Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A t the sound of a faint movement in his room, Arran's eyes snapped open. He'd been drowsing for a few moments after his day out with Dahlia, while he waited for her to change, the events of the day rushing through his thoughts, keeping him awake. It no longer seemed possible for him to accept Dahlia could be held prisoner by Bairre. Decree of the king or not, he could never stand by and allow the betrothal to continue. There must be a way for him to find his mother.

Was he imagining it? The sound seemed closer. A strange shuffling, as if someone was trying to creep in silence across his room.

He froze, every sense alert, even his own breathing sounded loud to his ears as he strained to listen. There it was again, a brush of fabric, a foot striking the side of his bed.

"Who is there?" He sat up, heart pounding. He wasn't alone. Someone else was in the room. He caught the drift of sweat and stale ale.

He was reaching for his dirk when his arms were seized.

Bairre's voice, he was quite certain, came out of the darkness. "Dinnae fight. I've come tae take ye tae visit yer maither."

The man who was holding Arran's arms released his grip.

"I suggest ye put on something other than those peasant clothes and come with me. I'll see ye in the stables."

After those few words, he heard his door open and close again and he was alone. He sprang to his feet, his heart pounding. This could mean he had a chance to rescue his mother. But, if nothing more could be achieved, he would have a chance to know she was well and even exchange a few words with her.

Bairre, for Arran knew his voice even though his face was covered by the hood of his cloak, and a guard were waiting in the stables, already mounted. He quickly joined them and they made their way out the gate, which Bairre instructed the gatekeeper to keep open as they would be returning very soon.

This gave some heart to Arran. Surely a brief visit meant his mother was close by.

The sun had gone done shortly after he and Dahlia had returned from their adventure. It was a full moon now and their way through the forest was well lit. It was not long before they arrived at an old timber cottage, half falling down and deserted.

The guard pulled the door open and they entered the cottage. Moonlight streamed through the windows and the broken roof. The room was empty save for an old chair and table. There was no sign of Emilia.

"What the…" As Arran turned, the guard's fists came down on the back of his neck, knocking him off his feet.

"Ye bastard! Ye tricked me," he shouted.

Bairre gave a sharp laugh as the guard threw another punch at Arran who was scrambling to rise. This time Arran was prepared and fought back, reaching for the dirk in his boot. But he'd been slowed by the previous blows and the man raised an arm and brought down a cudgel between his shoulder blades and dealt another blow to his head with the heavy weapon.

He groaned once as he went down, and the world faded from view.

With no idea how long he'd been out of his senses when he awoke, he sensed immediately he was alone. He struggled to rise but quickly learned that his hands and feet were tired.

He tangled with the knots, twisting his hands and bringing his feet up so that he could reach the rope tying them. It was then he first smelled the smoke and realized with a shock that the room was on fire.

That bastard Bairre is determined to kill me by burning me tae death.

He pressed his face low to the floor in an effort to avoid the worst of the smoke. By now the flames were beginning to leap, and the sound of the crackling fire grew louder.

Dear God. If this is where I meet me end, please help me dear maither tae escape the evil man's clutches and stay alive and please protect me Dahlia and keep her safe.

Within a short space the heat had become almost unbearable, the acrid smoke was filling his lungs and, just as he was certain his end was approaching, he managed to loosen the ropes on his ankles.

Dahlia was unable to rest after she had returned to her room, the sight of Bairre's face contorted with rage remaining at the front of her thoughts. It was too much to hope that he'd believed her story about the loss of her clothes. If he had not swallowed her lie that meant both she and Arran were in grave danger.

Thereafter, Arran had not come back to guard her room and that had made her worry even more. Where was he? Had something happened to him?

Hearing voices in the corridor outside her chamber she went to the door and opened it a crack to see what was going on. No one was visible, yet she could have sworn one of the voices she'd heard belonged to Bairre.

Curious, she flung on the peasant kirtle she'd been wearing earlier, and unsure of what awaited her, she concealed her dirk in her boot. Then she tiptoed out of her room and continued down the stairs. Following the sound of hurried voices coming from the direction of the stables, she crept along the path she'd only learned of earlier that day when Arran had shown her.

She reached the stables in time to see three horsemen leaving the courtyard and galloping through the open gate. One of them she thought was Bairre, although she could not be certain for his face was covered, and the other two rode ahead and were impossible to make out.

What was Bairre up tae? Was he heading tae the little croft? Was he going tae ascertain if I told the truth?

Hastily saddling her mare, she made for the gate which, to her great relief, still stood open.

The moonlight was bright enough to show her the road ahead was empty. That could only mean the riders had turned off into the woods almost as soon as they'd left the castle. Mayhap they were not heading for the croft after all.

She rode slowly, keeping an eye out for traces of a track that would tell her the three horses had recently passed here. She'd not gone far when she came upon a spot where the grass was trampled and several small bushes had been crushed underfoot.

After dismounting, she walked her horse a little further along the road before tethering her. That way, if the riders left the woods by the same path they had entered, they would not come across her little mare.

Hearing distant voices, she took her dirk in her hand and crept silently into the woods, following the direction the voices were coming from.

She heard their horses crashing toward her and took care to conceal herself from view.

As the riders drew alongside her hiding place, she recognized Bairre. But now there was only one other man. She did not have to wait long to find out where the third man was when she heard him speak.

He was laughing, gloating even. "At last, I'll be rid of that cursed Arran Mackinnon," he was saying.

She froze. So, Arran was the missing man. But what had they done to him?

"…he'll be ashes by morning."

The smell of smoke was already filling the air and tiny fragments of ash were falling all around.

Immediately she ran off. Arran. I have tae find him before it is too late.

As she raced toward the glow of fire ahead of her, her heart was in her mouth. What if they'd killed him and left his body to burn? Her mind was reeling. All she knew was she had to make it through the trees to the old bothy that she could see burning in a clearing some yards ahead.

The place was well alight when she reached it.

"Arran? Arran?!" She screamed his name, hoping against hope he could hear her but there was no answering call.

She pushed the door, burning her fingers. It was already alight, and with her touch it tumbled off its hinges to the floor. "Arran," she called again. This time she was answered by a faint cry. With her kirtle over her nose and mouth she stumbled into the smoke-filled room, her eyes burning and stinging.

To her horror she saw Arran on the floor surrounded by flames, struggling to untie the rope holding his feet.

Without hesitating she dashed forward.

"Nay, Dahlia," he gasped. "Get back. Save yerself. Dinnae put yer life in peril fer me."

She was on her knees beside him in a trice, trying not to breathe, her trembling fingers fumbling with the rough rope tying his ankles. At last, after what seemed an eternity of fruitless struggle with the tightly bound knots, the smoke swirling about them, she was able to release the last of the knots. She leaned in and helped him stagger to his feet where he stood swaying for several agonized seconds.

"We must make haste," she cried desperately. At that, he nodded, regaining a modicum of strength. Clutching tight to his arm she guided his stumbling feet past a blazing fallen beam to the doorway and out into the clearer air. She supported him, leaning on her shoulder as he stood gasping and retching, scarcely able to breathe. The flames were leaping high by now and blazing timbers were falling all around them. Dahlia tugged frantically at Arran's arm. The fire would reach them both if they didn't move quickly.

He clutched his chest, unable to speak, shaking his head.

"Arran, we must go before the fire consumes us".

He clutched her arm, heaving in painful breaths, taking a few staggering steps away from the cottage. She slung his arm around her shoulder so he could lean on her and together they made their way into the woods painfully slowly, putting distance between them and the flaming building.

"Stop, lass." He coughed uncontrollably, fighting to breathe. "Me horse. Is he nearby?"

"I saw naething of yer horse. But the others didnae take him with them."

He put his fingers to his mouth and, after another bout of coughing, blew a resounding whistle." Almost at once the black horse appeared beside them. Arran leaned against his neck and rubbed his shoulder. "Good lad. I kent ye'd nae desert me."

Dahlia helped him to mount and, still struggling to breathe, he sat while she led them back to the place where her little mare was tethered.

Once she had mounted, she looked at him with great concern, a frown creasing her forehead. "We cannae return tae the castle, Arran. Bairre will kill ye. And I fear that he'd succeed at his next attempt."

"I must find me maither. I believe Bairre will dae her great harm if he believes me dead."

"Ye must rest first. Before we seek yer maither ye must become well." She turned her horse back to the road and Arran followed.

"Where are ye taking me lass?"

"Why, tae yer friend the healer. She and the others are only an hour's ride away and once we're with them, Bairre and his men will nae find us. The last place they'd look would be the poorest cottages."

She banged him on the back, causing him to splutter even more. "Ye're full of smoke, ye must cough it all up so ye can breathe right."

He dutifully coughed, reaching fer her hand. "Ye saved me life, me love." He pressed her hand to his lips. "Now, we ride."

Dawn was striping the sky when they came in sight of the little collection of cottages where people were already going about their business.

It was wee Morag who spied them first. She was on her way back from the cow with a bucket of fresh milk. "Dahlia! Arran!" She cried in delight. "What brings ye back tae us?"

By now Arran was weak, his breathing was shallow and he was coughing almost continuously.

"I fear we're seeking the attention of the good Elspaith again."

Morag looked up and her mouth fell ajar. "Och, me goodness. I didnae realize that melord was unwell. I'll go and find Mistress Elspaith fer ye."

She hurried off, slopping the milk just a little, while Arran and Dahlia dismounted and Dahlia tethered the horses. "Ye've done us proud both of ye," she whispered to her mare, "and now young Morag will see tae ye."

They were walking slowly toward the cottages when Elspaith and Abigail hastened out to greet them.

Elspaith regarded Arran's blackened clothes and singed hair. "Was it a fire ye were in lad?"

"Aye, Elspaith. He was left tae die there and we only got out just in time. He needs yer help and we need tae stay low fer a while in case his would-be murderers decide tae follow us."

"So, bring the lad into me place." Eslpaith shook her head. "I wasnae expecting tae see ye back needing me ministrations quite so soon, Arran." She gave him a sideways look. "And how's yer rump? Is it healed yet?"

"Aye," Arrran managed through another bout of coughing.

"Never mind, lad. Dinnae try and speak."

They followed her into her tiny, one-room cottage where the fire was already glazing at the center of the room. Arran sat on the edge of the little pallet with Dahlia beside him. Elspaith filled a small iron vessel with water and hung it above the flames to boil while she set about making a tincture of pine needles and lemon balm.

Once the water had boiled Elspaith added it to the tincture in the bowl and while it steamed, she set it in front of Arran, placing a cloth to cover both his head and the bowl.

"Breathe in deep. This tincture will clear yer passages and help ye breathe freely again. We'll dae this every hour from now until that cough of yers subsides and ye can draw a breath without spluttering."

She signaled to Dahlia. "Ye can sit with him until the water cools and there's nae more steam. Then he can rest. If he can breathe well enough tae sleep it will speed his recovery."

After she'd gone, Dahlia sat quietly listening to Arran's breathing as the rasping breaths grew steadier and smoother. She thanked Providence for having thrown them in the way of Elspaith and the others thanks to a fallen roof. Little had she known that they would be returning for help.

Once the liquid had cooled, she removed the cloth and the bowl and set them aside. Arran slid lower on the palette, his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

Elspaith appeared again and wakened him to another bout of steaming and, again, he slept.

She did this once more and by then he was showing marked improvement. He was breathing easier and could speak without coughing.

Tiny Morag came with a bowl of warm milk for each of them and an oatcake and cheese for Dahlia.

"I've seen tae the horses melady," she said, bobbing a small curtsy.

"Ye're a good lass, Morag, yer maither must be proud of ye."

The wee girl skipped off looking well pleased with herself.

Elspaith returned as they finished their milk and declared Arran to be as well as could be expected after almost losing his life in a fire.

"I believe I can trust ye tae sleep soundly now. Ye both look like ye've been tae hell and back." She gave a mirthless chuckle. "Which I daresay ye have done. So, sleep now is what ye need most and later we can discuss whatever trouble ye both find yerselves in."

After Elspaith departed, Arran reached for Dahlia. "Come, Dahlia. Keep me company in this wee stall. Yer eyelids are already closing and ye're in need of sleep same as mesel'." She laid her head on the pillow beside his and pulled the old grey blanket over them and closed her eyes. The last thing she recalled was the gentle touch of his lips on her forehead.