Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

“ O ch, Sutherland, she’s great with child!”

Errol nodded at Gavin, so stunned to see Tira in her condition that he had no words with which to speak. The woman he loved no more than skin and bones and a swollen stomach as her head hung limply, her long hair draped over his arm.

“Take her tae the ship! We’ll soon be finished here.”

Grateful for Gavin’s command, Errol made himself move though his legs felt wooden, his heart pounding against his chest.

Why had he never thought that her long captivity might have bred a bairn? Thorgren’s bairn, no doubt! Such hatred filled him at the memory of that fur-laden bed that his hands clenched in Tira’s blood-soaked cloak, squeezing her against him. He gasped when she moaned so piteously, but still she lay unconscious in his arms…for which he was grateful at that moment.

With the settlement ablaze and Gavin’s men striking down raiders attempting to escape in every direction, Errol wouldn’t have wanted her to witness such slaughter after suffering near death herself.

He had seen that Orkney woman’s hand pressed over Tira’s nose and mouth and guessed she intended to kill her, which Thorgren must surely have decreed— bastard ! A few seconds more and Tira would have been lost to him after finally managing to rescue her, though mayhap death still beckoned to her.

In the firelight Errol could see her ashen pallor, her flaxen hair unwashed and unkempt, and the hollowness of her tear-stained cheeks—ah, God, once so fair and rose-tinged as when he had last seen her almost a year ago at her mother’s funeral.

All he wanted to do was get her to Gavin’s ship and into the cargo well where he could tend to her, try to revive her, hold her close and try to reassure her that all would be well?—

“Will it, though?” he barely managed to whisper to himself, Tira moaning softly and fluttering up a hand to her swollen lower lip.

Blood from what must have been a harsh blow had trickled down her chin, which made Errol curse whoever must have struck her. He could see purplish bruises appearing on her cheek, too, where she must have been slapped, hard, Errol clenching his teeth and holding her close while wading into knee-deep water to the side of the ship.

“ Help me !” he cried out, several crewmen who had been left onboard to guard the birlinn appearing at the railing. Errol lifted up Tira into arms reaching down to hoist her over the side and then he clambered aboard and immediately took her from the two startled-looking men.

“Aye, you see what Thorgren Sigurdson has done tae her?” he grated, his jaw tight with fury. He must have appeared so enraged that the crewmen backed up several paces on the deck illuminated at the prow and stern by sputtering torches, though Errol’s barked commands sent them running.

“Clear out the prisoners and hold them here for Laird MacLachlan’s judgment—by God, I hope he cuts their throats! I need lanterns lit and blankets, food and water!”

Not only those two crewmen but several others rushed to oblige him. Errol strode with Tira to the canvas-covered cargo well as the captive raiders were hauled up and thrust to their knees near the railing, both men pleading incoherently for their lives.

Errol ignored them and climbed down the creaky wooden steps into the cargo well that stunk of sweat and unwashed bodies, a bucketful of urine in one corner amidst casks of fresh water—but there were no better conditions for Tira on the ship.

A burly crewman hastened down the steps after him and set about doing what he could, ripping away the soiled blankets from the two cots where their prisoners had slept and laying down cleaner ones, and then handing the slop bucket to another man who waited at the top of the steps.

Another moment more and a pair of lanterns were lit and set atop barrels while the cramped space already smelled better. A strong sea breeze wafted into the cargo well until Errol ordered the canvas thrown back into place, the thick fabric skimming the top of his head, he stood so tall.

Any rain had ceased right after the initial attack, the thick clouds clearing away. A bright three-quarter moon cast light upon the steps from a corner of the canvas left open to admit fresh air.

Fresh air that Errol believed Tira sorely needed—God only knew in what shabby conditions she must have been kept. He was loath to set her down, but her moaning had grown louder and her eyelids fluttered, which told him she was regaining consciousness.

With great tenderness, he settled her upon the nearest cot, though lying upon her back made her stomach appear all the more huge beneath her stained cloak.

How could she even breathe easily with such weight upon her from the bairn? He could see that she shivered now, too, which deeply worried him.

As carefully as he could so not to jostle her, he eased the cloak from beneath her and tossed the wadded-up garment onto a cask in the corner. He had discarded his rain-sodden cloak on deck before battle, and his plaid breacan was splattered with his enemies’ blood. He unwound the garment from his shoulder and waist, and wiped his face before throwing the breacan aside.

“Here’s some water for the lass,” the same crewman said behind him, Errol nodding and taking the brimming cup without a word.

He couldn’t have Tira drink yet or she would choke, her eyes half closed and her head lolled to one side. He murmured, “Leave us,” to the crewman, who gestured toward some oatcakes and a wedge of dried venison he’d left atop a barrel, before disappearing with heavy footfalls up the steps.

“Tira, can you hear me?” Errol’s voice hoarse with emotion, he set down the cup alongside the food and knelt beside the cot so he could draw closer to her, but still she didn’t fully open her eyes.

She had grown so still, her breathing so shallow, that a stab of fear coursed through him that mayhap she would never fully awaken and was dying—the shock of her rescue proving too much for her. He leaned closer to stroke her cheek, his fingers barely touching her skin before her eyes widened and she turned her head to look him full in the face, an earsplitting shriek bursting from her.

“ No, no, no , dinna touch me! Dinna look upon me! Get away, get away !”

Errol half-stumbled to his feet as Tira rolled onto her side and curled into a tight ball, her outcry so piteous, so heartrending that Errol felt moisture burn his eyes.

God in heaven, what had that fiend done to her to make her react to him so? He didn’t know whether to gather her in his arms in spite of her outburst and try to comfort her, or to stand there quietly until she grew calmer, Tira’s body shaking as fierce sobs overcame her.

“Errol, leave the lass tae me for a while, will you?”

He spun around at the sound of Brody MacCreary’s voice, Gavin’s long-time helmsman standing at the foot of the steps. Errol hadn’t even heard him climb down into the cargo well, Brody was so short and wiry a man, his sun-weathered face etched with pity as he glanced past Errol to Tira.

“I’m no healer, but I know enough tae help her as best as I can until we get her home—aye, even if the bairn comes soon. From the look of her, she’s due tae give birth any time now, though I pray the child will wait a wee bit longer. A soft bed with clean linen, hot water, and a hearth fire would be far better than anything we can do for the lass aboard ship. Och, man, are you listening tae me at all?”

Errol nodded, though he found himself staring at Brody as if he hadn’t understood a single word, while Tira continued to weep like her heart was breaking.

“She’s falling into a frenzy, Errol! Canna you see that it’s you distressing her? Get on with you or we’ll have a bairn squalling in this stinking place before you can blink!”

Errol did move, so distressed himself now that he vaulted up the steps and onto the deck in time to see one of the captive raiders grab a knife from a guard’s belt and plunge it into the man’s chest.

The murderer lunging over the side of the ship before Errol could grab him, wild splashing marking his desperate escape to shore while the other raider still knelt upon the deck, begging for his life.

A life cut short with the swing of Errol’s blade, all of his fury and anguish and heartache over Tira’s plight taken out on the remaining prisoner whom Gavin would have executed anyway.

The deck awash now in blood from the slain guard and raider alike while Errol swung his sword again to bury the blade in the railing, splinters flying.

His roared-out curses drowned out Tira’s inconsolable sobs carrying to him from the cargo well…though a moment later when he had fallen silent, his chest heaving and his hands clenched helplessly, he heard Brody’s calming voice.

“Aye, lass, cry your heart out, I dinna blame you. It’s a terrible time you’ve endured, but you’re safe now, Tira Cheyne. Soon we’ll be sailing home tae Scotland…”

Home ? Errol cursed again, this time under his breath as he retrieved his sword and strode toward the prow to see that Gavin and his warriors were making their way back to the ships.

Where did Tira have left to go now that her father was dead? A cousin of Monroe’s had been named chieftain of that sept, the castle and lands given over to him, so she no longer had a home to which she could return—aye, another shock that could kill her in her fragile state.

If Monroe had lived, Errol would have brought her to him and asked for her hand in marriage, for nothing had changed the resolve burning inside him to make Tira his wife.

Not the unborn bairn she carried or the brutality she had suffered or the horrified look she had given him when he touched her cheek—och, God, did she hate all men now, including him?

“It’s done, let us leave this accursed place!” came Gavin’s shouted command to his men as he hoisted himself aboard the ship close to where Errol was standing.

The renowned Highland warrior’s face, arms, and tunic were stained with blood, though he clearly wasn’t wounded at all. Gavin appeared exhilarated in the torchlight, and with one long stride, he reached Errol to slap him heartily on the back.

“Thorgren Sigurdson will have no more tae return home tae than wailing women and bairns, his men dead other than the few that managed tae escape and his settlements burned tae ashes! How does your lady fare, Sutherland?”

Errol could only shrug grimly and glance toward the cargo well, which tempered Gavin’s elation at once, his expression become as grim.

“Dinna tell me she has perished?—”

“No, Brody is tending tae her. He told me I was distressing her and demanded I leave.”

“Och, my helmsman has always been one tae speak his mind. I trust him with my life and you should trust him with your lady. He knew what tae do when my wife, Cora, was aboard ship and became ill, and I’ve no doubt he has healing skills enough tae attend tae the lass if the bairn comes. A terrible misfortune has befallen her, but Tira is alive so you’ve much tae be thankful for, aye?”

Another sound clap on the back didn’t lift Errol’s spirits, but only made him clench his jaw that he had been banished from the cargo well when all he wanted was to remain by her side.

As if discerning his thoughts, Gavin drew him away from the railing as the ship was shoved from the beach into deeper water and the last of the crew clambered aboard.

“Hear me, Sutherland. Tira isna the same as when you last saw her and not just because of the bairn in her belly. She’s suffered just as Cora suffered at the hands of her first husband, may Seoras MacDougall rot in hell. If he hadna been slain, I would have found him myself and cleaved him in two for what he did tae her—aye, a pity Thorgren wasna here so you could mete out fair justice like you did tae that one there.”

Gavin glanced over his shoulder to where several crewmen had picked up the slain raider to toss his lifeless body into the sea, and then back to Errol, who nodded.

“Aye, it was me. The other one jumped overboard before I could strike him dead. Forgive me if I overstepped?—”

“You saved me the trouble, Sutherland! Your anger and frustration are evident, but you will have tae be patient with the lass. She’s in a fragile state and soon tae be a mother tae another man’s bairn, not yours. I’m sorry tae say it, but only time will tell if she recovers enough tae want any man near her again—och, it looks like I’m the one now tae take the helm!”

Gavin left Errol and strode toward the stern, the crew taking their seats at the oars to row the ship further away from the shoreline.

That left Errol to hasten after him, though it was all he could do to walk past the cargo well without ducking down the steps to check on Tira.

Thankfully he heard no sobbing beneath the canvas that was drawn tight, which made sense from how swiftly the temperature was dropping as the night deepened.

Was Tira warm enough? Had she managed to sip the water or eat anything? Had Brody given her some healer’s brew to calm her? Or were there preparations being made for a birth—och, how could he think about anything but what was happening with her?

“Sutherland, come and take the helm! Let’s give you a lesson in seamanship—God help you if you steer us into the rocks, I’ll throw you into the sea myself.”

Errol nodded, deep gratitude gripping him that Gavin had sensed the concerns running rampant through his mind and sought to distract him.

He would just have to keep telling himself that Tira was no longer a captive, but aboard ship and safe, which right now was all that mattered.

Yet in spite of how hard he tried to focus on Gavin’s instructions at the helm, he could not forget the look of horror in Tira’s eyes.

The same beautiful dove gray he remembered, but no longer filled with sweet innocence and love for him, only heartbreaking torment…