Highland Warrior. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ the time he and Gregor had gotten Simon settled on a blanket, his shirt removed, the boy appeared to revive a little. “She moved like lightning, Ewan,” he rasped as Ewan bathed away the blood from his torso.

      “Aye, she was quick,” agreed Ewan, pleased to see that the wounds were shallow ones.

      “I failed ye. If she hadnae found those weapons, she would have died once the mon finished me off.”

      “Ye didnae fail me. The mon was bigger, stronger, battle-hardened, and had a longer reach than ye. Ye have the skill to win in an even match or a fair fight. Ye just have to learn the skills to win in the uneven and unfair ones. As soon as ye heal, we will begin those lessons.”

      Ewan saw Fiona returning. Her stride was steady, but she looked wan, and when she drew closer, he could see that she had wept. He was glad to see that the body of the man she had killed had been taken away. She needed to be steady of hand and clear of mind to tend Simon.

      “Ye saved my life,” Simon began when Fiona knelt beside him, only to be hushed when she gently pressed her fingers against his lips.

      “Ye put yourself between a sword and my heart. Twas my duty to see that ye didnae die for it. Now, let us see to these wee cuts.”

      “Do ye ken much about tending such wounds?” Ewan asked.

      “Aye, I was taught a great deal about healing from our Gilly and her kin,” she replied as she gently bathed Simon’s wounds, checking carefully for any dirt or bits of cloth that might have become trapped within. “These are nay verra dire wounds and have bled freely, cleaning themselves weel. Some salve, some stitches, and some rest until they close and all should be weel.”

      “Can he be moved once ye stitch him?”

      “How far do ye have to go and is it rough ground?” Fiona knew it would be best if Simon rested for a few days before he was moved, but understood that their safety required them to leave this place.

      “Near half a day, but nay too hard a ride. A pallet wouldnae be too rough on him.”

      “And ’tis verra necessary to leave here right now? Hold him steady, please. I fear this will burn some, Simon.” As soon as Gregor and Ewan pinned Simon to the blanket, Fiona washed his wounds with uisque-beatha. “Ah, good, that sent him into a swoon.”

      “Why did ye pour that onto his wounds?”

      “It has proven to be a help. The wounds dinnae seem to get infected when ye bathe them in the drink. Now, if ye would be so kind as to keep holding him still, I will stitch him up.”

      Ewan watched the skillful way she worked, her stitches done quickly, but neatly. Simon would be left with scars, but her small, tidy stitches ensured those scars would not be like the ugly, ragged ones marring his flesh. The swift efficiency with which she worked assured him that she had not lied or boasted when she had claimed knowledge of healing. Then Ewan recalled her question about the necessity of moving Simon.

      “The men who attacked us were Grays,” he said as she completed her stitching and began to cover Simon’s wounds with a salve. “Some fled. They could gather more men and return within but a few hours. Now that they ken we are here, I think that it exactly what they will do.”

      “So, this wasnae a planned attack?” She tied off the bandage she had wrapped around the wound on Simon’s arm and, with Gregor’s help, began to wrap a bandage around the youth’s stomach.

      “Nay, I think they just stumbled upon us. I am certain they will be eager to try again, however.”

      “Then we move on. Can Simon be taken upon a pallet without costing us too much time?”

      “Aye, I planned to do that. Tis why I feel we will need half a day to reach Scarglas.”

      Fiona nodded as she stood up. “Make the bed of it as soft as ye can with blankets and tie him to it. Twill lessen the roughness of the journey.” She picked up her bag. “I will see if there are any other injuries that need tending.”

      “A few wee ones. We were lucky. We lost no one. We had warning enough to be ready for them.”

      Ewan watched her move toward his men even as he ordered two men to make a pallet for Simon. She was suffering over what she had done. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. Although someone had trained her how to fight, and trained her well, Ewan felt sure she had never had to kill a man before.

      He sighed, feeling both regret and anger. She now had blood on her hands because of his family. His father had ensured that they were surrounded by enemies, too many of whom would like to rid the world of anyone who claimed Scarglas as his home. Ewan could not recall when, if ever, he had been able to spend a day, even an hour, without watching for an attack. It was wrong to drag her into the midst of all that trouble, yet he had no choice. He could not leave her wandering about such a dangerous land on her own, nor could he deny his clan the chance to gain some much-needed ransom for her. The best he could do was work hard to make certain her stay in this benighted land was not a long one.

      Which was not going to be easy if she continued to refuse to tell them who she was and where she was from, he thought as he helped prepare the pallet for Simon. Ewan considered threatening her, frightening her into telling him what he needed to know, then quickly shrugged aside that idea. Not only did he doubt he would do so effectively since he could not actually carry out any of his threats, but he doubted it would work. Instinct told him that threats and intimidation would either be disbelieved by Fiona or would simply make her even more determined to tell him nothing.

      Once prepared to leave, Ewan found himself with yet another problem. It should have been a simple one to solve, but his own contadictory emotions made it difficult. Fiona had to ride with someone, but he found he was reluctant to have her share a saddle with any of his men. Inwardly cursing, he set her on his saddle and mounted behind her. Having her so close was undoubtedly going to make the ride to Scarglas a long and uncomfortable one. Unfortunately, he suspected watching her ride along in another man’s arms would be even worse.

      After only an hour of feeling her slender body so close to his, catching her sweet scent each time he breathed, Ewan knew he needed to distance or distract himself. “Is today the first time ye have been in a battle?”

      “Aye,” Fiona replied, fighting the urge to nestle back against him. “I have been in a few wee fights, e’en wounded a mon or two, but I have ne’er killed a mon.” She shivered as the image of the man’s empty, staring eyes filled her mind.

      “He was about to take Simon’s head from his shoulders.”

      “I ken it.” Feeling chilled and her back aching from the struggle to keep a distance between them, Fiona cautiously began to relax against him. “There wasnae any other choice. E’en if I could have borne letting Simon die, I still had to do it. Once Simon fell, the mon was coming for me.” She sighed and relaxed against Ewan’s broad chest a little more. “I always feared I would hesitate when it came to actually killing a mon.”

      “But ye didnae.”

      “Nay, God save my soul, I didnae. My brother was right. When confronted with someone who wants to kill me or kill someone I preferred to keep alive, I was able to find the stomach to do what I needed to. I just wish he had been wrong about how I would feel after I was safe again.”

      “Twill pass. Your brother sounds СКАЧАТЬ