Chapter Eighteen

“I don’t want to look at him,” Genvieve insisted. She looked over her shoulder at the man leaning against the trunk of a tree with the arrow between his eyes.

“Dinna mind the blood, lass.” Iain warned her.

“I wouldn’t ask,” Garrick said, “if we didn’t need you to see if you could identify him.”

His jaw was tight with what she knew was suppressed anger. Anger that they’d been attacked and that three of the attackers had escaped during the fray.

The look on Garrick’s face changed as he leaned in close. “The longer you put it off, the longer Kelly will have to wait to have the arrow removed.”

Her hands flew to her mouth, and she struggled to calm her roiling stomach. “I’m sorry,” she rasped. “Of course, I’ll look at the man.”

Garrick reached out and placed his hand beneath her elbow and guided her over to the fallen attacker. She shivered once, and felt the bile rising in her queasy stomach, but clamped her jaw shut tight and dug deep for a courage she didn’t feel. The arrow protruded from the middle of the man’s forehead and blood still dripped in rivulets into the man’s sightless eyes.

Closing her eyes to gather her fleeting courage, she breathed deeply. The hand on her elbow swept around to her back. She leaned against Garrick’s strength, grateful that he understood she needed his support—just for a moment.

When she opened her eyes, she was ready. Ignoring the blood, looking past it to the man beneath, she concentrated on the shape of the man’s face and the size of him. A flicker of a memory from her interrupted journey to accompany her young cousin Angelique to join her father at Merewood Keep had her seeing double.

Literally. There had been two men, twins, in the party of warriors who were to escort her on to her ailing mother, rather than the planned trip north to Merewood Keep. The dead man before her was one of the brothers.

She swayed as another memory assaulted her, this one of the nightmare abduction and the man who’d delivered the blow that had rendered her temporarily mute—the dead man’s brother.

“Do you recognize the mon, lass?”

She nodded. “His name’s Jean and his brother is Claude. They were part of my mother’s private guard.”

Iain and Garrick looked at one another and then back at Genvieve. She didn’t want to go into the details now, but she did for the sake of one man. Winslow MacInness. She wanted to find her husband. Needed to find him and tell him she remembered what happened. He was in grave danger, for she had just remembered the name the kidnappers had let slip before she tried to escape and they beat her—Annaliese de Chauret…her mother!

The party rode in silence and Genvieve didn’t ask where they were headed. She’d thought they would set up camp for the night, but they rode past one clearing after another. Too heartsick to approach Garrick and ask why their plans had changed, she kept her back as straight as possible so as not to injure her ribs further, vowing to seek her cousin out as soon as possible.

She felt every dip and bump in the road. Genvieve didn’t want to complain, but the pain tearing through her had tears blurring her vision. A quick look to the left told her that the warrior riding alongside her wasn’t paying any attention to her. She used the edge of her sleeve to wipe her eyes and struggled to breathe.

“Do ye need to stop, then?”

She nearly jumped out of the saddle. “I…er…no,” she lied.

The Scotsman’s sigh was deep and heartfelt. “Yer no’ a guid liar, milady.”

Garrick was beside her before she could respond. “I should have realized it would be too painful to ride this distance, Lady Genvieve.”

She wanted to tell him it was all right and that she could ride for as long as she had to, but he leaned over toward her, wrapped an arm around her and gathered her to his massive chest. “Rest,” he ordered, one hand securely around her and the other on the reins.

The heat from his body warmed her, relaxing her to the point where she closed her eyes. Just for a minute, she promised herself.

Genvieve woke as they were approaching Merewood Keep’s curtain wall. The warriors calling out to Garrick had her struggling to wipe the sleep from her eyes. “I thought we were going to search for my husband.”

Garrick’s jaw was clenched, still he spoke, “We are.”

“But—”

“I believe your cousin will be able to help us locate MacInness and Patrick.”

The huge log securing the gate was lifted and the gate swung inward, allowing Garrick and his warriors to enter the bailey. Genvieve wanted to insist that she could dismount on her own, but Garrick shook his head and handed her off to Armand, another of her cousin’s men.

“Milady,” he rasped, holding her securely in his arms, “what happened?”

“Later,” Iain bit out, helping Kelly dismount. “Take us to de Chauret.”

Armand paused, but one look from Garrick and the younger warrior strode across the bailey and up the steps to the hall. The first person Genvieve saw was her cousin’s daughter.

“Genvieve!” her glad cry echoed in the sudden silence.

Looking over her shoulder, Genvieve realized just how bedraggled and bloody their group was.

“Maman,” Angelique called out, “we need your healing herbs.”

Lady Eyreka paused and called out to one of the serving women instructing her to fetch the healing herbs and her supply of clean strips of linen. “What happened?”

Armand set Genvieve on the nearest bench and went back to help the wounded into the hall.

“Are you sure you want to stay and help?” Genvieve asked the little girl, her voice still rough.

Augustin nodded, seemingly pleased that even though her voice sounded horrible, she was speaking. “My daughter helped save my lady wife’s life, did I not have an opportunity to tell you?”

Genvieve shook her head and immediately regretted the action.

Eyreka’s knowing look didn’t bother her. She felt abysmal and didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to hold out, waiting for Kelly to be taken care of. If she could just have something for the pain in her head.

The cup appeared before her almost as she finished making the wish. She didn’t hesitate, trusting Lady Eyreka not to want to do her harm, she drank deeply. Almost immediately the pain over her left eye eased, but it was probably because she knew the herbal draught would work.

“Let me help with Kelly,” she insisted, but no one listened to her, instead they settled the Irishman onto a bench, while Garrick heated the blade they would use to seal the injury once they extracted the arrow shaft.

“I can—”

“Be quiet,” Iain said, coming to stand beside her.

“Of all the arrogant, pigheaded…”

“You maun want to stop there, lass,” Iain said.

“You’ll turn his pretty head with all your sweet words,” Eamon said, looking at her for the first time without rancor.

She wondered what had changed the man’s opinion of her, but at the moment was too worried about Kelly to wonder. She stood, Iain reached out as if to stop her, but she said, “Please? He’s hurt because of me.”

Iain nodded and she walked over to where Kelly sat. Without asking permission, she grabbed a hold of his hand and held tight. All through the arduous process of removing the shaft from his shoulder, she held tight. Her stomach roiled, her heart pounded double-time, and tears trickled into the corners of her mouth, but she didn’t let go or look away from the grim set of Kelly’s mouth.

“I’d rather it had been me—”

“And I’m certain MacInness will be grateful it wasn’t,” Kelly answered, locking gazes with her.

“But—”

“’Tis a paltry wound,” he said, then sucked in a breath as the shaft slid free.

She moved closer when Lady Eyreka reached for the heated knife. “This will be painful, Kelly,” the older woman warned.

“I’ve used the method myself, many times,” Kelly rasped as the sizzle of burning flesh and his soft groan of agony filled the hall.

“I used to think the process of sewing a wound back together was nothing of great import,” Lady Eyreka said. “That is, until it was my turn to have a wound stitched back together.”

Kelly didn’t speak, but he managed to nod.

Genvieve prayed the entire time they worked on him. By the time his wound had been covered with a thick layer of salve, and a bandage applied, she was so tired her eyes burned.

“Your turn, lass.” Iain said without missing a beat.

“I don’t need—”

“Your ribs, milady,” Iain said. “Dinna tell me they’ve miraculously healed themselves?”

Lady Eyreka’s smile eased some of the tension in the hall as she took over Genvieve’s care. “If someone will fetch Lady Jillian, I’ll need her help upstairs.”

The order for more heated water followed them upstairs to the solar.

Jillian joined them just as they were helping Genvieve out of her ragged chainse.

“It’ll help if you sit very still,” Jillian suggested.

“Have you ever had a cracked rib?”

Jillian nodded, “Yes. Several.”

Genvieve fell silent then and let them wash the dust of the journey away and bind her ribs. She could still breathe, so she didn’t feel she could complain at how tightly they wrapped the linen around her.

After another herbal draught, she was ready to fall asleep, but fought the need. “I need to find Winslow,” she said to the two women.

“Winslow is very resourceful,” Jillian said.

“And not to be underestimated,” Eyreka added.

“But he doesn’t know what he’s up against. I’ve only just realized who is behind the attempts on his life.” Her voice broke and her with it her heart.

The women didn’t speak, but watched and waited.

“My mother.”

Their identical reaction didn’t ease the guilt she was feeling. “If it weren’t for me, Winslow wouldn’t be held captive,” she said.

“But he could already have escaped by now,” Jillian offered.

“Or been injured,” Genvieve whispered, remembering what Iain and Garrick had said about the dried blood they’d found on the plants and ground.

A devastating thought lanced through her. “He wouldn’t have had to marry…”

Jillian got up and walked over to sit beside her. “It was for the best,” she reassured her. “And Winslow loves you.”

“How can you say that,” Genvieve asked, “when he still loves you?”

Jillian’s eyes flared with emotion, but she didn’t back down. “’Tis you he loves, Genvieve,” she said quietly. “I was here when he carried your battered body in through the gate.”

“He doesn’t.”

Eyreka sat on the other side of Genvieve and laid a hand on her arm. “He does,” she said simply. “You have to trust us, we’ve known Winslow longer than you have.”

Genvieve’s heart lurched. Could it be true? Did her husband really love her? He desired her, lusted for her she knew, but love?

A commotion in the hall below then had the women all rising to their feet. As the cry went up, her heart began to thrum a steady beat. Winslow! She couldn’t say exactly how she knew, but she sensed her husband had returned.

“Genvieve!” his shout rattled the goblet and bowl on the table. And then the man himself burst through the doorway, blood dripping from a cut high on his forehead and another across his chin.

“Winslow,” she rose slowly, carefully and walked toward him. “You’re all right?” she asked, knowing he was, yet crying uncontrollably because she thought she’d lost him.

“Dinna greet, lassie,” he said as he gathered her to his heart. The dam burst and sobs tore through her body as the fear she’d been holding at bay for the last few days slammed into her with a vengeance.

“You’re hurt,” she heard Jillian say.

“Ye should see the other mon,” her husband rumbled in reply.

He shifted Genvieve in his arms, and she lost her breath, bracing herself against him, she tried to catch it.

“Where are ye hurt, lass?”

The worry in his voice soothed the sharp edge off the pain and allowed her to draw in a breath.

“Her ribs,” Eyreka answered. “It was an accident when Kelly threw himself on top of her.”

Her husband stiffened, his arms like steel bands around her. “Arrows were being fired from all directions at once,” she said, hoping to ease some of the tension in Winslow.

“He didna have to break yer ribs.”

Genvieve pushed out of his arms. “Aye,” she readily agreed. “He could have left me atop my horse and let the pike aimed at my heart have me.”

The tremors coursing through Winslow had her wishing she’d told him slowly, or more carefully.

“I need to sit down.” He sat, pulling her onto his lap.

She went willingly. When the door to the solar closed, she didn’t look up. Nothing mattered right now except the two of them, right here, right now.

“What happened to you, Winslow?”

He shook his head. “Give a mon a moment, lass.”

She waited a few longer than that and then prodded him. “Why didn’t you leave me a note to tell me where you’d gone?”

“Patrick knew where I was headed.”

“But what about me?” Genvieve demanded.

He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “I’m verra sorry to have hurt ye, lass.”

“But—”

“Let it go for now, lass,” he asked.

She agreed for the moment, vowing to find out why tomorrow.