by Judith James
Around him, the scene was one of massacre and panic. There were hundreds, if not thousands, dead on both sides now. Mackay’s forces had broken ranks and, pursued by the Highlanders, were running through the pass in terror. The ground was slick with blood, the dead strewn everywhere, and bits and pieces of severed limbs and broken weapons littered the path. He heard the cry again, slightly louder now, and moved toward it, careful not to slip and plunge down the bank, stepping aside when he could and knocking men down when he had to. He didn’t care which side they were on; if they wouldn’t move from his path, he killed them.
A cry of excitement went up from behind. Good. They’ve found the baggage train. It was the only thing that might save Mackay and his men from complete annihilation. It sparked a sudden change in interest and direction. The lure of plunder was a hard one for the Highlanders to resist, and the thirst for spoils rapidly replaced the thirst for blood. Though there was still sporadic fighting, many broke off the pursuit. Mackay seized the opportunity to muster the few survivors who hadn’t f led, and called a hasty retreat. Jamie ignored him, bent on his task.
He strode purposefully, his gore-covered sword at the ready, checking bodies and the faces running by him as he went. He wore no uniform, and covered in blood he might have been friend or foe. He was neither, and most men he encountered, eager for this new diversion, paid him no attention or stepped aside. Where in Christ’s name is she? A cold dread was taking hold, almost choking him, and the first seeds of panic had begun to spread. He heard the cry again, “A Drummond! A Drummond!” and looked to his left. He recognized the plaid and Bucephalus, his bald-headed torturer, but there was no sign of Catherine, and they seemed upset.
Fear clutched his vitals, stopping him in his tracks, and then he saw it: a limp shape resembling a broken doll, long hair trailing behind. She bobbed and tumbled, borne by the frothing current, passing within inches of serrated rock that could slice her open or smash her skull. Tossing his sword, he dove in after her. She’d been heading toward him, but when he surfaced, she was already a few feet beyond. He struck out after her, jolted by fear, and in three quick strokes, he had hold of her cuirass. Using all of his strength, he managed to shift around so his back was to the current and his legs extended forward, facing downstream. Hauling her against him, he wrapped his arms beneath her breasts, hugging her tight to his chest and bracing her with his body and his legs. In this position, knees slightly bent, his booted feet took the brunt of most collisions and allowed him some small means to maneuver and steer a course.
He was taking a pounding nonetheless, but though his hips and shoulders were torn and battered, his breathing was steady and his grip was sure. She’d yet to show any signs of life, and he prayed frantically she was unconscious and not dead. He moved one hand, bracing her with his forearm as his fingers pressed against her neck, just below her jaw. Her blood pulsed, slow and steady, and he almost wept with relief. Exhausted, he relaxed into an almost dreamlike state, letting the river pull them along, his only focus the rocks and his woman.
He was startled from his reverie by a dark shape hurtling overhead. It was one of William’s soldiers. He blinked in astonishment. Good Christ! The man had cleared the pass, leaping over the cataract from one immense boulder to another in a jump that must have been close to twenty feet! “God see you safely home, lad! It must be a night for miracles,” he called after him with a laugh.
Catherine stirred in his arms. “I didn’t know you could swim.” It was said as if nothing unusual was happening, as if his being there was the most natural thing in the world.
She was bleeding a little from a cut just below her hairline, and he hugged her tighter. He needed to get her out of the water soon, and get her warm. “I told you before, I’m full of surprises, love,” he whispered against her ear. Her head slumped back against his shoulder, and she didn’t answer.
There were stars overhead now. The battle was far behind them and the only sounds were the dull rumble of the river and the steady rhythms of heart and lung. The moon was rising and it was getting hard to see, but the pummeling he’d taken from the river lessened as it widened, and when gentler waters deposited them in a quiet pool, he started pulling her to shore. It had been the most savage battle he’d ever taken part in, and that was saying a lot. Fought under a blood-red sky, the whole thing had been over in ten minutes, leaving thousands of dead, but he had his prize, he’d found what he came for, and he was content.
He crawled out onto a rocky shoal of gravel, slate, and shale, and sat a few moments, too tired to move. He was bruised and torn, blood dripped from gashes on his arm and the back of his thigh, and he suspected he’d cracked a rib, but otherwise, miraculously, he was unharmed. Catherine’s lip and cheek were cut and she had a fearsome bump on her head, but the wound on her scalp had stopped bleeding. She felt cold in his arms, though. He thought they’d been a good forty minutes in the river, and though the day had been warm, it was cool in the mountains at night. He had no heat of his own to give her, and nothing with which to make a fire. He had a sudden image of the highf lying soldier. What did he do with his weapon and pack?
He was anxious about leaving her alone. What if somebody found her? What if she woke, not knowing where she was? But she’d shown no sign of awareness since noting he could swim, and they wouldn’t get far in the mountains without supplies. He hid her in a dry hollow, covering her with branches and leaves. Moving as quickly as his aching body and the treacherous terrain would allow, it took him thirty minutes to reach the place where the soldier had made his spectacular leap. Luck was still with him. The lad’s rif le and pack were in the bushes where he’d tossed them. “God bless you, boy.”
He pushed his luck a little further, climbing to the ridge above. There he found several packs and breacans, dropped at the start of the charge and never reclaimed, their owners dead or moved on to something better from the spoils of the baggage train. He snatched another pack and two woolen plaids. Catching the glint of moonlight on metal, he explored a bit further, finding swords and a bow, souvenirs of men who’d died on the hill. He gathered them, too. It was close to midnight and the moon was directly overhead when he finally crawled in beside Catherine, wrapping them both in the thick woven plaids of her homeland.
From the moment he’d entered Will’s and heard that an army was being raised to quell an insurrection in the Highlands, he’d known what he had to do. Nothing else mattered—not lands or titles, or any of the other baubles William had thrown his way. All that mattered was she be safe, and now she was.
Thirty-Seven
Blood was everywhere, and everyone around her was killing or dying. Some fought with businesslike detachment, severing heads and limbs and calmly moving on. Others dealt death with teeth bared wide and eyes alight with glee. Then there were those like her and her opponent, grim and wary, locked in a desperate struggle to survive. He’s just a boy. I’ve just become a woman. Why does one of us have to die? But he was as frightened as she was, and just as determined to survive. She wielded a saber rather than one of the two-handed swords used by her comrades, but she was exhausted now and barely able to lift it.
The young lieutenant caught her with a glancing blow, knocking off her helmet. His eyes widened and he paused a moment as her hair spilled about her shoulders. As if of its own volition, her sword thrust out and took him though the throat. She watched in shock and horror as he dropped his weapon and clutched at his neck, his eyes white with fear. He took a faltering step toward her, his hand thrust out, choking as blood gurgled from the wound. Something struck her from behind and she was f lying though air, falling… falling… as the bruised sky wheeled above her. She seemed to fall for a very long time, and then something caught her… and then he was there.
Catherine groaned and clutched her blankets. Her head was pounding and every movement was agony. The acrid smell of smoke assailed her nostrils and tickled at the back of her throat, and the sound of busy water burbled close by. She opened h
er eyes, wincing as she slowly turned her head. “Sinclair?” she croaked, disoriented and confused.
“Ah! My delicious enemy! My lovely wife.”
Hitching herself onto her elbows, she looked around. They were on a gravel outcrop by the side of the river, sheltered by an overhanging tree. Jamie had a fire going and was busy cooking something. The delicious smells of field bread and frying salt pork wafted toward her, and her stomach grumbled.
“Hungry, are you? I’m glad to hear you’re almost back to your old self.”
How did he… what is he doing here? “I thought I dreamt you.”
“Women say that all the time.”
She nodded toward the neat little camp as she struggled to remove the wet leather that was chafing her neck and under her arms. “You did all this?”
“I’m more than a pretty face, love,” he said, reaching to help her.
She raised a hand defensively and pushed him away, seeing to the task herself, then glared at him suspiciously as he handed her meat and bread. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in London with William and your whores?”
“What do you remember?” he asked, ignoring her ingratitude.
“I remember the charge. I remember fighting by the river, and then everything went dark.”
“Be glad you didn’t see it all.”
“I saw enough.”
Her tone gave him pause, and he looked at her carefully. “Are you alright?”
“I’m alive. I need to go back and find my family. I need to make sure they’re alright.”
“They’re fine. I saw them hale and hearty after the battle was won.”
“We won?”
“You did. A complete victory, your enemies destroyed, though I saw your leader fall and fear him numbered among the dead. Congratulations.”
“Please, don’t mock me. I really can’t bear it right now.” She saw him again, the young lieutenant, hands scrabbling at his throat, and ran into the bushes, stomach heaving.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Everything hurts, other than that I’m fine. You’re dripping more blood than I am. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m not a bawling baby like you.”
She f lung a handful of gravel at him, pulling up short as the muscles in her neck and shoulders screamed in agony. “Be quiet, stupid man! Why are you here?”
“I’ve come to take you home.”
She looked at him, moved suddenly from anger to the edge of tears. “I have to go see it first.”
“I know. It’s on the way.”
She’d slept through all of one day and most of a second, and by the time they made the pass again, a full three days had passed. The Highlanders had already gathered their dead and moved on, but government troops and locals were picking their way through what remained. Catherine sat on a hill above the river, watching through a steady drizzling rain.
Jamie came and sat beside her, placing his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t protest.
“All these men had families. What have I done?”
He gave her a hug. “Your duty as a chieftain and what you needed to survive.”
“It was senseless, stupid! It’s not what I wanted. I tried my best to keep us out of it, but it happened anyway, and when it did I was in the thick of it. I ran screaming down the hill with all the rest. Look at them, poor bastards. Most of them were only boys.”
She was shaking. He kissed the top of her head. “Some things you just can’t make sense of and this is one of them. It will only make you crazy if you try. You have to take them in, accept them, and then move on. It gets better once you do.”
“Is it always like this… after?”
“I can’t really say, love. I usually drink myself unconscious and find a willing whor—Here now, look what I’ve found!” He pulled out a hip f lask. “What say we have a spot of this? Just the thing for a rainy day.” They passed the f lask back and forth between them, the liquid warming them on the inside as the rain stopped and the early morning sunshine inched up the hill.
“Shall we go now, Cat?” he asked after a while. “They’ll be able to see us soon.”
She nodded and stood. They walked on in silence throughout the afternoon and into the early evening.
“Why are you really here?” she asked after several hours, tired of hearing only birdcalls, snapping branches, labored breathing, and gravel crunching underfoot. “Are you on a mission for William?”
“I told you, I came to find you.”
“Is there some trouble with the papers? Why didn’t you write me instead?”
“I haven’t looked at the damned papers. They’re still sitting on a desk somewhere. I came because I was worried about you. I missed you. I came because I love you, mouse. You’ve melted my cold heart.”
“Spare me, please!” she snorted. “What game are you playing now?”
“The rest of it’s the game. You’re the prize, the only thing that makes this bloody farce worthwhile. I just wanted to keep you safe. It’s become a habit.”
She’d been shocked to see him, and though she was relieved and grateful he’d come, it distressed her that the unruly longings she thought she’d tamed had returned, as raw as they’d ever been. She wanted to believe him, but she remembered his abandonment, and she remembered Moll. “I thank you for your help, but I know the way from here. I can get home safely on my own.”
“Maybe so. But I’m here now, so you won’t have to.”
They bedded down that night in the lee of a granite boulder, still miles apart, despite being close enough to touch.
Catherine continued waspish and sullen throughout the next day, and Jamie decided to try a different approach.
“I didn’t sleep with her, you know.”
“Are you never quiet, English?”
He refused to respond, proving her wrong. It was another twenty minutes and almost dark before either of them spoke again.
“That’s not what it looked like.”
They clambered over a rocky ledge and slid and scrambled down a barren hill. It would be full dark soon, and they’d yet to find a place to make camp.
Jamie pointed to a shallow overhang. “I’ve no taste for mountaineering in the dark. Let’s set up camp over there.” They went about the business of getting comfortable for the night in a strained silence.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you, Catherine. God knows I never meant to.”
“For an avowed atheist, you call on God as witness rather a lot, English.”
“My beliefs have changed. I’ve become an agnostic. Open-minded, willing to believe, prepared to be convinced.”
“And what’s brought on this sudden conversion?”
“It’s not sudden. It started in the Highlands, shortly after I met you, and it’s been growing ever since.”
“Goodness gracious me! Next thing I know you’ll be off to the monastery!”
“Heaven forbid.” He threw another branch on the fire and came to f lop down beside her. “I’m not talking about religion, Catherine. I’m talking about you and me.”
“Are you now?” She felt a start of pleasure, but his withdrawal had hurt her badly, and she was tired of playing his games and following his rules. “Has it occurred to you, Jamie, that it’s not my life’s goal to convince you of anything? I’ve no intention of convincing any man I’m worthy of his love. I’m something special, English. A man should get down on his knees and weep tears of gratitude if he’s lucky enough to have me. He should thank whatever god he believes in every day and… and if he’s just too stupid to realize how lucky he is to have me, then I don’t want him!”
“I know that, love.” His voice was husky, pleading, and she could feel the heat from his body, just inches from her own. She tried to move away but he leaned on top of her, using his weight to pin her under her blanket. She struggled to free herself, though not very hard.
“It’s for me to convince you. I may not say the things you w
ant me to, and I can’t claim to have been faithful to you through the full course of our marriage, but you did bash me on the head and toss me away. I never expected to see you again and a man has to amuse himself somehow, but I swear I’ve never looked elsewhere since you walked back into my life. I told you I’d been faithful since you came to London, love. That certainly didn’t change after we made love. I didn’t sleep with Moll and I wouldn’t have, even had you never seen me there. What you saw… well… she’s just an old friend. I’ve known her many years.”
Catherine snorted.
“She was pursuing me, Catherine. Would you have had me drop her on the f loor?”
“Oh, heavens no. It must have been very distressing. No wonder you struggled so. In any case, it’s no business of mine.”
“Yes it is. I had no wish to embarrass her or be cruel, but when you saw us I was telling her goodbye.”
“Why?”
“I… because I wasn’t interested anymore. Because when I took you to my bed, I felt I’d made you some kind of promise. I don’t know. You’re not like the other women I know. You’re not the type of woman a fellow plays with.” Even as he said it, he was playing with the collar of her shirt.
She slapped his hand away. “No, of course not, hulking, mannish—”
“Hush!” He lifted the blanket and slipped underneath, ignoring her kicking and squirming. “Enough, lass. There’s a chill in the air tonight. Don’t be so sullen as to keep us both cold. I love how you’re made. You’re a glorious woman, muscled and sleek, yet soft and rounded in all the right places.” His hand cupped her breast and squeezed. “It stirred my blood that first night in my tent. I wondered what it would be like to have you willing.”