Never Seduce a Scot: The Montgomerys and Armstrongs (32 page)

He yelled something. She could not see his lips, but the vibrations buzzed through her ears. Then he shoved her so she fell forward to the ground.

Eveline scrambled up, fearing the worst, her heart in her throat. The horseman pulled up a distance away and sent an arrow flying in Graeme’s direction.

“Nay!” she screamed.

Graeme flung himself to the side, sword still in hand, but the arrow caught him in the shoulder. He hit the ground with a thud and his head cracked against one of the jagged outcroppings that were scattered over the meadow.

She stood, terrified, staring at the horseman, knowing she could do nothing to prevent her own death. But her first instinct was to protect Graeme from further harm.

Screaming for help the entire way, she flew to Graeme, yanking at his heavy sword that now lay beside him. His eyes were closed and blood was smeared on the rock. The arrow protruded from his left shoulder and she knew it had nearly gone through because only a small part of the arrow remained outside his flesh.

Terror lending her strength, she pulled at the sword, managing to lift it high as she scrambled over his body to place herself between him and the intruder. The screams tore from her throat, painful and raw. One word over and over. “Help! Help!”

The horseman seemed spooked by her screams and he rapidly reined in his horse, turning him in the opposite direction, but not before Eveline saw the ornately decorated scabbard at his side.

It was unmistakable, the design that her father had commissioned for every senior Armstrong warrior. She went numb as realization barreled through her panicked senses. It was an Armstrong warrior who’d just attacked her husband, and he was even now riding as fast as his horse could run back toward Armstrong land.

C
HAPTER
35

Eveline dropped the sword and turned to Graeme, who was still unconscious on the ground. She fell to her knees, hunched over him, unsure of what to do, whether she should touch him.

She put her hand to his head and gently turned it. All the breath left her body when she saw the gash where he’d hit the rock. Blood coated her fingers and she drew them away, staring in horror.

Oh God. Don’t die.

She wasn’t sure if she said the words or just thought them, but inside her head she was still screaming over and over.

What could she do? It was obvious no one had heard her cries for help. She looked back in the direction of the keep, but saw no one arriving to aid her. What if the archer came back? She couldn’t leave Graeme and yet she couldn’t lift him to get him back to the keep.

Her gaze lit on his horse, who’d evidently been spooked by what had occurred. He had run a short distance, but even now was making his way to his fallen master. His gait was agitated and he seemed nervous and wild-eyed.

The mere thought of trying to ride Graeme’s horse
sent cold terror streaking through her veins, and yet she knew she had no other choice. It would take too long to run back to the keep. She couldn’t leave Graeme unprotected for that long. She had to bring help or he’d die here in the meadow.

Summoning every ounce of her courage, she ran toward the horse. But he shied and scrambled back a few paces as she approached, forcing her to slow to a walk. She held out her hand, murmuring soothing nonsense in an attempt to calm him.

After a moment she was able to draw close enough to take the reins, but he immediately shied again, and she nearly lost her grip as the reins sawed across her torn hands. Sheer determination enabled her to hold on when every instinct screamed at her to drop the reins and move as far away from the horse as possible.

“I need your help,” she said in a desperate voice. “Please, please let me mount.”

She knew her obvious fear wasn’t helping calm the horse any. Before he could bolt or she lost her courage, she grasped the saddle and swung herself up, her skirts tangling as she sought to right herself.

Grasping tight hold of the reins, she dug her heels into the horse’s flanks and urged him forward. He rocketed forward, nearly unseating her, but she was determined to remain astride. Faster and faster she urged him, until they were streaking dangerously over the terrain and she was clinging to his back in a desperate bid not to fall off.

“Faster, please,” she whispered, her heart nearly bursting from her chest.

Never before had she been so terrified. Flashes of her last ride blew through her memory. The reckless fall she’d taken in the storm. Her terror at the idea of dying and never being found or of her kin coming across her broken body at the bottom of the ravine.

But she swallowed back her fear and focused on her goal of summoning aid for Graeme.

As soon as she neared the keep, she began yelling for Bowen and Teague. They’d help her. They’d not turn a deaf ear to her screams.

The gate, which had remained open because Graeme had been out riding, loomed, and she lowered her head until she was hugging the horse’s neck and urged him on faster, desperate cries tearing from her throat until each one sent agony through her vocal cords.

She thundered across the bridge and into the courtyard where Bowen, Teague, and dozens of other warriors had rushed upon hearing her cries for help. She knew not if the horse would even stop, and she realized that though she’d made it back to the keep, she could still die if the horse threw her.

The horse skidded to a sudden stop when Bowen and Teague ran forward. She closed her eyes and held on for dear life, but the sudden stop propelled her right over the horse’s head.

She landed with a thump that shook her very bones. Pain screamed through her body, and she couldn’t breathe. The air had been knocked solidly from her and she lay there, gasping and wheezing.

Bowen appeared over her followed by Teague. They were all talking at once and she couldn’t even manage to focus on their lips to know what they said. The one thought that consumed her was that she had to go back to Graeme. She must bring help for him.

“Graeme!” she shouted, hoping to make herself heard above the din.

Bowen reached down, grasped her face, and forced her to look directly at him. His expression was terrible, his eyes so dark that it made her shiver.

“Eveline, tell me what has happened! Are you hurt? Where is Graeme?”

“Archer,” she gasped out, still unable to draw a full breath. “Graeme was shot in the meadow. Hit his head when he fell. I had to leave him. I couldn’t lift him. I had to leave him to summon aid!”

“Shhh,” Bowen soothed. “You did right. Can you stand? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Ignoring the pain that wracked her bruised body, she struggled upward, already reaching for the reins of Graeme’s horse, who stood to the side, his nostrils flaring as he huffed and snorted.

Teague made a grab for her. “Nay, Eveline! You’ll stay here. Tell us where to find Graeme. We’ll go for him.”

Bowen was already shouting orders to the men and they scrambled to mount their horses. Eveline ignored Teague’s order and shook off his restraining hand.

“I’ll show you,” she croaked out. “Please, you have to help him!”

She tried to remount the horse, but lacked the strength. Bowen caught her, and when she thought he’d physically restrain her and prevent her from mounting, he pushed upward, helping her gain her seat instead.

Without waiting, she urged the horse back through the gate and over the bridge. She raced across the meadow, uncaring of the pain or fear it caused her. Graeme needed her. He could be dying even now.

This time when she approached she was able to better control the horse and was able to slow him. Still, she was out of the saddle and stumbling to the ground before he’d come to a complete stop. She ran to Graeme’s still body and hovered anxiously over him as she waited for the others to dismount.

Teague and Bowen pushed in, their expressions grim and worried as they examined Graeme. They looked at the wound on his head and then inspected the arrow deeply embedded in his flesh.

“He’s not dead,” Eveline said fiercely. She shook her head vigorously. “He’s not dead!”

Teague lifted her and put his arm around her to support her. “Of course not, Eveline,” he said. “We’ll take him back to the keep. The healer has already been summoned and will be waiting to tend to his wounds when we return.”

“But how?” she asked, peering anxiously around Teague to where the others gathered around Graeme.

Teague pulled her back and stared firmly into her eyes. “We’ll fashion a litter and carry him back. You’re not to worry. I don’t want you riding his horse again. You could have killed yourself. You’ll ride back with me because you’re not fit to walk the distance.”

She shook her head in vehement refusal. “I won’t leave him.”

Teague started to argue with her, but she looked away and then pushed around him so she wouldn’t see what it was he said.

She hurried back to Graeme, who was being rolled onto a makeshift litter that the men would carry back to the keep. As soon as they hoisted him up, she fell into place beside him, reaching for his hand.

Bowen took up Teague’s argument, insisting she ride back with one of them, but she was adamant about not leaving Graeme, not even for the time it took to return to the keep.

With a sigh, Bowen mounted his horse and then gathered the reins of Graeme’s horse to lead him back. The men on horseback flanked the men carrying Graeme so he was protected on all sides. Eveline kept pace beside them, her hand tightly curled around Graeme’s.

She didn’t like the pallor of his face or that his head still bled from the wound. She shuddered every time she glanced at the shaft protruding from his shoulder. Even
if the wound itself wasn’t life-threatening, he could easily succumb to fever and die in the ensuing days.

The journey back seemed interminable, and by the time they walked into the courtyard, the entire clan was in a flurry of activity.

Rorie met them, her eyes red from crying. Father Drummond stood at her side, preventing her from running to the litter bearing Graeme.

Eveline hated to see her so upset, but she couldn’t spare the time to go and comfort her sister-in-law. Her priority was Graeme and his well-being. Nothing was more important.

They bore Graeme up the stairs to his chamber and Eveline hurried in before them to pull back the furs on the bed.

Then she hastily built up the fire and lit as many candles as she could lay hands on, so the room would be well lighted for what was to come.

To her surprise, the healer wasn’t a woman, but instead a young man named Nigel, about the age of Father Drummond. She frowned when he entered the chamber and began examining Graeme. She flew to Bowen’s side to question him on the ability of the younger man to tend to Graeme’s wounds.

Bowen assured her that all would be well and that the young warrior had much skill in healing. His mother had been the clan healer until her passing the winter before and she’d instructed him in the ways of healing.

But for Eveline, the final straw came when Nora and Mary pushed into the chamber, their intention to aid Nigel.

“Nay!” Eveline shrieked, flying forward to push them from the room. “Out! You’ll not touch him. Begone, all of you. Leave my husband to his brothers and to me. No one will touch him without my by-your-leave. I swear
by all that’s holy I’ll cut off the head of the person who defies me in this.”

She was so distraught that in the end, Bowen and Teague firmly ordered the other women from Graeme’s chambers. Eveline went to Graeme’s bedside and looked earnestly at Nigel, who was cleaning the wound on Graeme’s head.

“Why hasn’t he awakened?” she asked anxiously. “Is it a serious injury? And what of the arrow?”

Nigel put his hand gently on Eveline’s. “My lady, ’tis too soon to tell. I don’t think the wound to his head is severe, but the longer he remains unconscious, the more it concerns me. I’ll have to remove the arrow, though, so perhaps ’tis more merciful that he remains unconscious, at least until the arrow is out.”

Eveline drew her hands away and then wrung them together fitfully. Bowen put his hand on Eveline’s shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. She turned to look at him.

“It will be all right, Eveline. Graeme has suffered far worse than this before. He’ll be just fine. You’ll see.”

The tears she’d been so valiantly trying to keep at bay flooded to the surface and a sob welled from her throat, painful from all the screaming she’d done.

“Come away,” Bowen said, his touch still gentle on her shoulder. “Allow Nigel to do what he must. Go and sit by the fire where you’ll be more comfortable. You suffered a terrible fall from the horse, and Nigel will need to look after you once he’s finished with Graeme.”

She rose shakily, reluctant to leave Graeme even for a moment. She hesitated, torn between the desire to warm herself by the fire and to remain with her husband.

Teague touched her arm and she slowly lifted her gaze to him.

“Eveline, come away. You’ve suffered a terrible shock. I don’t want you near Graeme when Nigel removes the
arrow. ’Tis possible he could become combative and harm you without even realizing it.”

Numbly, she allowed Teague to guide her to the fire. He took one of the furs from the bed and draped it around her shoulders once she was settled on the bench.