The Scotsman Who Saved Me

by Hannah Howell

  * * *

  Iain struggled to open his eyes. His head ached, a dull throb much like the one that lingered after a fierce headache. As the fog of a too deep sleep cleared from his mind, he began to remember. Albert had been expecting them to ride into town. If not for the well-armed locals in the saloon leaping to their defense he and his brothers might have died. He then realized he had absolutely no memory of his brothers getting out of the saloon safely.

  He opened his eyes then groaned as the light seared them. He caught a movement to his left and then saw Emily run to the window and yank the curtains shut. Iain took several deep breaths and let them out slowly as he fought to soften the pain something as simple and welcome as sunlight had caused. Then he realized he was thirsty, his throat as dry as a desert.

  “Water?” he asked, startled by the croak of sound he produced. Just how long had he been asleep?

  Emily hurried to get him a glass of water then slipped her arm beneath his head to lift it just enough for him to drink. He nearly finished the whole glass before the strength needed for that simple chore fled and he slumped. She eased his head back down on the pillows and set the glass on the table.

  “My brothers?” he asked, pleased to hear that though his voice was weak, it sounded almost normal now.

  “They are all fine. A few bruises from leaping over the bar and then dragging your carcass around. You were the one most badly injured. They feared that you had been shot in the head but it appears you narrowly escaped that fate. The bullet just skimmed across your skull. According to Mrs. O’Neal, your very thick skull.”

  “The woman adores me.”

  “Of course she does. It is quite evident.”

  He wanted to laugh but feared it would hurt. “Knocked me out.”

  “And that probably saved your life. According to Matthew, everyone was aiming at you. You dropped like a stone soon after that bullet grazed you so they all thought they had hit you and finished you.”

  “How did my brothers escape unharmed?”

  “Well, it appears the locals do not care much for Albert and his friends, old and new. I did not realize so many people went about armed to the teeth in this country.” She shook her head. “Anyhow, they all shot back at Albert and his men and that allowed your brothers to grab you and run. Several of Albert’s men were killed or injured before he got himself out of there. Matthew believes Albert was hit, too, but the man still ran out.”

  “I cannae understand how he knew we were coming in.”

  “Despite how much I dislike the man I have to admit that he is clever. Always has been. I suspect he heard about me being in town. Actually, Matthew thinks he might have seen me looking out of Mabel’s, caught a reflection in the bank window. But once he was sure I had been in town and figured I must have seen him, too, it was highly possible you and your brothers would come looking for him. So he planned for it. Very carefully. Matthew found out all the men round here spent a lot of time in the saloon so he had obviously decided that was the best place to lay a trap for you.”

  “Damn. Wily bastard.”

  “Oh, yes, most certainly. Wily, sly, conniving, and all other such ills you can think of.”

  “Should have just shot him but he had his back to me. Suspicion that was planned as well.”

  “Quite possibly. He would have taken the time to find out everything he could about you and yours.” She sighed. “I even wonder at times if our coming out here played right into his hands. Big, wild country. Perfect place to kill a few people and then sail on home. All he had to do is find us and my sister helped him with that. I am so sorry,” she said quietly, taking his hand in hers. “I should have let Mabel shoot him.”

  “I understand why ye didnae. As I said, I thought about shooting him myself but could not bring myself to shoot a man in the back. Any of the locals get hurt?”

  “Not badly. Albert was not interested in any of them and, as soon as he realized his grand plans had taken a wrong turn, he fled with his men, leaving the ones he had hired on to fight it out. Unfortunately, Albert got in one telling shot before he left. The one that skimmed across your skull. But even though he thought he had taken you down, six more men were shooting at him. So he ran. Matthew is certain he hit him once but he did not take him down, does not even know where or how bad the wound was.”

  “But that could make him easier to track.”

  Emily sighed. “Could do but, depending on how badly he was hurt, his men might take him to an actual town or city to find a skilled doctor. If he is too badly wounded, they may even consider taking him back home to England thinking that is where he is sure to want to be buried. I can imagine him leaving such orders with his closest men, the ones who came here with him. It would be nice if that is what is happening now.” She shook her head. “And just listen to me, wishing for a man’s death. My parents would be appalled.”

  “He murdered them, took your sister and her husband from you, killed three other relatives I think you mentioned, and was doing his best to add ye and Neddy to that tally. Maybe then your grandfather. More than reason enough to wish for such a thing.”

  “I suppose so but I do resent him for causing me to do so, as much as I detest him for what he has done. But you seem quite wide awake for a man out cold for three days. I suspect you would like a meal.”

  “Aye. Have ye taken care of me all that time.” He smiled when she blushed.

  “Matthew or one of the others came in to see to your, er, personal needs. I got some watery broth down you from time to time. Oh, and I cleaned your wound, which is healing very nicely. And I, well, I cleaned your teeth yesterday.”

  He grinned despite the ache in his head. “Ye cleaned my teeth. Was my breath so foul then?”

  “No. I have been ill a few times and slept for long periods and the one thing I hated the most about it all was the feeling in my mouth when I finally woke up.” She made a face and shuddered at the memory. “So I was just sitting here watching you breathe and decided I would rescue you from that particular horror.” She grinned. “You may thank me now.”

  “Thank you. What has put ye in such a gay mood?” He frowned when her expression changed abruptly and a hint of fear revealed itself briefly on her face.

  “I am just pleased that you finally decided to wake up.” She stood up and smoothed down her skirts, hoping he did not understand how true that statement was. “I will just go and see what we can put together for you and send Matthew up with a tray.”

  Before Iain could say another word she was up and out the door. Once outside, she leaned back against the door and let the tears fall. It was foolish because he was obviously going to survive but she could not stop the tears; they were washing away the fears she had lived with for three days. When she was finally able to control them, she wiped her face with her skirts, straightened her posture, and went down the stairs.

  * * *

  Iain frowned at the door. The change of her mood was so quick it left his head spinning. She had seemed to be happy and joking and then sad. He was sure he had seen tears in her eyes. Emily had no true skill at hiding her emotions. He thought over what he had said and could see nothing that would have caused it.

  Sighing, he closed his eyes. He was too weary and his head ached too much to try to figure out a woman’s moods. He smiled slightly. It was rather nice to even be faced with that small trouble.

  Matthew strode in and stood next to his bed to stare at him. Iain looked up at his brother and frowned. After a moment of looking at each other, Iain began to get irritated.

  “Are ye going to say anything or are ye just going to gawk?”

  Matthew grinned. “So ye finally decided to wake from your wee nap, did ye?”

  “Aye. And since ye are here, maybe ye can give me a hand to get to the damned chamber pot.”

  Chuckling, Matthew helped him out of bed. Iain found that he was not yet ready to do much walking as Matthew steadied him. He hated this part of being an invalid, no matter how
short the time one was stuck abed. Once done, Matthew led him back to bed and Iain nearly fell into it. Only Matthew’s strong hold made his settling in less abrupt.

  “Jesu, I am as weak as a newly whelped lamb.”

  “Weel, I think even one of them can walk about better than ye can right now.”

  “Thank ye kindly. My head is aching badly and right now I cannae see too weel because of it. So ye are safe from my fists.”

  “That will pass,” said Matthew with a grin.

  “When did ye become a doctor?” grumbled Iain.

  “Recall last year when I fell out of that tree?”

  “Ah, aye, verra graceful. Ye landed on your head. Ye were out for a while, too. So how long did your head ache?”

  “About a day or so after I woke. An annoying deep throb and real pain when I tried to lift my head on my own. And, even though I had been sleeping for a couple of days, I still felt tired.”

  “I have too much to do to lay about for even longer than I have.”

  “Ye either lay about or ye land on your face when ye try to go somewhere.”

  Iain sighed. “Then I guess I will adopt a slothful attitude until the aching eases. Do ye think Mrs. O’Neal has anything to ease the ache?”

  “I can ask but I dinnae recall her giving me anything,” said Matthew.

  “She might have just felt like torturing you as I recall her being verra angry that ye were even up in the tree. But, aye, do that. I am also starting to feel hungry.”

  “There will be a tray brought up soon. Mrs. O’Neal will bring it up. Seems ye upset Emily.” Matthew frowned at him. “Ken ye feel miserable but . . .”

  “I said nothing to upset her. One moment she was smiling and making a joke then she went all quiet and sad and left.”

  “Ah. Then it must just be because ye didnae die.”

  “I only had a bullet burn on my head. That doesnae usually kill a man.”

  Matthew shrugged. “She was a wee bit teary-eyed when she came down the stairs and then she hurried out to fetch the boy. So, Mrs. O’Neal figured ye had snapped her head off about something.”

  “Naturally.” Iain frowned. “Why would she get all teary-eyed because I wasnae dead?”

  “Because ye can be a right bastard and she was sorely disappointed that we wouldnae be playing the pipes over your grave?”

  Iain wished he had enough strength to at least slap the grin off Matthew’s face. “Verra funny. Her change of mood just didnae make any sense.”

  “Nay? Ever hear of weeping for joy?” Matthew shook his head and looked at Iain sadly when his brother just looked confused. “The lass has sat with ye for three whole days just watching ye sleep. Then, ye wake up and she realizes ye are truly no longer in danger and she cries. That was what it was.”

  “Oh.” Iain thought about that and smiled. “So happy tears, as our mither used to call them.”

  “That was what I figured it was. Must have been hard on the lass sitting here for so long just checking that ye kept breathing. Ye aren’t the most interesting thing to look at.”

  After one sharp rap on the door, Matthew hurried over to let in Mrs. O’Neal. The woman carried in a full tray of food. Matthew helped Iain sit up against the pillows and she put the tray on his lap. Iain noticed that, although there was plenty and it was hearty, filling food, it was also the kind of food that sat very easy on a stomach. Since Iain’s stomach was definitely uneasy, he appreciated the woman’s efforts.

  “Eat what ye can, son, and pleased ye came back,” said Mrs. O’Neal. “We will have you up and about real soon.” She pointed at a glass with some milky-looking liquid. “This might help your aching head. Always keep some on hand for when I get a bad head. Ain’t tasty so be ready for it,” she warned as she left, assured that he could manage the simple meal on his own, and busy arguing with Matthew about why she had not given that cure to him when his head had ached.

  Iain gave into the demands of his growling stomach. He ate slowly and took drinks of Mrs. O’Neal’s potion in between. When he realized he was full and there was still food left on the tray, he was surprised. It embarrassed him that he had not finished the food the woman had made for him. He had, however, finished her headache potion.

  Matthew returned and helped him to the chamber pot. Iain was feeling too sick and weak for that to bother him but he knew it would as he healed and regained his strength. He was back in bed and falling asleep when Mrs. O’Neal came up to collect the tray. She left some water on the table next to him and he mumbled a thank-you, falling into a deep sleep even as she shut the door behind her.

  * * *

  Emily crept back into the room and sighed when she found Iain asleep. She had wanted to talk to him more to reassure herself that he was healing. Unfortunately, she had had to flee the room as soon as possible before making a fool of herself by crying like a child. Scolding herself for weeping when the man had actually woken up, an event she had been waiting for for three long days, had not helped.

  She sighed as she thought on her weak moment. It had to have been because she had been so worried and afraid. The fact that he had revealed he was recovering had just been too much for her after the long wait. The funny thing was she had been so happy, so completely pleased to see his eyes open. It was as if some dam had broken inside her.

  Emily picked up the lap desk Matthew had made for her and set out her writing tools. It was time to write to her grandfather if only to tell him the truth about the boy he had raised. Now that Albert was gone she felt free to write to anyone and had already sent out two letters to some cousins she had been close to, including her closest friend. She hoped they would read them. After not hearing a word from her in almost four years she really would not blame them if they just tossed the unopened letter in the fireplace, but she prayed they were more forgiving than that.

  It took her a long time to even start the letter to her grandfather. There had to be some way to gently lead in to speaking of Albert’s possible death and his crimes, to let him know what happened to David and Annabel, but the words were not coming for her. She finally gave up on thinking of something profound yet comforting and just began to write. He had once told her he liked her chatty letters because he could hear her talking, that it was almost as if she had come to visit. He had said his wife had written letters in the same way and she had been so flattered. Emily was not sure she believed that but decided he had said it so that was what he would get again. She just hoped the news about Albert did not break his heart.

  “Who are ye writing to?”

  Iain’s voice suddenly sounding in her ears startled her and she left a blot on the letter. “Wait just a moment. I have blotted the paper and want to write a little apology for that.” Once she was done, she looked at Iain and smiled. “I am writing to my grandfather.”

  “Telling him about Albert?”

  “Yes. I can only hope that in these last few years he has come to learn more about Albert and so will not be too heartbroken, that he knows the man is a killer. It is still hard news to tell him because he raised him. He took him in when his parents were murdered and they seemed to get along together just fine.”

  “Which is a little hard to believe.”

  She chuckled. “I know. That makes it even harder to sound all appropriately sympathetic. I am offering him condolences about a man’s death when I feel no regret at all.”

  “Is this the kind of thing ye are teaching us to do?”

  “Yes. Writing a letter with your own hand has several advantages. You can say what you want without having to tell some other person what that is and you are certain the words you wanted are the right ones written down.”

  “Good point.”

  “I am sorry if you are finding it tedious.”

  “Oh, nay. Weel, sometimes. But I have begun to see the advantages of kenning such things. I think it is just my age. Learning something new once ye are older than a schoolchild is hard, for many different reasons.”

 
; Emily nodded. “It is easier for me to teach someone older, though, if only because you have the maturity to understand what I am trying to get across to you. Like the sounds of the letters.”

  He started to nod, found that hurt too much, and just grunted his agreement. “For all our whining, I think my brothers and I are catching on faster than we thought we would.”

  “You do not whine. You grumble.” She grinned when he gave her a fierce frown then reached out to pat his arm. “Just wait until you have enough skill to sit and read a book or even the newspaper, if they have one round here. Then you will find it much more enjoyable.”

  “Robbie is the one who seems the most anxious to be able to sit and read a book.”

  She nodded, recalling when the young man had once stated his wish to read a book. “I can still recall the first time I was able to just curl up in a chair and read, all by myself. It was a simple book for children but I was so pleased with myself.”

  “Weel, teacher, we will soon prove your success, I am sure of it.”

  “I am sure you will.”

  She moved to help him have a drink of water. It was obvious he had already strengthened since the first time he had opened his eyes. She expected he would be up on his feet soon. That would be when they would have trouble holding him back from doing too much too soon. Recalling her own time of convalescence, she vowed to hold her patience with him. She would just remind herself of how she had suffered the same frustrations.

  * * *

  Emily stared at the man struggling to get his boots on and sighed. Repeating that reminder of her own troubles after being shot was wearing thin. She was sure she had not been as annoying as Iain was. He was pushing hard at the limits of her patience. Even though she was giving him private lessons on his writing and reading, she wished he was further ahead in the learning than he was. Having either skill would have at least given him something to do as he rested.