Faylinn didn’t even hear the rest of what he was saying. She discarded her shift and quickly tugged on the oft-mended cotton shirt; its long tails hung to her knees. Next were a pair of men’s woolen knee-britches that came to her ankles and had thick leather patches sewn on both knees. It took her a moment to push the long shirttail into the waist of the pants.
She’d never worn men’s clothing before, except for a wide-brimmed hat that Bridget had loaned her for riding on sunny afternoons. But even then, she’d only dared wear it when she was well away from the house and Cyril’s judgmental eyes. She ran her hands down her thighs out of pure habit, the way she always did with her dresses. "Come," she called hastily, stepping away from the door.
Faylinn heard a grunt and the shuffle of feet before the door swung open and in came Will, breathing heavily as he hefted Bridget’s limp form. She was naked save for a thick coarse, blanket that carried with it the scent of horseflesh.
Faylinn stared at Bridget in shock and her hand froze on the shirtsleeve she was rolling up. The last time she’d seen Bridget she was conscious and cursing. "No, no, no." Faylinn shook head erratically.
She can’t be!
"She’s not," she stopped when her throat closed around the words and the blood drained from her face.
"She’s only sleeping," Will assured her. He carefully laid Bridget on the bed, taking great care not to jostle the arm that was sporting a splint made from what looked like two sawed off floor boards.
Correctly interpreting Faylinn’s pasty face he said, "Don’t throw up again. I’ll not clean it up twice in one night." The words were gruff and he was still a little angry that his wife had refused to help clean up that particular mess.
Faylinn’s cheeks colored as she was reminded of exactly why she’d been banished to the back room despite her vehement protests. She’d plainly told Will to go to hell, that she was staying with Bridget. But when Will’s wife, Katie, had threatened to turn Bridget out into the rain unless Faylinn let her check her injuries in peace, she agreed to go quietly, though the separation, especially now, had torn at her soul. "I’m sorry about before." She couldn’t meet his soft, dark eyes. "I… well…."
Will shrugged good-naturedly. "No harm done. If Katie didn’t call me a worthless bastard at least once a day I might think I’d come home to the wrong house." Now it was Will’s turn to be embarrassed. "I’m sorry for accusing Bridget of being a ghost. I saw her at an auction last spring and she’s not the sort of woman a man is likely to forget. Yesterday, some sailors in Their Majesties’ Royal Navy spoke of her trial for witchcraft and the sentence, and how before they could execute her she— " he stopped, sensing the young woman’s growing distress.
Jumped
, Faylinn’s mind supplied sullenly. She wouldn’t have believed it herself if she hadn’t seen the nightmare come to life before her very eyes. But she couldn’t think of Bridget’s ‘death’. Not now. Not when that was still so close to being true. "It appears she’s not as easy to kill as they’d hoped," Faylinn said quietly. "When I first saw her I thought she was a ghost too."
Come to haunt me.
Will smiled sympathetically at Faylinn and found himself liking her, despite the fact that she’d been married to that slave-running son of a bitch, Cyril Redding. Or maybe it was just the way she looked in his son’s clothes.
Glassy green eyes fixed on Bridget’s face. "She looks so pale." Will fetched the torch from the wall and brought it closer to the bed so Faylinn could examine her friend. The flickering glow from the flame cast distorted shadows across Bridget’s face, deepening the already angular planes and making her appear gaunt. The light highlighted in sickening detail the recent abuse she’d suffered.
Swallowing hard, Faylinn dropped to her knees at the head of the bed and took Bridget’s hand in hers. She gently rubbed the small calluses at the base of long fingers. Her frown grew more severe when she noticed a jagged cut just below the dark-haired woman’s collarbone. The wound disappeared behind the roughhewn blanket.
Curious, Faylinn peeled back Bridget’s blanket, deciding it was foolish to be modest in front of Will, who, with his wife, had cut away Bridget’s clothes and tried to treat her wounds.
"Do you think it would hurt her if I take these off for a moment?" She gave a small tug to the linen bandages that were wrapped loosely around Bridget’s upper body. "Just so I can tighten them?"
Will scratched his jaw. The bandages had come loose when he’d carried Bridget in. He wasn’t going to fiddle with them until they needed changing. But he found himself unwilling to deny Faylinn’s request. "I don’t suppose it will do any harm. The bleeding has mostly stopped." He visibly shivered. "But it’s not a pretty sight."
"No. I don’t suppose it will be," Faylinn agreed grimly. Carefully she slid gentle hands under Bridget’s shoulders and undid a small knot.
Will brought the torch closer and Faylinn gathered up the last of the cloth. Her eyes went round and her hands formed trembling fists as she saw for the first time the brutal price Bridget’s body had paid for Cyril’s deceit. "Sweet Jesus," she muttered, her stomach clenching painfully despite Will’s earlier warning.
Cuts and scratches criss-crossed Bridget’s breasts and shoulders. Several so deep they’d required sewing. The stitches were crudely done, but Bridget had been wiped clean and even the small wounds showed signs of care. "Thank you," Faylinn said again, wishing there was more she could say that would convey her heart-felt gratitude.
Green eyes were drawn to a small cut in the valley between Bridget’s breasts. It had jagged red streaks shooting from it and oozed an unhealthy discharge. Faylinn sighed.
Infected.
But more troubling still, was a black and purple bruise that covered Bridget’s entire abdomen. She laid a hand atop the mottled, swollen, flesh, finding it hot to the touch. Her heart sank. Even Faylinn knew enough to know Bridget was bleeding inside
.
A dark rage grabbed hold of her and shook her to the core.
I should have run you through myself, Cyril, you bastard!
Faylinn felt more tears coming and she bit her lip to ward off their flow.
Will’s tone softened and he felt a stab of pity for this slip of a girl in his son’s old clothes. "Take heart, Faylinn. She’s not dead yet."
At least, not yet.
"She looks like a strong one. She was heavy as a sow."
Faylinn blinked at Will’s choice of words but chose not to comment. Wordlessly, she re-wrapped the bandages, putting the knot on top this time so Bridget wouldn’t be lying on it. She handed Will back what she suspected was a horse blanket and maneuvered the quilt until Bridget was safely underneath. "How could someone do this to you?" She hadn’t realized she’d said the words out loud until Will answered her.
"So she would confess to bein’ a witch, of course," he supplied conversationally. "Those cuts on her chest and shoulders were no accident. As for the scratches, who knows." He drew his thick eyebrows together in contemplation. "Looks like she fought with a tree or a bobcat."
"Or a cliff." Her voice was the barest of whispers as she swept a tangle of dark hair off Bridget’s forehead. She let her fingers linger in the soft but dirty hair.
How could you have jumped? How could you have lived? How could I have heard your sweet words inside me own head, as though I was saying them? Maybe I’m going mad.
Will stepped away from the bed, feeling very much like he was intruding upon a private moment between the women. "My wife set the arm as best she could. She’s got a talent for doctoring. My Katie gave her a good dose of sleeping tonic for the pain. We couldn’t set the arm ‘till she was asleep. She kept fighting us." He studied his shoes. "I’m sorry I threw you out. I know you didn’t mean to—"
"I’m sorry I got sick. I—I’ve been under a lot of stress this past week. The sight and smell…."
Will squared his shoulders. "I heard some of what happened on Cobb Island in town yesterday morning as I was passing through."
Faylinn looked at him frankly. "I’m sure it was more than enough."
"It was. We don’t believe in witches in this house." The corner of his mouth curved upward. "Or barn."
She managed a tiny smile.
He leaned against the wall by the bed. "She’s already got a fever."
"I know. I’ll stay with her. We won’t be much trouble. And we’ll leave as soon as we can. In my dress I have a bracelet—"
Will snorted loudly. "We don’t want your baubles or filthy slave-trader money."
Afraid she’d offended him, Faylinn began a rambling apology that was stopped abruptly when he asked, "Can you read?"
She nodded slowly, confused. "Yes, of cour— " Her cheeks tinted. "Yes, I can."
Her slip of the tongue hadn’t gone unnoticed. But Will decided it meant far less than the fact that the young woman was kind enough to try to cover it up. "Then we’ll take payment in the form of you reading the Bible to us." He looked a little embarrassed, but pressed on. "Is it a deal?"
"Absolutely." She regarded him curiously. "I wish I could do more."
He kicked at the floor awkwardly and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "That will make Katie happy. So it’s enough." When he glanced up, Will was surprised to be looking into green eyes swimming with tears.
In that simple gesture, Faylinn Cobb had just witnessed more love for one spouse by the other than all her years prior. "Whenever you want me to read, just ask. No matter what it is. No matter when."
"The Bible will be enough. We’re not Puritans, mind you, but Katie, at least, is still a good Christian."
Bridget’s soft moan interrupted them and Faylinn shifted closer, searching her face for any clue as to how she could make her more comfortable. When her eyes dropped to bruised lips she had the strongest urge to bend over and softly kiss…
God, what am I going to do?
That she loved Bridget was clear. That she loved her the way a man could love a woman – with a longing and passion that caused her heart to skip frequent beats – was almost as frightening as it was compelling.
Pushing the thought away as unmanageable, Faylinn lifted her hand and tenderly traced the red, angry skin alongside a stitched gash that ran from just above Bridget’s eye all the way to her jawbone.
Will sighed. "I’m thinkin’ it will scar." He winced inwardly.
More’s the pity. She could have had her pick of husbands.
"There was nothing to be done but clean and stitch it. A bandage won’t hold on there."
Faylinn took Bridget’s limp hand in her own. "Doesn’t matter if it scars" she murmured. Her gaze turned fond. "She’ll always be beautiful."
A small smile edged its way onto Will’s face. "I’ll leave you to rest then." He jerked his chin towards the window. "It’s past sunrise, though you wouldn’t know it by the looks of it. I’ll bring you some food once you’ve had a chance to rest." He laughed when Faylinn jumped up and began situating herself next to Bridget on the small bed.
The man extinguished the torch in the cool ashes along the edge of the fireplace, then tossed in another round of oak onto the coals. It was going to be cold today. He could feel it in his bones.
Faylinn didn’t even realize when he crept out of the room.
A
FTER SITTING FOR nearly three hours listening to Badger weave the tale, Kayla and Liv decided to have their taxi drop them off at the bottom of the Royal Mile, near the Palace of Holyrood House, Queen Elizabeth’s official Edinburgh residence. The idea of fresh air and a brisk walk appealed to both of them. The afternoon breeze was still cool and strong enough to tousle their hair and turn their cheeks rosy, but not so cold as to be uncomfortable. It carried with it the scent of wet sidewalks, car exhaust, and the sea.
Kayla had been silent all the way back into town. Then a rapid stream of words burst from her. "I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he just stopped!"
Liv was a little startled by her reticent friend’s outburst. "What did you expect, Kayla?" she chided gently. "Badger is an old man, and he’d been going non-stop for quite a while. His voice was bound to give out eventually."
"Well, sure. But," Kayla let out a grumpy breath, "I wanna know what happened, I guess." She threw her hands in the air, not sure how to process things. She was used to having an insatiable curiosity when it came to her work, but never with something personal. "He could have skipped all the melodrama and just cut to the chase, right?"
Liv assumed the question was rhetorical so she waited.
Kayla began ticking off on her fingers. "We know Bridget killed her brother. But we don’t know how she survived her fall from the cliff, or how she and Faylinn made it to the mainland, or whether Bridget ultimately survived her injuries, or—"
"Whether they ended up together," Liv finished. "I’m dying to know that myself."
"Exactly." Kayla gave her an aggrieved look. She was desperate to know that someone in her family was able to make a relationship work in spite of their paranormal abilities. Her father’s talents were on the very low end of the scale and it hadn’t ever seemed to be an issue for her parents. But it had always, always been an issue for her.
Liv smiled, thinking that Kayla looked impossibly cute when she pouted. Of course, she wasn’t going to share that thought with the nearly six feet of moody baby next to her, but it was true nonetheless.