The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle)

by Ashley York

  Seumas quietly withdrew and started collecting wood along the river bank, making a pile of reserves after adding more fuel to his now-blazing fire. He went and kneeled beside Iseabail, who thankfully still slept. A hand to her forehead indicated no fever remained. He rubbed her back gently. She sighed in her sleep, a slight smile lifting the corner of her mouth. He brought over one of the rough blankets and tucked it in around her.

  Taking a moment to watch her sleep, he was surprised to see her frown and start to struggle in the grip of a nightmare. He was debating waking her up when she started to protest something he could not quite make out.

  He leaned in closer.

  “No, do not…” She thrashed. “Get away. Get… No.” Her hand flew to her mouth and tears coursed down her face.

  Deeply concerned at her agitation, he brushed her tears away. “Ye are fine.” He said the words soothingly, hoping to reach her dream. “Ye are safe now.”

  She shook her head as if in answer. Her voice was quiet. “No. I shall never be safe from him.” Her sobs welled up from deep in her chest. Still, she slept.

  “Ye are safe,” Seumas insisted.

  Her sobbing quieted and finally stopped. She grasped the silver cross around her neck. Seemingly comforted by the action, she lay quietly asleep.

  Seumas sat back and thought about what she had said. I’ll never be safe from him. A random dream or something more? He could not tell for certain.

  He had grown up far away from the pomp and circumstance of court life and had always found women raised to this lifestyle very shallow and self-serving…but Iseabail seemed different. She was naïve not to have realized the danger she had put herself and her little brother in these past two months, but her motives were pure. She was trying to save her family and had given no thought at all to her own comfort.

  I shall never be safe from him.

  Something caused her to risk her own safety and leave. It must have been the lesser of two evils. She had demonstrated more courage than a lot of the men he knew. Seumas felt a swell of admiration for her. He wanted her to succeed in her task.

  A warm wind settled over the area. Seumas picked at the fish and waited for Iseabail to wake. Calum had woken and gone foraging for any berries or nuts he could find nearby, his little rabbit following close behind. With water boiled, more tea was ready for when Iseabail awoke.

  At dusk, she awakened, disoriented. Her fever gone.

  “Why is it already so dark? Or is it on the verge of morning?” She rubbed her eyes.

  “Just gloaming,” Seumas replied.

  Iseabail accepted the tea from him. “Methinks you were right about the bannock. I feel much more settled.” She rubbed her stomach.

  He handed her the rest of the hard roll, and she ate it eagerly.

  “Are ye up for some fish?” He held the speared fish within her reach, and she took a piece of it and put it in her mouth.

  “Did Calum cook this?”

  Seumas’s eyebrows shot up. “Ye do not think I can stick a fish over an open fire and cook it?”

  “No, no.” Iseabail laughed. “It is a joke Calum and I have. I burn everything I try to cook and we eat it and are glad. Calum has more patience.” She put another piece in her mouth. “This is definitely Calum’s work.”

  “Ye are correct. Calum cooked the fish. He also made the tea.” As if on cue, Calum returned to drop beside Iseabail and pour the contents of his upturned tunic onto the blanket. His furry pet was the first to dive in. “And he collected berries and nuts for us. Good work.”

  They each grabbed a handful and munched noisily. Seumas stirred the embers of the fire, contemplating when they might be able to travel again.

  “Are you feeling better?” Calum asked before shoving a handful of berries into his mouth.

  “Much better.” She selected the nuts she favored. “I cannot believe what a time I have had.”

  “I cannot recall you ever being sick before.”

  “Methinks it was the hot spring that brought it on,” Seumas said. Iseabail slowly nodded in agreement. “Ye probably got some water in yer mouth. Ye shall be fine now. What do ye think, lad? Does she look better?”

  Calum smiled at being included. “Aye, methinks she looks much better.”

  “Then it is decided. We will leave first thing in the morning.”

  Calum stretched out and rested his head on his arm. His rabbit continued to nibble at the twigs and leaves left from his pile of food. Within seconds, the boy was asleep.

  Seumas settled himself on his side, using his tartan as a blanket.

  Iseabail lay down beside her brother. Seumas thought she was asleep, but after a few minutes of silence, she spoke again. “Thank you for finding us help.” He heard the sincerity in her voice. “I was always afraid for us in the woods. So many bad things could have happened.”

  She yawned again. After a few minutes, her breathing steadied. He looked at her as she slept. Her dark eyelashes made her skin look very pale. He followed the contours of her body as it dipped in at the waist and flared at her hips. He licked his lips. Too tired to even think, he continued to look. And feel.

  At one time in his life, he had been the respectable son of a Highland farmer from the MacDonell clan. Growing up, he had even considered life in the monastery like his uncle. How would he be seen now? Disreputable from his life as a mercenary? Perhaps even from his time on the pilgrimage to Jerusalem? Giles had quickly turned tail and run when the infidels in Damascus decided to fight in earnest. He turned out to be a coward, and Seumas was ashamed of his friend’s actions. Giles had acted savagely with many non-Christian settlements they had found along the way.

  The lands they had traveled had villages unlike their own. They had strange ways that none of the soldiers understood, but Seumas did not agree that their differences made it acceptable to rape and pillage. They should have been left untouched.

  There was no other group to compare to, however, because they always managed to stay just far enough behind the rest of the pilgrims so Stephen remained in charge. The man had no integrity and treated the villagers terribly.

  When Seumas caught Giles in a grove of olive trees raping a girl who looked to be only ten years old, he had come near to killing his friend. Seumas could still see the pained, shocked look on her dark face as Giles savagely took what he wanted, grunting and slobbering like a crazed animal.

  “Stop, Giles, stop.” He had grabbed at his shoulder to physically yank him off the girl.

  Tears streamed down her face as she cried out for help. “Papa, Papa.”

  “Enough, Giles.”

  “Get away, Seumas,” Giles grunted at his friend as he yanked his shoulder out of Seumas’s grasp. “Get one of your own.”

  The knife blade against Giles’s neck finally stilled him. Seumas drew blood as he pierced his flesh, but his voice was very quiet when he spoke. “Remove yerself now, Giles, or I will kill ye.”

  The girl continued to sob as Giles carefully righted himself and stood, the blade still at his neck.

  Seumas got so close to his face so Giles could not help but feel his breath when he spat out the last words he would ever say to his friend. “Ye sicken me, Giles.” The knife went further into Giles’s skin and drops of blood dripped onto Seumas’s hand before he pulled his knee up and drove it into Giles’s groin. Giles bent over in anguish and rolled onto the ground.

  Seumas went to help the girl up, but she screamed insanely at him, backing away as she yelled. “No, no, no…” Pulling at her torn gown, she ran away, toward the hills.

  Seumas knew then his father had been right. His friend had no honor.

  This trip differed greatly from his grandfather’s pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Their mission had been as God’s soldiers but only until they took back the Holy Land. They gave up everything for the pilgrimage and, on their return, dropped their weapons along the way as a sign of peace.

  Seumas found himself with a group of men who wanted riches and glory
and knew nothing of God. Their greed knew no limits and the end always justified any means. Perhaps he should have walked away, but if he had, he would have been completely alone in a strange land where no one spoke his language. Moreover, he had believed he could mayhap limit the atrocities in some small way. Who knew if he had really made any difference? There were still other villages, other rapes, other murders, other robberies. Might it have been worse without Seumas’s calm voice to contradict their instincts, help them rationalize that it was wrong to treat people this way? His refusal to participate might have encouraged other men. These soldiers were not well-educated. Many had come for the salvation the Pope had promised them but could not resist the earthly riches.

  The one redeeming memory had been the family who had protected him after the battle of Damascus. The family of Mongolian traders had traveled south to sell furs and jewels from the Far East. Though most of the Mongols they had crossed paths with would just as soon have killed them as look at them, this large group had come to trade and behaved peacefully.

  Seumas had been wounded outside of Damascus—the injury that had changed his life. They had met up with a small band of Muslims, well-armed with their long, curved blades at their sides. Without provocation, Stephen and his group had attacked, probably assuming the trunks they traveled with to be filled with gold and riches.

  Seumas remembered the searing pain as the blade came up between his legs. It seemed they were trying to castrate him before he fell to the ground, unconscious. He remembered Giles rushing back the way they had come, abandoning his group to fight the infidels without him. The same group left Seumas for dead, and he was not surprised to find himself alone.

  With the relentless desert sun beating down on his back and the sticky feel of his own blood pooling under his leg, he tried to make peace with the fact that he was going to die. Thinking of his family and never seeing them again, he wept for himself and what might have been. His last conscious thought was that he had turned out to be a disappointment to his father after all.

  Instead of dying, he woke up in the midst of this Mongol family. They took him in and nursed him back to health, impressing him with their generosity. He lived with them for nearly six weeks as he regained his strength. They kept his wound clean, no easy task considering its location, and, with their careful tending, he slowly began to heal. He helped the family with what he could as he grew stronger.

  He sighed quietly and tried to settle his mind, bring his thoughts back from his tortured memories. The peaceful look on Calum’s face made him wonder what the boy dreamed about. Seumas would have liked to have those dreams.

  Sleep was always elusive now. He had learned as a mercenary that drinking to excess was a way to put his demons to rest. The next day he would be ready to do whatever the lord of the manor deemed necessary, though he neither cared for the task nor excelled at it—mainly due to his aching head. Regardless, come nightfall, he would join the men at the table and drink again. It deadened the pain for a little while. It was also a waste of his life.

  I can dream of what my life could have been like.

  Seumas imagined he was back with his father and they were working in the fields. He could almost feel the sun on his face and taste the fresh water from the cool well. His father’s smiling face was the last thing he saw before he drifted off.

  Chapter 16

  Iseabail awoke to the sun rising over the trees. The pink and red striped sky reminded her of the many beautiful sunrises she had seen from her own bedroom. She sat up slowly to avoid disturbing Calum or Seumas. The river had receded and the smell of drying mud permeated the area. Anselm snorted a greeting.

  “Good morning.” Iseabail hobbled toward the horse, favoring her injured leg, her hand open for him to smell. “A grand morning it is.”

  She rubbed the destrier’s face. He was gentle for a warhorse. No doubt well taken care of by Seumas. She glanced to where he slept on his back, his arm draped over his face. What kind of man must he have been? He said he had been in the latest pilgrimage to the Holy Land, which made him a defender of Christ. She really knew very little about him except the way his handsome face looked when he was thoughtful, how his deep voice sounded when he was angry, and how his blue eyes twinkled with humor…or when he was being kind to Calum. These were things she knew and trusted.

  “You are a lucky one, my friend,” she whispered close to the horse’s ear. “Your owner is probably very good to those he cares for.”

  Seumas had said Mark’s lands were vast and his castle impenetrable. How would he describe her own father’s holdings? Her family home was forbidding, built for defense from the Vikings. The people, however, had gotten lax over time as peace settled over the area.

  She limped to the edge of the water and splashed some on her face and neck. That would have to do for now. Across the stream, a fawn accompanied by its mother, made its way along the bank. They moved silently, careful not to step on any branches that might give their location away. They stopped to take a drink, not a care in the world. Iseabail wished to be so carefree.

  After her uncle had come to live with them, he had successfully cut them off from everyone. That was bad, but it had only become worse. When he had betrothed her to that senile old man he had invited to dinner, she had actually retched at the very idea of him touching her. She had stayed in bed until her uncle ordered her out. Then he had insisted she play the lady of the house for his aged friend and even impress him with her wiles.

  She sat on the outcrop of rock, her feet just touching the water. The smell of honeysuckle seemed to come out of nowhere, surrounding her with its sweetness. She inhaled deeply then sighed. Mayhap one day she would find a loving man who would want to take her to wife, but she could never marry. She would have to tell him of her uncle, and she would die before sharing that with anyone.

  “Good morn.” Seumas had snuck up the ledge behind her.

  She placed her hand over her heart. “You startled me!”

  “Ah, I thought it was yer heart ye were giving me.”

  Heat crept into her cheeks, and she looked away.

  Seumas sat beside her, their legs touching in the close quarters. His musky scent surrounded her. Her eyes closed as she inhaled the pleasing aroma. He brushed her cheek, and her eyes flew open.

  He peered into her face. “Are ye saying I do not stink then?”

  How did he always know what she was thinking about? “I do not know what you are talking about.” She turned away.

  He caressed her hair across her cheek. “Aye, but ye do, lassie. Ye have been wanting something from me I am not sure I can give ye.”

  Her head whipped back, her hair slapping against his face. What could he be talking about? Not…

  “I have had second thoughts about ye.” His big hand brushed her hair behind her ears. Gently, he grasped her chin. “I will grant ye a boon. We shall have a lesson before we head out.”

  Seumas stood, patted her on the head like a dog and left in no apparent hurry. Iseabail’s heart raced and it was difficult to swallow. Her eyes narrowed when she sought him out where he now rested, leaning back on his elbows, next to Calum’s sleeping form.

  He had done that on purpose. He knew he was pleasing to look upon, and that she liked everything about him. He had intentionally tricked her into thinking he meant something more intimate than teaching her to defend herself. What a fool she was. He had no interest in her.

  She exhaled through her nose and fought to stamp down that little spark of desire his touch had ignited. It mattered not. She pushed her hair out of her face and turned back to the river. All that mattered was that he had said he would teach her. That was really all that was important. Puffing her cheeks, she blew out her exasperation.

  “Iseabail?” Calum called to her.

  She walked as steadily as she could, showing them both she was much better.

  His eyes lit up and a big grin covered his face. “Wonderful!”

  “Ah, you are good
for my confidence, lad.” She tried not to emphasize ‘you,’ but when Seumas’s head jerked up, she wondered if she had succeeded. “More berries for our morning repast?”

  Calum jumped up, bunny in hand, to head back into the still-dark woods. Too late, she realized the uncomfortable position she would be left in with Calum getting breakfast. She shifted her feet, her hands clasped before her as she stood beside the blanket they had slept on.

  “Ye can sit.” Seumas’s voice was gruff. “Even if I am not good for yer confidence.”

  She turned her face away so he would not catch her smile. She twirled her hair between her fingers but remained standing.

  “Is there something else ye need?”

  She frowned at him. “What are you meaning by that?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  She sat in a huff on the corner of the blanket, as far away from Seumas as she could get.

  Seumas brushed his hands off and stood up. He extended his hand to her. “Might as well get started.”

  She reached up, and he gently pulled her toward him. He helped to steady her when she would have careened into him.

  “Not quite steady on yer feet, I see.”

  “I am trying.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “I will continue to get better.”

  He nodded abruptly. “So ye understand. Ye are not going to be able to attack anyone, but I can teach ye a little to defend yerself if they come up against ye.”

  “Against me, how?”

  “I do not mean against ye. I mean against ye…they try to take ye down.”

  She nodded and bit her bottom lip. She glanced up to see his gaze traveling the length of her. He stopped abruptly, their eyes locking. “Just trying to figure the best way to approach this.”

  Approach this? “I have a dagger.”