Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (23 page)

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” Moira’s hands trembled as she followed behind the men.

Emma had issued orders for clean linens and boiled water and Shona had run off to get her various herbs, ointments and a kit for sewing wounds.

“We’ll get him patched up,” Ewan murmured. “With ye and Shona here taking care of him, he’ll be right as rain afore ye know it.”

Moira nodded, though her gaze was on the stairs in front of her and the trail of blood dripping from Rory’s fingertips. The MacDonald’s, ruthless bastards that they were, had torn him to shreds with their blades. Anger and fear made her eyes tear, but she knew she couldn’t shed a single one. Not if she was going to be able to concentrate on the care of his injuries.

The men took Rory to the chamber he shared with her, and she regretted every moment she’d resisted reuniting with him. They could have spent the last few days making love, telling each other how much they loved one another, instead of her trying to figure out ways to avoid him.

Dammit, why was she so stubborn?

Deep down, she’d known all along he was the only man for her. That was why she never committed to Dickie. Rory was her one and only.

I will love ye, forever, mo chridhe.

His barely audible words rang loud and clear in her mind.

Logan laid Rory on the bed, cutting away his clothes with a blade, while a servant rolled him from one side to the other to remove the fabric completely and check for wounds on his back.

“A slice along his left rib, no others on the back,” Logan stated.

A sheet was laid over his middle for dignity. Ribbons of red marked his shoulder, his arms, torso and legs. Ewan and Logan left to take stock of the damage below in the courtyard and the moors beyond. The wounded needed to be cared for and the dead needed to be buried.

Servants rushed from the chamber to see about the linens and boiled water.

With Rory settled on the bed, and the two of them alone momentarily, Moira slid her fingers across his brow, a tender moment, that only she would remember. “I will love ye forever, too.”

Rory’s fingers twitched and he whispered something, but she couldn’t make it out.

“I’m going to heal ye, so I can tell ye when ye’re awake how verra much I love ye.” Moira blew out a jagged breath and pressed her lips together hard to cease their tremble. “No tears,” she murmured. “Hold it together.”

Shona returned in a swish of skirts and a no-nonsense attitude. “Emma will be along shortly. She said the excitement was a little too much and she needed to lie down.”

“Of course,” Moira murmured, watching her sister set out various ointments and herbs on the table.

“I’ll make a poultice while ye clean his wounds,” Shona said.

“Yes.”

Several servants filed in with pots of boiling water and clean linens. One pot was put near the hearth, the fire stoked, and the other was poured into the washbasin for Moira to use. Taking a cloth, she dipped it into the hot water.

“Is there whisky?” Shona asked someone.

Moira could use a drink....

She rung out the linen, her fingers red from the heat of the water, and pressed the cloth to one wound and then the next, cleaning away the blood. The wounds still seeped, and the water in the basin was thick with red. A servant dumped it out the window and gave her a fresh round of water for her to continue. She was methodical in her cleaning, and as she went, Shona dripped whisky on the wounds and then packed each with a clove-scented salve. They both worked to sew the cuts, mostly in silence, and Moira was pleased to see that only a few were truly deep, the rest mostly superficial.

Rory woke once, when they worked to sew up the deepest of cuts. He lashed out at them, catching Moira on her shoulder, enough that she was knocked off balance and fell.

“Are ye all right?” Shona called, pinning him down with the help of two waiting servants. Shona poured a healthy dose of some foul smelling tincture down his throat.

“I’m fine.” Moira swallowed away her tears and returned to his bedside.

“We’ll hold him while the tincture sets in, you sew.”

The tincture didn’t take long, his breathing became long and slow, slightly labored, and he no longer lashed out. After his wounds were sewn, poultices were pressed to each and they worked to wrap his injuries in thick linen bandages. By the time they were done he looked like a mummy. Linen coiled around his arms, his torso, his legs, and his head.

“I pray he heals quick,” Moira said.

“He’s a strong man.” Shona smiled, and then whispered, “Willing to cross the bounds of time to fetch ye.”

Moira glanced at her sister. “How do ye do it? How do ye manage? Because more than anything, I want to stay with him, but I’m afraid.”

“Ye no longer wish to go home?”

Moira reached out to touch a part of skin on his arm that wasn’t covered. “Not if I can’t bring him and ye with me.”

Shona reached over Rory’s body to grab Moira’s hand. “It’s quite a lot easier than ye’d think. When ye are happy, it does not matter what time ye’re in. I’ve found a purpose here. I can help so many more people here with my skills than I ever could back home.”

“Then I can, too.”

“Yes. But ye would most likely be doing so at your own castle.”

“My own?” Moira raised a brow.

“Did ye not realize? If Rory is laird of his clan, he’ll have to go to his own castle, and if ye decide to go with him, to become his wife, ye’ll be the lady of the castle.”

“Wow.” That was a lot to swallow. “I’d never thought of that.”

Shona laughed. “Well, ye’ve got some time, I think. Do ye want to rest, and I can watch over him for a little while?”

Moira shook her head. “Thank ye, but no. I want to stay with him.”

“All right, then I shall go and help tend the wounded below. Let me know if ye need more help. And if he starts to catch a fever, have a servant fetch me. I’ve a tea that I made with coriander, willow bark, chamomile and a touch of hemlock that should help reduce it.”

If it were anyone else offering hemlock to the man she loved, Moira might be suspicious, but she knew Shona had the intelligence to use the right amount.

Moira pulled her sister into an embrace, feeling the closeness once more that they’d had for so many years. For so long it had only been them. Now they each had someone else to add to their little family. “Thank ye.”

“Ye would do the same for me.”

“I would. I missed ye so much.”

“I missed ye, too.” Shona stroked Moira’s hair. “He’s going to live.”

Moira’s throat was thick with emotion. “I pray it’s so.”

“I know it. Ewan suffered injuries much like this, and he, too, survived. They are strong men. Built to withstand battle.”

“Like gods in the arena.”

“Exactly.”

In her sister’s arms, Moira finally let fall the tears she’d been holding back.

Shona pressed her hand to her stomach in the corridor outside of Rory and Moira’s chamber. She’d been fighting nausea for the last hour. Grasping at the wall for balance, she dragged in some steady breaths and made her way, slow step after slow step, to her own chamber that she shared with Ewan.

As soon as the door was shut, she rushed to the washbasin and unloaded the contents of her stomach.

Dear heavens, she hoped she wasn’t getting sick. There was no time for that. There were many wounded that she needed to help tend.

Again, she pressed her hand to her belly, feeling a small knot that hadn’t been there before. Small, but noticeable. Was it possible? Had the magic of the stone glen worked? Was she with child?

And how far along? If she’d conceived that night, then she could be almost three months along, even though only a few days had passed.

She swished out her mouth with the minty water she kept beside the basin, and then sank to the floor, trembling. An uncontrollable half-laugh, half-sob escaped her just as Ewan entered.

“What’s wrong?” He dropped to his knees beside her. “Is it Rory? Was it worse than we thought?”

Ewan gathered her in his arms, and she gripped onto his shirt and kissed his face. “Nothing like that. Nothing bad at all. What are ye doing here? Are ye not tending the wounded and dead?”

“There are many helping. I came to check on ye.”

“I’m wonderful.” Her voice held a quality of joy that startled him, for he pulled back to stare at her. “Though I do feel a little guilty about saying that considering…”

“What is it? Tell me!”

She could hold back no longer. “I think I’m with child. I think the magic worked.”

Ewan fell back on his behind, staring dazed at her middle. “Truly?”

“Aye. Feel it.” She grabbed his hand and placed it over the small knot. “Can ye feel the difference?”

He nodded. “I want to see it. Take off your clothes.”

Shona laughed and climbed to her feet, stripping off her gown and chemise. Sure enough, when she looked down, there was a slight swell.

Ewan got up on his knees and scooted closer, his hands gripping her hips. He stared at her belly for a long time, and then kissed it, murmuring, “Our bairn. Life we created.”

Shona ran her fingers through his hair. “Ours.”

“Och, love.” Ewan stood and scooped her up. “Let me worship ye.”

“Ye already do.”

He chuckled and carried her to the bed. “On this day with so much death, so much strife, I’ve just found out the happiest news. I’m going to make love to ye, Shona.”

She sighed, reaching for him. “Then get over here and do it.”

Rory was dreaming. He must be.

But it was the strangest thing.

He was running through the snow. It was cold. There was a little lad racing beside him, beaming smiles. Laughter sounded from behind. When he turned to look, there was a fading shadow. A figure of a woman, and she was calling to him. Where she stood, the oddest thing, there was no snow. It was sunny. He was drawn to her. He told the lad to come with him, but the lad shook his head. Rory didn’t know which way to go. He felt the pull of the woman’s call, and yet the lad was urging him forward, into the deepest part of the snow.

“Rory…” She called to him in a singsong voice that left him feeling the heat of her on his skin.

He shivered. He didn’t want to be cold. Looking down, he saw he wasn’t even dressed for the snow. He argued with the lad, but he ran off, laughing and singing.

Then she touched him. Stroked his head. Her face was a blur. But he could sense who she was. “Moira,” he said. “How did ye get here?”

“Ye brought me, love.”

“Oh, right…”

“Drink this…”

The sunny meadow disappeared, and he felt himself being dragged into a tunnel. His head started to pound, his body ached, and dizziness made him nauseous. He was trembling. Sweating.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“Shh… Ye’ll be all right. Drink.”

Rory didn’t want to drink. He was already feeling sick to his stomach. And so dizzy.

Liquid pooled in his mouth. But he hadn’t parted his lips. How did she get him to drink?

“That’s good,” she said, encouraging.

“Vile,” he croaked after swallowing.

She giggled. “Yes, but it will take away the pain. Ye need to rest. To heal.”

And then she was brushing her lips over his, and he smiled. “Ye’re here to stay?” he whispered.

“Yes. I’m here to stay.”

He sank back into the meadow.

Some time later, he woke once more, throbbing in pain all over his body. He blinked his eyes open to see Moira lying on the bed beside him. She was asleep. So beautiful and peaceful.

“I love ye,” he said to her.

She opened her eyes, a smile on her face and reached over to touch his forehead. “Your fever is breaking. That’s a good sign.”

“I want ye to marry me.” He was determined to tell her before he fell back into the dark; he needed to know that she wanted to be with him. When he’d been out on that battlefield, not knowing what would happen between the two of them had been his only regret.

“Yes, Rory. I’ll marry ye.” She leaned up on her elbow and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Good. Verra good.” He smiled, stroked her face and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger.