The Highlander's Runaway Bride. Terri Brisbin
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stumbled then and nearly pitched them to the ground, but he somehow regained his balance before they fell. Eva waited for the ear-blistering epithets that she expected would follow his misstep and was surprised when she could hear only his breathing. She began to drift in and out of awareness with each step as the pain flooded her body.
They reached the top and he grunted and stopped. Eva could feel his lungs taking in deep breaths and expelling them hard. As though her body had waited for them to be on level ground and not scrambling up a steep cliff side, the moment he turned his head to look at her and spoke her name, the blackness claimed her.
* * *
Rob felt the moment she lost consciousness. He’d heard every gasp and moan as he’d carried her up the cliff. She probably did not even realise she made such sounds, but he heard each of them. And yet, not once did she utter a word of complaint. Strange, that.
Since she was secure wrapped against him as she was, he untangled the reins of the horse he’d borrowed and led the animal along the main road that led back towards the village of Durness. He’d found a small unused cottage there for his use during this search and he would take her there.
As the winds howled around him now, he wondered no longer why everyone here spoke often about the weather and the storms. The blacksmith had warned him about a coming storm when he asked about borrowing a horse. The innkeeper had, as well. And the miller, when he’d arranged for the cottage on his land. And, as if the mere thought of it made it happen, the rain became a wind-driven tempest, knocking him back and off balance.
Fighting against it, he made his way to the small dwelling and, after tying the horse behind it, Rob took the lady within. Crouching down to sit on the pallet, he untied the woollen fabric and eased her back onto it. He’d not realised how hot she was until he moved her off his back. Touching her cheek with the back of his hand, Rob felt the heat of a fever there and realised the danger of it.
His sister was the healer and she would know immediately what to do. He searched his memory of the times he’d watched her care for kith and kin, whether in the village or when they’d sought refuge in the mountains. Margaret was very succinct in her directions, and he smiled as he heard them in his mind now.
‘Warm the chill. Cool the heat.’
‘Watered ale throughout. Broth when hungry.’
Even a simpleton, or a man, could follow those directions, she’d told him once. He’d laughed then but not now, as the dangers of a fever were too real. Glancing around the cottage at the supplies he’d brought, he knew he did not have enough to last more than this night. Rob had not planned to stay here, only to use it as a place to sleep. After lighting a fire in the small hearth, he knew that now supplies were the most pressing need.
The lady yet slept, so he decided it would be best to go now and fetch the needed items from the village or from the miller. Her garments, the scandalous trews she wore, as well as her cloak and tunic, were soaked through, so Rob knew he must remove them and the short boots she wore, too. He drew his sgian dubh to slice the seam of the boot open so he could take it off without injuring her ankle more than it was.
Rob pressed along the arch of her foot and the curve of her ankle but could find no broken bones. Good. He watched her face to see if she reacted and found none. That could not be a good thing. He untied her cloak and eased it from around her. Her hair, woven into a long braid, was tucked inside her tunic. Placing the cloak near the growing fire to dry, he turned his attention to her garments.
He tried not to notice the womanly curves visible because of those trews. He loosened the ties at her waist and slid them down, finding her shift tucked within. Drawing it down as he moved the trews, it gave her some measure of cover, though he held his breath as he noticed the thin fabric did not truly cover much at all. Then he gathered up the tunic and removed it over her head, lifting her as he eased it off. Another surprise waited for him there.
She’d bound her breasts to play the part of a boy.
Rob frowned at this revelation. She was set against marriage to him so much that she left her home and belongings behind, disguised herself as a boy and hid in a cave, nearly killing herself. She shivered just then, and he knew he must put aside his irritation and sense of insult and deal with all that later.
He would need something to wrap her ankle, so he lifted the thin shift and, with care, sliced one side of the bindings. Tugging them slowly, he removed them and tried not to notice the indentation of her breasts in the fabric. Or notice the way she sighed deeply in her sleep as though his action had brought some kind of relief. Rob moved down to her feet, shaking the strips of linen to separate them.
Her ankle swelled now that it was out of the confines of her boot, so he swaddled it with layers of linen, wrapped snugly but not too tight. He leaned back on his ankles and looked it over when he finished. It would do for now.
The howling winds reminded him of what he needed to do sooner rather than later, so Rob stood and tossed a dry plaid over her still form. He tucked it around her and then gathered what he needed—some coins and a leather sack.
The MacKay had given his leave for Rob to use his name, and it would ease his way once more but a coin or two was even more effective at gaining co-operation and information. He’d found the cave by sprinkling a few palms. Now, he would do what he needed to get the necessary supplies. With a final glance at the woman he hoped would be worth such trouble and embarrassment, he opened the door and stepped out into the storm.
A war waged within her.
The forces of good and evil were surely battling over some prize—her soul mayhap?—leaving her battered and bruised. Every place on her body ached. She could not even lift her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow and eyes. Waves of pain began in her foot and sent tremors through her whole body.
But, she had given birth already. She should not feel this much pain now. Had she not? Or was this all a terrible, dark dream, and she was yet labouring to push her child out?
Nay! Her child, her daughter, was alive. She’d birthed her weeks and weeks ago. Eva struggled to open her eyes. She needed to find her...
‘Hush now, lass.’
The voice came once more. Not a woman’s soft tones but the deep masculine tones of a man. Not her father, surely. She tried to force her eyes open, but they would not obey her.
‘Do not struggle,’ he said. ‘You’ve been ill and need to rest.’ A soft caress of her cheek was followed by something blessedly cool on her brow.
She wanted to offer her thanks, but no words would come out. Eva stopped fighting and let her body and thoughts drift, as he’d said. The next hours and days melded into a blurred time of pain and relief, heat and chill, dreams and emptiness.
When she was hot, cool touches eased it. When she shivered with cold, warmth surrounded her. When she called out in fear, a soothing voice urged her on. On and on, over and over, days blended into nights until suddenly Eva woke. She glanced around to discover she was no longer in the cave she remembered. Lifting her head caused so much dizziness that she did not try it again.
Across the small chamber, the door opened, letting in light and a man. A fresh wind blew through the room, bringing the smells of spring inside and banishing some of the staleness. Her dry throat tightened as she tried to speak. He was next to her in a moment.
‘Here. Try a sip of this before you try to speak. I doubt you have much of a voice left by now.’
He placed a cup at her mouth and lifted her head a tiny bit to help her drink. The watered ale tasted better than any fine wine or spirits she’d ever drunk. After one more sip, he took the cup and she tried to reach for it. When she settled back, Eva looked closely at the man as he moved back and sat on the floor next to the pallet on which she lay.
No kith or kin she remembered.