Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Only years of experience at concealing his emotions made it possible for Michael to keep from revealing his amusement. She was so fierce and even more beautiful than he remembered from his first impression of her, clouded as that had been by his pain and his deep gratitude for her intervention.

Her flaxen hair, loosely plaited and bereft of a proper headdress, shone brightly in the sunlight. His mother would disapprove of its informal style, but he liked it. Her beautifully shaped eyes with their unusual soft-gray irises outlined in black fascinated him. Her lashes were likewise unusual, astonishingly lush and dark for so fair a wench. But it was her animation, the way her expression altered so swiftly from curiosity to interest, then to suspicion and stern determination that most strongly attracted him. Doubtless, however, next would come fury.

That last thought stirred a hope that she was not one quick to slap men.

Her eyes flashed, and he knew his silence had increased her displeasure with him, but any reply he could make to her demand was unlikely to please her.

"Well?" she said.

"I'm at a loss, mistress, and can only say, as I said before, that 'tis best you ken no more until you are safely out of this business. Indeed, I'll be unable to tell you much then, for as yet I ken little about it myself."

She met his gaze, her eyes narrow with skepticism.

He continued to gaze calmly back, and after a long moment, she nodded.

"Very well," she said. "I will trust you for a short time longer. I know a herdsman with a summer shieling not far from here. Once we're over the ridge, we'll come to a brook and can find his place easily if we follow it. He'll grant us shelter, and if those villains should chance upon him, his favorite doltish expression will persuade them that he speaks the truth when he declares he's seen naught of us."

"We will hope he never meets them," Michael said, knowing that few men could long withstand Waldron's methods.

They climbed out of the steep ravine quietly and with caution. However, noting no indication of pursuit, they increased their pace and ten minutes later crossed over the ridge. The high glen they entered boasted grassy, rock-strewn slopes, and Michael could hear the burn she had mentioned rushing downhill.

"That aspen thicket follows the course of the burn and will shield us from view if your friends look for us from the ridge top," she said.

He noted a pair of sheep grazing nearby but decided that even Waldron would recognize them for strays and pay them no heed.

"How far?" he asked.

"Perhaps a half mile," she said, giving him a searching look.

"Good," he said and headed doggedly toward the aspens.

Concealing his increasing fatigue required more exertion now, and despite exercise and sunlight he was growing chilly, so whatever miraculous power had kept him going was rapidly waning. The dizziness he had felt earlier had returned in full measure, and what he had dismissed as sweat running down his back, he realized, was more likely blood from the deep whip cuts Waldron had given him. He feared he was near collapse and did not want to disgrace himself before the lass.

She walked a step or two behind him, and he knew from the measuring look she cast now and again that she recognized his fatigue. But she had said nothing about his wounds, although she had been able to see them plainly since leaving the darkness of the cave.

He glanced at her and saw that she had fixed her attention firmly on the ground at her feet. Her movements remained confident and graceful, making it easy to imagine her in courtly dress, and stirring a strong desire in him to see her so.

She looked up and met his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

"My back is bleeding again, is it not?" he said quietly.

"Aye, your wounds have been oozing or dripping blood all along," she replied in the same tone. "I'll tend them when we reach MacCaig's shieling."

"So your herdsman is a MacCaig then, not a Macleod?"

"Aye, but the MacCaigs are close kinsmen of Mackenzie's, and I know Matthias well. We can trust him."

"Then we will," he agreed.

The aspens grew thicker, and he feared they had made a mistake in seeking their shelter until he noted a barely discernible track near the water. No more than an occasional deer trail, it followed the burn and would therefore serve their purpose well enough.

He had little energy and knew he needed food and rest. He wondered if Waldron had coated the lash with one of his devilish potions, then decided the man would take no chance of killing him until he was sure he could not provide the information he sought.

Michael's foot slipped off a wet rock, and although he caught himself easily enough by grabbing a stout aspen branch, he did not allow his thoughts to wander from the trail again until the lass said quietly, "There, sir, just ahead."

He saw the low roof of a hut then, no larger than one of his sheds at Roslin. It looked much like the crofts one saw throughout the Highlands but smaller, with a grassy-looking thatched roof that drooped so low that he would not have been surprised to see rabbits and deer, even sheep, contentedly grazing on it.

"Do not call out," he warned in an undertone.

"Nay, I know how far sound travels up here," she said. "It seems empty, though, and the animals are gone. Matthias may have taken them up the glen to fresh pasturing."

Just then, a lanky, red-haired lad of twelve or thirteen emerged from the hut and looked around. When his gaze discovered them, a wide, toothy grin split his face and he hurried forward.

"Lady Isobel, welcome!" he exclaimed. "If ye're looking for me dad, he's taken the beasts off t' the high pasture and willna be back till tomorrow."

Isobel glanced at Michael, but he remained silent, apparently content to let her take charge of the situation.

To give herself a moment to think, she smiled at Ian MacCaig, whom she had known since his birth, and said, "'Twill doubtless seem strange to you, but we have come to request your hospitality."

His eyes widened, and he glanced doubtfully at the hut behind him. Then, straightening, he nodded in a grown-up way and said, "Ye're welcome t' what we have, m'lady, but there be sma' space inside for the two o' ye."

Isobel looked again at Michael. His face was ashen, his eyes glassy, and she knew his strength was nearly gone. He had not said a word, and if Ian looked askance at him, she could not blame the lad. Doubtless he thought Michael a servant of some sort, garbed as he was in breeches, boots, and little else. Doubtless, too, Ian wondered why they sought shelter so near Chalamine on so sunny a day.

The air had grown chilly, though, and that became the deciding factor.

"I will trust you with the truth, Ian," she said, "but you must repeat it to no one. Outlanders are hunting us in Glen Mòr and elsewhere, so we need help from Chalamine, but the strangers know who I am and may seek us there. This gentleman is"—Michael made an almost inaudible sound of warning—"is ill and must have food and rest before we can go farther. So I want you to take a message to my father, telling him of our plight and requesting a sizeable escort of armed men to take us safely home. Will you do that for me?"

"Aye, m'lady, o' course," Ian said. "I could go t' me own laird, too, if ye'd rather. He has men aplenty and can raise them in a twink."

That was true, but she remembered that the men had followed Michael from Eilean Donan, and this time when she looked at him, he gave a slight headshake. She recalled, too, that the track to Eilean Donan, hemmed by Loch Duich on one side and steep banks on the other, would be easier to block than the track to Chalamine. The latter route would be safer until they knew more.

To Ian, she said, "The men after us are less likely to seek us at Chalamine than at Eilean Donan, but since they do know of Chalamine, there is at least a chance that they may go there and may even reach the castle before you. If they do, you must not let them guess that you carry a message from me."

"I can say I'm looking for me cousin Angus from Skye," Ian said. "If I make me way round about and approach Glenelg from Kyle Rhea way, they'll no think aught o' my being there than that I followed him from the Isle."

"An excellent notion," Isobel said. "But before you go, have you food to spare? My friend needs to recover his strength as quickly as he can."

"Aye, we ha' cheese and bread inside—ale, too. Take what ye want. I'll be as quick as I can," the boy added, casting another curious look at Michael.

"Just be careful," Isobel warned him. "We know of six men looking for us, but there may be more and they may have separated into smaller groups. Trust no stranger, and keep clear of any you see. Your safety is more important than speed."

"Then they'll no see me at all, m'lady. Ye can depend on that. Will ye come inside now?" He gestured toward the entrance to the hut. "I should shut the door, lest the critters get in and eat our food."

She nodded, and as they went inside, he carefully shut the lower half of the door, leaving the upper half latched back against the wall to let in the light. The tiny hut boasted no windows.

He was off as soon as he had shown them the larder—little more than a large straw basket—and had cut bread and cheese for himself.

The rest of the hut's contents consisted of only a thin straw pallet, a rickety stool, and an equally rickety table, on which sat a tinderbox and several loose tallow candles. The pallet had a thick wool blanket folded on top, and a pile of wood lay nearby to provide a small fire when evening came, but Isobel saw nothing that she could use to tend Michael's wounds.

"How long will it take him to go and come back?" Michael asked.

Surprised by his grim tone, Isobel said, "Why, I do not know, sir. On horseback and without concern for who might see me, I could be home in an hour. Afoot as Ian is, and on the watch for strangers, I warrant it will take him a good bit longer. The track to Glenelg from Glen Mòr is narrow and steep, and there are many places where one can overlook much of it. Had the men I saw this morning chanced to look my way, they most likely would have seen me. Fortunately, though, I expect they had their attention fixed on following you, and I had paused to enjoy the sunshine, and thus was still for a time. I only caught sight of them because of their movement as they entered the wee glen."

"You saw just the tail of Waldron's party," he said. "I'm only guessing they followed me from Eilean Donan, because I don't think they can have known about the cave before they discovered me on the point of entering it. They seemed surprised to see it, and Waldron sent two men into it straightaway whilst the others strung me up and ripped my shirt from me."

"I should tend your wounds," she said. "Would you prefer to lie down on that pallet now whilst I do it, or do you want something to eat first?"

"I'd better eat something," he said. "I don't know what you can do for them anyway, so mayhap after I eat, I'll just sleep until the lad returns."

"You'll do no such thing unless you want your injuries to putrefy," she said as she sliced bread and cheese with her dirk. "After you eat, we'll go to the stream. I see no cloths here that I want to use, but my shift is clean enough. I can rip strips of it to tend the worst of them, and I saw herbs near the streambed from which I can make a plaster to ease your pain. Then you may sleep until Ian returns."

His wan smile revealed his exhaustion more than anything else had, making him look more like a weary child than a grown man. "I am yours to command, my lady," he said. "After a few bites of food, I'll be in fine fettle again."

"Sit on that pallet then, sir, and eat what I've cut for you," she said.

"You should not call me ‘sir,' you know," he said as he lowered himself to the pallet. "I warrant that lad thought me your servant until you identified me as a gentleman and friend. That may prove a costly error if he is caught and questioned."

"They won't catch him," she said confidently.

"Still, it would be easier if you could bring yourself to call me Michael."

"I do not know you well enough for such familiarity, sir."

"Aye, well, at least now I ken you to be more properly called Lady Isobel."

"But so I told you from the outset," she said, watching as he bit off a large chunk of the bread at last and chewed. "My name is no secret."

"At the cavern you identified yourself only as Macleod of Glenelg's daughter. If memory serves me, the man has many daughters."

"That is true," she admitted. "There were eight of us, but only Adela, Sorcha, and Sidony remain at home. The others are all married or dead."

"I see," he said, his tone harsh again. "Tell me something of your husband then, madam. Who is he and what manner of man is he that he allows his lady wife to ride about the countryside without anyone to guard her from evil assailants?"

"Sakes, sir, I don't have a husband!"

"You said that all but those three of your father's daughters were married or dead," he reminded her. "You are certainly not dead."

"No, but as I'm sure I told you earlier, I have lived with Hector Reaganach and my sister Cristina at Lochbuie since I turned thirteen. I was not counting myself as part of the group that remained at Chalamine but merely describing the others. I do see, though, that I did not make myself clear when I said that about my sisters."

"Your denial was most vehement, lass. Do you dislike men so much?"

"I don't dislike them at all, most of the time, for they can be quite useful creatures," she said, chuckling. "Indeed, they are indispensable at court if one wants to dance or to flirt. 'Tis not men I have no use for, sir, only husbands."

"I see."

That reply being more encouragement than usual to express her point of view on the subject, she said, "Marriage is forever and ever, sir, and in my experience, it is the nature of husbands to be tyrants." When he frowned, she added with a sigh, "Should I cut more bread and cheese for you, or may we go out to the burn now?"

"We'd better go now if we're going to go at all," he said.

He did not look much steadier as he got to his feet, but after she peeked outside and decided no one would see them if they took care to keep to the shelter of the shrubbery, he followed her meekly. When they neared the swiftly flowing burn, he sat on a boulder and rested while she ripped a generous portion of her shift away and soaked it in the chilly water.

He remained stoic while she tended the cuts across his back, but his skin rippled from time to time in shudders that told her more than words that her ministrations were hurting him.

"The plaster I'll make will help as you rest," she said, gently dabbing the deepest of the cuts. "Sicklewort will help protect against putrefaction, too, but you may have trouble sleeping, especially if you often turn over in your sleep."

"'Tis a pity I've no southernwood with me," he murmured. "It makes a fine brew that sends one straight off to sleep."

"I've chamomile at Chalamine," she said. "It would make you drowsy, but I doubt that it would ease your pain. I do not know southernwood. Is it an herb?"

"Aye, and useful for dyeing, too, but 'tis rare in Britain," he said. "One finds it more easily in Spain and … and elsewhere. I usually carry some with me."

"Have you been to Spain, then?"

"Aye, because my foster father believes travel is educational."

"I'm sure it is," she agreed. "What color dye does southernwood produce?"

"Deep yellow. In some areas, its plants bear large flowers in great profusion, and the ancient Greeks and Romans thought it magical, especially as an aphrodisiac when placed under a mattress. I cannot vouch for its worth in that way," he added with a smile. "But as a composer it is far more efficient than chamomile."

Feeling heat in her cheeks at his casual mention of aphrodisiacs, she applied her attention to rinsing out her cloth in the burn. Then, realizing that she would not get all the blood out of it, she bent to tear another piece of cambric from her shift.

As she turned back to face him after soaking the second piece, he said gently, "I should not have said that about southernwood's aphrodisiacal powers, lass, not to a maiden who clearly understands the meaning of such. Forgive me."

"I have naught to forgive, sir. You made a learned observation, nothing more."

"Faith, but you should not even be alone like this with me, and if that lad does not return before nightfall …" He left the rest unsaid.

She had not considered that detail while the necessity of escaping their captors and fears that her companion might expire had consumed her thoughts, and she dismissed it now. Michael's recovery was more important. She did not want anything to happen to him, certainly not before he had done much more to satisfy her curiosity about himself and the men who had captured them.

Until he mentioned aphrodisiacs, she had thought of him only as a fellow victim of mysterious assailants, albeit a distractingly handsome one.

That last thought startled her, and in order to divert her imagination, she said abruptly, "We can go back inside now."

He nodded, and when he stood and turned toward her with a smile that reminded her of how warm and sensual his voice had been in the darkness, she added hastily, "I have been wondering about something else, sir. How is it that those men were able to follow you all the way from Eilean Donan to that cave without your seeing them? The distance must be at least five miles."

"Waldron is highly skilled at such things, and his men likewise," he said, gently touching her arm to nudge her toward the hut. "Moreover, I failed to realize they might predict my visit to Kintail and was not as wary as I should have been."

"But might they not simply have followed you to Eilean Donan? Indeed, if they did not, then how—?"

"Waldron would not have had to follow me. He knows of my friendship with Kintail and … and other details that might have led him to make the conjecture, but I do not think he has allies of his own in this area. As to whether he might have followed me, I am certain he did not, because I traveled by boat from Oban."

"Is your home near Oban then?" she asked. Oban was not far from Lochbuie.

He smiled. "Nay, lass, but I do know the countryside thereabouts better than here. 'Tis how I ken Hector the Ferocious. Is the man really such a tyrant?"

She blinked at the abrupt transition. "What makes you think he is one at all?"

"You said that all husbands are, so I supposed that your experience living with him and your sister had produced that opinion. And, too, men do call him Hector the Ferocious with good cause, I'm told."

That her words had stirred him to think such a thing of Hector startled her, and she paused to think just how she could most honestly reply.

Michael watched her as they strolled back to the hut, wondering how strongly she would cling to her harsh opinion of husbands—indeed, of men in general, if he was not mistaken. He hoped she would not prove intractable on the subject. So bonnie a lass should not go through life alone, not when she would so clearly make any man an excellent and delightfully stimulating partner.

She paused twice to gather herbs on the way but still had not replied to his question when they entered the hut, where the only light came from a narrow golden path of sunlight spilling through the open portion of the doorway.

"Why so quiet, lass?" he asked. "Is Hector Reaganach not tyrannical?"

"He is always kind to me unless I do something to displease him," she said.

"Ah, but then he becomes tyrannical."

"Nay. He knows how to make me sorry, to be sure, but he is a fair man. Certainly he has been kinder than my father, but both are exceedingly domineering men, sir, as is every other man I have met. That is simply the nature of men."

"Is it? I expect you would know more than I about that," he said.

"Aye, for my sisters' husbands all expect the sun and moon to rise by their wants and desires, and my sisters to exert themselves at all times to please them, although those same husbands show small consideration for their wives."

"Most vexatious, I agree."

"Well, it is," she said, giving him a look that told him she suspected him of mocking her. Instantly confirming his deduction, she said with a decisive nod, "You are teasing me, but do you not agree that life would be more pleasant and peaceful if men were not continually fighting each other as they do? Women's lives certainly would be if men were not always making demands upon them, or making war with their neighbors, or dashing off to Spain or other foreign places where they might get themselves killed even more easily than at home."

"And all the beasts should be at peace?"

Her eyes narrowed. "My aunt often quotes verses from the Bible, too, sir, when she wishes to make a point. 'Tis a most annoying habit."

"Aye, well, I was more likely misquoting from it," he said. "Do you compare our plight now to a war?"

"Is it not similar?" she asked, gesturing toward the door. "Those horrid men!"

Michael was adept at recognizing thin ice before he fell through it. If she linked Waldron's quest with war, her assessment of the danger in which they stood was accurate enough. He would do naught to make it more so. Instead, he said, "Life and the simple need to survive creates conflicts, lass, and survival requires the ability to make good decisions quickly. That need produces men who do not always seek counsel with those they must protect, but I do not agree that that simple fact of life provides you with sufficient cause to avoid all men or the married state. 'Tis possible that you have simply not met the right person yet."

"I do not intend to marry," she said flatly.

She had shaken out the blanket folded atop the pallet as they talked, and now spread it wide so that half of it lay on the straw and the other half on the floor. She gestured for him to lie down on the portion that covered the pallet.

"Lie on your stomach," she said as she reached through the slit in her skirt to take her dirk from its sheath. "I'm going to chop these herbs and mash them with water to make a plaster."

"You don't mean to rub that mess into my wounds, I hope," he said as, with a sigh of relief, he lay facedown on the pallet.

She smiled. "You deserve that I should, mayhap even that I should add salt to the plaster, but I mean only to spread the mixture on the clean piece of cambric I ripped from my shift. With hot water I could make it into a true jelly that would spread more easily, but we don't want to risk smoke from a fire."

"No, we do not," he agreed, turning his head to watch her sleepily, and resting his cheek on his folded forearms.

Isobel expected him to fall asleep the moment he lay down, but he continued to watch her as she prepared her plaster, putting the minced sicklewort leaves into a wooden bowl that she found hanging on one wall and mashing them to pulp with the dirk's hilt. She had left the cleaner bit of cambric from her shift to drip dry over the lower half of the door, so she fetched it and wrung some of the remaining water into the cup, then continued to mash until the concoction resembled watery gruel.

"I'll be as gentle as I know how to be, but I fear it will feel cold at first," she said as she knelt to spread the damp cloth over his back. "Indeed, I do not know that it will do you the least bit of good, but I do not think it will do you any harm."

"Stop fretting, lass," he murmured drowsily. "Just be sure you wake me at once if you hear so much as a twig crack outside."

"I will," she promised. "It will get cold, though. Do you think it will be safe to build a fire in here later?"

"Nay," he said. "Even if they cannot see the smoke, they may smell it. 'Tis better if the glen looks deserted."

He fell silent then and did not stir as she carefully spread the cloth over his wounds, but when she moved to cover him with the second half of the blanket, he reached out and caught her hand.

"You need to rest, too," he said. "If you leave the blanket spread, I can move over onto the floor and let you have the pallet. I've slept on the ground often, and I vow, nothing can keep me awake tonight, as tired as I am."

"You'll need warmth, sir," she said, pulling her hand with reluctance from his. "Without good wool atop that cloth, you'll feel only the chill, and the herbs will do you no good. With the blanket on you, your body heat will stir their vapors."

Silence greeted her, and she said no more. When his breathing deepened to that of sleep, she covered him with the blanket and sat back on her heels. Wanting food more than sleep, she cut herself some cheese, glanced outside to find the glen gloomy with dusk and silent. Only the murmur of the burn and a distant night bird's cry broke the stillness.

Knowing that at that time of year, the sky was unlikely to grow darker before midnight, and fearing that a watcher on the ridge might detect movement if she went for a walk, she sat down near the hut's wall, ate her small meal, and leaned back to rest. She knew no more until she awoke with a start, shivering.

The temperature had dropped considerably, it was much darker than before, and a creeping dampness had settled around her.

Getting up carefully so as not to waken Michael, she tiptoed stiffly to the doorway and looked out into darkness nearly as dense as they had experienced in the cave. A deep breath and years of experience told her that a thick Highland mist had crept into the glen as they slept. Even if Ian MacCaig had reached Chalamine, he would bring no help tonight. By the same token, however, strangers to the area would not try to find them in such a mist. She could let herself relax and be fairly certain that, for a few hours at least, they were safe.

Making her way to the pallet, she felt for the blanket and made certain it covered him. Then, wrapping herself in her cloak, she lay down on the hard floor beside the pallet and fell asleep almost before she shut her eyes.

Reluctantly half-awake and vaguely aware of gentle warmth at his side, Michael gratefully moved closer to the source. When his movement stirred responsive movement beside him, his eyes snapped open.

The first thing he noticed was that the interior of the hut was lighter than it had been before he fell asleep. Mist seeped over the bottom half of the door, because apparently the lass had not thought to shut the top, and thus it was as chilly and damp inside as outside.

The warmth felt strongest along his right arm. Logic told him he had only to move his head to see the source, but something was in the way, something that tickled his chin. Realization came then to his brain and to his body, the latter reacting more swiftly than the former.

Shifting his right arm with care, he slipped it gently around her and drew her closer, hoping she would not waken and noting that although his back still felt stiff and sore, the previous day's pain had eased considerably.

The lass did not wake but snuggled closer with a contented sigh.

Knowing the damage had already been done and that they would both deal with the consequences better if they were rested, he let himself drift back to sleep.

Hours later, the mist silently lifted, letting sunlight back into the high glen, but it was not the sun's golden brilliance that awakened him. It was the sound of footsteps hurrying toward the hut.

Instantly alert, he moved to get up, easing his arm away from the still-sleeping lass. His ease of movement told him that he was in far better condition than the previous day. Even so, when he stood, he swayed with dizziness.

Ignoring the vertigo, he let the now-dry plaster slip from his back and stepped silently to the doorway, only to come face to face with an anxious-looking, slender woman in a hooded dark-green cloak.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "And where is my sister?"