Mad for the Plaid

by Karen Hawkins

  Rurik snorted a laugh.

  “No,” Gregor said defensively. “We leave something here, an offering of a sort.”

  “We dinnae know what he wants,” Ailsa pointed out. “It could be horses or weapons or gold.”

  “But if we offer him a bribe of some sort, it might convince him to leave us be.”

  “Or he might think we had something of value to hide, like gold, and are tryin’ to put him off from the real treasure,” MacKean pointed out.

  Rurik nodded. “It would only encourage him to come after us. And this time, he might get lucky and kill someone.”

  Gregor subsided into quiet, looking a little crushed.

  Ailsa slid her foot over to nudge his. When he looked up, she smiled. “We’ll be with Greer tomorrow and on the main road, and then we won’t have to worry aboot thieves.”

  “They don’t attack travelers on the main roads?” Nik looked surprised.

  “Nae normally,” Ailsa answered. “Most brigands confine themselves to the woods and the more isolated roads.”

  MacKean finished his dinner and wiped his fingers on his cloak. “I will join Stewart on the first watch. We should keep a double eye tonight, eh?”

  “MacKean, stay here. I’ll go.” Nik stood, towering over them all, his face outlined by the graying sky. “It’s my turn.”

  After a startled moment, MacKean settled back down. “Thank you. I’ll relieve you after midnight. Rurik here can join me.”

  Rurik murmured an agreement and Nik walked into the woods and disappeared among the trees.

  Ailsa had to fight the urge to go after him and— And what? she asked herself. Tell him I’m worried for us all? He knows that, and feels the same. It’s difficult, knowing how close I came to losing him today. The thought sent a chill up her spine, and the realization of the danger of their mission rested on her shoulders with renewed weight.

  She hugged her knees tighter.

  “’Tis getting dark.” Rurik reached for his bedroll and spread it out beside the tree.

  “Aye.” MacKean arose and gathered the other bedding. “We should all get some sleep.”

  Soon the bedrolls were in place around the fire.

  “Guid night, my lady.” MacKean climbed into his bed and pulled the furs around his head, Rurik following shortly after.

  Soon they were snoring softly.

  After several more moments, Gregor yawned. “What a day!” He arose and then climbed between the fur blankets of his bed.

  Though tired, Ailsa stayed where she was, her chin on her knee as she looked up into the sky, which had darkened to deep gray. The moon was a sliver, while the stars sparkled wildly.

  “Aren’t you coming to bed?” Gregor asked.

  “In a moment. I need some time to calm my thoughts.”

  He was silent a moment, before saying in a tentative voice, “It was frightening, wasn’t it?”

  “I’ve never been more terrified in my life,” she admitted.

  “Me, too.” His bedding rustled, and she thought perhaps he’d turned her way. “I knew this was a dangerous enterprise, but it didn’t dawn on me until today that someone could die.”

  “I know. I’ve been so worried aboot Her Grace and Lord Hamilton that I dinnae truly comprehend the danger to this group, nae really. Now I’ve five more people to be concerned aboot.”

  “We’ll be fine. We are all a part of this journey, and we have a responsibility to one another.”

  “That we do.” She smiled in the dark. “Which is why we should go to sleep, or at least try to. We’ve a long day tomorrow and, if MacKean is right, possibly a wet one.”

  “Lovely,” Gregor muttered under his breath. But he burrowed deeper into his blankets and, within a remarkably short time, his breathing smoothed and he was fast asleep.

  All around Ailsa, the night awakened. Owls hooted, frogs croaked, an occasional tree branch snapped and fell to the ground. Something about today bothered her; something that didn’t ring true. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Whatever it was, it remained stubbornly out of focus, as if it were too far away for her to see. Or perhaps too close.

  She sighed and noted a smattering of clouds gathering to the west and grimaced to think that MacKean had been right about the rain. With a grumpy mutter, she arose, slipped into her bedroll, and tugged the blankets over her. Then she tried to sleep.

  But her thoughts roiled more loudly. Why didn’t the theif steal the horses? And how had something as innocuous as Gregor’s sneeze frightened off a hardened brigand? And if it had frightened the man, why hadn’t he just jumped onto D’yoval’s back and ridden away? It would have been faster, and he’d have had a prize.

  But that wasn’t all. Something was not—

  A footstep whispered through the grass. Her eyes, halfway shut, flew open and she held her breath. A moment later, a boot crunched on a loose stone, and she frantically wished she’d kept her pistol inside her covers. If she reached for her weapon now, she’d call very unwanted attention to herself.

  She waited, and finally, a tall, masculine form emerged from the woods, a cape swinging from his broad shoulders, the moonlight threading through his black hair. Nik. What’s he doing?

  As she watched, he crossed the small clearing that made their camp, pausing to pat D’yoval’s neck when the horse lifted its head and seemed ready to whicker in greeting. The horse calmed, Nik continued into the camp. He bent by his saddlebags, removed a map from his pouch, and tucked it into his shirt. He turned to go back the way he’d come, but then paused and walked toward her.

  Ailsa closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting. What is he going to do?

  He stopped beside her, stooped down, then carefully tugged her top blanket up over her shoulders, as if he were tucking her into bed. Finished, he rocked back on his heels.

  She waited, but he didn’t move. He merely remained where he was, looking at her. It took all her concentration not to open her eyes. What would I say if I did? “Hello”?

  He sighed and she heard the sound of his hand raking over his stubbled chin before he muttered something under his breath, and then arose.

  Ailsa peeped through her lashes and watched as he turned and made his way back through the camp and then disappeared into the night, as quiet as he’d come.

  She stared into the woods, wishing she’d been able to see his face and wondering why he’d stayed beside her for such a length of time. What had he been thinking? And why had he seemed so pensive? It was a long, long time before she was able to sleep.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning they arose early and rode hard, making excellent time. The weather was unusually warm, though a brisk wind lifted from the west, bringing with it more clouds. To Ailsa’s delight, although the sky grew darker, the rain held off.

  Because of the narrowness of the trail, they were forced to travel single file once more, Stewart in the lead, MacKean behind him, while Nik and Rurik took the rear guard. Ailsa had requested that she and Gregor be allowed to assume the rear position, but Rurik had pointed out that he had the most training, should anything go awry. There had been no arguing with that, though she’d wished to.

  Still, she had to admit that the ride today was more pleasant than any they’d experienced thus far. Though they rode along the rim of a steep mountain that offered a dizzying view off the west side, the trail was smooth and flat. Their way was shadowed on the upward slope by pines and aspens, which meant the path was thick with fragrant needles that made her take deep, happy breaths with each of St. George’s steps.

  She’d have been satisfied to have ridden under these conditions for the rest of their journey. But at noon, when they’d stopped to rest the horses and take a few bites of venison, a chilly plop of rain landed on Ailsa’s cheek.

  She looked up and grimaced. “Here comes the rain.”

  Nik followed her gaze to the dark sky. “Da. It looks as if it’ll be a hard one.”

  “So ’twill,�
� MacKean said. “Those clouds are getting darker by the moment.”

  Stewart grunted and began to pack up. “We should hurry, then.”

  Rurik was already on his horse. “I’ll ride ahead and find shelter.”

  “We’ll need it,” Nik agreed.

  The guard rode off, and the rest of them finished collecting their gear before they mounted up and headed down the trail.

  At first the rain fell lazy and sparse, plopping in fat drops, much of the wetness deflected by the tree branches overhead.

  Then a flash of lightning, punctuated by a crack of thunder, rolled over them, echoing off the mountains with shocking fury.

  The startled horses pranced and balked, and it took a moment to get them under control.

  “I hope Rurik finds cover from this rain,” Gregor called over his shoulder to Ailsa.

  “Me, too,” she replied fervently. She glanced behind her to where Nik followed, riding rear guard.

  The lightning had spooked D’yoval and Nik was still struggling to bring his mount to heel, the horse shaking his head and prancing wildly. Ailsa pulled St. George to a halt and watched, holding her breath, for there was a sharp drop-off to one side of the trail.

  But under Nik’s firm hand, the high-strung animal stayed well away from the trail’s edge. She relaxed as Nik finally got the horse under his command and nudged the creature to a faster pace to catch up.

  There. She turned back in her saddle and realized she, too, was in danger of being left behind. She could still see Gregor, but barely. She urged St. George on just as the skies opened.

  The rain poured, sheeted, stormed, and flooded down. It rained so hard, it was difficult to see, blanketing the trail with thick waves of sheer wetness.

  Water ran across Ailsa’s face, through her hair, and down her neck. Her shoulders and the tops of her breeches were instantly soaked.

  Ahead, MacKean shouted something. She couldn’t hear him over the howl of rain and wind, but she saw Gregor’s eager move forward. Ah. Rurik must have found shelter. Good!

  She turned to yell the welcome information to Nik, but found that he was too far back to hear her.

  With a regretful look at the disappearing backs of the others, she pulled St. George to a halt and waited for Nik, tugging her cloak about her, the wetness already soaking through to her shoulders.

  Behind her, Nik peered through the downpour and saw Ailsa waiting, her cloak black with rain, her face wet, tendrils of her hair plastered to her cheeks and neck. She will be so cold. He spurred D’yoval to a canter. Rain pelted Nik’s face, soaking his cloak and his hair. He reached up to swipe his eyes just as another flash of lightning cracked, followed by a roar of thunder. Seconds later, there was a crash as a tree came tumbling down the mountainside toward Nik and fell across the trail.

  Nik pulled D’yoval back just in time to avoid the worst of the branches, but the animal was beyond calming. Terrified, D’yoval reared and screamed. Nik fought for control, aware that the horse was moving ever closer to the edge of the path.

  Her heart thundering, Ailsa stood in her stirrups and watched. The fallen tree blocked the trail and kept her from riding to the rescue, and it was with gasping agony that she saw Nik struggle to hold D’yoval on the path. Another crack of thunder rumbled, and the horse reared and then backed off the steep trail. With a sickening crash, the two disappeared from sight.

  “Nae!” Ailsa yelled. She cantered to the fallen tree and jumped from the saddle, holding St. George’s reins tightly as she looked this way and that, trying to find a way around the obstacle. It took only a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours, before she found a place where a branch had broken off and she could get through the tangled wall of broken limbs. Tying St. George to a branch, she wiped the rain from her eyes and hurried to where she’d seen D’yoval disappear with Nik. The torrential rain was erasing their tracks even as Ailsa peered over the side of the trail, her heart caught in her throat.

  She threw her arm across her forehead to shade her vision from the onslaught and saw where the horse and rider had slid through the undergrowth and thin aspens, breaking branches and carving a wide path, but thick foliage obscured her view beyond that point. Had they stopped? How far did the slope go? Were either of them injured? She prayed there weren’t sharp rocks or—

  No. I can’t think that.

  She hurried back to where she’d left St. George, then tied his reins to his saddle and sent him off. As if he understood the urgency, the horse cantered down the trail toward the others.

  Throwing her cloak back from her shoulders, she ignored the sheeting rain and ran back to where horse and rider had left the path. Slipping and sliding on mud and wet leaves, she frantically made her way down the embankment.

  She finally gave up trying to stay upright and sat down, scooting her way to the bottom of the ravine.

  It was laborious, filthy, muddy work, and she was exhausted and shivering by the time she reached the bottom. And there they were.

  D’yoval stood in the middle of a stream, nudging at something near his feet.

  Nik lay on his side in the small stream, moaning as he struggled to sit, his cloak twisted about him, the rain pelting his face as blood washed from one arm into the water to swirl, whirl, and then disappear.

  Chapter 16

  Nik woke up slowly, opening his eyes to the blackness that hung above him. Though wrapped in fur blankets, he was cold. So very cold. And yet his shoulder and head were afire, his eyes leaden as if weighted down.

  He shivered, and a stab of pain rippled from his shoulder down his arm. He clenched his eyes closed and gritted his teeth as he fought off the searing agony. Bozhy moj, such pain. What happened? Where am I?

  He swallowed, his mouth dry and hot, and realized he was nude. As that was how he normally slept, he didn’t find it odd, but the fact that he was on a hard floor instead of a comfortable bed made him wince every time he tried to shift to a more comfortable position.

  His memory stirred and he remembered lightning and thunder and a falling tree followed by D’yoval sliding down an embankment. Now there was such pain in Nik’s shoulder—had he landed on a rock? He didn’t remember anything after that except icy-cold water and Ailsa tugging him to his feet, urging him to go just a bit farther. And then a bit more. And then—

  We found a cave. He’d been so very glad to get out of the relentless rain, and for the chance to lie down. He didn’t remember much after that.

  He shifted his shoulder experimentally and instantly regretted it. Bozhy moj, but I hurt. Every inch of him was bruised, aching, or in pain. Perhaps he should keep his eyes closed and let sleep reclaim him. The thought beckoned, for under his discomfort was a deep sense of exhaustion. He was so very, very tired. So much so that lifting his head seemed too much of an effort.

  A faint rustle came from nearby, followed by the familiar thump-crackle of a log as it settled into flames. Somewhere close, meat simmered over a fire, the delicious scent making his mouth water. His eyes may be tired, but his stomach growled in demand.

  He collected enough energy to turn his head. A fire burned cheerily, a hare on a spit hanging over it. He could just make out a figure on the other side of the fire, but the firelight made his head hurt too much for him to focus.

  “Ah. You’re awake.”

  He knew that voice, low and melodic, husky, with a Scottish accent.

  “What time is it?” His voice was more croak than words, but Ailsa seemed to understand him.

  “’Tis night.” A rustle sounded in the dark and then she was kneeling beside him, the firelight warming her skin to touchable peach. “Dinnae move. Your shoulder could start bleeding again.”

  He lifted a hand to his shoulder and found it heavily bandaged, a large knot tied at his neck. “Is it broken?”

  “Nae.” She bent over him to examine the knot, her soft braid brushing his hand. When she straightened, she managed a faint smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “I used my chemis
e to wrap your wound, so ’tis quite bonny, as bandages go.”

  He looked at her. Her heavy coat gaped open where she bent over him, her thin muslin shirt outlining her breasts. God, but she had perfect-size breasts, just fit for a man’s hands.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  “What? Oh. Nyet.” No more than he could bear.

  “I can loosen the bandage if you think it’ll be more comfortable.”

  The thought was appealing, for the bandage was tight, but the thought of the pain of untying and then rewrapping the bandage gave him pause. “It is fine. We will leave it.”

  She sat back on her heels, clasping her knees with both arms. “I’m glad you’re awake. It’s been a wee bit quiet, having nae one to argue with.”

  He managed a faint smile in return. “I’ll be ready to listen to your nonsense once this headache and my shoulder have ceased plaguing me.” His voice creaked as if he’d swallowed a rusty file.

  “You’ve a fever.” She placed a cool hand on his forehead. “You’ve had one since this morning.”

  “This morning?” He sent her a searching glance. “We have been here a night and day, then.”

  “Aye.”

  That explained why he ached so much, and why his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. “I need something to drink.”

  “I’ll fetch some water.”

  “No water. Vodka.”

  She quirked a brow in his direction. “You just woke oop. Dinnae you think you should try the water first, and work your way to the vodka?”

  “It will dull my shoulder ache.”

  “It will make your head ache worse.”

  He scowled, though it tugged painfully at a wound on his forehead.

  “Do nae look at me as if you’d like to roast me over the fire. Spirits are nae guid when one has a fever. Once you’re better, you may have some.”

  “You should not deny a sick man.”

  “I can and I will.” She placed her hand on his forehead, her fingers deliciously cool against his hot skin. “You’ve a fever still, though ’tis nae as high as it has been.” She removed her hand and he instantly wished she hadn’t. “The vodka is in the flask on the other side of the fire. As soon as you have the strength to get up, walk over there, and fetch it yourself, you may have as much as you wish. Or, of what’s left of it, anyway.”