Starcatcher, page 24
She nodded.
“You managed that well. ’Tis not an easy ride.”
An understatement if ever Elizabeth had heard one.
They urged their horses into a trot, a sense of urgency taking hold of them. Elizabeth followed Alex’s lead, until Alex pulled his horse to a halt, motioning for her to do the same.
They heard voices and moved quickly off the path, into the trees. A few moments later, eight men on foot appeared, followed by two men on horses. Elizabeth recognized Hiram; the other man on horseback—the one with blood painting his face—seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not place him.
She stayed hidden while Alex nudged his horse onto the path beside them.
“’Tis Alex Sutherland!” Rufus exclaimed. “Hiram, call a halt!”
Hiram glanced back, giving the order to halt to the men on foot.
“Lad,” Rufus said. “I didna expect you.”
“Nor I you,” Alex replied as Hiram approached them. “I barely recognized you under that grisly mask. What is going on here?”
“Gunn prisoners,” Hiram said. “They ambushed Patrick. One wounded him.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. Urging her horse out of hiding, she said, “Is he hurt badly? Where is he?”
“Nay,” Hiram answered her question, a frown marring his broad, warrior’s face. “He took a small cut in the shoulder. ’Tis all. But, Lady Elizabeth, what are ye doing here?”
Alex answered. “I told Lady Marsali that we would wait for her on the other side of the pass. She did not return in the time we agreed upon, and so we have come to find her. I couldna leave Elizabeth to wait alone.”
Elizabeth smiled inwardly at her brother’s lordly tone. She liked seeing him so confident.
Carefully studying Alex, Hiram said, “We could use your help in getting these men to Brinaire.”
“I am going to find Marsali,” Alex insisted. “She is my responsibility.”
“The lady is not lost,” Hiram replied, his tone dropping to a murmur. Casting the prisoners a quick glance, he continued, “She is safe, not far from here.” When Alex looked at him askance, he sighed. “She is wi’ Patrick. I swear it. And ye will be doing yer brother a larger favor by coming wi’ me.”
Alex’s expression cleared, and Elizabeth could almost feel the burden of responsibility lift from his shoulders.
Alex spoke to Hiram. “What about Elizabeth?”
Hiram and Rufus exchanged looks. Elizabeth did not like being talked about without being consulted, but that brief irritation was replaced by cold fear at Hiram’s next words.
“She can come with us.”
The pass again! Elizabeth fought the urge to beg them, please, to take another route home. She had hoped there might be another way, even if it meant a full day’s ride. But she could not voice her fear now, not in front of Patrick’s friends and Gunn clansmen. Nor would she badger them with the many questions pounding in her head. She understood not a bit of what was happening, had only the vaguest clue that it had to do with the Gunn and Sutherland feud. In her romantic fourteen-year-old way, she liked the notion that it all had to do with Patrick and Marsali—and their love for one another.
But there was one question she had to ask. “Is Patrick truly all right? He will not … die, will he?”
Hiram gave her a kind smile. “Nay, Lady Elizabeth, he willna die. The sword struck only his shoulder. Marsali is a healer, and she will soon ha’ him hale and hearty.” His gaze went back to his captives, who, Elizabeth noted, were eyeing them with interest.
“We canna linger here,” he said, and under his breath he muttered, “And when Patrick hears tha’ ye ha’ been traipsing about the country wi’out protection, I donna wish to be around.”
Elizabeth shot a glance at Alex and saw his face redden. “I have Alex,” she said loyally.
Hiram looked embarrassed. “Aye, ye do at tha’. But even Patrick needs more than one mon with him, and today he saw the truth of it.”
Elizabeth was pleased to see Alex relax in the saddle, his pride assuaged.
“Lad?” Hiram prompted, motioning toward the captives.
Alex nodded. “We will go back with you.”
Hiram nodded, then turned to Rufus. “You can return, then. The young Sutherland and I can handle these ruffians.”
Alex beamed.
Rufus inclined his head in assent, then turned to Elizabeth. “Ye are a bonny and brave lass,” he said with a quick smile that sent a flutter through her. Few men had ever said she was bonny.
Before she could reply, Rufus had turned his horse around and was trotting back the way he had come.
“Where is he going?” she asked Hiram, no longer able to entirely quench her curiosity.
Hiram shrugged. “Who knows wi’ that one,” he said. “We had best get moving. I want to get these blackguards to Brinaire before dark.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, but Hiram nodded encouragingly. “Ye are a bonny and brave lass,” he said.
“No, I am not,” she protested. “I was frightened out of my wits coming through that awful pass.”
“That is what I mean, lass,” he said. “’Tis no’ brave to do something that doesna frighten you. ’Tis bravery when ye are frightened and ye do the thing that must be done, despite yer fear.”
Elizabeth sat up straighter in her saddle. The pass would not be nearly as daunting now.
She glanced at Alex, and he gave her a warm, knowing smile. Then they both kicked their horses to follow Hiram as he yelled to their captives to get to their feet.
Patrick stopped at the cave’s entrance, his eyes straining to see into the dark cavern. “Marsali? Quick Harry?” he called.
He heard Quick Harry’s “Milord! ’Tis ye?” at the same time he heard Marsali’s choked cry. In the next instant, she appeared from the recesses of the cave, a smile on her face as she ran to greet him.
But she stopped short at the sight of his bloody clothing. Quick Harry came up behind her, a pistol in his hand. Patrick motioned for Quick Harry to give them a moment of privacy, and he obliged, withdrawing into the cave once more. Patrick took Marsali’s hand and led her a short distance from the entrance.
“Dear God, Patrick,” Marsali whispered, her shocked gaze flickering from his face to his shoulder and back again.
“’Tis nothing,” he said.
But her hands were already busy ripping his shirt to get a better look at the damage beneath. As she grasped the saturated linen, blood oozed over her hands and wrists, and when she untied the piece of cloth with which he had bound the wound, the blood began flowing in earnest.
She gasped. “Patrick, ’tis not nothing. ’Tis deep.” Quickly, she bound the wound once more.
“I have suffered worse,” he said, keeping his tone light. She had seen the scar that bisected his belly.
“Who did this to you?” Her gaze lifted to his.
“Black Fergus,” he replied. “He and seven other of your clansmen ambushed me. If it hadna been for Hiram, Rufus and I might well have been killed.” He was silent a moment. “Hiram told me that you sent him?”
“Aye,” she said. “I shouldna have let you go this morning. Patrick, I … I had a feeling. I have never had such a thing, and I wouldna have known how to explain it to you. But I shouldna have let you go.”
“Ah, love,” he said, the fingers of his good hand brushing her cheek. “Donna fret so. You tried to tell me. I didna listen. But I swear, the next time you get such a feeling, I will give heed to it.” He tried a smile. “I didna know I was acquiring a wife who had the Sight.”
She looked mildly chagrined. “Nor did I. But I am grateful for whatever possessed me to send Hiram to you. And now I must tend your wound before Hiram’s efforts come to naught.”
She took his good hand, and they began walking toward the cave.
“The men who attacked you?” she asked, her tone anxious. “Are they …?”
“They are alive,” he said. “Not even a cut. Hiram is taking them back to Brinaire as prisoners. I fear they saw too much.”
He caught the surprise in the sideways glance she gave him. “You let them live after they ambushed you?” she asked.
“Did you think I wouldna?” he asked gently. “Do you think me such a villain, I would kill your clansmen without a thought?”
“Most men would, under the circumstances,” she murmured.
“I am not most men.”
“Nay.” She gave a tiny smile. “I am coming to see that you are not.”
“Good. And I would like to linger and discuss my finer qualities with you at greater length, but I canna.” He gave her a regretful smile. “I must ask you to hurry and do what needs be done to this shoulder so that I can catch up with Rufus and Hiram.”
She came to a halt at the cave entrance. “But, Patrick, you shouldna be riding anymore with that wound. You need to rest.”
He shook his head. “I do not like the idea of one man taking eight to Brinaire, and I must be there when my father sees them.” In truth, he did not know how he would make it. His head was starting to spin, and he felt cold to the bone. He recognized the feeling, knew it was from loss of blood.
At the mention of his father, worry flooded Marsali’s blue gaze. “He willna harm my clansmen, will he?”
“Nothing of a fatal nature,” he soothed her. “But they gave me their parole, and I would see them as comfortable as possible.”
“Gave their parole?” she asked incredulously. “When there were only three men against them?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “they thought there were many more. Almost an army.” He could not help but grin. “I donna think they will be pleased when they learn there were so few of us.”
For a moment, she seemed disgusted that her clansmen had been so easily fooled, then a flash of humor erased her distaste. But all disappeared in a frown as her gaze went back to his wound.
Though he did his best to hide it, the bloody thing was starting to worry him, as well. He did not want to alarm her, but he was not certain how much longer he could remain on his feet. Apparently, his efforts to pretend he was unaffected were being wasted, for she suddenly took charge.
“Come inside,” she said.
“I canna linger,” he said again, but his eyes closed for a moment, and when he opened them again, the world was spinning.
“You will have to,” she said. “If you donna stop losing blood, you will be lingering permanently.”
“A few moments,” he conceded. “Only a few moments. Then we must go.” He tried to take a step, but he staggered and ended up leaning against the rock wall a few feet inside the cave. Dear God, but he was tired.
“Patrick!” he heard her exclaim. “Quick Harry! Help!”
Patrick felt his legs giving way beneath him, felt himself start to slide down the rock. Marsali’s arms came around his waist, but she was unable to support his weight. Another pair of arms encircled his chest. Together, Marsali and Quick Harry dragged him into the cave, around a bend in the rock wall to the place Harry had made camp. There, beside a small fire, they lowered him to the ground. He blessed them silently for the care they took in the process.
The sudden authority he heard in Marsali’s voice as she barked orders at Quick Harry caught his attention. He opened his eyes, blinking several times to focus on her face, bent worriedly over him. He let himself sink into the lovely, soothing depths of her eyes as her fingers gently untied the binding from his wound, then inched his shirt from under his belt. He did his best to cooperate when she, with Quick Harry’s help, pulled the shirt off him. But when they lifted his left arm, fire ripped through him, and he could not entirely swallow the groan the agonizing pain evoked.
“I will have to sear the wound to close it,” he heard Marsali say. “He is still bleeding.”
“I will be about building a fire,” Quick Harry said. “And I will put my knife in it to make it ready fer ye.”
“He says he needs to be on his way,” she said, worrying her lip with her teeth.
“Hmph. He willna get far,” Quick Harry said. It was clear to Patrick that he was outnumbered. And this time, neither Hiram nor Rufus would be coming to his rescue.
Marsali’s fingers were exploring the rip in his shoulder. When she caught him watching, he smiled at her.
“Donna look so worried, lass,” he said, wondering if his words sounded as slurred to her as they did to him. “I am not dead, and I donna plan to be. Naught else matters.”
Her mouth pursed. “Men,” she muttered.
He sighed and let his eyes drift close. He had no idea how many minutes passed before he heard Marsali’s voice calling him.
“Patrick?”
His eyes flickered open, then closed. He tried again, this time able to bring her into focus.
“I have to burn the wound to stop the bleeding,” she said.
“Do it,” he mumbled. “Then I must … I must go.”
Her whisper came close to his ear. “Patrick, I love you, but you are being a fool. I will hit you over the head if I must, but you willna leave here until I say you are able.”
“You would … hit me, lass?” he asked, his lips twitching in foggy amusement. “Not proper for a … lady to hit … her lord.”
“Nay, I am quite certain it is not. But I will do it if I must.”
Quick Harry’s voice came from the direction of the fire. “The knife is ready, my lady.”
She rose, and through sheer effort of will, Patrick kept his gaze focused, watching as she selected a small piece of wood from the pile of kindling. He saw Quick Harry pull the knife from the fire and quickly wrap a cloth around its handle. He handed it to Marsali. She dropped to her knees at his side; in one hand she held the knife, and in the other, the piece of kindling meant for him to bite against the pain.
Her gaze met his, and though his brain was not working as it should, he recognized the anguish in her eyes. He knew the cause of her hesitation; it was not easy to hurt someone you loved.
“Do it, lass,” he said quietly.
She looked at him for another moment, then offered him the kindling. He took it in his mouth and bit down. The blade glowed white-hot in Marsali’s hand. He looked at it once, then, giving her a nod, he let his eyes close.
An instant later, a bolt of shattering pain sent him careening into oblivion.
Chapter 20
Donald Gunn, laird of the clan Gunn and earl of Abernie, insisted upon looking over the purloined cattle himself.
He surveyed one of the herds feeding in an eastern pasture from the back of his sleek gray stallion. “Scrawny beasts,” he observed critically. “Hardly worth stealing. Sutherlands have no care for their animals.”
Sitting astride his bay beside his father, Gavin heaved an inward sigh. The cattle had been brawny a month ago. But a month of being stolen back and forth, from Gunn to Sutherland pastures, as often as twice a week, had taken its toll. He was only grateful that the beasts were on Gunn land at the moment, for he was beginning to feel a little like they looked: haggard.
How much longer could the deception continue? How many more times could he send his clansmen out to search for Quick Harry—in all the wrong directions? How many more places could he look, and fail to find so much as a trace of Cecilia? How much longer could he and Patrick keep this preposterous scheme from falling down around their ears?
Not much longer, Gavin thought. He had already had to confide in several men, the smarter ones, who had realized it was altogether too easy to steal Sutherland cattle. He was certain Patrick had been forced to do the same. He shuddered at the thought of one particular man’s reaction when he learned what his son had been doing. And Gavin had no doubt at all that his father would discover the truth. It was only a matter of time.
The earl of Abernie was regarding his recent bovine acquisitions with a possessive eye. “We will fatten them,” he said.
Not bloody likely, Gavin thought, nodding in agreement.
“I am sending Duncan to Edinburgh,” his father said, “with a request for the king to have Marsali returned to me and the Sutherlands outlawed for breaking the peace.”
Once more, Gavin nodded. Indeed, he was delighted to hear that Duncan would soon be out of the way. The old man had been asking far too many questions about the raids, and why there were no casualties, nor prisoners.
“I have been thinking about sending Jeanie to Brinaire,” he said.
His father’s gaze snapped to his. “Send another Gunn to be held captive? Are you daft?”
“Nay, she would go as Marsali’s maid,” Gavin explained. Actually, he was more concerned that his sister have a friend than a servant at Brinaire. “Jeanie could report back to us about the castle defenses,” he added for his father’s benefit.
His father’s eyes lit at the thought. “Do you think they would let her return?”
“She is naught but a maid,” Gavin said indifferently. “They would not be keeping too sharp an eye on her.”
“I willna rest until I have my daughter back,” his father said. “Poor child.”
Gavin’s lips thinned. His father’s compassion for his daughter was coming a bit late. As had his own, he acknowledged. At least, his had not come too late. And if it took his last breath, he would see his friend and his sister properly wed.
“Will she go?” his father asked.
“Jeanie? Aye, she would give her life for Marsali.”
God, he hated this deception. Hated the dishonor he felt every time he lied to his father. But he was no longer sure where honor lay: in his duty to his clan or his loyalty to his father? He wished he had Patrick’s certainty. Or did Patrick, too, have doubts?
Gavin had longed to be like Patrick for years, a warrior who inspired songs of cunning and bravery. But now he had seen the toll of those brave deeds on Patrick’s face. War did not always mean valor. Could honor and dishonor go hand in hand?
“Gavin?”
His father was staring at him.
“Aye, Father?”
The earl reached across the short distance separating their two horses and laid a hand on his knee. “I am proud of you, lad,” he said.
