Gylys came to help, holding a torch out against the blackness. Leona heard something familiar then. The sound of crashing waves.
“Gylys!” she called out to him. “Take care!”
If her instincts were correct, the ocean lay not far from where they stood.
Cautiously, Gylys raised his torch and took tentative steps forward. His heart seized when he realized he was precariously close to the edge of a sheer cliff! “Stay back!” he called over his shoulder.
He lay on his stomach and held the torch out. Just as he had suspected. Alec lay on a very narrow ledge some ten feet below him. “Alec!” he called out. “Alec!”
For certain, he thought he was going to die.
He had scrambled and clawed for something to hang on to during his fall. With his left hand, he’d managed to grab onto a thick vine, but he’d only been able to hold on for a little while. Finally, he dropped another five or six feet where he landed safely on an exceedingly narrow ledge. A bit of the earth had given away when he landed, threatening to send him tumbling another hundred feet or so to his doom.
Once he caught his breath and stilled his fearfully beating heart, he scooted backward and rested against the face of the cliff. He’d been close to dying far too many times to count this day.
Once his hands no longer shook or trembled, he examined his wound. There was a good deal of blood seeping around both the entry and exit. The arrow had pierced the tender flesh of his underarm. The tip was covered with blood and flesh, protruding out a good six inches. Experience told him the arrow was acting to help stop the complete and total blood letting.
Tearing the sleeve of his tunic off, he bunched it together and set it next to him. ’Twas painful, but he managed to get out of his plaid and the remainder of his tunic. Wincing with pain, he pulled the dirk from his boot and stuck it betwixt his teeth. Next, he removed his sword belt and placed it next to the bits of cloth.
He needed to get the arrow out.
“What I would no’ do for a flagon of whisky!” he cursed as he began to carefully cut the tip of the arrow off. ’Twould be impossible for him to reach the fletching because of the angle of the arrow. He could not cut it, but hopefully, he could manage to pull it back out the way it went in.
Using his thumb to help keep the shaft of the arrow in place, he carefully carved at the wood until it was cut clean through. “Bloody hell, that hurts!” he groused, taking in deep cleansing breaths.
Making sure the tip was free of debris or splinters, he raised his arm up and over his head so he could both see and grab the fletching.
With his tunic torn into makeshift bandages, he took in more deep breaths. As with any unpleasant task, ’twas best to make quick work of it. In one swift motion, he gave out a loud yell as he pulled the arrow out of his tender, pained flesh.
Quickly, he wrapped the strips of tunic around the arm before wrapping his belt around it. Using his teeth, he pulled the belt taught. ’Twas only then he let loose the breath he’d been holding.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed. The world around him began to sway and spin until he thought he might throw up. Instead, he passed out against the face of the cliff.
When Alec woke next, he was soaked with rain, the sky an inky black. At first, he thought he’d been dreaming, hearing discombobulated voices swirling in his mind. A few blinks of his eyes, a great shake of his head, and he began to regain his faculties.
“Alec! Speak to me!”
Was that truly his wife’s voice calling to him?
“Alec, please!”
He took in a deep breath and dared turn his head to look up. He could just make out her face, lit by the torch she was holding out over the edge. “Leona?” he called back to her, disbelievingly.
“Och! Thank, God!” she cried out to him.
His mind raced, with worry and fury. Either she had escaped the keep and had found him on her own, or — and it was highly probably — that she had brow beaten the two men until they capitulated and brought her with them.
“Where are Gylys and Kyth?” he yelled up to her.
“Tryin’ to figure out how best to get ye off that ledge!” she called down to him. The relief in her voice was undeniable.
“Then what in the name of God are ye doin’ here, woman!”
“I swear, Alec Bowie, if ye tell me I am supposed to be abed, I will strangle ye with me bare hands!”
He could not resist the urge to laugh. Whether ’twas from his injury, the events of the day, or sheer insanity, his laughter came in great waves. It occurred to him that his wife was just as insane as he.
“Alec!” ’Twas Gylys calling down to him. “Are ye hurt?”
Now, if he were to answer that question honestly, his wife might be reduced to histrionics. Without a doubt, he knew she had been worried, probably frightfully so, when he hadn’t come for her at noontime. Knowing her as he did, she’d probably been reduced to tears more than once this day.
“Other than me pride?” he called back. “Nothin’ a few drams of whisky will no’ fix.”
“Och! Thank God!” He heard Leona cry out.
Someone scurried above, sending bits of earth and rock tumbling down.
“We are goin’ to throw down a rope to ye,” Gylys called to him. “We will pull ye up when ye give the word.”
A few heartbeats later, the rope fell and landed on his head. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm, he pulled the looped end over his head and cinched it tight. “I be ready!” he called up.
Oh, he knew it was going to hurt, being yanked and pulled. He grunted, but managed to keep from yelling out.
It seemed to take a year before he was pulled over the ledge and back on to solid ground. He lay on his back, out of breath, and forever grateful to be off the bloody narrow ledge.
“Alec!” Leona flew to his side and sank to her knees. She began kissing his face, his cheeks, his eyes. “Where are ye injured? Did ye break anythin’? How long have ye been down there? Who did this to ye?”
Relieved, glad to be alive, he took a good deal of pleasure in her kisses and attentions. But he also knew he needed to be seen by the healer.
“Lass?” he said as he smiled up at her.
“Yes?” she asked anxiously. “What is it ye need? What can I do?
“Ye found me,” he told her as he placed a palm on her cheek.
Bewildered, she scrunched her brows together. “Of course I found ye! I was worried sick over ye!”
He offered her his most sincere, if not devious smile. “But I do remember, not long ago, that ye told me were ever I lost, ye’d let me rot.”
Her mouth fell open. She punched his arm. “Och! Alec Bowie ye are the most stubborn, pig-headed, ridiculous man I have ever met in me life! I should have let ye rot, to punish ye for makin’ me worry all day and into the night!”
He laughed at her distress, which infuriated her.
“But ye did come fer me,” he said. “And I be truly grateful.”
She stopped her tirade, but continued to glare at him.
“Leona, I am goin’ to tell ye somethin’, but I need ye to swear to me, ye’ll no’ cry or make a fuss.”
“Me? Cry or fuss?” she asked. “I never cry or fuss, Alec.” What on earth was he thinking? Why, she was the most level-headed, stalwart person she knew.
“But I need ye to swear it lass. Please.”
For the life of her, she could not begin to guess what was so important that he would need her sworn oath not to make a commotion. “Verra well, Alec, ye have me word.”
With her help, he sat up. “Ye swear it?”
“I do!” she said, exasperated with him.
He turned so the she could see his injured arm. “I was shot with an arrow, lass. I pulled it out, but ’twill need stitches.”
Leona kept her word. She did not cry, or scream, or otherwise make any sort of commotion or fuss. She took one look at his wounded arm, the bloodied bandages, and fainted.
True t
o her word, Leona did not cry or otherwise make a spectacle of herself. Oh, she was not unaccustomed to the sight of blood. Raised around carpenters and laborers, bloody wounds, cuts, even the occasional missing finger, were as common as sheep. And she had certainly washed enough blood out of her husband’s clothes of late.
Mayhap ’twas all the worry of the day. Mayhap ’twas her lack of sleep. Or, mayhap, ’twas the garish glow the torches cast against his arm, the way the light flickered over the blood that made her feel light-headed.
Whatever the reason, the moment she saw the blood seeping through the fabric, everything went black.
Gylys and Kyth were at her side at once, patting her hands, speaking to her, their worry quite evident.
“What happened?” Gylys asked, confused and worried all at once.
“That would be me wife tryin’ not to cry or make a fuss over me injury,” Alec explained.
Leona’s eyes fluttered open. “Why am I lying down?” she murmured. It felt as though she were on a boat in rough seas.
No one answered.
She looked up at her husband. He bore a warm smile. Then she remembered.
“Ye need the healer,” she said as she struggled to sit up.
“Mayhap ye do as well,” Alec said. There was not the faintest hint of sarcasm in his tone.
“Nay,” she argued. The last time she’d seen Mairi, she’d been ordered to stay abed for three days. “I am well.” With fierce determination, she willed her stomach to settle. The last thing Alec needs is fer me to act or look a fool. Pulling on every ounce of willpower and energy, she began to take control of the situation.
“Come, let us get ye back to the keep,” she said as she sat up. “Gylys, could ye please send men ahead to get Mairi? And tell Adhaira to heat plenty of water.”
Kneeling next to Alec, she asked Kyth to hold the torch down low so the she might assess his injury. She knew better than to remove the belt. With no supplies, no bandages, no bone needle or thread, ’twas best to wait until they returned to the keep before she did anything else. The only thing she could do was try to determine the amount of blood loss thus far.
The tunic he’d used for bandages was soaked through. But it did not appear to be bleeding now, or at least not so much that she needed to worry significantly. She grunted, as she’d often heard men do. “’Tis naught but a scratch,” she told him, looking him directly in the eye. Fervently, she hoped he could not see or detect the worry eating away at her heart.
“Aye, lass,” Alec murmured. “’Tis naught but a scratch.”
Chapter 26
Alec refused to ride Ares, for the animal had been put through too much already. Instead, he rode back to the keep on Leona’s mount, with her nestled in front of him. One of his men took charge of Ares’s reins, the steed following behind.
Someone had given them a fresh plaid, which Alec draped first around his shoulders before pulling his wife in close and wrapping her in it. It felt good to have his arms around her again. As much as he wanted to deny it, he needed her.
’Twas that time of night, between midnight and dawn, when even the night creatures were asleep. The sky could not make up its mind on whether or not it wanted to rain. Heavy, gray clouds moved in and out, the wind chilling them all.
They said not a word during the three-hour journey back to the keep. Alec was too tired, his mind too busy with trying to figure out who and why they had been attacked.
Leona, putting on a brave face, had concerns of her own. If they did not get her husband help, and soon, his wound could fester. If that happened, the best he could hope for was to lose an arm. The other alternative was death.
With dignity and grace, she kept her worries to herself. She would have been no use to anyone, least of all Alec, if she burst into tears at every turn.
Mairi had been found and was waiting at the keep when they arrived. With Leona’s help, they tended to Alec’s wounds as best they could.
He had bled ferociously when they removed the belt. The only thing they could do was pack the wounds tightly, with thick, heavy gauze. “I fear I can no’ stitch him,” Mairi explained. “He be bleedin’ too much. We will have to wait.”
’Twas the waiting that nearly did her in. Waiting to see if the bleeding would start up again. Waiting to see if a fever would set in. Waiting to see if he’d still be alive from one hour to the next. After Mairi and the men left, Leona helped Alec out of his boots and trews and bathed him as best as she could.
“Leona,” Alec asked as she was washing his arms with a soapy cloth. “How did ye convince Gylys and Kyth to allow ye to ride with them, to search for me?”
She refused to look him in the eye and chose to focus on bathing him.
“Leona?”
“I told them I would tell ye they were oglin’ me inappropriately whilst ye were away. I had only me nightdress, if ye remember. I forgot to wrap myself in a fur when I stepped out of the room.”
He laughed, low and deep. “And they believed ye?”
Raising a brow, she finally looked him in the eye. “Would ye have believed me had I told ye such?”
His smile disappeared in an instant. Jealousy rose rapidly. “Do ye mean to tell me they were lookin’ at ye like ye were a common bar wench?” his voice was rising in pitch. He shoved her hand away and tried to leave the bed. “I will kill them. I will kill them both!”
Leona laughed and shook her head. “Lie down, ye foolish man!”
He paused and cocked his head to one side.
“I told them I would tell ye they were ogling me inappropriately. ‘Twould have been a lie.”
He shook his head, hoping it would bring him some clarity. “So they were no’ oglin’ ye?”
Smiling, she gave a slow shake of her head. “When I came out of me room without the fur? Their eyes were glued to their feet. Nay, Alec. Ye can trust Gylys and Kyth.”
A chuckle escaped as he lay back in the bed. “Ye’re becomin’ more and more a Bowie each day, lass.
“How so?”
“Well, he said as he patted her hand and closed his eyes. “Ye’ve learned how to blackmail a man.”
She didn’t know if she should feel proud or appalled at the notion.
Leona never left his side.
Not even when he ordered her to leave when his men returned late the following afternoon with news of the attackers.
“Nay,” she told him firmly. “Yer men can speak just as freely as if I were no’ here.”
Either he was too weak to argue or he had come to realize she was stronger than he gave her credit for. It mattered not to her. She would stay and listen to everything. No matter how violent or lurid things might turn.
She sat in a chair next to the bed, and held his hand. More for her own benefit than Alec’s.
Gylys and Kyth stood at the foot of the bed. Both men were road weary, with dark circles under their eyes, stubbled jaws, and damp, mud-covered clothing.
“Tell me what ye have learned,” Alec said. Leona helped him to sit, propping pillows up behind him.
“We came upon the attackers before dawn,” Kyth explained. “They were camped out at the forest we share with the McLeods.”
“That was where the attack began,” Alec told them. “They were McLeods, then?” Alec asked, a look of concern etched on his pale face.
“Only two were, but they were cast-outs. The rest were simply thieves.”
That made very little sense to Leona. “Why would thieves kill them? Why would they hunt them down like animals?”
“’Twas revenge they sought. No’ purses,” Kyth replied. His jaw was clenched, working back and forth. His anger was unmistakable.
Revenge? Leona dare not imagine the reasons why they sought revenge with such blood-thirsty determination.
“Be they all dead?” Alec asked.
“Aye,” Kyth replied. “Every last one.”
Leona shook her head in dismay. There had to be more to it than that. “Ye killed them fer see
kin’ revenge? Revenge fer what? And do ye no’ fear retaliation? Does yer killin’ them make up fer what they did? Will it bring back Derrick or Fergus?”
There were too many unanswered questions for her liking. Anger rose from the pit of her stomach.
“Mistress, they sought revenge fer somethin’ Alec had no part in. And nay, their deaths do no’ make up fer anythin’,” Kyth told her. He sounded tired and angry and sorrowful. “And it sure as hell will no’ bring me friends back.”
“Then why kill them? Why no’ think of another form of punishment?” She hated fighting and death and all this talk of revenge.
He glanced at Alec before answering. “Mistress, they attacked because they thought they could get away with it.”
“What do ye mean?” she asked, wholly confused.
“We’ve laid down our weapons. We’ve picked up plows. The world now believes we are lead by a weak-minded fool. That we will no’ do anythin’ to defend ourselves.”
Leona looked to her husband, her stomach a jumbled mess of knots. “They attacked because ye wanted peace?”
A tic had formed in Alec’s jaw. He knew, he understood all too well the implications of what Kyth had just told him. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his wife. “Those men were foolish to believe such a thing. They misunderstood our desire for peace for weakness. We can have peace. We will have peace, and remain a strong people. Killing them shows anyone else who might believe as they did, that while we might be plantin’ crops and raisin’ cattle, we will defend what is ours.”
It took a long while for his meaning to sink in. While they were no longer thieves themselves, nor marauders or murderers, they’d no’ lie down or turn and run like cowards.
The Bowies were far from cowards.
Unfortunately, it took the deaths of two good men and more than a dozen thieves to get that message across.
And it sickened her to know she understood it.
The funeral for Fergus and Derrick was held two days after the attack. Leona had been so busy tending to Alec that she had not had time to visit Fergus’s widow, Maisie, or their children.
The Bowie Bride: Book Two of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 33