Highland Escape (33 page)

Anna knew better than to try to calm him, so she continued her tale. As she came to the point where MacNairn tried to take her, Duncan stiffened, his eyes closed. Mutters and gestures of disbelief filled the tent when she described how she killed the vile man. She quickly finished her story.

“’Tis my Sprite, for certain. More strength and courage than a tower full o’ those bastards!” Elliot exclaimed as he hugged her gently.

Anna’s body shook. She gazed at Duncan, hoping to draw from his strength. Moving to her side, he carefully cradled her in his arms, muttering tender words in her ear. She didn’t know why he comforted her, only that he did.

She knew it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t. She wanted to relish every moment before he acknowledged her ruined. For all he knew, she’d been taken while unconscious, even though she knew she had not. Breathing in his scent, the feel of his arms around her, Anna let them imprint on her mind for when he would let her go. It would have to be enough. She knew with a certainty as strong as the mountains before her that she would never love another man like she did this one. Though he offered her kindness now, Anna knew he could no longer want her.

Her grandfather kissed her forehead and followed MacGregor out of the tent, the Stewart laird on their heels. Closing her eyes, she focused on the man whose arms surrounded her. She used his warmth to push back the fear and shock. After a while, she realized he’d not moved at all. Had the reality of events finally sunk in for him? Would he continue this comfort as he emotionally withdrew, or would he turn her over to family for tending?

It didn’t take long to gain her answer. Laying her on the pallet, he took a blanket and covered her. As he sat next to her, Anna watched the twitch of tension in his body. More telling was the cold creeping in, now that he no longer held her.

Fiona pushed through the tent flaps.

“What dammed fool patched up our lady? A blind man could ’ave sewn straighter. There, there, lass. Fiona will see ye right.” The healer cleaned the wound on Anna’s head, then applied an herbal dressing.

“Check her ribs on the right side. I fear they are broken.” Duncan’s voice was low, detached, sparking a deeper chill within her.

Fiona probed her injured ribs and wrapped them tight, allowing Anna to breathe more freely. Producing a brewed tisane from a small kettle, she poured the hot liquid down Anna’s throat as Duncan helped her sit.

Too exhausted and feverish to struggle, Anna allowed them to handle her as they would. Her eyes heavy and burning, never left Duncan, searching for signs of his love she craved so desperately. His stiff actions and rigid body language said everything she needed to know. Too fatigued to mourn her loss, Anna closed her eyes and allowed sleep to bear her away.

Chapter 26

Duncan had seen Anna approach, barely able to stand, supported by Liam, and had never moved so fast in his life. Though she embraced him, he knew something remained amiss. She shivered, her skin scalding hot. He pulled away to look at her and brushed her hair from her face, grazing a wound on the side of her head. Though not large, the wound appeared poorly tended and very angry.

Realizing she was hurt, he’d quickly checked the rest of her. She recoiled as he touched her ribs. Another injury. A cursory check in the dark would not do. Taking her hand, he’d walked her back toward the main tent. She took two unsteady steps before he saw her feet were bare. Enough. He scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way.

Entering the tent, Duncan laid her on a pallet of blankets and furs. He called for food, drink and Fiona, using the lantern light to examine Anna further. Beyond her head, ribs, and a vast assortment of hateful bruises, no other serious injuries appeared. Her eyes told a different story. She ate a small amount, drinking as if the bastard hadn’t given her as much as a drop the entire time he’d imprisoned her.

The lairds arrived and waited until she sated her thirst and regained her composure. The weakness in her voice unsettled Duncan, but the deadness in her eyes was his undoing. Her expressive green eyes always told exactly what she felt. They snapped when angry, blazed with enthusiasm when they sparred, and darkened with passion when they loved. Now her eyes stared lifelessly from her pale, drawn face. He stood frozen, feeling as though someone had carved out his heart with a rusted blade.

As she told her tale, rage rose and licked at his body as though he were staked to a raging bonfire. Anger roiled in equal parts at MacNairn for committing such brutalities and himself for setting the circumstances in motion.

The killing of MacNairn and her daring escape would be talked about for years. When she finished her account, she could no longer speak properly, her voice failing. The lairds took their leave but Duncan had no desire to follow. Anna gazed at him, need heavy in her eyes, and he offered his arms. As she made a movement toward him, he gathered her in, gently rocking back and forth, murmuring reassurances that sounded empty to his own ears. She lay beyond comfort, but he gave what she allowed. He was uncertain how much of this night she would remember—for mercy’s sake, he hoped not much.

Fiona entered the tent and gave Anna a thorough examination, clucking her tongue and muttering against the treatment she’d endured. Duncan lay Anna on the pallet and the healer first tended to her head, mixing an herbal paste to draw out the infection, then bound her ribs. Producing a steeped a tisane, they coaxed Anna to drink.

“How bad is she?” A tremor of fear wavered in his voice.

Fiona cocked her head to the side. “She appears to have cracked two ribs, but I am fashed aboot her head. The fool who tended it did her no favor. ’Twas poorly done and ’tis infected, giving her the fever. We must keep pouring this brew of feverfew and yarrow down her and keep her cool. She should be in a proper bed where we can see to her, not on a cursed battlefield.”

The command and concern in Fiona’s voice told him all he needed to hear. Once Anna fell asleep, Duncan left her in Fiona’s care and sought his father. He found the lairds gathered with the other captains. They’d altered the battle plans now Anna was safe and MacNairn dead.

“What does the healer say?” Elliot asked.

“She needs to be in a bed so we can fully tend to her.”

“Choose some men and take her home. Ye are in no shape to fight with yer mind on her condition,” Kenneth said.

Duncan nodded. He summoned five men, and they moved her pallet to a cart. Trean
rose from the shadows outside her tent, and Duncan gingerly placed him into the back of the cart, where he curled up at his mistress’ back. The men mounted and started the trek back to Ciardun.

The day-and-a-half trip proved uneventful, though the fever never loosened its grip. Fiona stayed by Anna’s side, cooling her with wet cloths when she burned, wrapping her in blankets when she was chilled. Trean repeatedly licked her face, but Anna did not regain consciousness. As soon as they arrived at the castle, Duncan carried her to his chamber. Trean
trailed him up the stairs and lay in the corner by the hearth. Mairi and Nessa stripped her out of the foul clothes she wore and Duncan took and burned them, cursing MacNairn as he did. When he returned, the ladies had cleaned Anna as much as they could, ridding her of the foul MacNairn stench, and dressed her in a night shift.

“Ye must be tired and hungry from yer journey. Go, eat and bathe. We will watch,” Mairi encouraged him.

Duncan’s eyes did not leave Anna. “I cannae. ’Tis my fault she lies so close to death. I willnae leave her side until she is well.”

Duncan felt his mother’s hand on his arm. “How is this yer fault?”

He took a deep breath and confessed his actions the day Anna was abducted. Mairi didn’t hide her shock. Neither spoke for several moments. Finally, Mairi squeezed his shoulder.

“Ye of all people know how strong Anna is. She will make it through this.”

He met his mother’s gaze. “Ye dinnae see the condition she was in when she escaped. MacNairn starved and imprisoned her the entire time in his dungeon, in spite of her wound. She was in shock, barely able to stand when she found us. I know she is strong, but a body can only take so much. I fear for her life. I willnae leave her side until the fever releases its grip.”

A soft kiss touched his cheek. “Ye will find a way to make it up to her, and ye will put these petty jealousies aside. I will have a meal sent.”

When the tray came, so did Fiona with a fresh kettle for the fire. “I am off to sleep, but will return on the morrow. Keep her cool. Make her drink a small amount of this brew every two or three hours. Ye need to eat and rest yerself. ’Twill be a long battle afore she comes round.”

The door closed softly, leaving Duncan alone with his thoughts as he sat vigil over the woman he loved. They both slept fitfully. Duncan stirred at every groan and movement she made. Anna muttered in her sleep, speaking to unknown people in different languages, including a language unlike any Duncan had heard before. He guessed it was the tongue of her mentor.

As she rambled, bits and pieces fell together. Duncan listened closely to her whispered words, and what he heard broke his heart. She pled for acceptance and spoke of longing to find a place in a world which considered her neither English nor Scot. Her words faded in and out of coherence, but her heartache remained.

Duncan touched her hot, dry cheek, tracing his fingers along the face he loved. She turned into his caress, tears leaking onto his hand.

“Duncan, I am sorry…please don’t leave me.” Her voice cracked and she quietly sobbed.

He wanted to reply, realizing she spoke from the depths of her torment. Her fevered state lowered her protective walls and her anguish poured forth. He sat powerless, listening to her beg for his love, hearing her admit her feelings of unworthiness—all because of his words of jealousy.

’Twas too much. The shame of what he had done to her tore through him without mercy. He had grievously injured her, mind, body and soul. He’d been right all along—he didn’t deserve her. Selfishly, Duncan also knew he could not live without her. He pledged he would never allow anything to happen to her again if the Fates would only allow her to live. He would spend the rest of his days winning her trust, her love.

At the end of the third day, the fever released its grip, her skin cooling. However, she remained deep asleep.

“Her breathing is shallower than it should be,” Duncan observed.

“Tis likely due to the pain. Broken ribs dinnae allow deep breathing,” Fiona answered.

Broken ribs didn’t explain her pallor or weakened heartbeat.

He turned to the pot on the fire. “What is that?” Finally, something out of Fiona’s kettle smelled pleasant.

“’Tis an infusion of peppermint and thistle. ’Twill help spur her body to wakefulness when she’s ready. She was verra weak when she came to us. ’Tis no surprise she needs more rest to heal.”

Her words provided a small comfort. Nothing could be done but watch and wait. Trean’s
wound had scabbed over and appeared to be healing nicely. Duncan barely detected signs of his previous limp. The two of them maintained a silent vigil over Anna. Slow agony as the sun rose, traversed the sky then set again. Meals were brought, but Duncan could have been eating sand for all he knew. The morn of the fifth day brought a change.

“Water.”

’Twas a mere croak of a whisper, but it brought him out of his torpor. Trean whined and placed his paws on the bed. Starting from his chair, Duncan looked into Anna’s eyes, relieved at last to see life behind them. He filled a cup of water and gently raised it to her lips. She took a few sips, then returned to sleep. ’Twas enough. Hope soared in his chest.

News of her progress spread throughout the castle. Mairi and Nessa took turns sitting with her. Her grandda sat at her bedside each day for an hour or so, creating an uncomfortable silence between him and Duncan. Word of why she was alone at the loch had spread. Though he never said anything, Duncan knew Elliot seethed. Part of him hoped Elliot would thrash him, if for no other reason than to assuage his guilt. On the day her fever broke, Moray Elliot made his daily afternoon visit.

Pouring wine into two cups, he handed one to Duncan.

“When I first married Anna’s grandmam, God rest her soul, I was a stubborn and foolish young man, and laird, so I thought I always knew best. Morna had a way of seeing into people that was canny and unexplainable. She told me a cousin, who was like a brother to me, plotted my death, hoping to take my place. At first, I was shocked to hear such a thing. When I asked for her proof, she told me she had naught, just her intuition. I became furious, accusing her of creating dissention. I said terrible things to her in anger.”

Duncan shifted in his seat, unable to hide his surprise.

“She ignored the hateful words and tried to reason with me, but I wouldnae have it. I told her she was wrong and to never speak of it again.” The pain of remembering was etched on his face.

“What happened?”

“My brother overheard our cousin making plans to ambush me with men he paid to do the deed. This way, my blood would be on their hands. He wouldnae be suspected. We went to the elder council, which included my uncle, with the story. They suggested we allow the plan to play out, insisting at the last minute my cousin accompany me. Our men surrounded them at the ambush site, stopping the attack. My uncle confronted his son. He denied it, but it dinnae take much persuasion to loosen the tongues of his hired thugs. He was hanged for his betrayal. ’Twas a dark stain on our clan for many years.”