Never Seduce a Scot: The Montgomerys and Armstrongs (33 page)

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

It took a moment for her mind to process the words on his lips, and then she slowly shook her head.

She hunched next to the fire, her gaze never leaving her husband as Nigel set about removing the arrow. At some point, Graeme must have roused because she saw movement and then Bowen and Teague moved quickly to subdue him and hold him down.

Eveline clamped a hand to her mouth to stifle her cry. It was all she could do not to run to Graeme’s side. She wanted him to know she was near. What if he thought she’d deserted him? Worse, what if he’d seen what she’d seen and thought she was behind the attack on him?

A moan tore from her throat, one that was audible because Teague and Bowen both yanked their heads around to look at her.

“He woke for a moment, Eveline,” Bowen said. “ ’Tis a good sign.”

She latched onto the tiny beacon of hope and pulled the fur tighter around her as she watched Nigel cut off the fletching of the arrow, leaving the smooth shaft to punch through the other side of Graeme’s shoulder. It would leave a gaping wound, but one much smaller than if they pulled it back the way it came.

Chills wracked her body as reaction set in. She shook uncontrollably and her teeth felt as though they would rattle right out of her head.

For how long she sat there, shivering and rocking back and forth, she wasn’t sure. Nigel finally leaned back, his hands bloody, but clutching the arrow that had been lodged in Graeme’s shoulder.

Then he began the slow process of cleaning the wounds and stitching them closed.

Bowen and Teague left Graeme’s bedside and came to sit on either side of Eveline. They positioned themselves slightly in front of her so she could see each of their faces.

“Are you all right?” Teague asked, his brow creased with concern.

It took a long moment for the words to sink in. Bowen and Teague exchanged worried glances and finally Eveline nodded.

They spoke of other things, but Eveline was too numb to comprehend. She knew they had questions. Aye, they would want to know the whole of it and she lived in terror for what she must tell them.

She closed her eyes, only wanting to escape the nightmare that had been thrust on her. Graeme couldn’t die. He couldn’t.

Bowen touched her arm again, but she sat, her gaze locked on the bed where Graeme lay. Finally, Bowen and Teague rose and moved away. She let her gaze follow them for a moment, only to see that they were discussing immediate action and would ride out with the men to scour the area for the interloper.

A chill settled deep into her veins.

War would be inevitable once they learned the truth.

C
HAPTER
36

Eveline refused to leave Graeme’s side. She refused to sleep. She refused to eat. She remained steadfast at his bed as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Bowen and Teague had given up trying to bully her into resting. She didn’t even know how she was able to remain conscious herself. It was through sheer force of will that she was able to remain upright to tend to Graeme.

She even refused to have Nigel look her over after her fall from Graeme’s horse. She could see for herself that she was bruised from head to toe. But nothing felt broken. She was stiff and sore, and if she moved too quickly, she wanted to scream in pain, but she kept mostly to Graeme’s bedside and she could handle the discomfort caused by soreness just fine.

It was likely she was back to being considered completely mad by the people of Graeme’s clan, but she cared not. She stoutly refused to allow anyone into his chamber save his brothers, Rorie, Father Drummond, or Nigel.

Graeme was … hers. The only person in his clan who’d made her welcome from the very start. He’d fought for her. He’d stood on the hillside and pleaded
with her for a chance to make her happy. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so rooted in her own misery, her husband wouldn’t even now be lying in his bed with a stitched wound from an arrow.

She felt selfish and humbled and so very guilty. Someone from her own clan had tried to murder her husband. No one in the Montgomery clan had done something so dastardly. They may have mocked her, they may have worked her to the bone. But no one had ever actually tried to harm her. They may not have accepted her, but they’d never raised a hand to her.

And yet her own clan had done something so evil, she wanted to weep.

The sun hadn’t yet risen on the second day after Graeme’s injury and Eveline sat by his bed, cold and aching. She needed to tend the fire, but she’d been afraid of making the chamber overly warm if Graeme took a fever.

He’d awakened a moment during the night and he seemed to recognize her. He’d even spoken, but his lips had barely moved and she hadn’t been able to read what he’d said. Frustrated with her inability to hear him, she’d leaned over and tried to prod him into speaking more clearly, but he’d slipped back into unconsciousness.

She touched his forehead and found it hot and dry to the touch. Icy dread filled her chest. She’d prayed ceaselessly that he wouldn’t take a fever. She’d cleaned and rebandaged his wound many times in an effort to prevent swelling and redness.

Nigel had a deft hand and the stitches were tight and clean, effectively sealing the wound so the flesh would heal. The knock to Graeme’s head hadn’t opened the flesh enough that it required stitching, but there was a large bump that worried Eveline.

She knew well the damage an injury to the head could cause.

It took every bit of her strength and resolve to push herself up from the bed so she could hurry to dampen cloths for his forehead. She felt like a woman in the advanced stage of her life, gnarled and decrepit. She even moved like an old woman, hunched over, her muscles protesting every inch of the way.

Her fingers fumbled clumsily at the pitcher of water by the washbasin. She laid several strips of cloth in the bowl and lifted the pitcher to pour water to dampen them.

After wringing them out, she hurried back to the bed and laid one across Graeme’s forehead and then set about wiping down his body with the rest of the cool cloths.

In her periphery she saw the door open and she swung her head up, prepared to defend her territory, but relaxed when she saw Bowen and Teague enter the chamber.

“How is he?” Bowen asked when he drew close enough to the bed for Eveline to see him.

“Fever,” she croaked out.

She continued to swab the cloths over Graeme’s chest, neck, and shoulders, but her own shoulders drooped with despair.

Teague touched her cheek, causing her to turn to him once more. “We must speak to you, Eveline. ’Tis very important we receive an accounting of what happened. We’ve been able to find no trace of the man you say shot Graeme.”

Dread centered in her stomach, made worse by the fact she hadn’t eaten in two days.

“Eveline?” Bowen frowned and knelt by the bed, his face level with hers. “You look fearful. You must know
you’re safe here. We won’t allow any attack on the keep.”

“ ’Tis what I must tell you that upsets me,” she whispered.

Even as she spoke, she pulled away the cloth she’d been wiping over Graeme’s flesh and balled it into her hand.

Bowen reached for her hand, rubbing it between his to infuse warmth into her icy fingers.

She swallowed hard, tears crowding her eyes because she knew that what she would say would only bring her heartbreak. The family she loved had tried to murder the husband she loved. There would be no peace, because Graeme’s brothers would not allow such an attack to go unpunished. They would retaliate and there would be war.

Both clans would be branded outlaws and hunted to extinction.

It would be so easy to say nay, that she hadn’t seen anything at all, but she refused to protect a clan that had acted without honor.

They’d made a vow before God and the king. They’d signed a blood treaty. And her family had broken that sacred vow.

Teague pulled a chair from across the room and placed it next to the bed so he was sitting next to Bowen in her line of vision. He wore a heavy frown and he stared intently at her.

“What is it?” Teague demanded. “What do you know of the attack?”

She took in a deep breath and then focused on both of the brothers, praying they wouldn’t hate her for what she must confess.

“The man who shot Graeme was wearing a scabbard that my father had fashioned for his men. It’s ornately
designed and unmistakably a symbol of the Armstrong name.”

Bowen reared back and she flinched, almost as if she expected him to lash out at her. Maybe she’d expected it. She turned her face away, determined to protect the one part of her that wasn’t severely bruised.

She sat there shaking, eyes closed as she waited. Then a warm hand cupped her chin and turned her in a not-so-gentle fashion so she faced Bowen. Teague was clearly appalled and her gaze skittered quickly away from him to settle on Bowen as she awaited his reaction.

When she saw the fury on his face, she started to shut her eyes again, but he gave her a quick shake, forcing her to continue looking at him.

“My God, did you think I’d strike you?” Bowen asked, his face drawn in utter incredulity. “Did you think I would seek revenge upon you for what was done by your kin?”

Tears gathered in her eyes. They leaked down her cheeks and she raised a shaking hand to wipe them away, but Bowen was there first, moving his hand from her chin to gently wipe at the trail of dampness. She glanced back to Teague, realizing that he was appalled, not because of what she’d confessed, but because she’d feared reprisal. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words difficult to say with her throat so raw.

Bowen’s shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath. Then he glanced back at his brother and returned his gaze to Eveline.

“Are you certain it was one of your father’s men?”

She nodded. “I could not see his face. He wore a battle helmet. But he came from the direction of the Armstrong border and he returned the same way when he fled. I do not know what he intended. He stopped when I began screaming and when I picked up Graeme’s sword. Then he turned his horse and rode fast toward Armstrong
land. But I saw the scabbard. ’Tis a mixture of metal and leather and only the more senior of his soldiers are given the honor of wearing them. They are reserved for those who’ve proven themselves in battle. ’Tis a costly thing to have fashioned, so they are coveted by our clan.”

Teague swore, turning his face in midstream so Eveline could not see all of what he said.

“What will happen?” she choked out. “ ’Tis an act of war they’ve performed. If you retaliate, it will break the treaty and both clans will be branded outlaws by the king.”

Bowen cupped her cheek and then dropped his hand down to collect hers. He squeezed her fingers in a comforting gesture before he spoke.

“The most important matter here is for you not to fear me or Teague. We will not hurt you, Eveline. It took great courage for you to tell us the truth in this matter. Most would have pretended ignorance or simply said they saw naught. We’ve seen the loyalty you’ve given Graeme and to our clan. No one will blame you for what has been wrought by your father.”

She pressed her lips together, anguish welling from deep within her chest.

“I do not understand why they have done this thing. I would never have believed that my father could act with such dishonor.”

Teague frowned again and pursed his lips in thought. “ ’Tis confusing to me why, if your father sought to murder Graeme, did he send a man who wore something that so clearly designated him as an Armstrong soldier. The manner in which the man attacked would lead one to believe that he wanted it done so no blame could be placed on the Armstrong clan, and yet the man wore the scabbard you described. If he cared not who knew of his intention, why not lead his entire army against our keep? Why launch such a cowardly attack? The warrior
must have had to have lain in wait for days for the right opportunity to present itself.”

Bowen’s brow crinkled and he sat back, taking his hand from Eveline’s. “Do you think it was only made to look as though the attack came from an Armstrong soldier?”

Eveline’s eyes widened. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Anyone who is wary of the two most powerful clans in the highlands uniting,” Teague said.

Hope flickered in Eveline’s heart. “So you think it could have been someone posing as an Armstrong soldier?”

“ ’Tis possible,” Bowen conceded. “But how would he lay claim to a scabbard you say is only given to the most worthy Armstrong warriors?”

Eveline nibbled at her bottom lip, her face drawn into a tight frown. “I know not.”

“It would appear that your father has some questions to answer,” Teague said, his expression grim.

Eveline glanced nervously at Graeme, whose eyes were still closed. “What do we do, then?”

“We wait until Graeme has regained his senses and is well enough to decide the matter,” Bowen said. “In the meantime, we’ll add to our border patrol and send out a contingent of our best warriors to scour the countryside for a lone soldier wearing an Armstrong scabbard.”

“Aye,” Teague agreed. “When Graeme is well enough to hear an accounting, he will decide our course of action. A blood treaty is not to be taken lightly, and if your father did violate our peace agreement, it will mean war, no matter that the king forbids it. We’ll not tolerate such an act of treachery against our laird.”