Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

A rran and Dahlia both swiveled at the sound as the screaming continued unabated.

Two women had taken off running toward a small cottage situated at the edge of the woods, some way from Abigail and Morag's little home. It was clear that part of the roof had collapsed and that someone was in dire trouble inside what was left of the tiny building.

"Hold this," Arran thrust the beaker of ale into Dahlia's hand and dashed forward. She placed the two clay vessels on the grass and hastened after him. He was closer than any of the other villagers and arrived at the door well before the others. He pushed in, followed by Dahlia and another older woman behind him.

A man lay groaning under a large beam which was clearly part of the roof support.

The woman spoke soothingly to the man who clutched at her hand. "We'll have ye out of there in nay time, Colban. We've a braw lad here tae help."

"Aye Jenny," the man whispered, closing his eyes.

She turned to Arran, wringing her hands. "Please, help me husband. He was fixing new reeds on the roof and it must have collapsed under him." She pointed to the gaping hole above them that was still showering turf and splinters of timber.

Without further delay Arran turned his attention to the heavy beam. Dahlia and Jenny – for that was the older woman's name – scurried aside, careful not to get in his way as he wrestled with the massive piece of timber. Dahlia couldn't help but be overwhelmed with admiration for his selflessness and his strength. He'd thought nothing of putting aside his own safety to try and help the injured man.

Arran bent his back to the task over the now silent man. Inch by inch he shifted the heavy beam it so that gradually one of the man's legs was freed. With the strain showing on his face he managed to hoist the beam a few inches into the air while the two women struggled to free Colban's right leg. Crouching over him they slowly eased it from under the crushing weight of the log.

"We have it," Jenny whispered, "he's free."

Arran straightened, drops of sweat in his eyes but with a smile of satisfaction dawning on his features.

It was at that moment a large piece of the broken roof descended, catching him in a hail of stones, timber and turf, dealing him a severe blow across his back and, at the same time, rendering him senseless.

Leaving Jenny to attend to Colban, Dahlia sprang into action, working feverishly to claw away the debris that had landed on Arran. It was long moments before he regained consciousness, moaning, clutching at his head. She leaned in, taking his hand. Letting fly with a long string of curses, with Dahlia's help, Arran rose to a sitting position.

His shirt was torn and bloodied. "Be still," Dahlia said. "Ye've a cut on yer back that will need seeing tae."

By now there were several women and two elderly men crowding into the small space. One woman stepped forward. "I'm Elspaith," she said, reaching a hand to place it on Dahlia's shoulder. "We'll take yer lad tae me cottage where I can see tae his wound."

"Are ye a healer?"

Elspaith nodded and turned quickly to the waiting men. "Once ye've carried Colban tae me place, help this lad. I'll see tae them both."

The men were quick to carry out her orders and between them, managed to lift Colban, and with both his legs dragging they hustled him out of the cottage. It was clear he was sorely injured.

"There's aught wrong with me," Arran declared, still holding his head where a large egg-shape had appeared on his forehead. "We've a journey ahead of us. We need tae be at the castle this night.:

"Dinna talk nonsense, Mackinnon," Dahlia hissed. "Ye're bleeding. Ye'll need something tae staunch the blood. Ye could never sit on a horse in this condition."

He huffed. "If this was a battlefield, I'd nae pause tae take a breath. I'd be on me horse in the fray, bleeding or nae."

"Ye may well be a brave warrior who cares naught fer a wound in the heat of battle, but the only fight ye're in now is with me, and I insist yer wound is tae be dealt with afore we continue on our way. I dinnae want ye dying on me!"

"Och," he murmured. "D'ye wish tae see me well, Lady Dahlia? I'd have thought ye'd want me dead by now so ye could mount yer horse and be gone."

She hmphed. "I'm nae a cruel lass. I'm a MacLeod, we leave the cruelty tae yer kin."

He winced and she was not certain whether it was her words that stung him or the pain of his injury.

The two men who had taken Colban returned. One man took Arran's forearm in a strong grip. "Come lad, ye'll need seeing tae. We'll help ye tae Elspaith's cottage."

Arran shook his head. "I dinnae need yer help, lads."

The second man grunted. "Aye, dinnae argue, ye've taken a load and 'tis clear ye're in need of our aid." He wove his arm under Arran's and together, the two men hauled a wobbling Arran to his feet. He took a step and would have fallen if not for one of the men reaching to steady him. He placed a hand on the man's arm and allowed them to lead him along a short pathway to another small cottage as Dahlia followed.

Elspaith greeted them. "Lie him there." She pointed to a straw-covered pallet in the corner of the one-room house, adding with a nod to Dahlia, "strip him so I can attend to the wound." She turned to a younger woman who Dahlia guessed was her helper. "Mix a poultice with yarrow leaves tae stop the bleeding and I'll see tae the wound and his head when I've finished with Colban."

With that, the healer hastened across to continue binding the groaning man's crushed leg.

Arran shook himself free of the men assisting him. "I thank ye, lads, but I can manage with me own steam from now." He lowered himself to a sitting position on the edge of the makeshift bed.

At once, Dahlia set about undoing the laces on his shirt.

He made a feeble protest, fumbling his fingers at the ties. But his glazed eyes told Dahlia he was far from ready to tackle the remainder of their journey.

"Hold still." Her nimble fingers made short work of the laces. "Arms up, I need tae get this shirt off ye. It's soaking in blood."

With a sigh, he obediently raised his arms and she pulled off the shirt.

She allowed her gaze to linger on his bare chest for a tiny second. His body was manly and well-muscled as befitted a warrior such as Arran, but what caused Dahlia to gasp was the long scar that went from his right shoulder diagonally across his broad chest. This could only be the result of a slicing blow from a sword.

Her hand flew to her mouth as her mind rushed back to her thwarted escape from castle Mackinnon four years ago and the terrible blow dealt to her almost-rescuer, the man she'd only ever thought of as Black-Mask. She made a mental note to question Arran about the origin of the scar when the right moment came. Could he be Black-Mask? Was this why she had the faint sense she'd met him in some other time and place?

Arran was grumbling half-heartedly. "Have ye taken leave of yer senses, Lady Dahlia? Should ye nae be riding yer horse away from here, instead of tending tae the likes of me?"

"Aye, that I should, Mackinnon." She drew her brows together in puzzlement. "And I cannae fer the life of me understand why I'm here trying tae help such an ungrateful whelp as yerself, instead of taking meself back tae the land of the MacLeods."

"Mayhap, after all, ye've gone soft on the idea of marrying Laird Bairre."

She shook her head. "Nay. That will never be."

He reached for her hand and held it briefly in his. "Then I can only believe ye're doing it out of a good heart, and I thank ye."

She quickly withdrew her hand before he could see the strange effect his touch had on her. "Now roll on yer belly so we can see tae the damaged place that needs fixing."

With no more grumbling, he lay down.

His back was already bruised and there was a deep gash to his hip where the blood still flowed.

"I'll need tae undae yer belt and ease down yer kilt so Elspaith and her attendant can deal with ye."

He grunted, raising his hips slightly so she could snake her hands around his waist and undo the buckle on his belt.

Her face flushed red-hot as she pressed against him, her fingers grazing his bare skin. She felt coarse hair beneath his belt and the breath caught in her throat at the thought of where her fingers might stray if they were to follow that pathway of hair below it.

She undid the buckle and sat upright, catching her breath.

A soft chuckle issued from his lips. "Be careful, Lady Dahlia. I enjoyed the touch of yer fingers so much I clean forgot about the pain in me back."

"Pshaw, Mackinnon. Ye've nae right tae such thoughts."

"Ah, but surely a kind lass would wish tae help relieve an injured man's pain."

She couldn't help but laugh, even though her fingers still tingled and her thoughts tumbled in all directions.

Dahlia held up the bloodstained shirt as Elspaith's assistant approached with two small jars of tincture. The shirt was in need of laundering but, at this moment, treating the wound over Arran's hip was of far greater urgency.

"Lass, can ye apply the salves yerself? Elspaith needs me tae assist her." The woman handed Dahlia one of the jars. "Here be a tincture of arnica fer any bruises." She indicated the second jar, "And this is the paste of yarrow leaves that will stop the blood flow. Once the flow is staunched Elspaith will stitch the wound to hasten healing." She turned and scurried across the room leaving Dahlia with the tinctures and several strips of clean cloth.

Applying salve to a wound was something Dahlia had no trouble with. She'd worked with the healers at Castle MacLeod on many occasions, dealing with her brothers' injuries sustained in training or hunting, and with numerous injuries from burns and cuts incurred by the castle servants. But now she was strangely unnerved by the prospect of laying her hands on Arran's bare hip.

" Needs must," she breathed aloud, infuriated by Arran's answering chuckle.

"Daes it embarrass ye tae place yer soft hands on me rough body," he taunted as she eased down his kilt, exposing not only his hip but, necessarily, half his backside.

"Shush up, Mackinnon, ye're far too cheeky fer a man in yer condition." Taking a deep, steadying breath she took one of the rags and wiped the wound clean of blood. After that she dabbed his hip with the yarrow tincture, trying to ignore the inviting curve of his buttocks as her fingers trailed across his hip.

Once the flow of blood had stopped, she pulled the worn sheet up to cover his backside and set about lightly spreading the tincture of arnica over the bruised and reddened area on his back.

"Och, that feels good, lass. I could lie here and let ye caress me like this all day."

She felt her cheeks heating at his words. The sight of him half-clad and the touch of his strong muscles under her fingers had fired up strange sensations in her own body. Confusing sensations that she'd never experienced before.

Elspaith bustled over and inspected Arran's wound. "Good. The cut has stopped bleeding." She installed herself on a stool by the bed and took out a wrapped bundle containing assorted needles and a thin roll of thread. "I havenae the coin tae purchase catgut like ye nobles have, milady. But me thread of hemp will dae fer yer lad, although it may nae be as strong."

She applied her needle and thread to the gash on Arran's hip with a skill borne of long practice, while he lay still without a word or a moan. When she'd finished, she turned her attention to the lump on his head.

"Ye've taken quite a blow there, lad." She turned to Dahlia. "He'll benefit from a rub of arnica on that egg. And mayhap dinnae let him sleep for a while tae be certain he's nae been more affected." She grinned as she addressed her next words to Arran. "We're all grateful fer the help ye gave Colban. I believe yer quick work gave us the time we needed. He'll likely walk with a limp, but he will walk."

Before she left, she collected Arran's stained shirt. "I'll give this tae one of the lasses tae wash away the blood."

Arran rolled onto his side and Dahlia leaned in to dab a smudge of arnica on his forehead.

"Ow! Lass, be gentle."

"I am being gentle. Dinnae complain." She giggled. "Ye really are a sight tae behold, Arran Mackinnon. What with yer arse all stitched up and ye looking like a hen has laid her egg on yer head."

He huffed, but then his mouth quirked in a grin. Before long he was giggling with her. "I daresay I am a sight, lying here as helpless as a babe."

She gave him a long look. "I cannae consider ye'd ever be helpless. By me reckoning, lump or nae, ye'd be on yer feet and fighting if needs be." Glancing again at the scar on his chest she couldn't help wondering…

"I'd feel better if I was again fully clad." He reached for her hand. "Can I ask ye tae dae me a wee favor?"

"Hmm. It depends on what ye're asking."

"I've a clean shirt in one of me saddlebags. If ye could go tae the horses, mayhap see tae it that the poor creatures have water tae drink. Seek out the shirt and bring it tae me."

"All right." Dahlia got to her feet. "But ye must promise ye'll nae fall asleep."

He yawned. "I'll dae me best, but I'm mighty tired. Me eyes are closing of their own accord."

"Well, keep them open until I come back with yer shirt."

She hurried out of the cottage and hastened across to the spot where the horses were tethered. When she got there, she spied young Morag with a bucket of water offering Dahlia's mare a drink.

"Thank ye, wee lass. That is right kind of ye."

The child ran her small fingers along the mare's forehead. "I love horses," she said with a sigh. Dahlia undid the buckle on one of Arran's saddle bags and withdrew the contents. She found several rolled-up items of clothing including britches and a freshly-laundered shirt.

When she returned to Elspaith's cottage she found Arran dozing and elbowed him awake. "Ye're nae tae sleep, Mackinnon." She held up the shirt. "Here put this on."

He managed to sit and raise his arms while she lowered the shirt over his head, enabling him to place his arms into the sleeves. She tied the laces before he lay down on his side and closed his eyes again.

She gave his shoulder a gentle shake and his eyes shot open.

"Ye told me ye were nae a cruel lass," he murmured.

"'Tis fer yer own good. Elspaith's orders. She needs tae make sure that blow on yer head's nae serious."

Reaching for her hand he drew it slowly to his lips and brushed it with a kiss. "I thank ye fer yer care, Lady Dahlia. I dinnae deserve ye tending tae me like this."

She felt her cheeks burning and couldn't resist the urge to smooth his mane of long hair back from his forehead. "I believe ye dae deserve me tae care fer ye, but fer the life of me I dinnae ken why I feel like that."

Elspaith's assistant, who Dahlia had learned was named Janet, brought them a bowl each of leek and potato soup and a thick slice of oatbread.

Arran managed to lever himself onto an elbow, but as it was impossible for him to balance the bowl, Dahlia spooned the soup into his mouth.

"Thank ye again, melady." He gave her a rueful grin. "I'm like a wean ye have to feed fer fear I'll slop the soup all over mesel'."

She laughed. "Fer tonight ye should stay quiet. Tomorrow ye'll be fit enough tae ride from this place."

A cold, dark fist tightened inside her at the prospect of tomorrow and her arrival at Castle Mackinnon.