The Scotsman Who Saved Me

by Hannah Howell

  “And a skilled duelist. Probably should have found out more about the man from Emily.”

  “I think one of his men has recognized us,” whispered Nigel as he leaned across Matthew.

  “Good.” Iain smiled coldly when the man turned to look at him. “Let him ken that we are onto him.”

  Matthew shifted in place and set his empty glass on the bar. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Iain stared at his brother. Matthew’s bad feelings too often proved a good warning. He wondered if Albert could be ready for them yet could not figure out how the man could be. Iain stared at the man, at the four men with him, and then at the table they sat around. He idly wondered why Albert had a bell on the table. Glancing around the saloon he saw other men tense and watch Albert, as if waiting for a signal. They were all hard-looking men, not locals. He looked back at Albert, who looked far too relaxed.

  “I think we should leave,” said Iain, and he started toward the door.

  He heard the sound of guns being drawn and flung himself to the floor. He watched as his brothers either did the same or dove over the bar to hide behind it. Iain drew his gun and looked for Albert as the shooting started. The man had moved to the other side of the table so he could watch the chaos he had undoubtedly arranged. He held a pistol in his hand but was not shooting at anyone. The locals had all ducked behind their tables and drawn their guns and the men working for Albert were shooting back.

  Iain waved Nigel to slip behind him and then get behind the bar. As soon as his brother disappeared behind the bar, he waved at Robbie to follow. Once his brothers were safe, Iain started to edge back himself. He could see Albert had shielded himself with his table and was exchanging shots with some red-bearded man Iain had often seen around the boardinghouse. Then the man looked at him. Iain edged back some more as he watched the man aim at him but then Albert suddenly cried out and clutched his side.

  Iain took the moment to stand up and start to move around to get behind the bar. Then something slammed into his head. He fell back against the bar, the pain making his head spin. Then the blackness started to roll over him and he grabbed the bar as he began to sink to his knees. He felt hands grab his arms and pull him. It took too long for him to understand that he was being yanked over the bar by his brothers.

  Someone called his name and he realized he was now seated in someone’s arms. He looked up but all he saw was blood. Lifting up a shaking hand he wiped it away from his eyes and knew it was his own blood.

  “Iain! Did the bullet go in? Are ye able to speak?” said Matthew, but Iain winced for it was as if his brother was yelling in his ear.

  “Head hurts,” Iain muttered, then slumped, able to hear, but unable to respond.

  “Oh, hell, he went out,” said Matthew.

  “But he is alive,” said Robbie, and he placed a hand on Iain’s chest. “I can feel his heartbeat.”

  “Duncan, shoot that bastard,” ordered Matthew.

  There was so much pain in his head Iain knew he could soon disgrace himself by weeping. All he could do was keep his eyes closed against the insult of any light and not move. He wished he had the strength and sense to speak to his brothers but that proved to be beyond him. He could not even see who held him because the blood was still running into his eyes.

  The shooting stopped and he almost wept with relief when the sharp sound of bullets ended. Then the person holding him stood up, dragging Iain up with him. Iain groaned as his stomach churned and his head throbbed. He tried to ask to be set down but all he heard was a garbled mutter. An arm went around his waist and he was forced to take a step. It was too much and Iain gave in to the blackness that had been waiting for him.

  * * *

  “Well, we will be hearing what happened now,” said Mrs. O’Neal.

  Emily frowned. “We will?”

  “The men are back.” Mrs. O’Neal frowned as she stood up. “They are riding hard.”

  That did not sound good, Emily thought. “They have come back?”

  Mrs. O’Neal stood up and started toward the front door. “They have run back.”

  Emily hurried after Mrs. O’Neal. Why would they run back to the house if everything had gone well? She was suddenly terrified of the answer to that puzzle. She stood behind Mrs. O’Neal as the woman opened the door. Matthew was pulling a limp Iain off the back of his horse and she gasped. When she swayed Mrs. O’Neal’s hand grabbed her arm and held her steady. Emily took several deep breaths and felt herself steady.

  “Get some hot water and rags, child,” Mrs. O’Neal ordered, and Emily ran to the kitchen.

  Once in the kitchen she grasped the edge of the sink and fought to gain some control, lecturing herself about her weakness. He was still alive, she told herself. He needed help and it was no time to give in to foolish nerves. Head wounds also bled badly. She had learned that as a child. His brothers had looked worried but not grieved.

  Feeling more prepared, she got the bucket of hot water and some of the rags Mrs. O’Neal kept in the cupboard. Hefting the full bucket, she started up the stairs. Matthew came down and took the bucket from her.

  “Bullet didnae go into his head. Just scraped his head. Got himself a new part in his hair. Head wounds just bleed bad.”

  “I know,” she said as he handed Mrs. O’Neal the bucket and she put the rags on the bedside table where she could reach them.

  As she watched Mrs. O’Neal work and handed the woman whatever she asked for, Emily finally got a glimpse of Iain’s wound. It was bad but not life-threatening, although she was no doctor so her assurances to herself did little to ease the icy knot of fear in her stomach. It looked to be much similar to the wound she got on her arm. She could only hope Iain’s wound healed as well as hers had.

  The bandage that Mrs. O’Neal wrapped around his head would have made her laugh if she was not so worried. Emily knew the woman was trying to put the other men at ease when she tied it off with a bow. There were actually a few smiles. Then she shooed his brothers out and turned to Emily.

  “The bullet just skidded across his skull but it is a deep cut. I could see the bone in places but it wasn’t cracked or anything. But if all goes well he will wake and just have one hell of a headache. If you need a rest from sitting with him, I would ask one of the brothers. I will take care of Neddy for now.”

  Emily blinked and frowned at her. “I am going to sit with him?”

  “Yup. Man needs to be watched. Don’t want him up and trying to walk for a while or anything like that.” She grabbed a chair from the corner of his room and set it by the bed. “There are books to read I can get or I can sit here and you can look for something.”

  “Why are there books? None of them can read.”

  “I have no idea. Think they got them clearing out some cabin that got burned or they were left behind by the people who lived there and decided moving here was a mistake and left. They collect up whatever was left when they find one of those, a deserted or burned cabin. Now I will go get you some food but it may be a while before I can bring any up.” She started for the door. “If he has to use the chamber pot or something like that just call one of the lads.”

  “All right. I will be fine.”

  “I am certain you will be. Do not fret. Head wounds are treacherous but this doesn’t look like a really bad one. I truly saw no crack in the bone and there was no movement when you touched it.” She laughed at the face Emily made. “I know, I know, disgusting but if you are going to learn how to fix people up you have to be ready for things to be rather disgusting. And in these parts there can be a lot of fixing up of people needed. There’s a bell here by the door”—she tapped it—“and a yank will sound the bell in the kitchen if you need something.”

  Emily sighed and sat on the chair. It was a well-made chair but it was hard and Emily expected she would notice that very painfully soon enough. She sat up straight, as the chair inspired her to, and watched Iain. She thought he was sleeping restfully. At least she hoped it
was sleep and not unconsciousness.

  It was not long before Emily knew it was going to be a difficult time ahead for her. Sitting and staring at someone who was sleeping was no fun, was not even vaguely interesting. She began to think of all the things she might be able to do to pass the time. She had a journal she could write in but that rarely took very long. However, she would ask if she could get it. Mrs. O’Neal had asked her if she could knit so there must be the materials needed to do so. Another thing she could do as she sat there.

  “Well, Iain, it looks as if you are stuck with me for a while. The fact that you do not appear to hear me talking is somewhat alarming but, then, it might be good since you are stuck with me until you decide to wake up.”

  She leaned forward and took his hand in hers. It was still warm and that eased her mind. “I should have warned you better about him. Told you more about him. At the time it just did not seem important, that it was all just my opinion. And there were seven of you.” She shook her head. “Matthew said you hit him so we may be lucky and he’ll die. Poisoning of the wound from the bullet or blood loss or something. You will want to be awake for that.”

  “How is he?”

  Startled by the voice when she had not heard anyone come in, Emily clasped a hand over her heart and looked at Matthew. The man stood on the opposite side of the bed and his expression was so rigid she knew he was deeply worried and fighting to hide it. Emily wished she knew more so that she could give him some uplifting news.

  “Mrs. O’Neal says . . .”

  “I ken what she says,” Matthew said, his tone almost snappish. “What do ye think?”

  “I think what she does. I know nothing about wounds. I grew up in pastoral Hertfordshire, Matthew. I know little to nothing about doctoring. He is not feverish and I know that to be a good thing but, sadly, it is still early. His head is whole, no bones cracked or broken, and he is strong. Head wounds are a mystery to even the best of physicians.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Fool stayed on the wrong side of the bar for too long, making sure the rest of us got behind it. Same damn thing he always does, puts himself out there while shielding us.”

  Emily smiled. “He is the oldest. It is his place and he is very aware of that.”

  “He has carried us for too long. Didnae even do so when the bairns were of an age to scream a lot. Hungry? Scream. Wet? Scream. Too much noise? Scream.” He shook his head. “He was even doing most of the watching of us when my parents were still alive. It was Iain who went after Geordie when he ran into our burning house. I always wondered why it wasnae our mither or da. I guess some people are just made that way.”

  She nodded. “And that is what made him go after Albert, I suspect. That need to protect.”

  “Weel, Albert was becoming a problem. I was getting fair sick of digging holes for all the fools he sent after us.”

  “Oh.” She had never given a thought to what happened to the bodies left behind. “Rather gruesome thought.”

  Matthew laughed at the face she made. “Had to be done. Draw the scavengers if ye dinnae.”

  “Oh, Matthew.” She pressed a hand to her stomach as he laughed again and became aware of the fact that she still held Iain’s hand. “Maybe we can speak of other things?”

  “I went and found the locals who helped defend us and thanked them. That is something I think old Albert didnae consider, that the others in the saloon would give us a hand.”

  “No, he would not. I just wish I knew how he figured out where to set a trap for you. I have thought and thought and I do not believe he saw me that day I was in town.”

  “I had a look around, looking at the line of sight from bank to store and then store to bank. I noticed something. If one looks in the bank windows at the right time of day, just about the time of day ye were in the shop, they just reflect all that is around them. He could have seen you in the short time you stood in the window or he recognized Mrs. O’Neal. Everyone kens who she is and who she works for.”

  “I see. But if he saw me why did he not come after me?”

  “Ye didnae have the boy with you.”

  “Of course. And knowing I went to town, saw him, he would assume I would tell Iain.”

  For a moment Matthew stared at Iain and said nothing. Emily felt uncomfortable, certain the brothers had to blame her, in some small way, for what had happened. Albert was her enemy. Without her and Neddy here the man would not pay any attention to the MacEnroys as, to Albert, they were just poor farmers. She would take that threat away if she could but she had to think of Neddy. If she and the child were on their own, she was certain they would soon be dead.

  “I best get back to work. Ye will let us ken when he does wake, aye?”

  “Yes, of course I will. I suspect I will also have to call on you for help now and then.”

  “Call away. We will be near at hand and there is always at least one of us lurking close to the house.”

  “Did you discover where Albert went to after the attack in the saloon?”

  “Nay. He and his men all rode out and disappeared into the hills. We have been looking around the hills but have found nothing. Maybe he has fled home.”

  “One can only hope.”

  Matthew left and she sighed, idly patting Iain’s limp hand. What Matthew had told her about Iain came as no real surprise. It did worry her a bit, however, because Iain’s protective tendencies could keep putting him in Albert’s path and that could prove deadly next time. There was no changing a man’s nature, though. Iain would stand between danger and the weaker for as long as he could. She had guessed that about him and Matthew’s stories had confirmed her opinion.

  “Brave fool,” she muttered. “This is not your fight and we shall have to have a good talk about that when you recover your senses.”

  She could not have him getting himself killed for her sake. She would never survive that sacrifice. There had to be something she could do to get him to stop taking chances. There should be something she could do to get help in ridding her of Albert’s threat. Letters had gone out to Iain’s acquaintances so perhaps she should send a few out to hers. If she could get word to the duke perhaps he would finally accept that Albert was a threat and responsible for every family death in the last few years. He had not really believed her when she had claimed that Albert had killed her parents. It was true that her proof was thin and she mostly used her own feelings about the man but her grandfather had to have been considering the possibility that she was right.

  The duke was a reasonable man so she was sure he must have been thinking on what she had said. It had not been quick enough for her but it might be useful now. The dead were piling up and she knew Albert would not stop until he added her and Neddy to that sad pile. What she had to do was compose a letter detailing all her suspicions, rational points needed to be made, and then he might consider the possibility.

  She had to get past the fact that he had been Albert’s guardian for many years before the man had reached his adulthood. Emily did not think there was any great affection there but the man felt as if he had a duty to Albert. What she needed to do was make him remember that he had a larger duty to his other family as well. It was shrinking every day through Albert’s need to be rid of anyone who stood in his way or worked to make his goal more difficult to reach. Perhaps she should even mention how, once he was rid of all the other obstacles to his goal, he would start eyeing the duke himself. Her grandfather was not so very old and could live a number of years yet. That would shortly begin to annoy Albert.

  As she composed the letter in her mind she had to smile. The words she thought of had a bite to them but it was past time for such a snappish tone. Now Albert was showing a willingness to kill off anyone who offered help.

  Emily nodded and went and rang the bell. Mrs. O’Neal came up a few moments later carrying a tray with some cider and food. One look at the food was enough to remind Emily that she was hungry.

  “Thank you kindly,” she said as the tr
ay was set on the table. “I had not asked for food but now find I need some.”

  “I thought you might. What did you want then?”

  “Paper and a pen. I need to write a letter to my grandfather. I hope to finally get him to act on this. It is far past time he accepted that the boy he cared for for years is a killer.”

  “You said he didn’t heed you before. Why would he now?”

  “Because I am going to put aside all thought of his position and speak to him as a man whose pigheadedness is costing too many people their lives.”

  Mrs. O’Neal smiled. “Be right back with that paper and pen.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wincing, Emily shifted in her seat so that she could rub away the painful twinge in her back. Sitting in a hard chair for three days was beginning to cost her but she knew she would not relinquish her place at Iain’s bedside. Her hatred for Albert, the anger she felt, was a poison that churned inside her but she could do nothing about it. The man still lived and that only added to her anger. It was just wrong that a man like him continued to have such good luck.

  How had Albert known the MacEnroys were coming for him? Matthew’s explanation was the only one that still held. It was hard to accept that mere chance and bad luck had been what had brought Iain to this bed, unconscious for three long days. Emily supposed she would have to accept that unknowingly she had been the one to cause Albert to set that trap. Somehow he had seen her and known that she had seen him and acted on that alone to prepare for Iain’s arrival in town.

  Iain gave a soft groan and she tensed, watching him closely. There was movement behind his eyelids and she felt her hopes rise. His wound had not festered, was not considered serious despite how it had bled as if an artery had been opened, but it was a head wound. There was no ignoring the fact that no one really knew what damage could be done. Emily had not needed to hear all the horrific stories Mrs. O’Neal had told her to know that head wounds were dangerous. She clasped her hands together and watched his face, silently praying that this time that groan meant he was waking up.