Highland Thirst

by Hannah Howell

  Trinket was sleeping where she’d left her, as was Tearlach, she saw after a quick peek down into the pit. Leaving them to it, she quickly shed the Carbonnel clothes and drew on the dress instead. It was a tad long, and a little loose on her, but would do if she caught up the skirt a bit.

  Satisfied that she would pass for a servant, Lucy glanced toward the trapdoor, wishing she had some parchment and a quill to leave a note for Tearlach. Unfortunately, she didn’t have anything of the sort so would have to hope that when he awoke and found her gone, he would wait here until she returned. The fact that Trinket was still here surely would tell him that she was returning.

  Sighing, Lucy headed for the door, determined to carry out her plan. The only alternative was to wait for Tearlach to wake up and try to convince him to let her go into Rosscurrach after Heming. She already knew he would never agree to that and she herself wasn’t willing to let him walk in there after his cousin alone. Lucy really felt she had a better chance to get the other man out than Tearlach did. Her plan was a good one, and much more sensible than his.

  Mind you, that didn’t mean she really wanted to walk into enemy camp to rescue Heming. In truth, she’d rather neither of them had to go in there, but they could hardly leave his cousin at Rosscurrach to be tortured to death.

  Her worries turning to what shape Heming would be in when she found him and the difficulties she might face getting him out, Lucy slipped out of the bothy and headed toward the castle. Such issues were forgotten, however, when her gaze moved absently skyward and she noted that the sun was well into its downward journey.

  She’d thought it was late morning when she’d first left the shepherd’s bothy. Apparently she’d been off by a bit. She’d slept much longer in the pit than she’d thought. Either that or she’d spent more time than she’d realized seated on the dirt floor of the bothy contemplating her relationship, or lack thereof, with Tearlach. It looked to be moving from afternoon toward evening. The sun would probably last only a couple more hours. Lucy frowned as she did some calculation. One hour to get her to the castle, then however much time it took her to get Heming out, and an hour back...

  She’d have to be quick at the getting-him-free part, Lucy decided grimly. She wasn’t at all sure she would be able to find the bothy again in the dark.

  Lucy continued on the way she’d been going, keeping to a quick clip in an effort to make the best use of the sunlight she had, but her mind was on ways she could make her return journey easier should it end up being made in the dark. None of the ideas she was coming up with were very viable. She had nothing with which to leave a trail to follow back, no torch she could use to light the way, though she would probably have her hands full with Heming anyway if he was weak and injured.

  Once again paying more attention to her thoughts than her surroundings, Lucy nearly marched herself into the hands of the enemy. This time it was a burst of laughter that drew her attention back to her whereabouts. She immediately stiffened where she stood, freezing like a doe before the unexpected appearance of a rider or carriage.

  When the laughter was not followed by the sudden appearance of riders coming from the trees ahead, she eased to the side of the path and strained her ears, listening for further sounds. At first, all she could hear was the rapid beating of her heart, but then that steadied and seemed to recede some and she caught the faint sound of male voices. It was coming from ahead and a little to the right of where she stood.

  After a moment of indecision, Lucy began to move cautiously forward. Part of her was urging her to hurry on her way and avoid the men altogether. But another part was insisting it was better to know what sort of situation she was facing. She needed to know how many there were and whether they were traveling on foot or riding horseback. It would also be good to know if they had stopped to rest, or were heading in the same direction as she and likely to stumble on her further along the trail if she was not careful.

  All of these worries circling in her mind, Lucy moved as quietly as she could until she glimpsed them through the trees ahead. Positioning herself behind the largest tree she could find, Lucy spied on them.

  Much to her relief there appeared to be only two men. Both wore Scottish dress and were seated in the grass, taking their leisure. When several moments had passed with no one else appearing to add to their number, Lucy eased back behind the tree and concentrated on trying to hear what they were saying. Unfortunately, she had stopped far enough away that their conversation was all rather muffled, a jumbled rise and fall of sound.

  Lucy was about to give up on listening when she thought she caught the name MacNachton. Letting her breath out on a small sigh, she decided she’d have to get closer. Rather than doing so upright and risking being spotted, she dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl out from behind the tree, hoping the sparse foliage would hide her as she made her way to the next nearest tree.

  The ground was littered with broken branches and leaves shaken free of the trees in a recent storm, making the journey somewhat awkward. The dress she now wore did not help. She kept getting caught up on it as she went. It was a relief when she stood up four trees later and found she was mostly able to hear and understand what was being said by the two men seated in the clearing ahead.

  “I’m thinkin’ this search is a waste o’ time. He’s most like met up with his cousin and fled home by now,” one of the men said.

  Lucy’s eyebrows drew together at these words, wondering if they were talking about Tearlach. How could he have met up with his cousin, Heming, when they were holding him prisoner here at Rosscurrach? Were the men talking about his meeting up with another cousin? Or perhaps they were talking about his cousin, Heming, instead. Mayhap he too had managed an escape and it was he they were searching for.

  “Nay,” the second man’s voice drew her attention back to the conversation. “The MacNachton was in a bad way. He couldnae ha’e gone far. Even did he meet up with his cousin they ha’e to be holed up near here somewhere, waitin’ fer him to heal.”

  It was Heming they were talking about, Lucy realized with a burst of excitement and then frowned, not at all sure if she should be happy or not. She was glad the man was free and—at least for the moment—safe from the clutches of Rosscurrach, but really, they had traveled all this way, risking capture and their very lives to save him, for naught. That was rather annoying.

  A dry laugh drew her from her thoughts again as the first man said, “That’s right, ye werenae there when they worked on him, were ye? Ye doonna ken what happened.” He shook his head and then said, “He shouldnae ha’e survived what they did to him. No mortal man would...and the speed with which he healed...He and his people truly must be devil spawn.” He spat on the ground and then added, “Nay. He’s recovered and long gone.”

  Deciding she’d heard enough, Lucy was about to return to her hands and knees to crawl back the way she’d come when the snap of a branch to her right made her stiffen and glance that way. Her eyes widened in alarm as she realized she wasn’t alone.

  Looking just as startled and frozen as Lucy herself, a woman stared back. She was naked as the day she’d been born, with damp strands of long red hair barely covering her pendulous breasts. Her only other cover was a leafy branch she’d snapped off some bush and now held in front of her groin. Despite that, it wasn’t until the woman scowled and snapped, “Hey! That’s me dress!” that Lucy realized she was the bather from earlier.

  Lucy shushed the woman, trying to warn her to silence, then leaned back to peer toward the men she’d been listening to. Her eyes widened in alarm as she noted that they were both now standing and peering in her direction.

  “Doona be shushing me, ye thief. That’s me dress yer wearin’ and I’m wantin’ it back.”

  Lucy tore her gaze away from the two men and back to the woman, her alarm increasing as the woman tossed her branch aside and charged forward, apparently determined to get the dress back using physical force if necessary.

 
Panic rising in her as she realized that not only had she the woman to contend with, but the men were now heading in her direction as well, Lucy cursed under her breath and made a run for it.

  Seven

  “Leave off, Hamish. ‘Tis women’s business!”

  Lucy heard one of the men call out that laughing comment as she ran and for one moment hoped all would be well...until she heard the other man answer, “Nay! ‘Tis her!”

  The second voice sounded much closer, almost on her heels from what she could tell and didn’t encourage optimism. She took a moment to wonder who the “her” was he spoke of. Had he recognized her? And if so, from where? The only thing Lucy could think was that the soldier was one of the Scots who had been at the inn on the day of the murder/kidnapping.

  She let the matter drop from her consideration then, concentrating instead on avoiding branches and ruts in her path that might see her taking a spill and getting caught. Lucy didn’t even dare to glance over her shoulder to see if the woman was still giving chase too or how close her pursuer or pursuers were. She put all her effort into running, and in truth, didn’t think she’d ever run so fast in her life. Her feet were barely touching the ground before she lifted them for the next step. It felt almost as if she were flying.

  And yet the soldier was keeping up with her, Lucy thought with dismay moments later. While the sounds behind her had halved, suggesting that one of her pursuers had given up the chase, a deep-voiced curse told her that it hadn’t been the soldier who had given her up. She considered this most unfortunate. Of the two of them, she’d rather deal with the woman.

  All was not lost, Lucy assured herself, trying to rally when she felt her energy flagging. She just needed to get back to the bothy and Tearlach would help her deal with the man.

  Lucy kept repeating that refrain to herself until she suddenly broke out of the trees and found herself sprinting up the short hill toward the bothy. Her heart leapt with glee and for one brief, relief-filled moment she was sure she would reach the stone hut and Tearlach and be saved. But in the next second, just a few short feet from the door, something slammed into her back, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her slamming to the ground.

  Completely out of breath, Lucy lay where she was for a moment, trying to suck air back into her collapsed lungs. Fortunately, the chase had apparently winded her pursuer as well, for he lay panting heavily across her lower legs where he’d landed.

  He was the first to recover. Shifting off her legs, he dragged himself to his feet, and then bent to catch her by the arm to turn her onto her back. He then paused to take a good look at her face.

  “Lady Blytheswood.” The words were more satisfied confirmation than a greeting.

  Lucy glared back at the man, wanting to kick him in the shins and claw his face, but her limbs were trembling from her efforts at escape and she simply didn’t have the energy. Instead, she opened her mouth and shrieked long and loud.

  She knew Tearlach was a very sound sleeper, and really had no hope that he’d hear her and wake, but was so exhausted and defeated there seemed little else to do. However, the action just seemed to anger the man standing over her. He winced as the sound assaulted his ears, then cursed, and dragged her to her feet.

  When she immediately found some reserves of strength and began to struggle, the man slapped her hard enough across the face to send her back to her knees. “Ye’ve two choices, lass,” he snapped. “Ye walk back under yer own power, or I carry ye back unconscious over me shoulder. Either way, ye are going back with me.”

  They were the last words he spoke. In the next moment Tearlach charged out of the bothy, sword in hand and a furious growl on his lips. Lucy immediately found herself falling to the side as she was released, and instinctively rolled further out of the way as the soldier drew his sword. The sound of metal clashing against metal made her glance back as her roll came to an end. The men were battling in earnest. Lucy got swiftly to her feet, half her attention on the battle now taking place, the other half searching the ground nearby for a boulder or something else to use against the soldier.

  It wasn’t that she did not think Tearlach could beat the man, but the sun was full out and she feared his strength would not last long. Lucy could see the red rising on his face already and knew the damage the sun was doing would quickly sap his strength. All she could think was the sooner they took care of the soldier and got Tearlach back out of the sun, the better.

  Lucy had just spotted a good-sized rock and moved to collect it when a death cry brought her head around. She sagged with relief on seeing the soldier impaled on Tearlach’s sword. All three of them stood still for a moment, and then Tearlach withdrew his sword. The other man immediately dropped, a marionette with his strings cut.

  Forgetting the rock, Lucy hurried forward as Tearlach stumbled back a step and dropped to his knees. He may have won the battle, but the sun had taken its toll. She had to get him out of the sun at once, she realized, slipping silently under his arm to force him back to his feet.

  “Inside,” Lucy gasped urgently as she managed to wrest him upright. Tearlach didn’t waste energy speaking, but merely stumbled forward with her help and back toward the bothy. The sword he still clutched dragged on the ground beside him.

  Once inside, Lucy tried to steer him toward the open trapdoor, but Tearlach’s strength gave out before she could get him there. Unable to hold him upright, she cried out with alarm as he dropped his sword and stumbled to his knees, then fell on his face.

  Lucy could have wept, in fact, her eyes did well up with hopelessness as she peered toward the trapdoor and took in the distance to it. Then she forced herself to rally and glanced around the shed. The amount of light coming through the hole where a door should be didn’t reach far into the stone hut. The back of the bothy was a hive of shadow, as was one side. The shadows along the side wall weren’t as deep as the ones at the back, but they were closer.

  Lucy caught Trinket’s reins and moved the horse the few steps to the other side of the hut to make room, then dropped to kneel beside Tearlach and put all her effort into rolling him out of the light and against the wall. It was certainly easier than dragging him to the trapdoor and pushing him in would have been, but she was exhausted from the chase and it was still a lot of work. Only once she had him on his side and pressed up against the wall in the thin band of shadow did she pause to examine the damage he’d taken.

  The soldier hadn’t managed to land a single blow, but Tearlach was in a serious way. All Lucy could see was the exposed skin of his face and hands, but it was more than enough. The breath hissed out of her as she took in his raw red blistered skin.

  The last time he’d been exposed to the sun had seemed to barely bother him, but then it had been the pale light of dawn, further weakened by cloud cover. This time it was full light out with not a cloud to give relief, and the exposure had been longer. Tearlach was in a bad way.

  His eyes opened suddenly.

  “How can I help?” Lucy asked anxiously as she saw the agony in the black depths of his eyes.

  “Blood,” Tearlach growled and for a moment she thought he meant her own, but then he added, “find me someone.”

  Lucy didn’t even think, she simply got quickly to her feet and scrambled back out into the clearing to the fallen man. Kneeling by his head, she caught him under the shoulders and grunted as she heaved backward, dragging him toward the door. The man didn’t make a move or sound that suggested he was alive, but then she hadn’t expected it. Having seen the wound he’d taken, she knew it was a killing blow, and had no compunction at all about letting Tearlach feed on him.

  Getting him inside and to Tearlach was the problem. He wasn’t as big as Tearlach and seemed almost light in comparison, but she had much further to move him. Determination was the only thing that allowed Lucy to get him to the door of the hut. She’d managed to get him halfway through the door when a sound from Tearlach made her peer his way. Seeing that his eyes were open and he wa
s trying to say something, she released the soldier and moved quickly to his side.

  “What is it?” she asked anxiously.

  “Dead?” he asked breathlessly, his gaze sliding back to the man by the door.

  “Aye,” Lucy admitted, frowning when he immediately shook his head.

  “No good...Blood o’ the dead...poison to us.”

  Lucy sagged where she sat, her exhaustion crowding in and making her feel hopeless, then she forced herself to sit upright and held her arm out toward him. Only he wasn’t aware of the gesture, his eyes had closed.

  “Tearlach,” she whispered, reaching to touch his face, only to change her mind at the last minute and settle it on his arm rather than risk causing him pain by touching his damaged face.

  Much to her relief, his eyes opened at once and Lucy forced a smile and held her arm out so that her wrist was before his mouth. “Go ahead. Feed.”

  Tearlach merely closed his eyes with the slightest shake of the head. “Leave me. Others will search fer ‘im. Ye ha’e tae get away.”

  Lucy didn’t need to ask who the “him” was he spoke of, but his words reminded her of the man’s comrade in the woods. He was probably still there...healthy and with living blood.

  “Tearlach?” she whispered, touching his shoulder again, but this time he didn’t stir, let alone open his eyes. He was unconscious. Despite that, Lucy squeezed his shoulder and whispered, “I’ll not leave you. I shall find someone for you to feed on. All will be well.”

  She waited a moment to see if he would respond, but he was fully unconscious now. Concern clouding her eyes, Lucy stood and turned away, picking up the sword he’d dropped as she went. She didn’t have the energy to drag anyone anywhere, the weapon would come in handy to force her quarry to come back here with her to the bothy.

  If she was still around the woman would be the easier target, Lucy thought, and suspected her nakedness would make sure she was still in the woods somewhere. She was probably out there stumbling around, trying to find the thief who had stolen her dress. Once Tearlach had fed on her, he should have the strength to go out and find the other soldier himself. Lucy was too weary to manage the man, though she’d try if necessary.