Highland Escape

by Cathy MacRae

  Iain nodded in agreement and they made their way to the soap-makers. Finding a selection of soaps, oils and sea sponges, they made their purchases and wandered around before returning to the cart. Anna procured a number of dried herbs she hadn’t seen growing in their area and a few growing in pots to add to their collection. She was eager to see if she could get them to flourish in the Highland climate.

  Vendors of all kinds lined the road. Anna bought the ladies colorful beaded necklaces, bracelets and earrings, along with two more bound tomes of blank pages for Nessa to record their healing studies. As luck would have it, she found a few books for sale. With an eye on teaching Nessa, she purchased a haggard copy of Beowulf, along with well-made versions of Vita Columbi, and Historia Regum Britanniae.

  They were all written in English, useful for their studies of her native language. Nessa would enjoy the stories, particularly the romance in many of them. If nothing else, she could share the stories with others during the dull winter months indoors.

  They passed a booth of exquisitely embroidered linen goods. Anna begged Iain to wait out front while she searched for something very specific.

  “How may I assist ye, milady?” asked a middle-aged woman dressed in black.

  “I am looking for something to ignite a man’s…appetite.”

  The woman shot a glance at Iain. Anna ignored the implications of her assumption and watched the woman pull a very soft and sheer night rail from one of the chests in the back.

  It was a frothy thing with lace and delicately embroidered flowers, the lace and embellishments strategically placed to provide minimal cover. The narrow satin ribbons looked inadequate to the task of holding it on, and appeared designed to be taken off rather hastily. The woman gave Anna a knowing wink.

  Anna stared at the garment. Scandalous. Wanton. Brazen. Perfect. Heat rose to her cheeks as she imagined herself in such a thing.

  She bought the gift for Mairi in appreciation of their discussion on passion. Anna giggled when she imagined Mairi explaining to her husband how she came to possess such a garment. The woman bundled it discretely. Anna wrote “Lady MacGregor” on one corner so there would be no mistake if it were accidentally grabbed.

  At a leather smith, she purchased two finely crafted leather belts with matching sporrans. They featured beautifully tooled interlocking designs she’d frequently seen on tapestries and other artistic objects since her arrival. She hoped Duncan and his father would appreciate them. Each sporran had an ornate, silver cantle on top, with the center left blank to carve one’s clan crest.

  “How long will it take to carve two, sir?”

  The leather smith stroked the stubble on his chin and clicked his tongue between his missing front teeth before answering. “’Twill take a sennight, m’lady.”

  Anna placed twice as many coins on the counter. “I need them ready first thing on the morrow.”

  The man smiled, flashing his remaining teeth. He nodded and pointed to her waist. “I will need yer dirk for the design.”

  From the huge grin on Iain’s face, she knew she’d made a good choice. “Iain, you must promise ’tis our secret, and you will have to be the one to come fetch them.”

  With a look of mischief on his face, he replied, “Aye. Ye will make the MacGregor men verra happy. I am glad to play conspirator, particularly since ye assisted me with purchases for my Colina.”

  Anna took his arm and laughed in response. “So ’tis yer Colina now is it?” Giving him a sly smile, she mimicked his accent.

  He looked sheepishly at her. “Aye.”

  A commotion erupted not far from them. Barking and snarling rose above the noise of the crowd, and a whinny of terror pierced the melee. Shouts of warning echoed as an empty horse-drawn cart sped by, carving a wake through the unsuspecting crowd. Iain and Anna bolted to the spot where the shouts originated, and found four men and a boy, no more than ten summers old, lying on the ground wounded.

  Anna wasted few words. “Fetch my pack and find a cart to carry the injured.” Taking their packages, Iain nodded and raced back to their wagon.

  Graham guards stood around, uncertain what to do, so Anna took charge. “Clear this area and keep the people back. I am a healer, and have sent for my supplies and a cart.”

  Two of the injured men were members of the Graham guard, while the others were either merchants or unfortunate victims in the way. The largest guard lay unconscious, bleeding from a nasty head wound stretching across his forehead. The other appeared to have broken ribs, clutching his side in pain. Of the rest, one man obviously had a broken leg, the other a long cut on his back. The boy also lay unconscious, though other than a simple cut on his arm, Anna spotted no other injuries.

  She tended the head wound first, tearing off part of her tunic to staunch the bleeding. Based on how much blood he’d lost thus far, she feared for his life. She glanced up in relief to see Liam and Iain approaching with a horse and cart.

  “Careful. That man has a broken leg, and we don’t want the bleeding to start again on this soldier.” As they loaded the boy, a cry rose from the crowd.

  “Shaw, Shaw! What happened? Where are ye taking my boy?” A woman not much older than Anna stepped from the crowd, terror etched on her face. Anna turned to one of the guards for an answer. He rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  “Yer son was injured by a runaway wagon. We are taking all the injured into the keep for this woman to tend.”

  She clutched Anna’s arm in fear, her eyes wide. “Please save my boy. He is all I have.”

  Anna assisted her onto the bench beside Liam, then hopped on the back of the wagon as they drove toward the main gate. At the hall, Anna asked for boiling water, whisky and linens for bandages as the injured were laid on tables.

  “If you have a healer, send for her,” she ordered the closest guard. “I will need help.”

  He nodded and hurried out the door. Anna assessed the injuries again. The guard with the injured ribs struggled to breathe, but was not issuing blood. The broken leg appeared a simple break and easily set. The man with the long cut on his back lay on his side, conscious but grim. His wound had mostly stopped bleeding. The head injury and the boy remained her greatest concerns. She looked over the boy again. His heartbeat sounded strong, as did his breathing.

  “Ma’am, your son appears to be only rendered unconscious. He has no other serious injury I can discern. Place this cloth over his wound. I will stitch him when finished with the other men.”

  Nodding, the woman bent over her son, singing to him in a low whisper.

  Anna fetched the needle and thread from her pack, and then used the whisky someone brought to clean the head wound. Glad the man lay unconscious, she stitched the jagged cut closed. Iain stayed by her side. At her direction, he dispensed whisky to the other wounded men.

  Moving on to the injured ribs, she counted three broken but not displaced. She bound them carefully as the man paled, sweat on his brow. Though he winced with every touch, he remained silent.

  “You must stay idle the next three weeks, breathing deeply several times a day to stave off fluid on the lungs.”

  He nodded his understanding with a grimace and a whisper of thanks.

  With the help of several swallows of whisky, Iain and two guards, Anna set the broken leg. Securing it in place with two boards, she bound it with strips of cloth.

  The man with the deep cut on his back also benefited from liberal amounts of whisky. Anna offered a piece of leather for him to bite upon as her needle pierced the skin on each side of the gash. While she closed the gaping wound, the Graham healer arrived. Anna talked her through what she knew and what she’d done. As she did, family members of some of the men came and took them home.

  The Graham healer checked Anna’s work and made poultices to ward off infection. Finishing at last, Anna moved to Shaw. She glanced at the mother’s tear-stained cheeks as she bent over her son in prayer. Her heart lurched with pity for this young mother and child.


  Used to treating grown men after battle, Anna found the sight of a boy on the table more difficult to stomach. Shoving aside such feelings, Anna cleaned her needle and thread and closed the cut on his arm. When finished, she conducted a more thorough examination, feeling for any bruises or hardening of the body in the soft areas. She discovered a small knot on the back of his head, but nothing of a more serious nature.

  “Shaw has a small lump on his head. His heartbeat and breathing remain strong. He appears to be healthy. I see no reason why he should not come around soon.”

  At this news, the woman burst into tears. “Thank ye, milady, how can I ever thank ye enough?”

  Uncomfortable with the woman’s praise, especially since her son had not woken yet, Anna replied, “Thank me when Shaw is awake and well again. You may stay until he rouses.” She glanced at a guard, who nodded agreement.

  Walking over to a basin, she cleaned the blood from her hands and arms. A serving woman brought several mugs and a pitcher of ale. Anna filled a cup and drank deeply, dropping onto a bench closest to the guard with the head wound. A tray with a loaf of bread and round of cheese arrived for them to eat while they waited. She glanced at Iain. He gave her a nod and a smile.

  Shaw stirred first. “Mam?” he called out softly.

  “I am here, Shaw, I am here,” his mother answered with tears of relief.

  Anna rose to check on her young charge. Certain he suffered no more than the bump on his head and the cut, she made him drink a cup of willow bark tea. His grimace from the bitter drink reassured her, so she released him into his mother’s care.

  With only the unconscious guard left, she sat and waited. For the first time she noticed the four other guards standing around him. “Who is this man to your clan?”

  “He is one of our commanders, milady. Our captain will thank ye personally for yer timely treatment and care.”

  “What is your name, and his?”

  “He is Ronald, and I am Neil, milady.” He bowed slightly, his smile warm.

  “I will tell you, Neil, as I told Shaw’s mother. You can thank me when your commander is awake and out of danger.”

  His face turned serious. “’Tis in God’s hands now, whether he lives or dies. His chances would be naught if ye hadnae arrived to take charge an’ stop the bleeding. Our healer wouldnae have gotten here in time. If he lives, ’twill be because of yer efforts.”

  Anna smiled in return, knowing better than to argue with a soldier. Fatigue settled in.

  “Are the commander’s quarters close, or is there perhaps a bed nearby we can move him to?” She knew it would probably be several hours, perhaps days, before he woke, if ever.

  “His quarters are in the guard tower, but there are small guest rooms just off this hall.”

  Fetching a litter, the guards moved their commander up one floor to a small but cozy room with a fireplace, single bed and table. Once he was settled, Anna addressed Neil. “There is nothing more I can do for him at the moment. I would like to find my clansmen.”

  “I was ordered to bring yer group to the laird’s hall when ye finished tending the commander. The laird has requested ye dine with him this eve.”

  Motioning for him to lead the way, she followed him into the bailey and toward the stables where Duncan and the men awaited with their carts and horses.

  “Ach, there ye are. Liam told us what happened. Is everyone well?” Duncan asked. His voice echoed with possessiveness, his face a partial scowl.

  Anna quirked a brow but took his offered hand. “All will be, but for the commander. He suffered a hard blow to the head and a vicious cut. I think he will live, but know not when he will awaken.”

  Neil led them through the double oak doors and into the great hall. A score or so men sat on stools and benches around trestle tables, eating. As their group walked past the seated men, a deep voice bellowed, “Wench, why are ye dressed like a man? Come here, and I will teach ye what it means to be a woman.”

  He followed his taunt with a stinging swat to Anna’s backside, hard enough to propel her forward. Anger ignited Anna’s blood, accelerated by the accompanying laughter of his companions. She shot a warning look to Duncan to stay out of it, shoving his chest for emphasis.

  She took a quick side step toward the man who’d hit her, bringing her knee up high to her chest. Using the momentum of the step toward this oaf, Anna released a sidekick, driving her booted heel into the center of his chest. Her stepping kick knocked the breath from his lungs with an exaggerated grunt, and sent him sprawling backward onto the floor, his head bouncing off the flagstones.

  Not allowing him time to recover, Anna grasped his left hand, twisting it away from his body, locking both his wrist and elbow. Bringing one foot down on his neck and jaw, she stretched his arm out further.

  “You will apologize, mongrel, or lose the use of these fingers,” she snarled.

  He struggled against her hold, but she had the lock cinched tight and his struggling only caused him additional pain.

  “I willnae apologize to a wench who plays at being a man!” he ground out between clenched teeth.

  “As you please,” she answered. An audible snap sounded as Anna pulled his smallest finger out of socket at the second knuckle, causing it to protrude at an odd angle.

  A loud yelp and an anatomically impossible curse flew from his mouth.

  “Apologize!” she yelled at him.

  “Nae, never!”

  She responded by displacing his third finger, creating a louder snap. This time, his fellows groaned in sympathy with him, but none dared come to his aid.

  Anna glanced at Duncan, who leaned against an empty table, arms folded across his chest, a smirk on his face. Only the taut muscles of his jaw belied his calm expression. He warned off the MacGregor men with a glance and slight hand gesture. Before she could demand another apology, Duncan spoke up. “What is yer name, Graham?”

  The man on the floor continued to hurl curses, each more creative and colorful than the last, as he struggled uselessly against her hold.

  “What is his name?” Duncan calmly asked the man seated nearest to him.

  “Angus.”

  “Angus, I would like ye to meet Anna of clan MacGregor. She has been adopted by our laird, my father, as a daughter, and is my future wife if she will have me.”

  Anna shot Duncan a look of astonishment. The expression on his face showed no emotion except the silent fury he barely contained.

  “I have seen her defeat six Highlanders in battle unassisted and another two warriors from my own clan. She saved yer commander’s life this afternoon. Ye might want to reconsider yer position on that apology.”

  The men seated at the table stared at her with disbelief. Anna scowled. She was not letting this cur up without an apology. Otherwise, some other man from this clan would take issue with her appearance and try the same or worse. No, she would set an example here and now. Not caring to ask again, Anna jerked his second finger out of joint, the accompanying snap the loudest yet.

  The doors to the inner hall slammed open and a large man, dressed in a laird’s finery, barreled in.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Chapter 16

  The man glanced from Anna to the man she had trapped. “Angus, what trouble are ye causing my guests?” he demanded, his face an indignant shade of red.

  Angus’s manner changed. “No trouble, m’laird. This lady offered a lesson in weaponless combat.” Glancing up at her he gritted his teeth “I apologize for me earlier actions and doubts of yer ability.”

  Anna was not deceived by the apparent sincerity of his apology. Releasing his neck, she used the wrist she held to haul him to his feet.

  “No offense taken, I am sure, Angus. Allow me to assist you with your hand,” she said with a smile and sarcasm sharp enough to cut. Taking each finger individually, Anna repositioned them into place as sweat ran from Angus’ brow.

  “Be sure and wrap those tightly. They should be fine
within a fortnight.” She leaned in so only Angus could hear her. “If you ever touch me again, I will gut you like the pig you are.”

  He flinched, eyes wide, as the point of her small dagger prodded him below the belt. Turning toward her host, Anna hid the dagger and bowed to the Graham laird.

  The Graham responded with an assessing glance and wry smile. “Come, the servants have prepared food and drink.”

  The laird led them into the inner hall, smaller but luxurious, designed for entertaining important guests. Motioning for them to sit, the laird directed two women to serve the group, and each MacGregor was quickly given a quaich of ale.

  A twinkle in his eye, the Graham laird asked, “How is it one of my strongest men, though more than a wee bit daft, was bested by a woman?”

  Anna glanced at Duncan, the gleam of anger in his eyes telling her he still seethed over the encounter. She chose a diplomatic answer. “It was an opportunity for a demonstration of unarmed tactics, is all, Laird,” she answered, trying to keep her irritation with Duncan out of her voice. She could handle herself and did not need him running to her rescue at every turn.

  Graham gave her an odd look and a smile, but left her explanation alone. He moved his attention to Duncan. “I heard about the accident in the market today—how yer group assisted my men, especially ye,” he said as he spared a glance at Anna. “Ronald has been one of my most reliable men. I would be hard pressed without him. Neil believes yer timely efforts gave him a chance to survive. For that I thank ye, milady.”

  “Iain and I were close when it happened and glad to offer assistance. All involved are recovering. Your commander has not awakened. I know not if he will, but your healer watches over him.”

  The laird changed topics again as servants plied the tables with meats, vegetables and bread. “Though yer use of our language and plaide says ye are a MacGregor, yer accent, cuirass, and the way ye carry yerself tells me ye are English. There is a very entertaining story here. I wish to hear it.”