Finding My Highlander (23 page)

“Her head and shoulder wounds need stitching.” Kendrick cursed a blue streak at every wound attended. “The wrist cuts and foot wounds appear minor. The head wound is my biggest concern. She is barely recovered from her last ordeal and illness.”

“God, they sorely treated our lass.” Rabbie washed the numerous nicks at her wrists, which had clotted over. He also found deep bruises, rope burns from the bindings she had cut away, and finger bruises on her neck and upper arms.

“Those bastards,” Kendrick hissed.

“I assume you finally killed those rotten excuses for men—miserable good-for-nothing whoresons?”

Before he responded, John and Struan entered the tent. “The dragoon lad is fair agitated aboot the lady’s condition,” said Struan approaching the table. “Keeps mumbling he was too late, and it was entirely his fault; which makes me question why we are not killing the man?”

“The lady commanded it,” John whispered, his awe apparent.

Another of MacLean’s trusted knights, Alec, entered alongside The McDuff. “How fares the lady?” McDuff inquired.

The man beside him spoke up then. “Beggin’ your pardon, MacLean, but she was the bravest lass I’ve ever witnessed; as true and fierce as any warrior on the battlefield today. I’ve never seen the like of it.”

Struan grumbled, “What are you blathering on aboot, Alec, and why are ye standing here ogling the lass’s injuries?”

The man lowered his gaze, “Forgive me sir, but you should have seen her when she exited this tent. I could see both her and Cormag as he rushed, hell-bent, to strike a death blow to you, MacLean.” Nodding in the direction of the woman lying prone on the table he continued, “She amazed me!” He spoke with unrestrained admiration.

“Blood streamed down her face. Dirt and blood covered her bodice, and yet she raised a man’s bow, took aim, and shot that whoreson Cormag in the chest before he reached you. Nailed him to yon tree like a target. Then she turned and shot one of the men who fought against you, Struan.

“Our men ran to protect her, and formed a wide arch fighting against men who tried to attack her position. I don’t think she even noticed them. Another of Cormag’s men engaged me then and as I struck him down, I turned to aid Kendrick and saw her raise that bow a final time and shoot a man on the ridge who had just struck Michael. A truer shot I’ve never seen, under the arm at his weakest point.”

He took a knee and reverently bent his head. “I have long since pledged my life and sword to you, Laird MacLean, and now I pledge the same to Lady Andra. If you dinnae claim her to wife, then I beg you to allow my humble request to court her.”

“Damn, this is not good,” Rabbie, whispered to Struan.

“Foolish pup,” Struan responded. “Next we’ll have to intervene to save the man’s life. The MacLean is still in berserker mode, you ken”

Murder fumed in Kendrick’s eyes, but as he was about to turn and detach the man’s head Andra mumbled his name. “Out,” he commanded. “All of you, get out.”

“We need to stitch those wounds without delay.” Rabbie reminded his cousin as he ushered the others from the tent.

“Aye, in a moment, Rabbie.”

Andra called to him in her delirium, but did not awaken. Kendrick could barely control his anguish. He didn’t know what he wanted to do first. Kill that foolish knight vying for his woman’s hand, slash to bits the already dead Cormag and Colonel Richardson, injure himself for failing her so completely, or take her to wife this instant, whether awake or no, with or without her consent. A muddled mess! His mind was always a muddled mess when trying to discern what to do with his brave, beautiful woman. His!

“Yes,” he said softly, gliding the back of his hand across the smooth skin of her cheek. “Yes, Andra, you are mine and always will be, as I am yours.”

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, then stilled.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Marginally aware that some sort of conveyance transported her over bumpy ground, Andra sensed the presence of at least one other person resting beside her.

Dreams of her life in San Francisco flitted through her brain then morphed into images of bloodied warriors, the wretched screams of both men and animals; even her own screaming voice erupted through the dense, dark place where she floated. The smell of damp hay, sweaty men and horses, blood, and rain-dampened earth all took residence in memories she continued to shun. She could feel herself almost reaching the surface, and then willfully pushing back against it. She did not want to wake; even the nightmares were preferable to waking. Sleep, she clung to sleep, to a nether world of swirling images, sounds, and scents, to a place where she sought rest and escape.

* * *

“How many of the dragoons do you think escaped?” McDuff asked Struan, as they led the contingent of men returning to MacLean’s castle.

“I cannae say for certain. The lad, Lucas, said he saw at least two escaping on horseback.”

“If they return with others, it won’t take them long to discover where we buried the bodies. Perhaps yon threatening storm clouds will cover our tracks and cloak the graves.” Though concerned, McDuff offered no further observations.

“You ken the English will retaliate swiftly and with force even though the battle occurred because the Sassenachs and the Camerons had absconded with Laird MacLean’s sister, the other child, and his woman.”

“Aye, mayhap. Mayhap the men we sent after them will kill the bastards before they escape across the border.” Struan looked over his shoulder seeking his friend and the wagon he guarded.

McDuff followed his gaze. “She’s an amazing woman. It seems Kendrick finally met his match.” he chuckled. “Alec is near crazed with his admiration of her. From the tales told by your men, it seems she is a warrior in her own right.”

“Aye, that and much more.” Struan grumbled, but could not hide the respect that near glowed from him when others praised her.

Kendrick and Rabbie rode in the middle of the caravan, one on either side of the wagon carrying Andra. Michael, though wounded, had survived thanks to Andra’s arrow striking down his opponent. He and the young dragoon, Lucas, both lay unconscious in the wagon beside her.

“She stirs frequently, but does not wake.” Kendrick’s furrowed brow spoke plainly of his fears.

Andra had not woken since the battle ceased. The men had buried the dead, tended the wounded, slept fitfully that night, and headed out before noon the following day. Other than thrashing about in her nightmares, she did not respond to any attempt to wake her.

Rabbie offered words to assuage his laird’s fears as well as his own. “We’ll reach the castle before moon-set if we keep this pace. Mayhap Jane or Alith will provide treatment to wake her from this stupor. We’ve seen young, injured warriors, inexperienced with battle, fall into this type of sleep for several days following their first skirmish. A deep sleep is often necessary for their body and mind to heal.”

Kendrick, though grateful for Rabbie’s attempt to bolster him, was not reassured.

They entered the bailey in the depth of night to find the place brimming with people awaiting their arrival. They had interned the old laird earlier that day with numerous lairds from allied clans in attendance. As soon as word reached the keep that their warriors approached, a number of men rode out, torches ablaze, to escort the returning heroes. Lady Beatrice stood regally at the top of the castle’s steps and greeted her son and his men with the joy only a mother can know on the return of her family from battle.

“Is she well?” she asked, reaching to touch Andra’s face.

He clutched her against his chest. “I cannae say, Mother. She does not wake. Please send Jane and Alith to her room. I will come down directly to greet our neighbors and extend my appreciation to our supporters.” He took the steps two at a time speaking softly, murmuring words of endearment to Andra while she drooped like a limp sheaf of wheat in his arms.

For another day, Andra slept like the dead with occasional moments of thrashing around in her bed. Alith had opposed the use of astringents to attempt to wake her. “She needs her sleep and will wake when her mind is once again settled,” she insisted, after hearing the stories of the battle and Andra’s ordeal. Alith sat by her bedside, rubbing her knurled fingers over the rings on Andra’s hand as if they were a talisman against whatever evil pursued her in sleep.

On the second morning after their return, Kendrick walked the parapet in the pre-dawn quiet and noticed a movement in the bailey below. Andra came into view, her gaze fixed on the last stars in the sky, a bow in hand, quiver slung over her shoulder. A ghostly apparition, wearing only her night rail and a shawl with bandages wrapped around her bare feet. She stood like a statue, unmoving. The breeze blew her hair in unbound swirls across her back and over her shoulders. Uncertain whether she was real or a figment of his imagination, he couldn’t move, the vision of her appeared so small, so fragile.

“Is she awake or does she sleepwalk?” Rabbie asked, as he approached Kendrick.

“‘Tis hard to tell, her eyes are open but she walks as though in a dream. When I checked on her recently, she slept deeply. I tell you truly, Rabbie, she is a trial at times and muddles my brain as no lass has, but I cannot imagine letting her go or living without her.”

Rabbie raised his brows at Kendrick. “You’re besotted, cousin, no use denying what’s evident to everyone. I don’t mean to impose on your privacy, but she needs you, and you need her. Go to her, give her the comfort and courage only you can impart.”

“I’ll give her a moment to collect her bearings first.” Kendrick couldn’t explain his hesitance. Terrified, he watched as this ghostly specter of the woman he loved seemed to slip from his grasp. Nothing and no one could soothe that potential loss. They observed her for a few moments until Andra dropped her head. The bow and quiver slid away from her body and thumped softly to the ground. She slowly turned, her head still aimed at the dirt under her feet, and drifted back into the keep.

Without further preamble, Kendrick sprinted to find her. He rushed through the great hall, garnering a few curious glances from the waking men. Soon he stood outside her door listening for movement within.

He tapped lightly, “Andra, may I enter? Lass?” She instantly opened the door as if she had been standing there awaiting his arrival.

“Kendrick,” she breathed his name like a prayer and threw her arms around his neck.

“Ahh,
mo chuisle
. You’ve had me verra worried.” Brushing hair away from her forehead, he gently cupped her face in his hands. He searched her face for something he couldn’t name.

“How long?” She looked up at him, tears blurring her eyes. “How long have I been unconscious, and how did we get back to the castle?”

He kissed her forehead as he closed the door with his foot. “We’ve been back two days and you were unconscious for nearly two days before that. How does your head feel?”

She touched the stitches at her hairline. “Fine, I think. I’ve been plagued with terrible nightmares until I’m not sure what is real and what is imagined.”

“Aye, lass, ‘tis the way with head injuries, you ken.”

She leaned her head against his chest, “The beat of your heart is the most soothing sound to my ear.” She started to slip from his embrace.

He lifted her and returned her to the bed, ever so gently settling her under the disheveled coverings.

“I’ll call for some refreshment. You should rest a while longer.” He attempted to pull away her hand that clutched at his wrist.

“Don’t leave, Kendrick. Won’t you lie beside me, please. I need to feel your strength and warmth.”

He pulled off his boots and lay down beside her. The rope and feather mattress shifted as he added his weight to the bed. The faint scent of lemon- mint, and Andra filled his nose. The smell of the creams she made created a scent so uniquely her that even if someone else used them it would still not be the same.

She gazed into his eyes while long fingers trailed an outline along his hair, down his cheek, along his jaw, across his lips. Her touch sparked every nerve in his body. He gently sucked her fingers into his mouth, then kissed her palm. His organ sprang to attention, but he fought against the urge to take her. She didn’t need his passion; she needed gentleness, compassion, soothing, and he would give her all of that and more. He would give whatever she wanted of him.

“I want to feel your skin against mine, but I don’t think I’m ready for anything more. Can you do that, Kendrick? Can you just hold me in your arms, or am I asking too much?”

He stood and disrobed, dropping everything in a puddle on the floor, and she did the same without getting out of bed. When he slid under the covers, she turned her back against his chest and pressed her warm flesh into him. He near exploded when she pressed her buttock against his hard shaft, requiring him to take deep calming breaths. His arms bound her tightly to him, and he allowed her to drift to sleep without another word spoken. The sound of her even breathing eventually lulled him to sleep as well.

Before dawn the next day, Kendrick stole quietly from Andra’s bed where she snored lightly, ensconced in deep slumber. He stood beside her for a quarter hour, watching the rise and fall of her breath, inhaling the sweet lemon-mint essence surrounding the bed sheets before he could tear himself from the room.

Worry plagued his thoughts. Worry about the mental and emotional effects of the recent battle on her gentle soul. Worry over what she’d revealed of her history, and concern about what her history would mean for her future. More significantly, what it would mean regarding a future they might share.