Charming the Chieftain (6 page)

He labored to speak and she put her ear to his mouth. “C … cave.”

She pulled away and nodded she understood. “Yes, I’m trying to find the cave.”

“This … cave … wall,” he rasped and closed his eyes.

She touched her forehead to his cheek. “Thank God,” she whispered her voice cracking.

Worried it would be too late to treat him, Elisande had little choice except to bide her time before she made a run for shelter. She had to be certain of their safety first above all else, or she’d never be able to gather the things she needed to heal him. After several tense moments, the sounds of overworked horses chuffing and fighting to draw air echoed around the ravine. Their attackers thrashed around in the brush making no secret of their whereabouts, which meant they assumed they succeeded in murdering Aeden. A chill slid down her spine. She prayed for their deliverance. Frightened, she kept still until the men were well away from their coppice and headed in the opposite direction. Once the voices faded, she eased Aeden down. He collapsed across the horse’s neck causing Honeybush to jerk nervously.

“Follow … riv … er,” Aeden ground out between shallow breaths.

“Yes,” she agreed, her voice reedy.

Frantically, she searched for signs of water. Bushes and tree branches tore at her clothes and hair as she broke through thick undergrowth. Aeden grew paler by the moment, and although the blood flow lessened, she was afraid he would bleed until nothing left. Terror set in derailing her effort to think clearly. She couldn’t continue in her present state. She needed to compose herself, focus inward and open herself up to her surroundings if she had a hope of finding the cave entrance.

Coming to an abrupt halt, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, lifted her face to the sky and released her breath in increments. Her senses reached out to subtle noises banked beneath the bird chatter and rustling leaves. After precious seconds, the slow roll of water reached her ear. She gave a light tug on the reins and followed the hum until the river presented itself. Relief tempered by wariness of her surroundings kept her close to the rock wall as she studied every depression and fissure in search of an opening. The scent of wet soil grew stronger and a fine mist dampened her hairline. As she followed the river’s edge, the lazy churn eventually gave way to rushing water and the force of the waterfall. The mouth of the cave had to be near.

“There has to be one here somewhere.” She spoke aloud to dispel the sense of isolation that gripped her. A dense clump of trees close to the bluff caught her interest and she picked her way across the rocky ground. As she approached to study the rock face, she soon realized the entrance of the cave was concealed behind the thick bushes and towering pines.

Thank you, God.

Cautious, she tethered Honeybush, then scooped up a couple large stones to toss into the opening and mouthed a swift prayer nothing unpleasant emerged. After a few tense moments, she turned back to Aeden to get a closer look at him. He appeared insentient. She studied the depth of the dagger in his back. It was buried midway to the hilt and judging by the width of the exposed steel it was a broad blade. She had to think. If she moved him while the knife stayed in place, there stood a chance to injure him further. On the other hand, if she removed the knife, he just might bleed to death.

“Dear God in heaven, guide me,” she begged.

She shook her head, unwilling to risk more damage. Before she could rethink her decision, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and in one swift motion pulled up and out.

A gut-wrenched cry pierced the air startling Honeybush. Immediately, she tugged down on his reins to keep him still while crooning nonsense words to Aeden. Once the horse calmed, she led him to a sheltered area adjacent to the cave and re-tethered him.

How to put Aeden on the ground?
Think, Elisande.
Unbuckling her belt, she stripped out of her arasaid and spread it on the ground next to the horse happily occupied with a lush clover patch. Aeden’s sweat-slickened face and sickly pallor convinced her time was running out. She had no choice but to follow through with her plan in order to properly treat his wound. She gently swept his blood soaked hair away from his ear and spoke his name.

“Aeden, do you hear me?”

His eyes fluttered; his gaze unfocused.

Afraid he slipped beyond her reach she placed her lips to his ear. “Aeden, I must get you to the ground.”

No reaction. A sob escaped her lips. “Please, Aeden, I cannot do this alone.”

His face twisted in pain as he attempted to lift his arm. Relieved he responded, she tried to keep her panic at bay and laid his arm across the back of her shoulder, and then encircled his waist with her other arm. At first, she guided him in a steady slide, bearing the brunt of his considerable weight until his forward motion forced him off the horse. Powerless to stop his descent, she landed with him in a crumpled heap on the ground. When he started to roll, she slipped the plaid under his chest and urged him face down on the blanket.

He grimaced.

Fat tears slid down her cheeks.

His lips twisted in a grim smile. “’s all right.”

Above his head, she gathered the edges of the blanket and dragged him into the cave. His teeth chattered and with a sinking heart, she knew the blood loss affected his body’s ability to regulate itself. She retrieved the extra plaid from the saddle-pack and covered him as best she could without touching the gaping hole in his back.

Outside, she collected a few loose rocks and fashioned a fire pit near Aeden. Next, she plunged a hand down the front of her blouse clutched the charm-stone, and set it within the stone circle. She ripped tufts of grass from the forest floor, laid the pile atop the notched stone and scraped an upright twig crossways against another. In seconds, the kindling smoldered, and a spark flared to life. She cupped her hands around the tiny flame and blew on it, feeding the fire until the flames licked higher warming the dank cavern’s damp interior.

Aeden moaned. Whether in relief, pain, or both, she knew not. Either way, his wound required immediate care.

Terrified, he might die, she fled the cave.

The white willow-bark tea painstakingly fed to him took effect. He drifted into a restless sleep punctuated with moments of pain-induced wakefulness. Without a pot to heat water, her only recourse had been to fashion a funnel out of a large, thick foxglove leaf, scrape off tiny bits of the willow-bark and get him to swallow the raw slivers.

“You … are … well?” his hoarse voice jarred her thoughts.

She knelt beside him. “Yes.” She applied pressure to the hole in his back. She searched her memory for the healing charm, concentrated inward. The archaic chant sprang from her tongue. “You wander through a verdant valley. There, one discovers three wellsprings. The first is named, Tranquility, the second, Serenity, and the third, Staunch the Blood.”

Into the silence that followed, she offered an invocation. Bit by bit, she lifted the wadded shift off his shoulder. The blood had slowed. A sense of relief surged through her body. She quickly unfolded another cloth square filled with yarrow herb. Though not properly dried, she worked with it enough to know the fringy perennial retained its potency when wet.

She mashed the flower in her fist, bemoaning the mortar and pestle she left behind. After packing the wound, she tore another strip from her dwindling shift, concerned if enough clean cloth was left for the next linen change.

Worries vied for attention in her mind. She tried to keep them at bay and concentrated on the soft lawn cloth pressed on top of the wound. Satisfied, she tucked the edges under his chest, lowered the plaid over him and eased off her stiff knees to sit back against the rock wall. All at once, her shoulders slumped. The momentum that carried her through the ordeal disappeared. She felt like a wrung out rag. Long shadows on the wall signaled the setting sun. A damp chill hung about the cave, its icy tendrils permeating Elisande’s thin cloak. Eventually, she gave in to her body’s demands and closed her tired eyes for a moment’s respite. Just then, a stray thought nudged her into awareness. Try as she might to sink into the comfort of oblivion, something kept her from a deep sleep. When an eerie howl filtered through the confusion cloaking her brain, she jolted upright. The dank atmosphere of the cave started her teeth a-clatter, and the day’s horrific events flew at her in a rush of emotion.

Swiping tears from her eyes, she rose and tossed more branches on the diminished flames to revive the fire. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond the orange glow, she realized Aeden watched her. She bit the insides of her cheeks, unable to make eye contact with him, afraid the death look was upon him, afraid he witnessed enough of her healing ritual to believe her a conjurer.

“Elisande.”

Her head snapped up, it was the first time he uttered her name. An unfathomable expression shadowed his features. Sweat beaded his brow and he grimaced in pain. He lifted his arm from under the blanket, rested it at his side, and turned his palm up.

“Please rest, do not exert yourself so.”

She went to him, her heart knocked against her ribcage as his eyes pierced the distance between them. She knelt by his side, her hand inches from his, and then he curled his fingers around hers with unexpected strength. The intimate contact dropped her stomach to her feet. She remained absolutely motionless for a moment and tried to sift through the torrent of fluttery emotions bedeviling her insides. He gave a light tug. She hesitated for an instant, then lay down against him beneath the blanket. Taking care not to jostle him, she settled against his uninjured side. Before she succumbed to oblivion, he brought their entwined hands to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her fingertips, and murmured in his native tongue.

“
Ní bheidh mé dearmad
, I shall never forget.”

• • •

“What do you think you are about?” Elisande demanded.

She released her skirt and dumped a bundle of sticks on the hard-packed floor. Aeden struggled to sit up, perspiration pouring off his body like a waterfall, a string of curses tripped from his lips.

“You push yourself too hard.” she scolded, a frown wrinkled her brow.

“We can no’ continue to dally here, ’tis dangerous.”

She ignored his words. “Is it your wish to re-open your wound? Because that is what you will do if you continue to disregard my instruction.”

“At the moment, all I wish is to sit upright.”

Weakened, he slumped over and cursed his feebleness anew.

She pursed her lips, fell to her knees, and bent over his shoulder to peel back the cloth. He guessed the infection had started to mend.

“It has seeped and crusted, though far from closed. We will have to stay a few more days.”

Cool air hit the gash and he flinched. Despite the discomfort, he could not fault her efforts. She possessed a firm, steady hand and he wondered at her ability to remain dispassionate.

“How is it that a woman of your station comes by knowledge of healing wounds?”

She stiffened, not quite certain what to make of his question. Was he testing her somehow? “I believe I once told you that I am an herbal healer.” She helped guide him back against the cavern wall, then situated the plaid over his lower half.

He studied the grim set to her lips. “So you did. Although I would no’ have guessed at the extent of your healing abilities. Women of your station are more inclined to direct the treatment rather than apply it themselves.”

She flicked a glance over him. “Well, it is fortunate for you that I took more of an interest and practiced on my father’s men. Now, you should be able to sit without too much pain.”

He shook his head. “We must hurry along the healing.”

“It has only been a few days. You must give the wound time to knit properly to guard against infection.”

“It is no’ safe to stay here. I am not the only one who knows of these caves.”

“Aeden — ”

He talked over her protest. “The men who tried to kill me may come back seeking proof of my death. I can no’ take the chance of anything happening to you.”

“These men would kill a woman in cold blood?”

His eyes pierced the distance between them. “Death would be a blessing on you, lass.”

Disturbed, she sat back on her heels. “What would you have me do?”

Her wide-eyed innocence was merely a smoke screen to deflect his attention. He knew enough about her to know she possessed a keen mind.

“I ask again. What would you have me do that I have not done all ready?”

“Seal it.”

She blanched. “No.”

He gave her a steely eyed look. “Lass, you know ’tis the only way.”

She said nothing.

“You must do this,” he insisted.

She stared back at him and then, finally, nodded in agreement.

• • •

Elisande hunkered against the wall, unable to rest. The smell of sizzling flesh clung to her clothes. How he suffered the swipe of a heated dagger across his inflamed wound was beyond her knowledge. Although he remained stoic during her ministrations, she knew holding back cost him. She also knew he hadn’t uttered a word for her benefit, and for that she owed him her gratitude. The blade lay heavy in her hands. Somewhat curious, she inspected the dagger. The smoothed hilt bore a high sheen from years of use. She ran her fingertips along the inset of ivory at its base. Whoever owned the knife possessed a substantial amount of coin. Unless the knife was stolen, it belonged to a man of means. Ironic to think the very dagger that almost ended his life saved him.

She glanced over at Aeden, stripped to the waist, his powerful aura undiminished. It was the first night he slept undisturbed since the attack. Applying the molten steel to the deep, ragged gash, no matter how horrific the deed, allowed the wound to knit the moment the infected flesh burned away. And as much as she wanted to fall to pieces, he needed someone to watch over him. If she allowed her defenses to slip and the madmen uncovered their hidey-hole, she would be useless in a fight. No, better to stay alert — at least she’d have a chance to hurt one of them.