by Barbara Bard
* * *
The horse didn't seem to mind her presence, not reacting as she drew closer. It was concerned only with getting its fill of water. Sarah wondered if the horse knew what was happening in the war, and if it had run away for the same reason as she did. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and stroked the horse. Its head shot back, but it didn't make any threatening movements.
* * *
“There's a good boy,” she said, stroking the horse carefully, hoping that it would not storm away.
* * *
The only question now is what she did with the body. If she could ride the horse herself it would be a great boon. She had learned many things from Rosemary, and horse riding had been one of them. It almost seemed like fate that this horse had come to her. It was a sign that she was on the right path.
* * *
Having a horse would mean that she could get even further from Lord Flynn's reach, and would not have to worry about being caught at all.
* * *
But she would have to get the Highlander off first.
* * *
“You just stay here and I'll try and get him off. I hope he doesn't mind being put on the ground,” Sarah said, “and I hope you don't mind giving somebody else a ride.”
* * *
The horse whinnied again and then tilted its head to the side, choosing to chew some grass. Sarah rolled up the sleeves of her dress and set her face in a determined expression.
* * *
“Right then, you are not going to stop me from getting this horse,” she said, trying to convince herself. With a heave, she pushed the Highlander, but he wouldn't budge. She was surprised at how heavy he was. Stepping back, panting, she stretched her arms out and told herself that she could do this. It wasn't going to be so simple as to push him off though, because he was too heavy.
* * *
She had to find a way to work him off. Sarah walked around the horse, examining the Highlander from every angle. First she considered pulling him off the rear of the horse, but then decided that would be just as difficult as pushing him.
* * *
When she got around the other side of the horse she noticed the huge sword dangling from the Highlander's waist. It could prove useful, so she tried to unsheathe it. This proved to be more difficult than she expected, for it weighed more than she expected too, just like the Highlander, and she began to realize that she was either a very poor judge of how much things weighed, or of her own strength.
* * *
She had to use all her might to pull the sword out, and when she did the weight of it brought her hands to the ground. The point of the sword pierced the ground, and she was almost sick at the sight of the blood and guts upon the blade. Especially because she knew they were from Englishmen.
* * *
Heaving the sword up, holding it with both hands to keep it steady, she prodded the Highlander in the side, trying to work the sword underneath his body to dislodge him from the horse. That wasn't working, and she realized it was because his legs and arms were too long, so she adapted her tactic.
* * *
Sarah placed the sword underneath the man's arm and used it as a lever, pushing the arm up and over the man's body. The leg was next, and she chose to move the one without the javelin sticking out of it. She tried not to look at the wound, for it was disgusting. The blood had dried around it and the sight of a piece of wood lodged into the flesh and bone was too much for her to bear. This was a grisly task, and she hoped never to have to think about it again once it had been completed.
* * *
Just as with the arm, Sarah placed the sword under the leg and heaved with all her might to push it onto the back of the horse. Sweat beaded on her temples and she almost screamed with the strain. Muscles she didn't even know she had began to ache, and with a mighty heave she got it up. The sword fell to the ground, and her arms were on fire, but she had done it.
* * *
All she needed to do now was nudge the man off and he should fall, for the way his weight had been distributed before had prevented her from simply pushing him off. Sarah breathed deeply, determined to see this through to the bitter end. She had to remind herself that he was a Highlander, although even then she still felt pity in her heart. She had too much compassion inside her not to do so, even though she had more right to hate Highlanders than most.
* * *
Indeed, looking at him slumped over this horse she was reminded that he was just a man, no different than the English. They were all flesh and blood, and they all met the same fate. It was sad in a way, that so many lives had to be cut down because of this silly war.
* * *
Sarah sighed and gave the final push to send the man to the ground, but before she did she brushed away his thick locks and looked at his face. She was shocked to find herself thinking that he was handsome. He was almost the opposite to Lord Flynn, brutish and primal, and yet a deep part of her responded to his physical appearance. Composing herself, she tried to ignore the feeling of blood rushing to her cheeks as she pushed and watched the man tumble to the ground.
* * *
With that done, she got ready to climb on the back of the horse herself, although there was no saddle, and thus no stirrups. Sarah looked puzzled, and searched for a rock that she could use as a step. She found one, and was about to step up when she heard a groan.
* * *
Sarah froze, and told herself that she was just hearing things. It must have been something in the forest, or perhaps the horse’s stomach.
* * *
Then the groan sounded again, and there was no mistaking what it could have been. She timidly looked around the horse to see the Highlander pushing himself up, shaking the haze from his head.
* * *
Sarah's throat tightened. Looking around quickly, she realized that there was nowhere to hide. She rushed out and picked up the sword, pointing it directly at the Highlander. She held it with both hands, and even then the heavy blade trembled. The man rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, throwing his black locks back, revealing his strong, bearded jaw and handsome face. The piercing eyes looked at her, eyes that gazed deeply into her soul.
* * *
Sarah felt a strange tingling all over her body, but tried to brush it away.
* * *
In the fall, the Highlander's cloak had fallen off him, revealing thick biceps. The tingling in Sarah's body only grew stronger. He looked down at his wound and gasped, clamping his eyes shut in pain, then he looked back at Sarah.
* * *
“Put that blade down and come give me a hand with this. Dae ye really think I'm gonna dae any harm tae ye?”
* * *
His thick Scottish brogue rolled off his tongue in a pleasing, singsong manner, but Sarah was left speechless by the fact that she had been left face to face with the enemy. If she revealed that she was English he would surely take her prisoner and give her a grisly fate, so she remained mute. And yet, for all her dislike of the Highlanders and fear for her life, she saw a man in pain, and her kindness and compassion won over her anxiety. This man needed her help, and she was the only one who could help him.
* * *
The man pushed himself up into a sitting position and leaned against a rock. He looked at the water longingly.
* * *
“Can ye fetch me some water? I need tae clean this wound before it's tae late,” he said.
* * *
Sarah wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to use to collect the water, so she searched around, but the man didn't like that. He rummaged around his waist and pulled out a waterskin, which he threw to her. It hit her arm.
* * *
“Dinnae waste any time!” he cried, trying to hold the pain in. Sarah rushed to the river and filled the waterskin up, then returned to the man, almost afraid to get too close. But he was in need, and as he said, he couldn't very well do much to her out here.
* * *
Crouching down,
she poured the water liberally over the wound, trying not to look at it too much. The javelin had punctured the skin and blood was oozing out. It had crusted over.
* * *
“Ye need tae wash it,” he said.
* * *
Sarah shook her head vehemently.
* * *
“Are ye man? Why are ye nae speaking? I need help, lassie!” he said, then roughly grabbed her delicate hand and pushed it into his wound. She felt the weak flesh under her fingertips and had to turn her head away, but she massaged it nonetheless. One look at his hands told her why she needed to do it. They were coated in dirt. Even his fingernails were black.
* * *
The man's head lolled back, the pain becoming too intense. Sarah knew that if he fell asleep he might not wake up. She prodded his wound, and the jolt of pain was enough to make him alert again.
* * *
“Are ye crazy? Aye. What am I doing here anyway? I should be out there. How is the battle going, lass? Are we winning?”
* * *
Sarah shrugged.
* * *
“I cannae stay away for tae long. Blair needs me. I need tae get back there,” he said, and gripped the javelin with both hands. Sarah shook her head vehemently, a panicked look on her face, but the Highlander didn't seem to pay attention.
* * *
“Ye may want tae look away, lass,” he said, gritting his teeth as he tightened his grip and then pulled the javelin out. The motion was not smooth at all, but it was successful. His blood-curdling scream filled the air. Sarah doubled over, feeling the urge to empty her guts, but somehow she managed to keep it all in.
* * *
“Oh aye, that was something alright,” the Highlander moaned, his eyes looking groggy. Sarah put the waterskin to his lips and made him drink. Most of the liquid fell down his chin, but at least he got some. She felt a warmth beside her leg and realized that the wound was bleeding.
* * *
In a panic and without thinking, Sarah pressed her hands to the wound in an effort to stem the flow of blood, but it kept coming, pulsing and throbbing against her hands, as though it was alive. Sarah looked around for anything to tie around the man's leg, but the only thing that came to her was her own dress.
* * *
It was a shame to ruin such a lovely garment, but it was already stained with dirt and blood. A little tear here and there wouldn't make much difference. She grabbed the sleeve and pulled it apart, then rolled the fabric tightly over the man's thigh and tied a secure knot. The dress was much the worse for wear, but it wasn't as though she wanted to wear it for its intended purpose anyway.
* * *
“Thank ye lass, ye saved my life,” he said as his head tilted to the side. It was probably better that he rest now anyway. His eyes closed, and he started breathing heavily.
* * *
Sarah wiped her forehead and took a long drink of water as well. She looked at her handiwork, and at the blood-soaked javelin, and shook her head. She thought she had escaped the war, but it had still come to her.
* * *
Going over to the river to wash her hands, Sarah thought about the future. She had wanted to escape quickly, and by all accounts she should have carried on walking through the forest there and then. She had abandoned thoughts of taking the horse. If she did then this man would be stranded in the forest, for it was unlikely he would be walking for a while, and not at great speed even then. Taking his horse would be condemning him to a death sentence.
* * *
But she couldn't bring herself to leave his side. She had saved his life, but if she left now anything could happen. A wild animal could emerge from the woods and attack him. His wound could fester again, and if he was unable to treat himself then he could die from disease. It just seemed wrong to leave him there by himself, even though he was a Highlander.
* * *
She almost hated herself for being such a kind person. She wished she could have hardened her heart and left him there to his own fate. It wasn't as though she owed him anything. They killed her parents after all, why should she show them any kindness? But just looking at him brought up so much compassion. She found herself sitting down beside him, wondering what fate awaited her. She stayed by the sword, just in case she needed to defend herself.
14
Drew awoke feeling like his body was on fire. The pain in his leg hadn't gone away, although it had faded somewhat after he had pulled the thick javelin out of his thigh. He was light-headed and groggy. His vision was blurred, and his memory was jumbled. He remembered being on the battlefield, and that man with the huge fists punching him around the face, but other than that he didn't really remember a thing.
* * *
Then he opened his eyes properly and blinked away the fugue, and he felt the waterskin being pressed to his lips. The water was cool and refreshing, and much needed. He gulped it down, but it was taken away before he had been given his fill.
* * *
Then he remembered her.
* * *
The sunlight faded away to reveal her face, a vision of loveliness. Her almond-shaped eyes darted away, almost as though she was afraid to look at him. A slight smile tugged at her shy lips, and her cheeks were rosy. She looked a full-figured, healthy girl, and Drew had been blessed to find her in these woods. Her clothes were strange for someone in these woods to be wearing, but at that moment in time his mind was focused on his wound and the pain it was causing rather than on anything else.
* * *
She had yet to say anything, and Drew wondered if she lacked the ability to talk.
* * *
“Thank ye, lass, ye did me a great honor by saving me. I would hae been done for if ye hadn't been here.”
* * *
The girl inclined her head demurely. Drew was still in a lot of pain, but he shifted his position and sighed.
* * *
“I don't suppose ye hae any food?” he asked hopefully. The girl raised her hands, revealing some berries and fruit. It wasn't exactly a hearty meal, but it would have to do. Drew grabbed some from her hand, his rough flesh sliding against her smooth skin. He popped the berries in his mouth and chewed them, letting their natural juice slide down his throat.
* * *
Her skin was softer than his, and he hadn't expected to find anything like her in these forests. She was a rare beauty, and for a moment Drew wondered if she was a forest nymph, just like in the stories his mother used to tell him. Then he smiled, and pushed those thoughts away from his mind. There were no such things as fairies. This girl was as real as he was.
* * *
Drew finished off the berries and then reached out for the water skin, straining hard as it was just out of his reach. His leg still throbbed with pain and any time he attempted to move a sharp feeling lanced through his leg. He winced and gritted his teeth, trying to stop himself from yelling.
* * *
“Are ye from around here, lass?” he asked. The girl looked away from him again. It was such a terrible thing, not to be able to speak. He wondered what kind of life she must have had.
* * *
“Aye, well, I would nae worry about it tae much. I'll try not tae ask ye anymore questions. It must be hard to live as ye do. But listen, I would nae wander tae far off intae these woods. There is a battle going on and it is nae the place for a lassie like you. I suppose ye should know my name. I'm Drew.”
* * *
A strange look came upon her face, a look that Drew was unable to decipher.
* * *
“We're fighting the English, lassie. I dinnae know if ye've heard, but they killed a man for nae reason, so we've gone tae war again. I need tae get back there,” he said, suddenly realizing that he had been away from the battle for some time. Thoughts of Blair and the others ran through his head.
* * *
But when he pushed himself up he grunted. The pain was just too much to bear, and he settled back down. With th
e help of the girl he calmed down, although his heart burned furiously.
* * *
“It was a lucky shot that got me. I did nae see him coming towards me. I suppose I should count myself lucky, but I need tae get back tae the battle. My clan needs me. My brother...” he trailed off. Blair would be able to hold his own in battle, but that wasn't the point. Drew wanted to be there beside him. They should have been fighting this fight as brothers, as a family, in honor of their father.