Highland Persuasion (The MacLomain Series- Early Years) (11 page)

Intrigued, she asked, “And why did you think I would keep to Scotland?”

Alexander chuckled, “North, lass.
North!”

“Why north?”

Shamus took all the skinned birds and put them on a crudely constructed spit over the fire. “As I recall, you loved the north of Eire. To my mind it made perfect sense that you’d keep north in the new land.”

She didn’t miss the wince Shamus had made. His wound was hurting him. When he sat back she went to him and sniffed. There was no need to look at the arrow wound to know infection was setting in. “I need to redress this.”

Shamus winced, sat back and nodded. She looked at Alexander. “Rip a piece off one of the robes. Any chance you brought whiskey?”

When Alexander shook his head she frowned. “Then wet the cloth and bring it here. I need to look at this.”

The minute she removed the bandage she saw, as suspected, that her poultice wasn’t working. She cast her glance between the men. “Why did you not use your magic to heal this when you could?”

“We’ve not the magic to do such.” Shamus shifted, uncomfortable. “Besides, ‘twill
be
just fine. Needs a few days is all.”

As she took the damp cloth from Alexander she shot him a look that said the wound would not be fine in a few days. Attention back on Shamus, she patted the wound and said, “You’ve not the power of healing?”

“Nay, lass
. 'Tis rare."

Frustrated, she said, “I’ve got to set the burn to it. For shame I didnae earlier.”

Shamus shook his head, green eyes charming. “You had not the mind about you when this all started.”

Iosbail breathed through her nose. “But you two did. If not for shame on me then shame on you.”

“One of the daggers,” she said to Alexander. “Hold it over the flame.”

But he was already doing such, a grim expression on his face.

With a heavy sigh, Shamus shook his head. “’Tis a terrible thing I’ve not a dram right now.”

“Well you dinnae,” she declared.
“Again, no fault of your own!”

Before he could respond she reached over, grabbed the dagger and set the dull side of the blade against the wound. The Irishman didn’t pull away but cried out through clenched teeth. While the metal seared his skin she leaned in close and whispered, “May the strength of Eire be with ye, laddie.”

His bleak eyes met hers and he nodded.

Iosbail held the blade true until the scent of burning flesh met her nostrils then a good time after. Once satisfied she handed the blade back to Alexander never losing eye contact with Shamus. “How do ye? Is the pain more bearable now?”

They all knew the pain he felt now was far worse.
Shamus jut
forward his jaw and nodded.

“Good then.” Iosbail received some cooked bird from Alexander and waited patiently. Once she knew her fellow Irishman well enough to eat, she held the meat to his mouth.
“Time now for strength.
May ye forgive me for not having done this properly from the
beginning.
”

Lightning fast, Shamus’s hand came around her wrist, his eyes determined. “We’re all a victim of our circumstances. Ye’ve done me well, lassie.”

Had she really?
Nay, not at all.
She’d failed to administer the best medicine previously because she’d been caught up in a vendetta. The wound should have been cauterized, then the poultice administered.
Shame on her.
Thankfully, thus far, the fever had not taken him.

If it did, she’d never forgive herself.

Iosbail sat back, dazed as Shamus took a bite of food.

What was this she was part of?

Could it be she’d lost her heart not to one but many and that they’d all see through safely?

Or was this only just the beginning of a terrible end.

Chapter Six

Had this been a mistake?

Alexander eyed their surroundings as they cut through the pre-dawn mountains. If he were to think like a clansman who’d lived here his entire life, this land was ripe with ways to take strangers down immediately…which made him wonder. Rumors had abounded about the Hebrides for so long. Could it be nobody really knew the truth about who resided here anymore? He ground his jaw. To think like that would be his undoing.

‘Twas always when you least expected the enemy that they were upon you.

Shamus seemed to be faring well. No fever was apparent and the Irishman appeared his usual jovial if not somewhat reserved self. The Norman lass moved forward with her same, unobtrusive determination. Iosbail, like a panther stalking her prey, veered slightly off path then returned now and again, her gaze everywhere. Alexander couldn’t help but think her a survivor by nature. She seemed somehow more alive here than he’d ever seen her.

Not that he’d known her all that long.

As the fog lifted and an uneasy sun crawled over the mountains, Alexander contemplated their conversation from the eve before. The sad look in her eyes when she spoke of the past.  Alexander found himself…
wanting
to be there for her.

‘Twas a bloody bad position for a Sinclair to find himself in.

Just when he found a reason to remember she was his enemy he found a way to forgive her that. When he found a reason to see all her newfound faults, she did something kindhearted and had him staring at her for hours. What was the matter with him? That was, by far, the bigger issue at hand. Not her but him!

He need not be the fool.

It seemed the day rolled by with those same thoughts in his head. They walked and walked, sweated and grew tired, but still they walked… and still he thought. The only thing that broke up the monotony was the occasional bird cry overhead or a particularly heavy gust of wind. For all intents and purposes, the Hebrides were proving to be a peaceful land.

Until Shamus suddenly stopped short and turned back.

Alexander reacted without question. When Shamus grabbed Caitriona around the waist and pulled her to the nearest safety point, he did the same with Iosbail. Or would have had she not already ducked and was looking north, north-west.

Bloody lass had no need of saving, magic or no.

He fell in beside her. Her eyes met his then the ledge far above, her finger to her mouth. Alexander looked up. Had he truly been in such heavy thought that the obvious had evaded him? It seemed so. He quietly slid free his claymore as she did her dagger and they continued to watch.

A figure crouched, unmoving, to the left of a rock. He remained so still that without a trained eye it would be impossible to see him. Thank God for Shamus. Alexander scanned the cliff alongside the stranger. There appeared to be nobody else but he knew better.

There were many more.

He looked at Iosbail and pointed north then flashed two open fists twice to imply more than twenty. Then he held up two fingers and motioned first to her and then to him. He pointed at the decline across from them and nodded.

She made a swirl motion with one finger to imply they’d find Shamus and Caitriona later.

He nodded.

They sheathed their weapons and moved, one after the other, very low and very quickly.

It was a bloody good thing that he was with a woman who understood the hand motions of a warring Scotsmen, better yet, the motions of a woodsman. Had they stayed where they were scouts sent from the party above would be on them in minutes.

Iosbail slid and descended the mountainside with admirable finesse and ease.
As if they thought as one, both turned right at the same time which took them down an even steeper embankment.
Only through his magi did Alexander sense their path need stop and they should take a sharp left so he took her arm.

The Broun didn’t fight him but followed until they found yet another steep path. This time the climb took them slightly upward and to the right. At the end of another small path was a raging waterfall. Luckily a single file walk allowed them behind the water not into a cave but what appeared to be a hidden glen trapped between three mountains.

Miraculously, one tree grew and he pulled her behind its wide trunk.

As they sank down, both remained silent for some time before she whispered, “Do you think Shamus and Caitriona are safe?”

“Aye, the Irishman is a survivor. He will find shelter,” he whispered back.

Neither said another word but returned to silence.

Sun shone bright overhead and created steam over their cove. Though bright green grass grew, no flower bloomed. Even as they sat, silent, waiting, patient, Alexander studied their surroundings.

Where had he led them?

He glanced up. They sat not beneath a Pine which was the only tree natural to this particular elevation but beneath an Oak tree. Wide and broad, its ancient limbs spanned out nearly twenty feet on either side, its trunk, nearly six feet wide. In this corner of the Hebrides it was summer so said the bloom of the old Oak.

They continued to remain silent, waiting for an unseen enemy to find them.

But no enemy came.

The sun dipped lower…still no enemy.

“Do you sense anyone nearby?” she whispered.

“Nay,” he whispered. But he hadn’t sensed the enemy earlier so he didn’t much trust his gift at the moment. Alexander was beginning to suspect that his magi became muddled when she was near. Not because his magic was flawed but because he thought too much about her instead of remaining focused.

Bloody Brouns!

Her gaze traveled their surroundings. “This seems a place the locals would be well aware of. I’d think them on us already.”

Alexander shook his head, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree. With great care he pulled forth a very small amount of magic, only enough to better understand where they were. Feelings of warmth, peace and safety filled his mind…and something else that surprised him. 

When he opened his eyes it was to her watching him.

“’Tis safe, lass.
If fact, I get the sense that we are the first to ever be here.”

“Impossible,” she scoffed. “’Tis likely they’ve disguised this place to seem such through the use of their own magi.”

“Nay.”
He released a sigh. “I dinnae think so.”

“There’s no way you can be sure.”

“Actually, I am, lass.”

Iosbail looked at him with exasperation. “The people here possess great magic.”

“As do I and I can assure you what resides here
has
more to do with you than probably anywhere you’ve ever been.”

Now he had her attention.

“This tree,” he said softly.
“’Tis of your brethren. ‘
Tis of Irish gods I am not familiar.”

Her eyes rounded.

“And ‘tis of a king and a druidess.”

“You jest,” she whispered.

“Is not the mighty Oak an eternal symbol?”

 “Aye, but…” She shook her head. “How could it be?”

Alexander shrugged. “A question I stopped asking long ago. Best to accept help when offered.”