The Touch 0f Her Hand (Highlander Heroes Book 1) Page 8

  "Let me go!"

  He ignored her demand. "Where the hell were you off to?" He demanded sharply.

  "Away from you!" She spat in his face.

  "Marlefield is that way!" He shouted, pointing over his shoulder, his roar echoing throughout the forest.

  "I know that!" She lied. She must have gotten a bit turned around in her fear. "I was trying to lose you."

  "That, you will no do." His tone was not taunting, but still wrathful.

  "I will. I will if it takes me forever."

  Then there was quiet, save for their very heavy breathing, blown into each other's faces as they glared at one another in the gloom.

  "Dammit, lass! What were you thinking? If I'd no waited you out, you'd have wandered this forest for days—that is, if you survived your first night."

  "I would have survived. I would have made it." But this last was given weakly, as a cry of insufferable despondency burst forth. And then, in a voice hopeful of emerging strong, but weary nonetheless, "I would have made it." She was as weak now as she could never remember being, wracked by pain and the ever nagging hopelessness.

  "Come on then," Conall ground out as she unconsciously leaned into him, surely about to collapse. Effortlessly, he scooped her into his arms and brought her swiftly to his steed, who was well trained enough to hold still while Conall mounted with Tess in his arms and rode slowly back to Inesfree.

  ONCE RETURNED, CONALL dismounted and stalked into the castle. People about stared with fascination at their laird, holding in his arms the hostage they’d thought never to see again. He ignored them, his quick pace and stiff arms alerting only Tess to his heightened emotions. He took the stairs two at a time, and turned down the corridor of the second floor, not pursuing the steps to the tower. Soon, he'd carried her down the hall where lie the two rooms she'd previously hoped would have provided her with a means of escape. Conall kicked open the second door to the private solar and set Tess down upon a huge, firm mattress against the far wall of the room.

  It was then that he saw the blood.

  "Son of a bitch!" he cursed and bent to lift her skirts, uncaring that she balked at such an offense. "What have you done?" His face, so hardened with his anger, contorted now with disbelief. "Jesus, Tess!"

  "Must you curse with every utterance?" She asked wearily from the bed. "'Twas your man that did this." She yawned then, and Conall wondered if she were in some state of shock for the single straight gash upon each knee was deep enough to be extremely painful though she'd not complained once of its effect.

  He cursed again, this time under his breath and left her to step to the doorway and shout for Serena and Mary, her maid. When he returned to her side, her eyes were closed and he decided that perhaps it was for the best if she slept now, though he noticed she shivered. No doubt, her wounds would require stitching though it appeared that presently there was no continued bleeding to cause alarm.

  His anger, a constant state this day, had yet to evaporate, even now with Tess’s recapture. He straightened again and put his hands to his hips, considering her. From head to toe, she was filthy. In her hair, dried leaves or crumbled bits of them clung to several snarled locks. Upon her cheeks, once so smooth and unmarred, scrapes of dirt and surface scratches blemished the fairness of her skin, streaked by trails of tears. Her clothes were torn and muddied, and then there was the obvious sight of the slash across the lower section of her kirtle, blood dried upon her skirts and her now bare legs. Her hands were all but completely brown with dirt and debris, her short tapered fingernails now ragged and crusted with God only knew what forest foulness.

  This is what she would endure to be rid of him, he surmised, and wondered to what lengths she truly might reach to be free. He ground his teeth and closed his eyes. He ran a hand through his own untamed hair and wondered how much blame he must accept for her actions. She wanted only to escape.

  She began to tremble almost forcefully then.

  Gruffly, he whipped open the trunk at the foot of his bed and withdrew an extra pile of furs before gentling his actions to place them snugly about her while her eyes remained closed.

  The door was pushed open and Serena rushed in, her expression a sigh as she realized Tess’s presence upon the bed. But then, noticing Tess’s pallor beneath the grime and the harsh expression etched upon Conall's face, she cried out, her hand reaching for and squeezing Conall's arm. "Oh...is she...?"

  "She sleeps," Conall informed her. “Her legs are badly grazed. Perhaps the hag should be summoned to stitch them," he suggested absently, his tone curt, not having removed his eyes from his hostage.

  "Would take too long to find her. Mayhap Duncan...he is, after all, your surgeon."

  "And a hack with a needle," Conall said with a shake of his head. "The hag has neater stitches."

  Mary, Serena's head bobbing maid, flounced into the room just then, a shrill shriek emerging as she, too, noticed Tess. Serena, as so often was the case, immediately calmed the young maid, with a few succinct sentences.

  "Mary, settle yourself. Lady Tess will be fine. Send Gowan, at his laird's behest, to find old Metylda. Her skill is needed. Fetch hot water and linen and the salve from my chamber. Go."

  The little maid, clearly put at ease by her mistress's own calm, continued moving her head up and down so quickly Conall wondered that it sometimes did not bounce right off. Serena turned her to face the door and the girl left to do Serena’s bidding. Then Conall, sensing that Serena had the situation well in hand, left without a word, closing the door with an unintentional loud thud behind him.

  "HE IS VERY ANGRY," Tess observed groggily to Serena, though her teeth chattered.

  "He was greatly worried, no doubt," Serena guessed.

  "Worried that he might lose Marlefield, if at all," Tess said and tried to open her eyes, which she eventually did. She found Serena tilting her head, considering her in an odd fashion. "Do not be cross with me, Serena. You must understand that I have to try."

  "I understand, Lady Tess. But he never will," Serena answered softly.

  "I don't care what he does."

  "Tess, have you any other injuries aside from your legs?" Serena asked then.

  Tess shook her head against the softness of the mattress beneath her. "Save for the knowledge of my failure, there is no pain."

  Mary returned a few minutes later with an ewer of steaming water, several strips of linen draped over her forearm, and a vial of what Tess guessed must be the salve. Tess observed Serena as she accepted these items and moved the furs aside and began to clean her wounds. She studied her quiet dignity, her gentle efficiency, that soft beauty. "Why did you never marry the beast?"

  Serena's head popped up. "Conall? Wed Conall?" And she laughed.

  "You are very beautiful. Surely he pursued you."

  "My father took Conall in many years ago and raised him as his own. Conall is...he is like a brother to me. Just as loved and equally annoying at times."

  "I did not know that you were a MacGregor," Tess admitted. "I thought that you and the beast were...you hold such a high place in the household that I thought...." she did not finish, unwilling to insult dear Serena, though she had just done that.

  Serena was shaking her head. “I am a MacDonnell. Conall was named chief by my own father before he died.”

  "I wish you had married him," said Tess. She winced then as Serena began to apply greater pressure to fully remove the debris from Tess’s open cuts.

  "You think you would not be here then?" Serena shook her head again, her eyes on her work once more. "I think, Lady Tess, that you are Conall were meant to be."

  "But not like this."

  "Exactly like this."

  "I hate him," Tess said after a while, drowsily, slipping away.

  "You want to, but you cannot," Serena guessed.

  IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN several minutes or several hours later when Tess woke again. She could not be sure for she'd slept fitfully, having no strong idea of time passed. The room—
to whom it belonged, she did not know—was gloomy, almost dark save for the orange glow of a small hearth fire which projected dancing shadows against the cold stone walls.

  Something had woken her. Glancing around, she spied a tiny figure near the window to the left of the bed.

  The old hag. That must have been what had roused her from her pleasant dreams. Dreams in which she'd been successful in her escape, in which she was home, in England, and with her mother.

  A small noise, a cackle really, reminded Tess again of the old woman's presence. She still hovered in the corner, her back to the rest of the room, but Tess was aware of the sound of a pestle scraping against mortar. Tess had noticed her previously, during the time she’d had chores in the kitchens. She knew that this woman, Metylda, who was as hunched as most were erect, and who seemed to have lived far beyond the years God had intended of her, lived outside the castle walls, somewhere deep in the forest. According to Moira, the kitchen maid who had sometimes shared duties with Tess, Metylda had not had a clan of her own since a summer more than sixty years ago when she’d lost a child and her husband had blamed her and shunned her and ordered her gone. Meg had whispered to Tess that Metylda was a witch who could speak to the dead.

  “’Tis true,” Meg had insisted. “When my own ma lay dying, we summoned the hag, and she came and carried on an entire conversation with a person at the far side of the sick bed.” The young maid had paused for dramatic effect. “But there was only me and da with her and we were standing next to the hag.”

  With this knowledge, which Tess chose to accept as possibly half true, Tess wondered at the stability of the old woman's mind. Aside from this enlightenment from the usually quiet Meg, Tess knew only that the hag served as a sort of medicine woman to the clan, coming inside the curtained walls of Inesfree every few days to treat or heal various afflictions throughout the castle. She sometimes spent time in the kitchens though had never seemed to take much notice of Tess.

  The door opened and Serena again entered the chamber, her smile, as much about Serena, never less than genuine. She perched beside Tess on the bed. As Tess trusted Serena, who appeared completely at ease with the other woman's presence, Tess lost some of the anxiety which had begun to plague her about allowing the hag to perform the necessary deed. Tess was sleepy but still cognizant of the pain in her knees, which was beginning to seem enormous, causing Tess to wonder how she had managed to walk at all earlier.

  "Tess?" Serena called to her, taking her hand between both of hers. "Metylda is ready now to stitch your cuts."

  "It will hurt," Tess predicted with a grimace.

  "Aye, it will hurt," called the old woman, sounding almost cheerful as she turned and approached the bed. She loomed over Tess, her head suddenly seeming too large for her frail body. Her eyes, which Tess noted with horror were two distinct colors, one green, one blue, trained steadily upon her. Her hand, cold and dry and gnarled, covered Tess’s forehead. She held Tess’s gaze, narrowing her blue eye while Tess fought the urge to shrink further into the mattress.

  As quickly as it had come, the hand upon her brow disappeared, and the old woman straightened as far as she was able, nodding approval, smiling to reveal a surprisingly full and pretty set of teeth.

  "You're strong," she declared and thumped one crooked finger against her own temple. "In here. And pain, you ken, is quickly forgotten."

  Tess imagined those were her words of comfort, preparation for what was to come. She tried very hard not to think of the needle, which would have to be large enough to puncture solid skin, poking through, back and forth, first one knee, and then the other.

  "I think I might be sick," she whimpered.

  "You'll do no such thing," the hag announced and dragged a chair from near the window to the side of the bed.

  And while Tess contemplated how very agile and robust the tiny woman seemed to be, the door opened again, and Tess watched the beast himself enter and come to stand beside the bed also.

  She might have groaned aloud her discomfort at his presence but could not be sure. Their eyes met and Tess knew immediately that he was still particularly angry at her for such an ill-conceived attempt to flee. To flee at all. But she was able to continue to meet his dark stare, and rather frightened enough just now that she sent him a rather beseeching look. Whether she realized it or not, she considered him the safest and surest thing in her life right now.

  Then everything happened very quickly. Serena moved down upon the mattress, firmly grabbing hold of Tess’s lower legs while the beast surprised her by lifting the upper half of her body off the mattress and positioning himself behind her, straddling her from behind. She was then lowered onto him, her back pressed against his chest as his arms circled her, trapping her own arms between her thighs and his, which stretched out beside her.

  "Dear Lord, will it hurt that much?" She wondered.

  Conall answered at her ear. "No so much as you seem to think, lass. But ‘tis the body's natural inclination to flinch when stuck with a needle, and you need to remain verra still."

  She whimpered. She couldn't help herself. She knew herself to be a coward, with barely any tolerance for pain.

  "Close your eyes," Conall whispered, his breath fanning the tangled hair at her temple. Tess obeyed instantly. She did not need to see the needle piercing her flesh.

  She felt the first prick of the needle and knew that Conall was definitely correct. Her entire body spasmed. Her back lifted while her hands dug into the hard flesh of Conall's thighs at each side of her. She knew Serena strained under the force of her bucking legs. She felt Conall's arms tighten around her, holding her snugly to his body.

  "Listen to me, lass," Conall said urgently. "You must remain still. Listen to my voice. Concentrate on the sound of my voice. Right here behind you." He continued to talk, and Tess was slightly amazed that she was able to lose a small bit of her dread. His voice did that to her. It was soothing, purposefully low and warm against her skin. The words themselves were unimportant—he spoke of the last time he’d been stitched, thought he might have been stitched at least a dozen or more times throughout his life—but the movement of his chest as it contracted with his speech, the timbre of his tone soft against her ear, the feel of his body, so solid and secure behind her, lulled Tess. Soon, concentrating upon Conall, she was able to relieve herself of her preoccupation with the needle and the pain. After a while, she imagined that his voice had inherited that same quality she'd encountered before, that husky, sated yet somehow still hungry tone that he'd used when he'd uttered his very first words to her, "Now you are kissed" all those days ago at Marlefield.

  CHAPTER 9

  Perhaps it took the hag all of twenty or so minutes to complete her task. When she was done and had laved Tess’s knees with some pungent concoction, she ordered Serena to wrap Tess’s legs in linen. Serena did so, quite efficiently, while Metylda gathered up her implements and accessories in a small, leathery bag.

  Tess’s entire body was drained of tension, though still draped over Conall, who seemed inclined to remain as he was. She felt her shoulders drop a bit with the removal of the expectation of pain. Her fingers loosened their biting hold on Conall's thighs though he had yet to remove his own arms from around Tess.

  "Dinna bend your knees, lass. No until I return to remove the threads," advised the hag, again at Tess’s side.

  "Thank you, Metylda," Tess said, curious as to the picture she and Conall made and the hag's possible reaction to it. But there was none. The old woman departed just as Serena raised herself from the bed, having completely bandaged Tess’s knees.

  "I'll check on you tomorrow, Lady Tess," she said. She bid a quiet good evening to Conall and she, too, left.

  Tess stiffened again. She was alone with Conall.

  "Promise me, lass. You’ll no try to escape again," he demanded of her.

  "I will not make that promise." Had her arms been free, she might have crossed them over her chest to accent her firm resolve in this
.

  "You may no be so lucky next time," he predicted, his breath once again at her temple. "Next time, you may no survive."

  "But I would rather die free than live forever here."

  "Your courage is wasted in this endeavor. I will no let you go." Silence then, a stalemate, until he said, his tone fairly gentle, “Lass, it’s dangerous for you out there.”

  A bitter laugh escaped her. “Says the man who threatened my life at knifepoint.”

  “Aye, and well you ken I’ll no be killing you.”

  “Then why not release me?” She almost threw her hands up in frustration.

  She felt something rumble against her back. “I keep thinking you’ll change your mind.”

  “Is this funny to you? You have stolen me from my home and my family and everything I know and love—and for what? I won’t marry you. And you can just shrug it off as if my mind is merely fickle, and bound to be changed? Is a person’s life so meaningless to you?” He did not answer, but he extricated himself from his position behind her, settling her back upon the pillows. "Take me back to the tower," she said stiffly. "Take me back."

  “Nae, lass,” he said gruffly. “The mattress will be kinder than the timber tonight.”

  "I do not want to stay here."

  "But you have no choice."

  Her answering sigh was audible, in part due to her exhaustion, in part due to the sense that she would never have her way when up against the beast.

  TESS SLEPT SOUNDLY in that borrowed chamber, Conall’s own, she had horrifically learned the next morning when she'd casually asked of Serena whom she had put out of bed. This explained the nagging sense that she had not spent the night alone.

  The MacGregor had stayed with her. Likely to guard his prisoner, Tess guessed, and wondered if it were not possible that he might have worried for her. Had she perceived about him, aside from his anger, an emotion she'd not been able to name at the time. Was it possible then, that he brooded about her safety?