Chapter 25

25

T he sun failed to rise the next day, or so it appeared in the village and keep of Dunnedin. Douglas was sure he’d never seen as gray a day as this one. And his mood fit it quite well.

The ceilidh didn’t recover its vitality and fun after the scene with Craig. Craig was shuffled off by Robert’s orders and Caitlin was spirited away by her mother. Spirited was a good way to describe it, for when he turned to try to explain to Caitlin, she was gone.

But what could he have said?

Douglas approached the practice yard hoping that some exercise would rid him of this nervous energy. Several small groups of men worked out in mock battles with swords. A few skilled horsemen put their mounts through their paces in the yards near the stables. Younger boys and teenagers ran here and there gathering up weapons or ladling out water from buckets they carried. Everything was just as it was every morning there.

Until he entered the yard.

Each and every man there turned to face him. He could feel their anger and animosity. He was, as Craig had called him last night, an outlander. After the initial wave of hostility, they turned from him, ignoring his presence. All but one, that was.

Craig, appearing no worse for his overindulgence, stared at him as he walked the perimeter of the yard. When Douglas reached for a sword from the rack holding them, Craig grabbed his wrist.

“Why did ye no’ speak last night? How could ye let someone like Caitlin be shamed by yer actions?”

Douglas flung the man’s hand off his own and glared back at him.

“If you have something you wish to settle with me or something to prove, why don’t you challenge me man to man without bringing her into it?”

He waited for a few moments and when no such challenge was issued, he turned away. He underestimated Craig’s rage, for no sooner had Douglas turned away that the attack came. By sheer force, Craig tackled Douglas into the dirt and began punching and kicking him. No finesse, no weapons other than fists and feet were employed in this grudge match.

“Ye... are... a... learned... mon. Why... did... ye... take... advantage... of... the... lass?” Craig delivered one blow after another, accentuating his words with each. Douglas rolled from under his attacker and gained his feet. His head swirled with dizziness from the unanswered punches as he tried to balance.

“I will not answer to you about her. You are not family to her,” Douglas panted as he spoke. “You have no claim to her.”

“But, at least I will be here for her, ye bastard. Ye will leave wi’out a care for her or her place after yer gone.” Craig began to circle around him. “I offered her marriage. Ye offered her nothing but yer bed and disgrace.”

Craig gestured to one of the boys nearby and a staff was thrown to him. Shifting it in his grasp, Craig continued to move around him, waiting to strike. Douglas looked at the men watching. None offered him a weapon to use to fight back. This was not to be a fair fight—this was to be punishment for daring to take Caitlin as his own.

The attack came and Douglas did what he could to fend off the blows with his hands and feet. Although he managed to get in one or two punches of his own, Craig was fueled by pure rage. Fighting on behalf of Caitlin’s honor in the clan, he was unstoppable. And, maybe a sense of guilt on Douglas’s part made his responses a bit slower than they would have been.

The first few blows hurt as they landed on his arms and back and shoulder, but with each one, Douglas became less and less aware of them. Soon, unable to see through the sweat and blood that dripped into his eyes, he lost his balance and ended up on his knees in the mud. Craig stood over him.

“Ye will stay away from her for the rest of the time yer here in Dunnedin,” he yelled, loud enough to be heard out of the yard and through the village beyond. “Do ye hear me?”

Douglas nodded, unable to speak. Craig kicked him once more in the ribs and he landed in the dirt. He could feel consciousness fading and thought he felt the earth move below him. Craig grew dimmer and a new face entered his limited and hazy field of vision.

Pol, the blacksmith, stood over him, all in black, like the harbinger of death. Pol, the incensed father, would give the final blow. He knew with a certainty that he was a dead man, so he closed his eyes to meet his end.

Dying should not be this painful.

When he’d closed his eyes with Pol standing above him, he thought his end would be swift. One blow from those powerful hands and it would be over. He tried to open his eyes but another wave of pain and nausea swept through him and he gagged. Soon his stomach clenched and the bile rose to his throat. Rolling to his side, he tossed up what little food he’d eaten that day and then groaned with the effort it took to lie back down.

“’Tis a good thing I saw where ye were aiming.”

The voice was familiar but he dared not look at Moira. Every inch of his body hurt, from his swollen-shut eyes to his throbbing ribs to his bruised back and sore stomach. The man had been thorough in his assault. He could only hope that Caitlin’s honor had been salvaged.

Fingers and hands poked and prodded and his answering grunts and moans gave her the answers she needed. Soon, a cool compress smelling of... betony, borage and comfrey was laid on his forehead and ribs. He chuckled, which set off a round of spasms in his chest and stomach. Even half-dead, he remembered Cait’s lessons .

“Here now, lay still and let me tend to these,” Moira said. “Ye are covered wi’ dirt and filth and these will fester if left untreated.” He felt a warm solution on his torn and bruised skin as she washed his injuries.

“I thought”—he whispered through teeth clamped against the pain—”Pol wanted me dead. Why do you help me?”

“Pol doesna want ye dead. Ye must be daft or the blows hiv done more damage than I thought.”

“I saw his face. He was there to kill me as he promised to do if I hurt Caitlin before the clan.”

“’Tis yer own guilty conscience at work, lad. My Pol wouldna hurt anyone. Here now, lift yer head and sip this.”

She slid her hand under his neck and lifted his head. “What is it?” he asked as the cup touched his lips.

“A bit of valerian root and feverfew for the pain and to help you sleep and mugwort for the spasms in yer belly. Is that according to yer liking?” She held the brim at his mouth and waited. He nodded and she tilted the bitter mix so he could drink it. “This is better if swallowed quickly.” He followed her instructions, knowing it was better than fighting her.

Douglas forced one eye open to look at her. Moira sat at the side of his bed, measuring and mixing from various vials and pots. He was in his bed? He had no memory of being brought here or by whom. Looking across the room, he noticed the darkness outside the small window.

“How long have I been here?” His head dropped back onto the rough pillow. He’d used too much of his meager energy in holding it up.

“Since Pol brought ye here after yer fight,” she answered without looking at him.

“Pol? Pol brought me here?”

“Aye, he did. But his outrage at yer behavior kept him from telling me until just an hour ago.” A smile played on her lips. “He kenned he would tell me but at his own time.”

“So he left me here all day?”

“’Twas better than what he really wished to do to ye! Only the knowledge of my displeasure at him beating ye kept ye from more by his hand. ”

Douglas shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable or at least out of pain. The groans slipped through as he did.

“Dinna try to move until the concoction does its work, Douglas,” she warned. “Just lie still now.”

He had but one question. He felt a rush of warmth move through his veins and knew her herbs were at work. The heat and dulling swirled through his head and his thoughts began to scatter out of his mind’s reach.

“Caitlin? Does she know?”

“Oh, aye, she does. The whole of the village kens.”

“What did... she... say?” He could feel and hear his words slur and didn’t know if he’d even finished his question out loud.

“She said she should kill ye herself for being so foolish as to get into a fight with Craig and for losing.”

Smiling, he could hear the words in Caitlin’s voice. He drifted off into a drug-induced sleep never knowing Caitlin had uttered the words to him herself.

“Such tender words of comfort for the mon ye love? ’Twould no’ hurt to really tell him how ye feel,” her mother laughed.

“What do ye expect me to say?” Caitlin crept closer to his side and winced as she got a closer look at his injuries. She reached out to touch him but let her hand just rest in the air above him. “With his skills and Craig’s lack, he should never hiv lost.”

Moira snorted this time. “His loss in this fight has smoothed yer way in the clan, lass. It eases Craig’s pride and outrage at his taking advantage of ye.”

“He didna take advantage of me. Ye ken that as I do,” she argued.

“I do, but let his pain and suffering be for some good, Caitlin. Ye shouldna be here at all. Go and see to yer faither’s meal. I will join ye soon.”

“Ye will leave him here alone?” He could be sick again or need more of her mother’s mixture for pain. She shivered at the thought of him, here in the dark and cold and lying in pain with no one to look over him.

“Nay, lass, the lady Anice has someone to check on him. Now, go before ye are seen and Craig hears of it.”

“I dinna answer to him. And at this moment, I dinna think I care what he thinks.”

“Craig is a good mon, Caitlin. ’Twill be a good laird for us after Robert. He just canna see his way yet.”

“Verra well, I’m going. Did ye want me to tell Da anything?” Caitlin pulled her shawl up over her hair and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders.

“Just that I will be there shortly.”

“Mam?” Her mother looked over at her. “Shouldn’t I try to ease his pain?”

“’Tis yer gift to use as ye see fit. I wouldna tell ye aye or nay.”

“But, I accept yer wisdom in using it, Mam. What do ye think?”

“I think that he is in pain and will be fine, wi’out the use of yer gift. His pride will be battered more than his body in this. Douglas needs this lesson in how the clan’s honor works. ’Tis important he learn it now.”

Not certain that she agreed, Caitlin nodded acceptance of her mother’s advice. She tugged at the door and opened it, checking in the hallway before entering it. Staying near the wall, she made her way along the corridor and down the back stairs. Weaving through alcoves and the shadowed halls, Caitlin left the castle and the keep.

The sight of him lying on his bed, battered and bruised for her, had left her shaken. Her first impulse had been to cry for him or to heal him but the need to throttle him for acting like such a stupid ...man... won. Her mother was correct, though. Craig’s pride would be salvaged as well as her own in front of the clan. Douglas could stay on but he would not feel the welcome he once had.

Now, all she had to do was stay away from him in all but some social situations. Could she do it? Could she honor the price he’d paid for her reputation and future? She would try but she would make no promises about it.