Rose of Hope (71 page)

Where
would they have gone?

“Split up so we can cover more ground. Brian and David, search the south side of the woods. Lachlan and Kendrick, come with me. We’ll head north.”

Splashes of purple and red streaked the darkening sky. His shoulders slumped. Where were they? He searched the forest and the tall grass. He’d been over this area before, but as he turned, he caught sight of the captain lying in a thicket of weeds.

“There’s Duncan!” Robert jumped from his horse, hurried to the old man and knelt beside him. Two arrows fletched with characteristic red and black feathers protruded from his back.

MacDougall feathers!

Fury welled from the pit of his stomach. His nostrils flared, and his breath came hard and fast. Duncan lay on his stomach, his head turned to the side. He was cold, but air puffed against Robert’s fingers.

“He’s alive!” Robert called over his shoulder. “Can ye hear me, man? Where’s Androu?”

Duncan moaned.

How could MacDougall look Robert in the eye, give his word on a truce and perform such a horrific act? The old laird had betrayed him, broken his oath with this treacherous attack delivered directly to Robert’s gut.

“Here’s Androu,” Lachlan yelled, thrashing through the undergrowth.

Kendrick knelt beside Duncan, and Robert rushed to his brother’s side. An arrow protruded from Androu’s back and another from his thigh. Robert shook with rage.

Blood soaked his brother’s tunic and trews. He lay on his stomach, his young face smeared with dirt and grime. Robert brushed his brother’s dark hair off his neck, pressing his fingers against his pulse point. He held his breath. Aye, a beat, then another—slow and weak—but steady. He exhaled a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his face. “We need to get them to the castle.”

He grabbed the arrow shaft in Androu’s shoulder and strained to snap the wooden stick, careful to break it at least a hand’s-width from his skin. Kendrick handed him the rods from Duncan’s back, and Robert stuffed the four feathered-shafts into his tunic.

He gathered the young lad in his arms and glimpsed at Kendrick and Lachlan. “I’ll carry Androu. Can the two of ye manage Duncan?”

“Aye, Lachlan get on the other side of him,” Kendrick said as he knelt.

The men lifted Duncan, and the old man cried out— the pitiful sound poignant. Robert clenched his jaw against the ache squeezing his chest. He cradled Androu in his arms and led the group back to the castle.

His stomach roiled.

Lord, please don’t let them die.

When they entered the bailey, Nichola ran through the door and onto the landing. She pressed her hands to her mouth and shook her head. “Nay, oh nay.” She hiked her gown and dashed down the stairs. “What happened? Are they alive?”

“Aye, barely,” Robert shouted. “Get Aine.”

Although the woman was up in years, she was all they had to treat ailments and mend broken bones. Nichola ran off as Robert carried Androu up the stone steps. He raced into the main hall where the clan had gathered for the evening meal.

Tessa placed a tray of leeks on the long trestle table and turned. “Oh Lord. What happened?” The old cook scurried behind Robert and his men.

“It was the MacDougalls,” Kendrick yelled. “They attacked and shot them in the back.”

The clan gathered. Women hugged their children close, their eyes wide.

“The whoresons,” a man yelled.

“I knew they couldnae be trusted,” another chimed in.

Others roared in agreement. Fists shaking, they followed Robert down the hall. As he disappeared into a chamber, Michael faced the concerned group and held up a hand. “Wait here while Aine treats them. I’ll let ye know how they fare.”

He shut the door as Robert placed Androu on a table face down in order to extract the arrows. Michael hurried across the room and dragged another table next to them. “Lay Duncan here.”

Kendrick and Lachlan eased the old man down. Duncan cried out and groaned as they settled him on the hard surface.

Robert was anxious to begin the arduous task of removing the arrows. He grasped his dagger and took a deep breath. Jaw clenched, he slit Androu’s shirt and tore open the fabric, revealing the implanted barb.

Aine shuffled into the room and peered over Robert’s shoulder. “Ye’ll have to push the arrow through. The jagged edges will do more harm if they’re jerked out.”

Duncan and Androu had lost a lot of blood. Their faces were pale, their breathing shallow. Robert stared at the embedded rod. What if the damn thing splinters and causes worse damage? How would they extract the fragments?

He exhaled loudly. He didn’t have a choice. The barbs had to come out. Aine handed a mallet to him. His gut churned as he tugged his brother toward him until his small arm dangled over the side of the table. “Ye will need to support him while I shove the arrow through his shoulder.”

Lachlan nodded and grasped Androu’s bicep.

Sweat slid down the middle of Robert’s back. Taking a deep breath, he channeled his anger and slammed the mallet on the shaft. The arrow shot through Androu’s thin shoulder and clattered to the floor.

Androu screamed and struggled against Lachlan’s grip. Blood flowed from the wound and dripped on Lachlan’s boot.

Aine stroked the lad’s head. “Shh, ’twill be all right.”

Whack! Duncan hollered. Robert’s stomach churned. He tried to ignore the agonizing sounds from behind him and concentrate on his brother, but the man’s wails reverberated through his head.

He drew his mouth into a tight line, focused on extracting the second arrow and dragged Androu’s leg over the edge of the table.

“Nay, nay, please nay!” Androu cried and thrashed against Lachlan’s grip.

“Hold him still.” Robert’s voice sounded harsh even to his own ears.

“It has to be done, lad,” Aine said, cradling Androu’s head. “Take a deep breath. He’s almost finished.”

Sweat peppered Robert’s forehead and upper lip. He hit the rod with all his might, his brother’s screams echoing in Robert’s ears. The sharp arrow penetrated the other side of Androu’s leg, but Robert had to hit it again. “Damn it!”

Androu howled. His arms flailed, but Lachlan grabbed them and pinned his upper torso down. “Shite,” Lachlan cursed and tightened his grip.

“Hold on, lad. Hold on.” Robert slammed the shaft once more, and the arrow shot out the other side of Androu’s wee leg.

Androu sobbed, the gut-wrenching sound piercing Robert’s core. He pressed a cloth over his brother’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around the lad. His small frame hung limp, his chest heaving from his wails.

Robert smoothed Androu’s hair. “Shhh, ye’ll be all right, brother.”

Alastair MacDougall will pay for this, if it’s the last thing I do.

Kendrick wiped his brow with his forearm. “We got the arrow out of Duncan’s shoulder, but we can’t remove the one in his back.”

Robert jerked his head toward Aine. “Can’t ye get the barb out? He’ll die if we leave it in.”

Aine shook her head. “Nay, Laird, not where it’s lodged. I’ve never done that afore, and I fear he’ll die if I start probing around. We should see how he fares afore we put ‘im through that.”

Robert knew Aine thought Duncan would die, and she didn’t want to torture him more. Instead, she bandaged the wounded areas the best she could.

“Carry Duncan to his chamber,” Robert told Lachlan and Kendrick. He glanced down at his brother. “They’ll rest more comfortably in their own beds.”

When he picked up Androu, the lad moaned. His head rolled against Robert’s shoulder as he carried him to his room. He laid him down and stood over him.

“Ye’ve done all ye can,” Aine whispered.

No, I have not done all I can.

But, I will.

~~~

MacDougall Castle

May 1297

Cameron threw off her blankets and slid from bed. A chill in the air sent a shiver slithering across her shoulders, and she rubbed her arms before reaching for her wrap and shoes. She pushed aside the heavy russet draperies covering her window. Sunlight streamed into the room. From her vantage point high in the keep’s tower, she could see forever. To the left, her chamber overlooked a dense forest bordering pastures full of her father’s cattle. Several large birds gracefully landed on a small lake at the back of the field.

To the right, she had a direct view of the inner bailey. A lad with bright red hair chased a young lass around the well. Her dark curls bounced as she weaved between several women carrying baskets of laundry. One of them swatted at the boy, but he sidestepped her and laughed before he turned and ran off.

Cameron’s younger sister, Lindsey, dressed in lad’s clothing, led a chestnut mare through the yard. Like their older sister Heather, Lindsey had their mother’s beautiful blue eyes, but she clearly didn’t give a fig about her appearance. She’d stuffed her thick auburn hair into a cap, and her shirt and trews would most likely be wrinkled and stained. Her sister was passionate about animals, horses in particular. Cameron remembered their father’s rants of inappropriateness while Mum encouraged Lindsey’s desire to work with the beloved animals. As her mother had said on many occasions, Lindsey does
run
the stables.

Anxious to get out-of-doors, Cameron tugged her tawny woolen gown over her head and thrust her arms in the sleeves. She longed for a breath of fresh air as yester eve she had cared for numerous sore throats and runny noses, tended a woman’s burned hand, and helped bring a bairn into the world.

She grabbed her healing basket and searched the contents. Little ground ivy and yarrow remained in her clay jars, but she knew the spot to find more. Once she collected the special herbs, she would visit Mum. She ran a comb through her hair, picked up her basket and small knife off her bedside table, and headed for the door.

Cameron trotted down the stairs and into the great hall. The room bustled with activity as her youngest sister, Elsbeth, cleaned dust from the wall hangings and replaced stale rushes on the floor.

She held a cushion against her waist. “Ye’re off to visit Mum?”

Cameron stepped beside her. “I am. I need to replenish my herbs as well. Fergus is improving, but he goes through my brews quickly.”

“How’s he doing?” Elsbeth asked.

Cameron sighed. “The wound is healing, but his spirit is low. He fears he won’t regain the use of his arm.”

Elsbeth’s violet eyes softened. “I’ll sit with him later this morning.”

“Thank ye.” Cameron hugged her dear sister. “Well, I’m off. I’ll see ye this afternoon.”

Cameron slipped through the heavy oak door and rushed down the long flight of stone steps leading into the inner bailey. Hurrying along the gravel path, she tilted her face to the sun. The warm rays peeked through puffy grey clouds, and she hoped the rain stayed at bay until she returned.

A woman carrying a basket of vegetables strolled past. “Pleasant morn to ye, mistress.”

“Thank ye, Betsy. I hope ye enjoy the lovely day.” Cameron smiled and tugged her wrap tightly around her shoulders. Hunger pains rumbled, reminding her of Rena’s sweet buns. Mouth watering, she ducked into the dim, stone kitchen. The aroma of fresh baked scones greeted her, causing her stomach to growl in anticipation of tasting one of the treats.

Rena bustled around a worktable, waving her hands as she instructed two serving girls rolling dough. “Spread it even. Not too thick, but not too thin.”

“Good morning,” Cameron greeted the women.

Rena glanced over her shoulder. “Ahh, mistress. ’Tis a fine morn indeed. May I prepare ye a meal to break yer fast?”

“I want one of yer scones, but a bit of goat’s milk would taste good first.”

“The lads brought it in a few moments ago and stored it in the back room. Yer sister is in there now.”

Cameron skirted around the busy kitchen staff stoking the large fire in the hearth, slipped down the narrow hall, and into a side room. Crates and boxes of kitchen supplies lined the walls, and trays of Rena’s sweet buns set next to the milk urns on a long worktable.

“Get away from me,” Heather shrieked and backed into the room, shoving Symon and struggling against his meaty embrace.

“Symon Fraser, what are ye doing?” Cameron shouted and marched over to them. “Leave her alone.”

Her cousin jerked his head around, his dark evil eyes glowering.

Heather broke from his strong hold and backed away from him, wiping his slobber from her neck. Her upper lip curled, and her face grimaced. “Ye stay away from me.”

He faced the women, and Cameron glared. “I wonder what Da would think of ye attacking his daughter? Yer time here would come to an abrupt halt. He would beat ye within an inch of yer miserable life and toss ye out on yer ear.”

Symon advanced on Cameron.

She held her ground while her hand slid into her basket, feeling for her knife.

His greasy blond hair, shorn to his ears, lay stuck to his sweaty head. “Ye will not tell yer Da, or ye’ll answer to me.”

His hot smelly breath assailed her nostrils. He’d been drinking. The stench permeated the air around his dirty disheveled frame.

Cameron narrowed her eyes. “Ye stay away.”

He smirked while leaning into her. “Or what, healer lady? Or what?”

She pushed her knife against his stomach. “Or I’ll skewer yer fat belly with my wee blade.”

Symon’s eyes widened.

“Mistress?” Rena called down the hall. “Did ye find the milk?”

Symon backed away. He glared at Cameron, then turned his shifty eyes to Heather and back to her again.

“Aye, Rena,” Cameron answered the cook. “Thank ye.”

Symon gave them a malicious grimace. “This is not over between us. Ye’ll both be sorry.”

He leered at Heather before he turned and stormed out of the room.

Heather released a long breath, and Cameron embraced her older sister’s shoulders. “Are ye all right?”

She nodded. “Aye, he caught me off guard without my dagger.”

Cameron shook her head. “He makes my stomach turn.”

“Please don’t tell Da…”