Her Highland Destiny

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Her Highland Destiny Page 17

by Leanne Burroughs


  The time had come for surrender. The following morn Oliphant sent word to Edward. “We surrender if we are granted our lives.” Duncan joined men gathered at the wall to wait for word. The end was near. Dear God, please forgive me for not talking with You more. Do not hold that against my loved ones. No matter what happens, please let Catherine realize I love her.

  When word came, a wave of horror swept through the tattered warriors. Edward refused, wanting an unconditional surrender. Duncan groaned, “I am not shocked with Edward Longshanks’ ruthlessness. The sack of Berwick lives forever in my mind. This is no different.”

  Sinking to the ground, Oliphant said, “Longshanks asked me at the beginning to surrender. I refused. This is his way of paying me back.” He turned to those gathered. Most barely had enough strength to sit and lean against the castle wall. “I am sorry. I thought we would win. My error in judgment cost us dearly. We are no match for whatever Edward plans to throw at us on the morrow.”

  The next morn Edward had one final horror to unleash.

  Catherine tossed and turned, alone in her large bed, afraid to fall asleep for fear she’d again see what was happening at Stirling. Every time she drifted off, she saw Duncan and the war. She’d finally quit telling Duncan’s men for fear they’d think her daft. Mayhap she was. Who in their right mind watched her husband fight a battle daily? Saw him wounded, hungry, tired, and could do nothing about it. Strained to the point of exhaustion, Catherine surrendered to sleep.

  The English garrison brought forward the Warwolf while Edward laughed and raised his arm. “Defend yourselves from us as best you can.” He lowered his arm to begin the onslaught, a vicious act of carnage.

  Sweat running down her face, Catherine screamed. This was the monster she’d warned Duncan about! She had to save him.

  Standing on the ramparts, Duncan and his fellow warriors stared in shock at the fifty foot beast that stood before them with its huge counterweight and mighty beam.

  They banded together to fight—or die.

  “Nay, my heart, do not think that.” Catherine willed her thoughts to Duncan. “Come back to me. Come back...”

  Boulder after boulder pummeled the castle. Screams of pain were heard as large chunks of wall broke off and slammed into them. To a man, the Scots, battered and wounded, battled on and on.

  Catherine saw Angus fall to the ground, blood streaming down his leg. Where were the others? On the other side of the castle? Safe in the caves?

  A boulder crashed through the wall where Duncan and Grant stood.

  Catherine screamed! Shot up in bed, the linens twisted around her. Duncan! Dear Father Almighty. Name of all names. Prince of Peace, please protect Duncan, bring him home safely.

  ~ * ~

  Duncan held his breath as Oliphant again offered their surrender to Edward, the bloodthirsty man finally accepting. Despite previous threats, he didn’t kill remaining survivors. Obviously thinking the thirty men too weak to fight further, he proved lenient. Even more to Duncan’s surprise, the only person Longshanks ordered seized, made prisoner, and taken to the Tower of London was Oliphant.

  Untrusting of Edward’s peace, the Scots seized the opportunity and slipped into the dark of night. Starving, exhausted, and injured, bone chilling rain poured down on them as they struggled to climb hills that would lead them away from Longshanks and home to their loved ones. Warm tears filled Duncan’s eyes, mixing with the icy rain as he looked to the heavens, wondering if they’d escape. Is this one of Edward’s cruel jests that we fight our way to the top only to find the English soldiery waiting there? His chest fell in relief when no one awaited them. The night nearly spent, he staggered to the safety of nearby trees, just barely remembering to stay in the shadows.

  Hearing his name whispered, he turned and saw Grant several yards away, limping, but making his way toward him. Ready to drop where they stood, the two men couldn’t help but move toward each other. They gripped hands in a handshake and clapped each other on the back, squeezing each other tightly. Both laughing and crying.

  They’d survived. Acknowledged God spared them. After giving thanks to their heavenly Father, they moved through the hills to avoid detection. One by one they located other survivors.

  Grant heard sounds of the English searching for them, so he pressed everyone, “Hide in that nearby cave.” He and Duncan dragged branches in front of the entrance, requiring every ounce of their failing strength. Safely hidden, they collapsed on the ground, silently praying for God’s cloak of protection.

  The next day they found Angus near a burn trying to fetch a drink of water. Duncan and Grant treated Angus’ injuries. “Och, not only did the bone break when part of the castle wall catapulted into his thigh,” Duncan groaned, “a jagged edge gashed through the skin.” He turned to Ian and Grant. “Hold him whilst I reset the bone.” He looked down at Angus, mumbling, “Forgive me, friend,” then slammed his fist into Angus’ chin. Two days later, it was a sad parting when Grant and Ian broke off to head east toward Drummond Castle. “Good bye, my friend,” Duncan said before he and Angus proceeded north toward Cray Hall.

  Though limping and in excruciating pain, the elderly man tried to keep pace with Duncan. He’d refused to let Duncan carry him on a litter of twigs tied with vines. To elude recapture, they laid low during the day and traveled only by moon’s light. Duncan’s legs nearly gave out when he finally sighted Cray Hall’s stronghold. He stood shaking, barely able to go on. Home. He was home. Suddenly, people streamed out the gate, crying their greetings. His eyes hungrily searched them looking for Catherine. He was glad when Alex rushed over to relieve him of Angus’ weight. Others helped them inside the stone walls.

  Everyone rushed up, patting him on the back and hugging him, dozens asking questions all at once. Still, he sought Catherine. He’d seen her beautiful face many times. It was her vision that had kept him going.

  “Duncan! Thank the Blessed Lord, you are alive!” Tears of joy streamed down her face as she rushed headlong into his arms. She kept kissing his face and wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing hard.

  When he winced in pain, she stepped back, taking in his appearance, seeing the chest she just hugged was hardly that of the man who’d left her in April.

  Then her soft eyes shifted to notice men gingerly helping Angus to a chair.

  “You have been gone so long,” she whispered, a quaver in her voice. Catherine glanced around the Hall, question lighting her face, then fear when she realized only Angus was there of the men that left with him. She took Duncan’s arm and helped him to a chair. Shame filled him as he could hardly sit in it. Holding the chair’s arms, he settled into it heavily.

  “Duncan? Are the injured outside?” The question turned to fear as she glanced toward the main door. Her eyes shot back and she whispered, “My dream. ‘Twas right was it not?”

  “No one else survived,” he admitted sadly, leaning heavily against the table. “We lost Stirling.”

  Behind him, men groaned and women wailed.

  Too tired to move, he turned to Alex. “Praise the saints most of you remained to guard our land.” He tried to catch his breath, but it hurt to breathe. “We must send word to Castle Glenshee. MacThomaidh must be told our men perished.”

  “Grant?” Catherine squeaked. He knew she was terrified to hear the answer.

  “Injured,” he told her weakly. “He and Ian survived. All else perished.”

  He looked around the room at those gathered. “Once again, Clans MacThomas and Drummond sacrificed their life and breath to Scotland’s cause. I know not why God spared us, but I have given him thanks repeatedly since we escaped.”

  Tears streamed down Catherine’s face. The stress more than she could handle, she looked ready to pass out.

  Duncan caught Alex’s eye and nodded toward her. He was so weary he couldn’t move. Aw God, he prayed, I know I do not talk to You as often as I should. Thank You for hearing my prayers and bringing me back to my Cat.

  Al
ex rushed to her and quickly lowered his lady to a chair.

  She roused herself from her anguish. “Nay, do not worry about me. Just care for Duncan and Angus.”

  She turned to face Duncan, but directed her words to Alex. “Take my husband to our chamber. I shall tend him there.” She turned toward Angus. “Take Angus to—”

  “See to Duncan, kind lady. Angus shall be well cared for,” Dohmnall assured her.

  Duncan leaned heavily on Alex and Colin. Fearing his wounds had festered, the image of Andrew de Moray sprang to mind. Would he die now as Andrew had, cut down in the prime of his life? If he did, would Catherine leave and remarry? The thought of her in someone else’s arms wasn’t a thought he liked.

  Duncan’s throat worked to swallow the pain. Had he fought his way home, just to lose it all?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Alex pressed, “M’lady, we have not the luxury of time. His wounds poison.”

  Catherine didn’t hesitate more than a breath to make a decision. “I shall open the wounds.”

  The two men eyed her warily. “You shall lance the festering?” Alex queried.

  Catherine nodded, grimness molding her mouth. “How difficult can it be?”

  “But—”

  “My lady wife shall tend my wounds,” Duncan asserted, cutting off further discourse. “I trust her to do so. The healer tends Angus.”

  Her eyes never left Duncan’s, thanking him for his trust. “I shall do whatever it takes to see you well.”

  Duncan nodded.

  Later, Catherine thought, I should have called the healer immediately. ‘Twas folly to believe it a simple matter. She’d almost gagged over his leg and chest injuries. Alex and Euan held him down. She dug down and endured, fearing she might pass out.

  Afterward, when the healer finally came, she lifted the covering from Duncan’s body to inspect Catherine’s work. “You did well, lass, though you look a might peaked.” She cackled. “Sight of rotting wounds more than you bargained for, eh?” She perused his naked form, flashed Catherine a smile and cackled, “Och, your husband is a braw and bonnie lad. Small wonder you wish him hale and hearty.”

  Catherine blushed and Duncan scolded weakly, “Leave be, Maddie. My lady wife has been through an ordeal this day.” He reached out his hand for Catherine’s and linked fingers.

  Maddie walked to the hearth to prepare a hot poultice. Drawing worts from the cloth bag hung from string twined at her waist, she spread them onto a cloth, folded it, then saturated it with hot water. “I use woad to staunch the bleeding.” She crossed to Duncan, slapped the hot mixture onto his leg.

  He yelped, “Fires of Hades, Maddie, what means of torture be this?”

  Catherine gasped and bent to remove it.

  Maddie shoved her hand aside. “Leave be. Do you want him healed or rotting?”

  “Healed,” Catherine answered, aghast, “but that hurts him. ‘Tis hot.”

  “Of course ‘tis hot. ‘Twould do no good if ‘twas not.” She quirked a brow at Duncan, but voiced her comments to Catherine. “Are you saying our braw laird cannot take a wee bit of pain?”

  Outraged, Catherine exclaimed, “Wee bit of pain? He survived a horrible battle. He—”

  Duncan raised his fingers to her lips to stay her torrent of words. “Do not fash, Mo Chride.”

  His eyes locked with Catherine’s. “She knows exactly what I have been through. Her son was with me at Stirling.” He nodded at Maddie. “Continue your torture, auld woman.”

  ~ * ~

  The man was driving her daft.

  “I want to go down the stairs, woman. I am fine.”

  “Fine? You have broken bones, festered wounds, you have barely eaten in a sennight. You are not fine,” she bullied, rather than letting him see her upset.

  He gave her his sexiest smile. “Aye, but you care for me so skillfully I dare naught but get well.”

  “You are right,” she argued, “‘tis for me to say whether you get out of that bed or not. And I say not!”

  The door opened and Catherine rushed to shoo his men. “Out, the lot of you. Duncan rests.”

  “We must see him, Lady Catherine,” Dohmnall said.

  “I give up.” She threw up her hands in resignation. “By all means, come. See that he lives still—through sheer stubbornness.”

  “Lady Catherine”—Siobhán entered the room and crossed to the table to refill the ewer and basin—“you must rest. You weary yourself.”

  “I shall rest when he fares well,” Catherine challenged. “Until then, I go nowhere.”

  Duncan groused. “My lady wife is too stubborn to listen to reason. ‘Tis a flaw I have not yet corrected.”

  Siobhán teased, “Aye, ‘tis one of the reasons you love her.”

  To ease the embarrassment of her friend’s words, Catherine busied herself with changing the foul-smelling poultices.

  Duncan’s eyes followed her every move as she worked, though he conversed with his men on clan business.

  Alex winked at his laird and told those gathered, “We should leave. Duncan is in fine hands.”

  Duncan caressed her arm when she brought him water to drink. Every time she got near, he touched her, skimmed his fingers over her cheek, her hand, the end of her braid as it hung over one shoulder.

  Finally his eyes drifted closed.

  She wanted to touch him, but feared she’d hurt him. Instead, each night she waited until he slept, then skimmed her hands over his arms, his chest, his cheek. She told herself she only did it to ensure he was fine, had no fever. She knew it was a lie.

  “My wounds itch, wife. Means they heal. ‘Tis time you rest. Come lie beside me.” He patted the bed. “Or do you wish me to pretend to sleep so you can approach me?” he provoked.

  “You...oh...” Shocked that he was awake, she stepped back.

  Catching her off guard, Duncan pulled her down so she sank to the bed. He drew her close and brushed his lips over hers, soft as a feather. He wrapped his arms around her, held her close, then whispered, “Sleep, stubborn lass.”

  Despite reacting from being up against him, her eyes drifted shut, safe in his strong arms.

  ~ * ~

  At sennight’s end, Tamara arrived. Sobbing, she flung herself into her brother’s arms as he sat in bed.

  “No need for tears, wee sister. I fare well,” he assured with a grunt. “Or was until you reopened my wounds.”

  She drew back and looked horrified, but Duncan smiled. “I tease. You could have found me below stairs, only my vixen wife will not let me go down. She holds me prisoner.”

  Tamara eyes were full of womanly wisdom. “’Tis because she loves you.”

  Catherine’s mouth dropped open, aghast.

  Duncan’s gaze settled on Tamara, doubt showing in his eyes. Catherine’s love was something he could only one day hope for.

  Interrupting the uneasy silence, Tamara told him, “Da is concerned for your welfare. He sent me to check on you.”

  “While I misdoubt that, tell our sire I fare fine.” Immediately he remembered the feelings he’d had when he thought he’d die. That mayhap their quarrel had been carried on long enough.

  After Tamara’s departure, Duncan returned to his intent before the interruption—reconnecting with his wife. It was difficult to charm Catherine when he barely had enough strength to sit, but he determined to try. It was important to reestablish the closeness they’d achieved before he left for Stirling. He grabbed her wrist to pull her down beside him.

  “Duncan! What are—”

  He silenced her with a kiss.

  “Duncan, you are injured.” She tried to pull away. He wrapped his arms around her and held her fast.

  Duncan groaned in frustration, drew back to meet her eyes. “I thought of you day and night, Cat. ‘Tis the only thing that kept me alive.” He pressed his hand to the side of her face, touching her gently before running his fingertips up and down her cheek and neck.

  “Duncan MacThomas, you have
no idea how I fretted. I dreamt over and over of a horrible battle and feared you would not return.”

  “I know, my men told me. I needed you at Stirling, Mo Cridhe.” He stopped, stared into her eyes. “I know not how God made that happen, but I thank Him for allowing that.”

  Catherine trailed her fingers lightly over his bandages.

  “Looking for signs my wounds reopened?”

  She saw no blood. “All right, my lord husband. You are well enough to leave our room.”

  ~ * ~

  Duncan yanked on the girth of his saddle and then secured his pack to it. “I am loath to leave.”

  Catherine offered, “Then I shall ride to Crieff with you.”

  “Nay, my heart. Stay with Meggie. I travel faster with just my men and will be back on the morrow.”

  “Stay home—or send a messenger.”

  “Cat, I shall not rest easily until I see how Grant and Ian fare. It took Angus and me longer to heal than I liked. Grant would tell a messenger anything to have me not worry. I must personally see them to know naught dreadful happened.”

  Trying not to pout, she nodded. “All right. I shall prepare a room for Tamara. According to the missive last week, she should be here soon.”

  Now she and Meghan stood in the doorway and waved goodbye as he and his men rode away.

  Meghan and she watched the men ride out of the bailey. It hurt. This was the first time he’d been away since his return. It brought back too many memories of his leaving for Stirling, the dreams, his return. She would live in fear something would happen to him.

 

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