Chapter Nineteen

"T here now, Jillian, easy."

Her mother-in-law's voice seemed to come from a great distance. Licking her lips, she tried to form the words to answer her, but the fever would not let her speak, or open her eyes. Jillian felt as if she were being bathed with tongues of fire, enveloped in heat so intense, it made her eyes burn and her head pound.

Relief came, in the form of a cool wet cloth, in answer to her unconscious prayers. She quieted.

*

"Has she not wakened?" the rebel leader asked, concerned now that one of his tools for controlling the Lord of Merewood Keep may not live to satisfy his ends.

"Nay," their healer answered.

Harald was growing more worried by the moment. The Lady of Merewood needed to be alive if Owen were to play his part.

"I thought you knew what to do for fever." It was nigh onto two weeks that she lay in fevered state. By all rights, she should have died. Nothing Alan did seemed to ease the sickness that gripped the lady who would keep him free from the bonds of a king he refused to swear fealty to. She had to live, the fate of his rebel force depended upon it.

*

"Jillian." The call came as barely a whisper.

"Have they gone?"

"Just as you knew they would. How can you be so sure of their movements?" Lady Eyreka was clearly baffled.

"'Tis been two weeks. I listen. I watch. Something inside sends a flicker of warning through me." Sighing she sat up and stretched her cramped arms overhead. Rolling her shoulders and head, she loosened the rest of the kinks lying still for hours on end caused.

"'Twas an ingenious plan to feign sickness. How much longer do you think their healer will believe it so?"

"I don't know."

Eyreka sat back on her heels and smoothed at the wrinkles, now a permanent part of her woolen chainse. Though she be worse for the wear, her mother-in-law was still every inch a lady.

But her question plagued Jillian until she thought to go mad. Though she lay on a soft bed of moss and green leaves, she could not relax; to do so would make her vulnerable. Her body cried out for sleep, and she was near collapse from the stress of the deception they played.

How soon would the healer catch on? When would he reach out with a wet cloth to soothe her fevered brow and notice healthy-colored skin lying beneath the thin layer of the ash-paste she had applied? When would he arrive ahead of schedule and catch Eyreka fanning Jillian's face with a piece of burning bark to heat it?

Moving closer, she huddled next to Eyreka, drawing needed strength from Garrick's mother. Every muscle in her body ached from both her recent illness and the ever-present threat of danger that had become their way of life.

"Close your eyes," Eyreka said softly. "Sleep."

Jillian yawned. "'Tis my turn for watch."

"I slept soundly last night," Eyreka told her. "If you sleep now, you may take the next two watches in a row."

That sounded wonderful to Jillian. "Mayhap, I'll teach you another of Father's survival skills." Smiling she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, falling into an exhausted sleep.

The rough shaking woke her from a nightmare, thinking she was being held down by one of the rebels, she kicked hard trying to loosen the bonds that held her.

"It's me," Eyreka whispered in her ear.

Jillian relaxed. "I was dreaming."

"I know, but Alan's coming with another poultice for your fever. We've no time to wave the heated bark by your face. What can we do? He'll be able to tell this time."

Jillian's mind raced, but could think of nothing. A quick glance across the camp made her sigh with relief. The rebel leader pushed the healer, while shouting obscenities at him. It would give them a few more moments reprieve. When she paused to listen, snatches of the argument came through clearly, and with it a name…Owen.

Her breath froze in her lungs, pain searing through her leaden chest. Lord help her, was he behind the kidnapping? It all made sense. Owen wanted her land, and that was the one truth she had heard him speak.

"Reka, have you any ash left?" Jillian's voice was edged with desperation.

The older woman nodded. "Lie still, whilst I sprinkle it on your face."

"My neck too, hurry." They needed more time to uncover the real reason behind their abduction. While she was no longer fevered, she knew she was not strong enough to chance escape, yet. Grabbing a hold of her grandmother's necklace, she closed her eyes and prayed to God first, then entered a plea to the ancients for protection from evil.

Eyreka's hands shook as she smoothed the ash across Jillian's brow, hoping that from a distance it looked to be soothing touch, when in fact she had missed a spot with ash in her haste.

"Lady Eyreka," Alan's voice sounded curt, though his eyes were full of sympathy.

"She's cooler, but won't waken." Hoping to confuse the man with symptoms, she added, "Look at the black rings round her eyes, she's so thin."

Real tears welled up in her eyes looking down at her brave daughter-in-law. Why could her son not be here to see what a strong woman he had wed? Thickheaded man—he needed her.

Jillian felt the strength in the hand lying against her forehead. An idea leapt into her weary mind. Would his soul be as caring as his healer's heart? Could he be talked into helping them escape? But what would they offer in return? Protection from the Rebels? Sanctuary at Merewood, or mayhap a chance to utilize his skills in the art of healing? It was but a faint hope, and little more than the prayer ever on her lips, but she had to try.

"Lady Eyreka, please bring more water back in this. I'll use up what is left here," Alan's voice sounded more gruff than normal. Jillian's ears picked up on what her eyes could not; one week of feigned illness had made it a necessary habit.

"I'll be back, Jillian, dear," Eyreka said before she could stop herself.

"She can't hear you." Though but a statement, the underlying question lay behind it.

"'Tis true, but I feel better trying to talk to her, mayhap soon she'll wake up and answer."

Jillian prayed desperately, that the healer believe Reka's obvious lie.

"She's gone, Jillian. No one else is near. Won't you speak to me? Please?"

Involuntarily, her lashes fluttered. She started to sweat, cold and clammy moisture pushed its way to the surface of her skin, and she could feel clumps of ash forming on her face and neck.

Cool water bathed her cheeks. She could hear the music of it being sloshed about by the capable hands of the man who had cared for her unfailingly for a fortnight. Shame suffused her pale face until it bloomed with color.

"Aye, that's it, lass. Open your eyes, now. I'll not hurt you."

The truth of his words sounded in her brain, ringing as clear as a newly hammered bell. Her curiosity may be the end of her yet, but she would brave the consequences.

The face that came into focus was strong of cheek and jaw, and though not shaven, 'twas clean and smiling. Her fear must have shown in her eyes, he spoke quickly to reassure her.

"On my word as a healer, I would do naught to harm you, lady." He looked over his shoulder before turning back to her.

"You have no reason to believe me, but I am not one of them. They forced me to join them. 'Twas late winter when five of them stormed into my home, pulling me from my bed to tend their wounded leader."

"Why did you not fight them?" Jillian could not hide her need to know.

"I did." Alan's eyes grew dark with emotion. Brushing the hair back from his temple revealed a jagged scar that ran from that point, through where his ear should have been, disappearing to a point beyond where she could see.

Jillian shuddered.

"Aye, lass, 'tis not pretty, but 'tis my own badge of courage."

Feeling the need to explain, she hastened to speak. "Nay, 'tis not the sight that leaves me weak, 'tis the deed behind it."

Reaching up she traced the length of the scar with her fingertip. Taking his hand in both of hers, hope gave her strength. Trusting in her instincts, she blurted out the escape plan that suddenly burst through her. "Help us, Alan. If we can reach Merewood, I know we'll be safe. I have friends there who would listen. They would soon come to know you for the man you are, not the man you would have others believe you to be."

Something akin to hope flickered in Alan's eyes. Jillian felt it catch hold of her too, as the renewed emotion sparked within her breast. She had faith in the man beside her. When he moved to capture her hands in his, their gazes locked. His silent promise was enough for her.

"Nay!" Eyreka slumped to her knees, dropping the pail of water she had been carrying.

"Reka, 'tis naught to fear." Jillian's eyes shone with admiration looking up at the man beside her. "Alan will aid in our escape. He'll be coming with us."

A long and silent pause fell upon the trio as each took the other's full measure.

"Well, then, if he betrays us, we'll just have to slit his throat," Eyreka boasted.

Jillian grinned. Her mother-in-law was terrified, but tried to mask it with threats of revenge. Pride flowed through her, bearing love in its wake. Aye, she thought, she loved her husband's mother as if she were her own.

"Have you any ash left?" Alan asked.

"Ash?" The two pretended not to understand what he was asking.

"Aye, ladies, we need to wipe Jillian down with more ash after we blot her face with a dry cloth. Harald plans to try a hand at healing since I have failed to bring his captive 'round." The deep lines of a frown marred Alan's otherwise smooth forehead.

"Reka?" Jillian prompted.

"I have some stored in the hollow of that tree." She pointed to a tall oak a few feet away.

"Get it then. We've no time to waste." While she ran to do his bidding, he spoke to Jillian, "You're a brave lass, Lady Jillian. You must remain so if we are to escape from here."

"With your help, we can leave during the change of the rebel's watch."

A brow lifted in question, he asked, "What do you know about their watch?"

"That it changes thrice in six hours, rotating between the man with the purple scar, the one with the eye patch, and the fat one with no teeth." Shuddering at the combined unwanted vision of the men, she grabbed at her necklace again. The smooth amber stone felt cool to the touch, soothing her while a mysterious throbbing pulsed from where she held it straight up her arm. Strength flowed through her.

It was then she remembered the legend of the amulet. Somewhere in her heart, she knew it was not false. Her grandmother had been right. The strength of ancient warriors flowed through her blood. As she grasped the stone, she felt its power surge through her.

She was the warrior—she would save herself! The powerful combination of her Celtic pride and wisdom of the ancients swirled through her blood.

If Alan had seen anything out of the ordinary, he did not speak of it. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

Carefully testing the deep waters of newly acquired wisdom, yet untapped, she said, "Come check on me during the first change in watch. Eyreka will pack the rations she has stored away this week past."

"Rations?" He was clearly amazed.

"We have not been idle."

"'Tis the truth. I suspected you were not truly ill, but I was not certain until today. Lady Eyreka is a wonder with ash and water."

"Thank you, Alan," Eyreka spoke up as she returned to the group with a small bundle of leaves clutched tightly in her hands. Opening it, she carefully dipped her fingers in, scooping up the powdery fine ash to smooth once more on Jillian's face and neck.

"Let us hope that Harald will also continue to believe me ill."

"What next?" he asked Jillian.

"I cry out in pain, and you come back to tend me."

Shaking his head, Alan disagreed. "If you cried out, I would not be able to keep Harald away."

Eyreka's hand stilled for a moment before continuing to smooth the ashes into place. "A diversion then." She knew not what, but between them they would think of something.

"Aye," he agreed.

"Mayhap, Alan could start an argument between the two men standing watch," Eyreka said quietly.

"Brilliant," Alan beamed, rising to his feet. "You two are not timid women." He offered a hand first to Eyreka, then Jillian, helping them to their feet.

"'Tis the truth." Jillian admitted. Changing the subject, she asked the one question burning within her, "Why did you not try to escape before now?"

His face darkened. "They laid torches to my home while I lay slashed to the bone bleeding. I had nowhere to go, no hope of freedom if I did escape. Who would believe I was forced to join the rebels? Our king's spies are many, I would have been strung up and hanged before I could prove my innocence."

No one contradicted him. They all knew 'twas the truth.

"Until tonight, then," Lady Eyreka vowed.

"Wait." Jillian laid a hand on his sleeve. Turning back around, his gaze bore deeply into her own. What she saw there surprised her. Raw passion and pure unadulterated need. It lasted only a heartbeat, before it vanished, leaving only a look of concern. Had she truly seen it at all? She wondered.

"Aye, Jillian?"

"Will we escape on foot?"

"I think 'tis best. We may not get far quickly, but we will have the ability to hide. Horses cannot climb trees."

She laughed at the thought. "All right, then. On foot."

Taking a step closer, she searched his eyes for a clue as to what she thought she saw earlier. There was nothing. "Have a care, Alan."

"And you, lass."

Something tugged at her heart watching him go. His broad back strained under the fabric of his tunic, he was no small man. Though a healer, he nearly equaled the size of her warrior husband.

Garrick , her heart cried out, but her mind overrode the plea. Her husband was not here, and even so, he believed she betrayed him. The pain of his accusation had cut deeply. Why could he not be more like Alan, who truly saw her for what she was? A woman alone, depending on her wits to get by. Heaven help her, there was no time left for thoughts of her mule-headed husband.

She was grateful to Alan for his help. It accelerated their plans to leave by a week. If either she or Eyreka faltered he would be there to lend a hand, or a powerful shoulder, to lean on. They had an ally, a friend hidden among enemies. She hoped to God it would be enough.

*

"They have been through here, recently." MacInness sounded positive. The proof lay embedded in the loamy soil on the path, at least ten horses had passed through earlier that day.

"Is Garrick tryin' to avoid ye, mon?" Iain inquired.

"Nay, he wouldna do that. I trust him." MacInness said nothing to back up his reasoning, his opinion spoke for itself.

"I canna understand ye trustin' a Sassenach like that, but 'tis enough for me that ye do," Iain added quietly.

MacInness cupped a hand to his ear. "Hear that?"

Nodding his head, his friend put his heels to his mount's sides. They galloped across the clearing and hid in a thick copse of fir trees.

Nodding to Iain, MacInness gently stroked his hand down the star on Duncan's muzzle and placed his hand over the horses' nostrils, speaking quietly to him. Iain did the same with his horse.

A group of six mounted knights cantered into view on the far side of the clearing then slowed their horses to a walk. They appeared to be searching for something, or someone.

"I wouldna want to surprise our friends too soon," Iain warned, when Winslow made a move to let go of his horse.

"They wear Owen's colors." Though not common practice, all knights serving the Lord of Sedgeworth wore black tunics with red armbands.

"That Sassenach dog ye used to serve?" his friend prodded him.

"Aye."

"I dinna think they be here as a welcomin' party. They look to be ready to fight."

"Let's follow them, I dinna trust them, ye ken?"

MacInness's amber gaze riveted on the group of knights he knew only too well. They were Owen's elite force, those chosen for duties done behind the veil of darkness.