Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

“I will.” Kyle opened his palm for the bottle.

  His hand was massive and dotted with calluses from a life handling a sword and fighting. Not a life of healing, like Percy’s soft hands.

  All of Percy was gentle and fragile. Giving her to the hands of the large, unknown man felt like handing a skein of silk to a tanner.

  “I usually tend to the wounds after battle for my people,” Kyle said.

  “He’s actually quite good,” Ian added from where he stood across the room.

  Percy’s head drooped forward.

  Sylvi reluctantly placed the small bottle in Kyle’s hand. Her heart flinched with worry, with the uncertainty of giving up her position of control over helping Percy to someone she didn’t know. Ian met her gaze from where he stood near the stairs and gave a single nod of reassurance.

  She could trust him. “Be quick about it, but be gentle.”

  Kyle pulled the stopper from the blue bottle with an audible pop and jerked his face away with his brows raised. A sharp vinegar odor wafted toward Sylvi, strong enough to sting her nostrils.

  “This is going to hurt.” Kyle pulled a needle and thread from the bag. He threaded the catgut through the narrow eye of the needle with the precision of a clothier despite the ungainly size of his hands and handed it to Liv to hold for him.

  “Hold her hand,” he said to Sylvi. “And if she sleeps from the pain, let her. It will be easier to stitch the wound.”

  Sylvi curled her good hand around Percy’s. The pulse there was weak and left Sylvi’s racing all the harder. “Do it.”

  Kyle tilted Percy’s face back with the care of a lover and carefully poured the vinegar-smelling liquid over her wound. Percy’s hand clenched Sylvi’s. Her lips pressed hard against one another, and a whimper emerged from her throat, deep and painful. Percy’s attempt at stifling her pain ached Sylvi worse than her broken arm.

  Percy’s body jerked against Kyle’s hold, but he did not relax his grip on her. He shushed her gently, the way one does with a spooked horse, his voice low and soothing while he wiped her face clean with a strip of linen.

  “I need the needle,” he said. “Hold her head.”

  Liv passed it to him and came behind Percy to hold her head as directed. Sylvi knew exactly what she was feeling—a heady mix of compassionate pain, overwhelming fear, and the weighty press of time.

  They could not lose Percy.

  Kyle carefully pinched closed the wound near her temple and plunged the needle through Percy’s fair skin.

  Percy’s clenching hand on Sylvi’s went limp. By the third stitch, Percy had lost consciousness, as Kyle had said she might. If nothing else, it made the process go more quickly, which was necessary. Every second they spent there was another second they might be caught.

  •••

  Ian stood guard, torn between minding the empty stairwell and trying not to think of Percy who was being cared for within the room.

  “Done.” Kyle’s words were the best damn thing Ian had heard in a while. They’d been lucky no one had wandered up those stairs in the time it took for Percy to be properly stitched.

  “We need to go,” Sylvi said.

  Ian glanced over his shoulder to where she stood cradling her arm. “Get yer arm set first, Sylvi.”

  “Later.” She made her way to him, her face pale and the corners of her mouth creased with suppressed pain. Her agony curled around his heart and squeezed until it was suffocating to endure.

  Her breath came out in a soft pant. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “She refused to take anything for her pain,” Kyle said.

  “I’m still worried about ye.” Ian helped Sylvi gently to her feet.

  “I’m worried about all of us.” Sylvi widened her stance and stiffened, and for the briefest of moments, he wondered if she was going to faint. “We need to leave this place.” Her voice was quieter, as faded as she appeared.

  “Sylvi,” he said gently.

  Her eyes snapped open, and the fierceness returned. The lass was continuing on determination alone.

  “Percy needs rest.” Sylvi glanced around the broken room, her gaze skimming the bodies of Reginald and Isabel.

  Ian grabbed his bag and Percy’s while Sylvi continued to stare at Isabel’s body. Evening was beginning to settle on the room and made Isabel’s hair gleam purple against her white-blue skin.

  “We ought to bury her,” Sylvi said quietly.

  Time pressed in on them and frayed at Ian’s nerves. More men might come as they stood in place, perhaps even the two men who had been seeking Reginald before—men frightening enough to run the group of marauders off more than once.

  “I’ll come back tonight,” Ian said. “I’ll do it then.”

  Night would be best. It would be easier to sneak in and out undetected. Sylvi’s mouth opened, and he knew she meant to protest, but suddenly she stopped and nodded.

  “We must leave.” She strode to the stairs, but her gaze remained fixed on Isabel.

  Kyle lifted Percy into his arms. The woman’s head fell limply against his chest, and one hand swung over his arm. He held her easily and tucked the errant hand over her chest.

  Ian knew they were lucky to have had Kyle there. He had saved them all. Not only downstairs with Liv, making an impossible escape possible, but also with healing Percy. Without his aid, Ian feared she would surely have died.

  But why the hell had Kyle been there at all?

  The battered group made their way down the darkened stairs. Below was silent as the tomb it was.

  Moonlight slanted in from the high arched windows and fell upon unmoving men splayed in their frozen death throes. A shiver wound down Ian’s back, and he picked his way over them, careful to ensure he did not step on any bodies.

  A base part of him wanted to bolt from the place like a spooked horse. If it was difficult now with the rest of them, it would be far more disturbing later when he returned to bury Isabel.

  A hand slid into his, cool and dry. He looked beside him to see Sylvi, her face lined with tension, and he knew she was enduring the same disquiet.

  She looked back toward Kyle. “Make sure she does not see if she wakes.” She spoke softly, but her voice almost made Ian jump.

  Kyle nodded and strode to the front of their party, leading the way with the ease of one navigating home. He led the way to a set of large double doors, one of which hung open, gaping into the night like a mouth with a missing tooth.

  Ian released Sylvi’s good hand and moved to the front of the line. Cradling her arm, she followed at his side, as if sensing his intent to ensure all was clear and refusing for him to do it without her. He put up his palm up to stay her and all the others. Ignoring her glare, he slipped out of the door into the still night.

  The air was cool and crisp and fresh. A sweet reprieve from the odor of death. He did a quick sweep of the perimeter and ensured all was safe before waving the others to follow.

  Within minutes, he had grabbed enough horses from where Reginald’s men kept them stabled, and the party quickly fled the area, leaving behind their dead and their fear.

  Ian kept Sylvi with him, holding tight to her waist in front of him as he rode lest she faint from her injuries and slide off. His leg burned now from where he’d been cut, the way injuries did when the energy of battle calmed in one’s blood.

  He didn’t push the horse as fast as it could go, opting instead for a smoother stride to keep from jostling Sylvi’s arm. Ian regarded his large younger brother as they rode. Kyle held Percy to him as if she were a baby bird. His massive hands were as gentle as they’d always been with the many things he’d healed over the years.

  Kyle had always been the more empathetic of them, the one willing to sacrifice for another’s comfort. It was a trait that in his youth, Ian had appreciated, as well as had taken great advantage of.

  So why the hell was Kyle, with his soft heart and high moral integrity, running with the likes
of Reginald and his men?

  The desire to know clawed at Ian, but he held his impatience. He’d wait until they were alone at the inn.

  Chapter 24

  Sylvi’s soul was not at ease.

  The source of her rage had not quelled, the calm she’d anticipated had not descended. All the expectation she’d gathered for the whole of her life crumpled in the pit of her stomach.

  She sat on the bed in the inn and tried to rein in the force of her emotions. Ian had gone to get food and would be back soon. She wouldn’t have him find her thus, tears burning in her eyes and a heart afire with—with what?

  Disappointment?

  Lack of satisfaction?

  The need for revenge already had?

  She leapt from the hard bed, and pain lanced up her arm. Kyle had been gentle setting it, his quiet care evident in every touch, and yet when setting a broken arm, all the care in the world still caused incredible agony. The ache thudded through the tincture he’d given her and intensified when she moved it. Or jarred it by jumping off the bed.

  Ian’s leg had been cleaned and bandaged as well, though he’d refused to be seen until the ladies had been properly tended to and he’d ensured Percy did not need further assistance.

  She paced the room. It was small, barely large enough to hold the simple bed and a table. She took seven rapid steps before needing to turn to pace to the other wall. Everything seemed to press in on her like a cage, and her damn arm ached.

  The door opened, and Ian was standing there with two trenchers of steaming stew and a smile.

  Her heart twisted further still. Part of her wanted to run to him like some insipid courtier and let his arms curl around her. She craved the warmth and safety and affection. Yet, the hollowness inside her begged to be left alone, to spiral downward in the pull of misery.

  Her heart remained heavy and her mind devoid of all thought but the one pain thundering its way up her arm and the recurring reminder of how everything was just so … empty.

  Ian set the stew on the small table. Brown gravy coated generous hunks of meat and pale lumps of vegetables while the bread soaked it all in. The savory scent churned against her stomach. She should be hungry.

  “Thank you for getting food.” She didn’t attempt to rouse a smile. “How is everyone?”

  Ian lifted a hand to her face and gently caressed her cheek. His fingers were warm from where he’d held the hot food. She turned in to the tender embrace and wished it could warm all of her soul.

  “Liv is fine,” he said. “Pacing the room just like ye. Percy is awake with Kyle at her side, forcing her to eat.” His warm gaze found hers. “And how is my angel?”

  A weight crushed against her chest and made breathing hard. “I’m … ” Her mind staggered over the right word. How could she tell him how she felt when she didn’t even know? “Fine. I’m fine.”

  His brow furrowed, and she knew he saw right through her.

  “Tell me about your brother. Why was Kyle with Reginald?” She spoke quickly to keep him from asking questions. Her words were abrupt to the point of being harsh, especially when referring to the man who had saved them all. She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. We’re all fortunate he was there. His skill with the needle is exceptional. Percy’s stitches are—”

  “Ye dinna have to do this.” Ian put an arm to her shoulders and carefully led her to the bed to sit.

  She sank onto the straw mattress and stared at the food on the table. The fluffy white bread was halfway soaked with gravy. It would be soggy.

  “I’m no’ sure why Kyle was there today, but ye know I’ll be asking him.” Ian settled beside her, and the bed shifted under his weight. “I know Percy is injured, but she’ll heal.” He narrowed his gaze at her, far too observant for comfort. “But it’s no’ her ye’re thinking of, is it?”

  Sylvi pursed her lips, and she kept her stare fixed on the ruined bread. No part of her wanted to have this conversation with him right now. It made the hollowness inside her echo in on itself.

  Ian’s hand folded over Sylvi’s. “Killing someone willna bring someone else back.”

  His words punctured her heart like a dagger. She clenched her jaw and nodded. “I know.”

  “I know ye know.” He smoothed a hand over her head. “But it’s harder to believe here.” His hand settled on her chest, laying just below the center of her collarbones. “I know ye dinna think ye’d bring them back, but I think ye thought it’d heal yer heart.”

  The bread blurred, and a hard lump knotted in her throat. She blinked the sensation away.

  “Ye spent yer life planning for what happened today. And now it’s done.” Ian continued in a gentle voice. “But even with it done, ye still hurt, and it makes ye feel empty.”

  She looked at him, startled. “How do you know this?”

  “Because I’ve felt that emptiness too.” He looked down at where their hands joined. “I thought leaving would make everything go away. I thought I could start a new life and be free of the guilt. But then I wandered … and found nothing.” The small smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes, leaving it mirthless and resigned. “I dinna join with Reginald’s men because I wanted fun. I joined because they at least seemed to be heading in a direction, even if I dinna know where that was. They were a brotherhood, and I felt like if I belonged, it would fill the emptiness.”

  Sylvi flinched against the thought of Ian running with those men. But this was the first time he truly explained it to her. And in a manner she could understand.

  “I dinna know what they were about, Sylvi. When they broke into that woman’s home … ” He stopped speaking and clenched his jaw. Spots of color showed on his cheeks beneath his beard. “I killed two of Reginald’s men and injured a couple others. After that, I was left to wander again. I did that for a bit of time. Then I met ye.”

  He caressed Sylvi’s cheek, then dropped his hand and tilted his head. “Even if ye tried to kill me. Twice.”

  “Only once.” She immediately missed the loss of contact with his hand against her face. “The second time I brought you back.”

  “Ye brought me back more than ye realize.” He lifted her hand to his chest. “Ye took away my emptiness, Sylvi. Ye had such fire and such conviction. Everything in ye was so fixed on this goal to see yer family avenged. I latched onto it and knew ye’d no’ only fulfill yer own need, but ye’d make me whole in the process.”

  His heart beat in a strong, steady rhythm beneath her fingers.

  “And now it’s done,” she said softly.

  “And now it’s done.” He nodded once. “I’ve helped ye right a wrong. I’ve satisfied what I set out to do. And after it’s all done, ye feel lost.”

  “Neither of us has a purpose to aspire to,” she said. The hollowness inside her echoed.

  “I know what my purpose is,” he said. “Ye need to find yers. But first ye need to say goodbye to yer family. Ye’ve held them alive in yer heart all this time, waiting to release them. Ye need to let them go.”

  She dragged in a ragged breath.

  He was right. She needed to say goodbye.

  “I love ye, Sylvi.” He took her face in his hands and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

  Sylvi kept her eyes closed, so she could not see his expression and he could not see hers. For her heart was not yet open enough to accept his words, and certainly nowhere near being able to reciprocate. The bed shifted as his weight lifted away.

  When at last she did open her eyes, he was gone, as was one trencher of food. She knew he understood her dilemma, and perhaps he’d even expected it. And yet still he’d told her he loved her.

  He was right in saying she needed to say goodbye. To her family, to My Lady, even to the little girl she once was. She need to clear out her heart.

  Hesitation stuttered through her.

  What if it was not enough? What if all she’d done was for naught? What if she was too broken to ever
allow herself to love?

  With everything else in her life, she had been brave. Now, facing the thing that could somehow take away the hurt and the emptiness, she was suddenly very afraid.

  •••

  Ian had not expected Sylvi to return his expression of love, and yet her silence had caught at his chest.

  He was a damn fool.

  Night had fallen, and he would need to return soon to fulfill his promise to bury Isabel. The very idea of the task made his stomach fill with cold dread.

  It was not yet nearly late enough, and so he was able to put off the task for now. He made his way to Kyle’s room, stopped, and turned to Percy’s door. He knocked softly.

  The door opened to reveal Kyle’s towering frame.

  Ian held up his trencher of cold stew. “Want some company for supper?”

  Kyle put a finger to his lips. He disappeared for a moment and reemerged with his own trencher of cold stew.

  “Let’s go to my room.” He closed the door quietly and led the way.

  It was as small inside as the one Sylvi and Ian shared.

  When they were alone, the brothers set down their food and embraced for a long time. “It’s been too long,” Kyle said when they moved apart at last. “I dinna know if ye were ever going to come back.”

  Ian hadn’t planned to. Being lost in the world was better than being the kind of hard ruler his father had expected him to be. “I thought ye’d be glad to be laird someday.” Ian clapped his brother on his shoulder.

  Kyle shot him a sidelong look. “I never wanted it.”

  “Ye’d be good at it,” Ian said in his most convincing tone.

  Kyle grabbed his trencher of food and plunked down on the edge of the bed. “Da wouldna ever leave the lairdship to me, even if I did want it.” He lifted a sodden piece of bread and let it hover in front of his mouth. “Which I dinna.” He pushed the bread into his mouth and chewed.

  Ian lifted his own trencher and casually leaned against the wall. “What were ye doing with Reginald and his men?”

  Kyle stopped chewing and drew a long swallow of ale from a mug. “Two things.” He thrust up his thumb. “One, looking for ye.” He lifted his pointer finger. “Two, looking for information.”