ready to get back to your life and family.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Thank ye, lass. I feel steadier now. I can make it.” He’d held tightly to Brie as he climbed off her wheeled machine.

  “The last thing you need is another fall,” Brie protested, slipping her arm about his waist. “Just up these few stairs, and onto the deck.”

  “Aye, then.” He laid his hand on her slim shoulder, careful not to put too much weight on her. Even with a faulty memory and monstrous headache, he wasna fool enough to refuse having her so close.

  As she unlocked the door and ushered him inside, he suddenly wondered if there was someone else he’d desired to keep close. ’Twas a strange sensation, wondering if he should be missing something, or someone, that may no’ even exist. He wasna a monk—at least he dinna think so, by the look of his clothes and the way he’d responded to Brie—so would there no’ likely be someone he’d cared about in the world he couldna remember? If he belonged to another, would he still feel this attraction to Brie?

  If he could just remove the pressure in his head, surely his memory would return. ’Twas just the pain squeezing it out. He must be careful no’ to let his appreciation for Brie’s beauty and his gratitude for her kindness overpower his reason.

  ’Twas but a temporary situation he found himself in, and just as the lass had pointed out, he’d be here until the road dried out, then he would find his way back to his own life. His real life. He just wished he could remember where that was and who the people were in it. He’d had friends, surely. Even if he was a complete blackguard, there’d be someone, would there no’? ’Twas alarming that a man couldna even ken that much about himself.

  “Go lay down, Gus, so you don’t track mud all over.” Brie said as the dog bounded past them and noisily lapped water from a bowl on the floor.

  Brie cupped his elbow and guided him toward a plank table with benches on either side. “And you can sit here, while I get rid of my filthy boots.”

  Cautiously, he removed Brie’s darkening eyeglasses and set them on the table, grateful to be inside, free of the glare of the sun. While he glanced around the cabin, she slipped her boots off, set them outside the door and padded back to stand beside him.

  “While I get a better look at this wound, you can tell me your name. You never said what it was.”

  Realizing he dinna ken was bad enough, but admitting it out loud somehow made him feel…weak. But he wouldna repay Brie’s kindness with deception. “ ’Tis truly a strange circumstance, but I dinna ken my name. It seems I dinna recall anything before awakening tae ye and Gus.”

  He sat as still as possible, letting her probe and poke at the back of his head, while he probed and poked at his memory. But ’twas no use. No’ even the slightest wisp of a recollection surfaced. He tried to replace his disappointment with gratitude for Brie’s kindness and care, and a warm place to recover, but he couldna quite push his frustration away.

  “I sensed as much but wasn’t sure,” Brie replied. “So, why don’t we just pick something until you remember so I’m not saying ‘hey, you’ all the time? Any preferences?”

  He thought for a minute, but nothing came to mind. “Nae.”

  “Okay. Well, let’s see…” She was quiet for a few seconds as she gently parted strands of his hair. “You’re Scottish—or so I’m assuming—so there’s a possibility your surname could be Mac-something. So, what if I call you Mac, for now? Is that okay?”

  Mac. ’Twas as good as any, he supposed. “Aye. ’Twill do just fine.” He smiled, surprised how much better he felt having a name, even if ’twas no’ the one he was born to.

  “Well, Mac,” she dropped her hands to his shoulders. “Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be as deep as I’d feared, but it definitely needs to be closed somehow. I don’t think we dare leave it until you can see a doctor. I’m a little concerned that butterfly strips won’t be enough, but that’s all I have. I don’t know…maybe with some Superglue?”

  She released a frustrated sigh and stepped around to face him. “Your hair is so matted with blood, it’s hard to know what to do, until I can see it better. I’m sure you’re anxious to get in the shower, but I want to wash your hair and try to fix the wound first. Is that okay, Mac?”

  “Uhh…” He’d only understood about half of what she’d been saying, but he did understand the washing his hair part. “Aye. Wash it first.”

  “Good. We’ll do it in the kitchen sink, so I can work through your hair kind of slow and easy. I’m concerned that once we get the dried stuff off, it might start bleeding, again.” She surveyed his muddy attire. “While I gather what I need, why don’t you strip down to your waist. That will get rid of the upper layer of muck, at least, and make things easier for both of us.”

  “Aye, then.” Such a bossy, lass, he grinned, watching her walk down a short hall. By the time she’d reached the door at the end, she’d begun peeling off her own spattered shirt, revealing a glimpse of bare shoulders.

  Make that a bonny, bossy lass.

  He surveyed the wide, high-beamed central room of the cabin as he removed the brooch from his left shoulder and let the tail of his belted-plaid fall behind him. The view of dense forest pines
from the wide bank of windows was breathtaking. Beautiful, he thought, peeling off his jacket, but difficult to defend.

  A shiver skittered up his spine. Where had that thought come from?

  He concentrated, trying to recapture the notion, to see what else he could draw from it, but ’twas no use. He’d only managed to make his headache worse.

  By the time he’d tugged his longshirt free and pulled it over his head, he felt chilled. No wonder, he thought, noticing there was naught but smoldering coals in the broad fireplace. Tending to his needs had taken Brie from her warm home, leaving her fire to die.

  At least the meager stack of wood nearby was dry. He’d replenish the pile for her as soon as he could. As he started toward the fireplace, he noticed the new, fresh trail of muddy footprints belonging to him, overlapping a half-dried line of other, smaller tracks, going from the door to the hall and back. Otherwise, the dark, narrow-planked floor was spotless, broken up here and there by colorful, clean rugs.

  Gus blinked at him from a wadded blanket on the floor. His muddy prints had left their own guilty story.

  “ ’Twould seem we’re both a peck o’trouble tae the lass, boy.” Mac dropped onto the bench, pulled off his boots and set them outside, beside Brie’s.

  Shivering, he added several pieces of pungent pine to the coals, just as Brie emerged from the hallway wearing loose, plaid trousers, and an oversized sweater. She’d washed her face and brushed the mud from her hair. The honeyed curls fell almost to her elbows. Lost in the big sweater, she seemed smaller, more vulnerable. Her arms were loaded with towels, a square bag of some kind, and he couldna tell what else.

  “Ready?” she asked. “Come into the kitchen and we’ll get started.” She moved to the broad, open space with built-in sideboards and a big worktable where she dumped her load and plucked two towels from the pile. “Thanks for building up the fire. I should have done that before I went to change my clothes, but I was anxious to get out of those filthy things. I’ll feel even better after I shower,” she smiled. “But you and Gus are going first.” She eyed the dog with a warning look, then smiled when Gus whined in response and laid his chin on his paws.

  When Mac came around the worktable, Brie gasped, her eyes fixed on his bare torso. Surprised, he looked down to see what had caught her attention. A wide, ragged scar marred the space just under his left ribcage. Her shocked gaze flew to his, but quickly returned to the disfigurement. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that…” she shook her head. “That must have been a horrific injury.”

  Aye, it must have, he thought, flooded by a strange melancholy as his fingers skimmed the puckered lines. And what of the other, smaller scar near the middle of his chest? Were they somehow connected? Seeing evidence of the wounds, especially the smaller one, triggered a sudden surge of pure hatred, but for what, or whom? Even though he dinna ken how he’d received them, he knew with absolute surety, it had been violent. Shocked by the revelation and the intensity of the emotions attached, he swayed a little and reached for the worktable to steady himself.

  “Are you all right?” Brie asked, placing a hand on either side of his waist to support him. Concern darkened her eyes. “Do you need to sit down a minute? I don’t want you to pass out and bang your head all over again.”

  “Nae, lass. ’Twas but a momentary…”

  What? Memory? Vision? He dinna understand it, so how could he explain it?

  “…bit of dizziness. But I’m feeling fine, now.”

  Brie searched his face, mayhap for a sign that he wasna completely truthful. To banish the unsettling, lingering emotions the scars had triggered, he focused on the warmth of Brie’s hands on his skin, and her lovely eyes, full of concern. A hint of her soft scent drifted to him and he stepped back to keep from reaching out to touch her hair, or the smoothness of her cheek.

  ’Twas no’ his place, he reminded himself. “How shall we go about it? The washing of my hair? What would ye have me do tae make it easiest for ye?”

  She blinked and took a step away, herself. “Yes, your hair. We should get that done,” she muttered, fussing again, with the towels. “Just bend over the edge of the sink, with your head down so I can reach you. I’m sorry. I know lowering your head like that will probably make your headache worse. I’ll try to hurry.”

  He looked at her in surprise. She’d kenned all along that his head throbbed. He hadna fooled her a’tall.

  She handed him a small square cloth. “You may want to put this over your face to keep the water out of your eyes and nose. I’ll try to be careful, but it may hurt a little. I want to be sure to get all the mud and blood washed out.”

  “Dinna fash, lass. I’m grateful tae ye for yer trouble.” He leaned over the edge of the sink as directed and steeled himself for the cold water he knew was coming. The lass hadna heated any, but he wouldna ask her to. He’d caused her trouble enough.

  He heard water running from somewhere and felt her chest press against his shoulder as she leaned over him.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  Deliciously warm water sluiced over his temples and the top of his head. Where had that come from? It felt heavenly, as did the feel of her hands in his hair. He tried to concentrate on that instead of her body, moving against his shoulder as she worked the knots from his hair, careful to keep the water from directly hitting his wound. Surprisingly, ’twas little pain. Mayhap due to all the other overriding sensations from Brie’s ministrations and the battle still raging inside his head.

  How did the water continue to flow? She dinna stop to fill or pour. It flowed in a steady stream from a contraption she moved freely around his head. ’Twas truly magical; the flowing water, Brie, and how her hands eased the tension from his entire body when she only touched his head.

  The water stopped, and he reluctantly began to rise.

  “Not yet,” she said, pressing a wet hand to his shoulder. “Stay there. We’re just getting started. Unless you’re in too much pain,” she added, apprehension clouding her voice. “We can stop if you need to.”

  “Nae, Brie. I’d like tae continue.”

  “Okay then.” She put something in her hands and rubbed them together. “Lean back over there, then.” She smoothed her hands through his hair, spreading something fresh smelling down the length of it. Soap of some sort? Her fingers kneaded his scalp, gently scrubbing up and down in a light massaging motion.

  “Am I hurting you? Making your headache worse?”

  “ ’Tis actually better, I believe.” Mayhap it was. But he dinna care if it wasna. Did washing one’s hair always feel this good? He sensed Brie’s touch had much to do with it. The water came again, warm and soothing, rinsing away much of the tension in his muscles along with the frothy soap. The water ran off his hair a rusty brown at first, then slowly cleared.

  Then it stopped again. “I’m going to clean around your wound a little better, so bear with me. It’s going to hurt, I’m afraid.” Her fingers worked gently at the back of his head, then she put water in a cup and gently poured it over the wound, repeating the process several times. Where the water had some pressure before, this was as gentle as a kiss.

  She squeezed water from the ends of his hair, placed one towel over his shoulders and another over his hair, gently pressing to absorb the water.

  “All done, Mac,” she declared. “At least with that part. Let’s let you get your head out of this sink, so you’re more comfortable.”

  He almost regretted that it was over. Though he was ready to raise his head to see if it would ease the pressure inside, he wouldna have traded the experience for anything. His scalp still tingled, most pleasantly, from her touch.

  He glanced at her clean, soft-looking furniture, yearning to stretch out on the longest piece, but he was still mud caked from the waist down. “May I sit at yer table?”

  “That’s perfect while I work on your wound. Then you’re free to get in the shower
.”

  He felt foolish, letting Brie walk him to the bench. He was a bit weak yet, but no’ so much that he couldna manage on his own.

  Gus got up, whined and came to sit beside Mac. “Don’t worry, Gus,” Brie said. “You’re next.” She laughed when he dropped his head again and covered his nose with a paw. “He hates baths,” she explained.

  Mac envied Gus. If ’twas this pleasant having Brie wash his hair, what would an entire bath be like?

  She gathered the bag and other things she’d brought earlier and set them on the table, near him. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she disappeared down the hall. In minutes she returned with a soft looking blanket, removed the damp towel from his shoulders and draped the blanket around him. “That should be more comfortable. There’s still a bit of a chill in here.”

  “ ’Tis kind of ye, lass.” He pulled the blanket tight, it’s warmth surrounding him, like Brie’s gentle care. ’Twould be far too easy to become used to such things. He had to remember he dinna belong here. Even though he realized what a gift that could be, somewhere out there, something else waited for him.

  Did Brie have someone…permanent, she did such things for? Someone who honored her for her kindness and treasured her the way she surely deserved to be? He wanted her to have that, so why should the thought of it dishearten him?

  Brie opened her bag and removed a small tube and a stack of white pads. “You’re still bleeding a little.” She dabbed the wound with one of the pads, then applied a bit of pressure with another.

  Finally, she set the stained pads aside and picked up an oddly shaped, wide-toothed comb and began drawing it gently through his hair.

  He closed his eyes and surrendered to her ministrations. The rhythm of her smooth strokes calmed him, as did her hands and the occasional brush of her body against his back. The blanket warmed him, and he felt his eyelids droop as the fringes of fatigue settled over him.