by Deanie Roman
“There has to be one here somewhere.” She spoke aloud to dispel the sense of isolation that gripped her. A dense clump of trees close to the bluff caught her interest and she picked her way across the rocky ground. As she approached to study the rock face, she soon realized the entrance of the cave was concealed behind the thick bushes and towering pines.
Thank you, God.
Cautious, she tethered Honeybush, then scooped up a couple large stones to toss into the opening and mouthed a swift prayer nothing unpleasant emerged. After a few tense moments, she turned back to Aeden to get a closer look at him. He appeared insentient. She studied the depth of the dagger in his back. It was buried midway to the hilt and judging by the width of the exposed steel it was a broad blade. She had to think. If she moved him while the knife stayed in place, there stood a chance to injure him further. On the other hand, if she removed the knife, he just might bleed to death.
“Dear God in heaven, guide me,” she begged.
She shook her head, unwilling to risk more damage. Before she could rethink her decision, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and in one swift motion pulled up and out.
A gut-wrenched cry pierced the air startling Honeybush. Immediately, she tugged down on his reins to keep him still while crooning nonsense words to Aeden. Once the horse calmed, she led him to a sheltered area adjacent to the cave and re-tethered him.
How to put Aeden on the ground? Think, Elisande. Unbuckling her belt, she stripped out of her arasaid and spread it on the ground next to the horse happily occupied with a lush clover patch. Aeden’s sweat-slickened face and sickly pallor convinced her time was running out. She had no choice but to follow through with her plan in order to properly treat his wound. She gently swept his blood soaked hair away from his ear and spoke his name.
“Aeden, do you hear me?”
His eyes fluttered; his gaze unfocused.
Afraid he slipped beyond her reach she placed her lips to his ear. “Aeden, I must get you to the ground.”
No reaction. A sob escaped her lips. “Please, Aeden, I cannot do this alone.”
His face twisted in pain as he attempted to lift his arm. Relieved he responded, she tried to keep her panic at bay and laid his arm across the back of her shoulder, and then encircled his waist with her other arm. At first, she guided him in a steady slide, bearing the brunt of his considerable weight until his forward motion forced him off the horse. Powerless to stop his descent, she landed with him in a crumpled heap on the ground. When he started to roll, she slipped the plaid under his chest and urged him face down on the blanket.
He grimaced.
Fat tears slid down her cheeks.
His lips twisted in a grim smile. “’s all right.”
Above his head, she gathered the edges of the blanket and dragged him into the cave. His teeth chattered and with a sinking heart, she knew the blood loss affected his body’s ability to regulate itself. She retrieved the extra plaid from the saddle-pack and covered him as best she could without touching the gaping hole in his back.
Outside, she collected a few loose rocks and fashioned a fire pit near Aeden. Next, she plunged a hand down the front of her blouse clutched the charm-stone, and set it within the stone circle. She ripped tufts of grass from the forest floor, laid the pile atop the notched stone and scraped an upright twig crossways against another. In seconds, the kindling smoldered, and a spark flared to life. She cupped her hands around the tiny flame and blew on it, feeding the fire until the flames licked higher warming the dank cavern’s damp interior.
Aeden moaned. Whether in relief, pain, or both, she knew not. Either way, his wound required immediate care.
Terrified, he might die, she fled the cave.
Chapter Eight
The white willow-bark tea painstakingly fed to him took effect. He drifted into a restless sleep punctuated with moments of pain-induced wakefulness. Without a pot to heat water, her only recourse had been to fashion a funnel out of a large, thick foxglove leaf, scrape off tiny bits of the willow-bark and get him to swallow the raw slivers.
“You … are … well?” his hoarse voice jarred her thoughts.
She knelt beside him. “Yes.” She applied pressure to the hole in his back. She searched her memory for the healing charm, concentrated inward. The archaic chant sprang from her tongue. “You wander through a verdant valley. There, one discovers three wellsprings. The first is named, Tranquility, the second, Serenity, and the third, Staunch the Blood.”
Into the silence that followed, she offered an invocation. Bit by bit, she lifted the wadded shift off his shoulder. The blood had slowed. A sense of relief surged through her body. She quickly unfolded another cloth square filled with yarrow herb. Though not properly dried, she worked with it enough to know the fringy perennial retained its potency when wet.
She mashed the flower in her fist, bemoaning the mortar and pestle she left behind. After packing the wound, she tore another strip from her dwindling shift, concerned if enough clean cloth was left for the next linen change.
Worries vied for attention in her mind. She tried to keep them at bay and concentrated on the soft lawn cloth pressed on top of the wound. Satisfied, she tucked the edges under his chest, lowered the plaid over him and eased off her stiff knees to sit back against the rock wall. All at once, her shoulders slumped. The momentum that carried her through the ordeal disappeared. She felt like a wrung out rag. Long shadows on the wall signaled the setting sun. A damp chill hung about the cave, its icy tendrils permeating Elisande’s thin cloak. Eventually, she gave in to her body’s demands and closed her tired eyes for a moment’s respite. Just then, a stray thought nudged her into awareness. Try as she might to sink into the comfort of oblivion, something kept her from a deep sleep. When an eerie howl filtered through the confusion cloaking her brain, she jolted upright. The dank atmosphere of the cave started her teeth a-clatter, and the day’s horrific events flew at her in a rush of emotion.
Swiping tears from her eyes, she rose and tossed more branches on the diminished flames to revive the fire. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond the orange glow, she realized Aeden watched her. She bit the insides of her cheeks, unable to make eye contact with him, afraid the death look was upon him, afraid he witnessed enough of her healing ritual to believe her a conjurer.
“Elisande.”
Her head snapped up, it was the first time he uttered her name. An unfathomable expression shadowed his features. Sweat beaded his brow and he grimaced in pain. He lifted his arm from under the blanket, rested it at his side, and turned his palm up.
“Please rest, do not exert yourself so.”
She went to him, her heart knocked against her ribcage as his eyes pierced the distance between them. She knelt by his side, her hand inches from his, and then he curled his fingers around hers with unexpected strength. The intimate contact dropped her stomach to her feet. She remained absolutely motionless for a moment and tried to sift through the torrent of fluttery emotions bedeviling her insides. He gave a light tug. She hesitated for an instant, then lay down against him beneath the blanket. Taking care not to jostle him, she settled against his uninjured side. Before she succumbed to oblivion, he brought their entwined hands to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her fingertips, and murmured in his native tongue.
“Ní bheidh mé dearmad, I shall never forget.”
• • •
“What do you think you are about?” Elisande demanded.
She released her skirt and dumped a bundle of sticks on the hard-packed floor. Aeden struggled to sit up, perspiration pouring off his body like a waterfall, a string of curses tripped from his lips.
“You push yourself too hard.” she scolded, a frown wrinkled her brow.
“We can no’ continue to dally here, ’tis dangerous.”
She ignored his words. “Is it your wish to re-open your wound? Because that is what you will do if you continue to disregard my instruction.”
“At the moment, a
ll I wish is to sit upright.”
Weakened, he slumped over and cursed his feebleness anew.
She pursed her lips, fell to her knees, and bent over his shoulder to peel back the cloth. He guessed the infection had started to mend.
“It has seeped and crusted, though far from closed. We will have to stay a few more days.”
Cool air hit the gash and he flinched. Despite the discomfort, he could not fault her efforts. She possessed a firm, steady hand and he wondered at her ability to remain dispassionate.
“How is it that a woman of your station comes by knowledge of healing wounds?”
She stiffened, not quite certain what to make of his question. Was he testing her somehow? “I believe I once told you that I am an herbal healer.” She helped guide him back against the cavern wall, then situated the plaid over his lower half.
He studied the grim set to her lips. “So you did. Although I would no’ have guessed at the extent of your healing abilities. Women of your station are more inclined to direct the treatment rather than apply it themselves.”
She flicked a glance over him. “Well, it is fortunate for you that I took more of an interest and practiced on my father’s men. Now, you should be able to sit without too much pain.”
He shook his head. “We must hurry along the healing.”
“It has only been a few days. You must give the wound time to knit properly to guard against infection.”
“It is no’ safe to stay here. I am not the only one who knows of these caves.”
“Aeden — ”
He talked over her protest. “The men who tried to kill me may come back seeking proof of my death. I can no’ take the chance of anything happening to you.”
“These men would kill a woman in cold blood?”
His eyes pierced the distance between them. “Death would be a blessing on you, lass.”
Disturbed, she sat back on her heels. “What would you have me do?”
Her wide-eyed innocence was merely a smoke screen to deflect his attention. He knew enough about her to know she possessed a keen mind.
“I ask again. What would you have me do that I have not done all ready?”
“Seal it.”
She blanched. “No.”
He gave her a steely eyed look. “Lass, you know ’tis the only way.”
She said nothing.
“You must do this,” he insisted.
She stared back at him and then, finally, nodded in agreement.
• • •
Elisande hunkered against the wall, unable to rest. The smell of sizzling flesh clung to her clothes. How he suffered the swipe of a heated dagger across his inflamed wound was beyond her knowledge. Although he remained stoic during her ministrations, she knew holding back cost him. She also knew he hadn’t uttered a word for her benefit, and for that she owed him her gratitude. The blade lay heavy in her hands. Somewhat curious, she inspected the dagger. The smoothed hilt bore a high sheen from years of use. She ran her fingertips along the inset of ivory at its base. Whoever owned the knife possessed a substantial amount of coin. Unless the knife was stolen, it belonged to a man of means. Ironic to think the very dagger that almost ended his life saved him.
She glanced over at Aeden, stripped to the waist, his powerful aura undiminished. It was the first night he slept undisturbed since the attack. Applying the molten steel to the deep, ragged gash, no matter how horrific the deed, allowed the wound to knit the moment the infected flesh burned away. And as much as she wanted to fall to pieces, he needed someone to watch over him. If she allowed her defenses to slip and the madmen uncovered their hidey-hole, she would be useless in a fight. No, better to stay alert — at least she’d have a chance to hurt one of them.
Chapter Nine
Oatcakes.
If she heaped a handful of dirt and twigs onto the burnt, dry oatcake, she doubted there would be little difference in the taste. A lifetime might pass before she willingly ate another or, dried venison strips and berries for that matter. As she contemplated what to do about the noon meal, a low-pitched whistle floated on the air. Aeden’s head snapped around and she listened in trepidation as the same eerie signal penetrated the forest sounds. She looked over at Aeden to gage his reaction and noticed the tense set of his shoulders relax a fraction. And then to her astonishment, he cupped his hands around his mouth and whistled back.
All of a sudden, three men appeared at the mouth of the cave. Not thinking clearly, she crawled over to Aeden and used her body as a shield. Aeden’s exasperated sigh fanned the hair at the back of her head.
Laughter threaded the stranger’s speech when he asked, “What do you intend with that knife?”
“Come closer and I shall slice you from belly to brow.” Despite her bravado, her voice quavered.
“A blood thirsty wench, eh, Aeden?”
“’Tis all right, Elisande, this man is known to me.”
Aeden’s voice was whisper soft, and a jolt of longing coursed through her body. Still wary, she turned to keep the intruder in her line of vision as she moved off to the side. Aeden’s inscrutable gaze captured her eyes. He was a hard one to read. She had no idea if he was angry with her, or grateful, or both. To her surprise, he reached out, clasped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before he let go. No doubt he meant to comfort her, but it only served to awaken a suppressed desire for him. Her shoulders drooped. Feeling foolish, she moved closer to his side and threw the knife down.
“Please forgive me, I had no idea you were expected.” She pursed her lips, giving Aeden a reproachful glance.
Fergal dipped his chin, yet made no acknowledgment of her apology. It was just as well. Her nerves were frayed and she had little patience for idle chat. She excused herself and walked from the cave into the sunlight. A bath, at last she would have a bath. Her spirits lifted when she feasted her eyes upon the glistening water that beckoned her weary bones, and she longed to sink into the river’s cool depths and soak her aching limbs. Her mind set, she hastened over to Aeden, who was now on his feet. She shoved down her anger at the man’s obstinance and marched over to him and tapped his shoulder. Caught off guard, he spun around and forced her backwards, her arms whirling as she tried to keep her balance. He lurched forward and grabbed her arm before she dropped to the ground.
Disconcerted by his touch she cast about for something to say. “Chief, you should not be up and about.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “We are back to titles I see.”
Watchful, he lowered the arm on his injured side and winced.
“Did you pull your threads?” Concerned she reached out to him.
He shook his head and took a step back. “I’m fine. What is it you wanted?”
Rebuffed, she stopped herself from asking to see his wound. “I should like to bathe in the river.”
He regarded her, his expression inscrutable while at the same time he instructed one of his men. “Fergal, see to the perimeter.”
He bowed, which sent his myriad of braids a-bob. After his departure, an awkward silence ensued.
“All is clear.”
“Do not stray from the inlet,” he ordered.
About to take her leave, his fingers caught the edge of her sleeve to trail down the back of her hand. She stared down at it expecting to see a line seared into her skin.
“Take care.”
The heat that forever emanated from him seeped into her clothes. She lifted her gaze. Unexpectedly, a wave of raw emotion overwhelmed her and she stood supplanted, unable to move fearing she would drown under the weight of its intensity.
• • •
“One thing’s certain. The lass will need patience and a high tolerance for shyte when she joins with your brother.”
Aeden frowned. The very idea that Addis would be allowed to claim Elisande as his wife set his teeth on edge.
“’Tis no’ settled who she weds.”
He pretended not to notice Ronan’s raised brow.
<
br /> “No? I understood the lass were meant as a consolation to soothe Addis’s almighty vanity.”
Noncommittal, Aeden shrugged, but his friend pressed his point.
“A man is no’ likely to forget such a humiliation. An áilleach like your one will pacify him for a time anyway.”
“Any woman would do, you ken as well as I.”
Images of Elisande sharing a bed with Addis caused his stomach to roll. Addis didn’t deserve such a treasure. If a sour-tempered woman could ever be considered as such — but then, he always did prefer fiery to sweet.
Ronan shook his head. “Onora has spoken of her niece’s winsome ways for far too many years. You are fooling yourself, brother, if you do no’ believe those stories have whetted the appetite of every able-bodied man in the clan.”
Aeden skewered his friend with a menacing glare.
“And your appetite, has it been roused as well?” His tone was deadly quiet.
Smiling from ear to ear, Ronan replied, “Aye, Chief. Greatly — any man would be pleased to entertain such a lively woman in his bed.”
Aeden scowled, unimpressed with Ronan’s glib tongue. He could not bear the idea of Elisande giving herself to any man except himself. Just the vision of her naked and in the arms of another man filled his belly with bile.
After some moment’s contemplation, he looked at Ronan. An unspoken agreement passed between them.
“We’re going to have a devil of a time with the details, my friend.”
Aeden grinned. “Well, the devil is always in the details, brother.”
When their laughter died down, Aeden thought he heard singing and glanced around the forest until he pinpointed the source of the song. He turned back to Ronan.
“Stand watch. I am going to her.”
Chapter Ten
Oblivious to her environs, Elisande reached up to examine her loose mound of abundant hair precariously perched atop her head. Immersed to her chin in the calmer waters of the firth, she groaned as the cool water sluiced over her aching bones.