Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I seabail was more than disheartened as they entered the tavern. The news the innkeeper had relayed to them last night had given her hope that she would be one step closer to discovering where she would find this crystal. Now, that hope had been dashed.

Maybe she ought to be saddened that a man had also lost his life, but she was too concerned about her father and brother’s wellbeing to be able to care that the merchant had drowned.

Owen returned to the table looking dejected, and dropping himself down beside her, he said, “The tavern has nay rooms available tonight. We’re going tae have tae move on.”

Iseabail nodded. “Well, wherever we go, can it be inland, for it is bound tae be warmer than here? I’m still cold even now.”

He nodded. “I agree. Besides, there’s naething much tae dae here. Fer yer sanity, I’m going tae have tae try and keep ye occupied.”

Iseabail looked at him then, and thinking of his consideration of her, a small smile formed on her lips. “Ye think I might go mad?” she said.

“I think we might both go mad. Even if we could stay here, all we could dae is pace back and forth in that tiny room fer a week, waiting for the sea tae calm. If that doesnae send a person mad, I dinnae ken what would.”

Plates with eggs and meat with bread arrived a little later, and the conversation was put on hold as they filled their bellies before their journey. Iseabail had no idea where they ought to go next, but Owen was not wrong. Being cooped up in a room for a week would hardly be suitable or productive.

Mounted upon their horses once more, Owen led the way, and they travelled in the same direction they had come, at least for a while. As predicted, the farther inland they journeyed, the warmer it became, and as Iseabail felt the significance of the absence of the coastal wind, she was grateful for the change in weather.

They had been travelling for several hours when a village came into view up ahead. It was nestled down a hill, and looked to be surrounded by open glens all around it.

“We should stop here and rest the horses,” Owen suggested, bringing his horse to a steady stop beside a large group of trees. “Perhaps a walk intae the village will dae us good. Besides, I dinnae ken about ye, but I’m starving.”

“Even after that great big feed this morning?” Iseabail said with a grin.

“Hey,” he said, dismounting and patting his flat stomach with a smirk. “I’m a growing lad.”

Iseabail shook her head. “I cannae imagine ye have much farther tae go.”

With a chuckle, Owen took hold of her by the waist and gently lifted her down from the horse. She held onto his thick arms, and as he slowly lowered her to the ground, Iseabail suddenly felt a little breathless at their proximity.

“Thank ye,” she breathed.

“Ye’re welcome,” he said, gazing down at her.

Their eyes locked, and the two lingered for just a second too long. Feeling a strange sensation in her stomach, Iseabail quickly turned away and took a swift step back. But as she did so, an agonizing pain shot through her ankle.

“Argh,” she screamed, jumping in fright. Something had bitten her; she was sure of it.

“What’s the matter?” Owen cried, his face a picture of astonishment.

Even while Iseabail knew she was injured, she couldn’t help but spin around to look at what might have caused it. In that second, she saw a snake with a zig zag pattern on its back quickly slithering away from them through the grass.

“Och, me God. A snake,” she squealed, now hobbling on her good leg.

“I saw it,” Owen blurted.

Iseabail was now in a great amount of pain, and collapsing into his arms, she hitched up her frock. “Och, god, me leg,” she sobbed.

“It’s all right, Iseabail. Come on. Sit down and let me look at it,” Owen ordered.

But jerking her head back and forth, she searched the grass at her feet, terrified of lowering herself into it. “There might be another one,” she cried.

Owen still held her tightly to him, but he shook his head, ignoring her protestations. “We dinnae have time, Iseabail. If the snake is poisonous, the venom will be travelling through yer body this very minute.”

Clearly still terrified, Iseabail gawked up at him, this information bringing a new wave of fear. But even hearing and acknowledging what he said, she still looked hesitant.

“Ye have tae let me look at it,” Owen demanded.

Still wary, and with her head jerking back and forth as she did so, she allowed Owen to lower her to the ground. The grass was long, perfect for any creatures to lay in hiding, and between the pain and the terror, Iseabail’s heart thumped in her breast.

Dropping to his knees beside her, Owen hurriedly began pulling at the laces of her boot.

“What the devil are ye doing?” she gasped.

But Owen ignored her, and after tossing the boot aside, he grabbed her frock and flung it so it sat above her knee. He then found the top of her stocking, and hooked his fingers around it.

Panic washed over her, and slamming her hand down on his to stop him, Iseabail cried out. “Owen. Wait. Ye cannae.”

He stared up at her then, his eyes focused, his face determined. “Dae ye want tae die, Iseabail?” he growled. “Is yer dignity really more important than yer life?”

“I…I…” she floundered.

Shaking her head, but not really knowing what she ought to think under the circumstances, Owen continued to stare at her.

“I need tae see the wound. Let me help ye, or I swear, it is likely ye will die right here in the grass.”

Iseabail then moved her hand and nodded, allowing him to continue. She hissed as he removed her stocking, the movement seeming to cause her even more agony.

Bending low to her ankle, Owen examined the bite, while Iseabail gasped and panted, trying to look at it from her less than ideal vantage point. Owen’s eyes were filled with concentration, and then, as though making a decision, he placed both hands on her leg and lowered his mouth to her ankle.

“Wait!” Iseabail cried, feeling his hands on her body was just a step too far.

Owen jerked his head to the side and glared at her. “What now?” he barked.

“What are ye doing?” she gasped, the pain taking her breath away.

“We have tae get the poison out,” he barked.

But Iseabail shook her head. “I dinnae understand. How are ye going tae get rid o’ it?”

“I need tae suck the poison from yer leg, Iseabail, and each time ye stop me, yer wasting precious time.”

It took a second for Iseabail to comprehend his meaning, and then, suddenly, she realized the danger he was putting himself in.

“Nae,” Iseabail cried. “The poison will kill ye.”

“Nae, it willnae. Just lay there and try and stay still.”

That was easier said than done, for the deep ache running further up her leg was making her writhe back and forth. A second later, she felt Owen’s lips on her leg, and the pain only worsened as he sucked at the wound.

She gasped and winced, trying not to cry out. Pushing her knuckles into her mouth, she had little choice but to endure the agony.

Several times he spat into the grass, but even as she was worried for Owen, her own self-preservation made certain that she did not stop him. Not that she could have if she had tried, at any rate, for he could easily overpower her. Besides, it was clear he was frustrated by her earlier interventions, and she doubted he would let her protestations stop him again.

He continued for a few moments more. The pain seemed to be lessening, but whether that was because he was sucking the poison from her body, or the fact that she was entirely distracted by the sensation of his lips sucking at her leg, she did not know. Even knowing how dangerous the situation was, his lips against her skin was still the most sensual experience Iseabail had ever experienced.

Thankfully for her, Owen could not know what was currently going through her mind, and when he had finished, he hurriedly stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Taking her hand, he pulled her to stand beside him.

“Can ye walk?”

“Never mind that. We need tae dae something. Ye’re bound tae have poison in yer body now. I cannae lose ye, Owen. Dae something.”

He shook his head vehemently. “I’ll be fine.”

He ran toward his horse, and after mounting it, trotted toward her. Leaning down, he wrapped a huge hand around her arm, and without any seeming effort at all, flung her onto the horse behind him. Without another word, he flicked the reins, yelled at the horse, and headed straight down the hill.

“I need a healer,” he yelled as he entered the group of houses at the start of the village. “I need a healer now.”

A woman came hurrying out of her house, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is it?” she cried. “What’s the matter?”

“Me friend has been bitten by a snake. I need a healer now.”

The woman looked aghast, and even as more people hurried out of their houses, she excitedly pointed further down the road. “Carry on going,” she cried. “Go right through the village. The healer’s cottage is on the left. The last one ‘afore ye leave.”

“Thank ye,” Owen said.

Again, he yelled at the horse, flicked the reins, and thundered past the shocked faces that all gawked up at him as he continued. The horses’ hooves clattered on the cobblestone street, echoing against the surrounding walls of the houses and buildings on either side. And a little after a minute later, the cottage came into view.

Upon reaching it, Owen hardly waited for the horse to stop, and leaping from the beast, he immediately turned and grabbed Iseabail in his arms.

“We need help,” he cried, running towards the cottage, carrying Iseabail whose hands were wrapped around his thick neck.

The door to the cottage flew open, and a tall man with white hair came outside, a frown lining his brow.

“She’s been bitten by a snake,” Owen declared, walking past the man into his cottage without waiting for an invitation. “Help her, please.”

“Through there,” the older man said hurriedly. “Yes, there,” he said, as Owen looked back to see the direction he ought to go.

They ventured into a room lined with shelves and shelves of brown bottles, clearly filled with tonics and tinctures.

“Put her on the bed,” the healer demanded.

Owen slowly lowered Iseabail down, and hurriedly looked back at the man. “Please, dae something.”

“He needs help, too,” Iseabail cried. “He sucked the venom from me leg.”

The healer looked from one to the other, and nodding, he hurried over to a shelf before lifting several bottles down.

“What did it look like?” he asked, tearing pieces of cloth into squares. “The snake. What color was it?”

“It had a zigzag on its back,” Iseabail replied. “It was brown, I think,”

“An adder,” the healer concluded. “Ye’re lucky. While it’s very painful, the poison willnae kill ye. That being said, nor is it very pleasant, so yer quick thinking,” he looked at Owen, “may well have just saved yer friend here an awful lot o’ pain.”

Iseabail gazed at Owen, who only now, seemed to be calming down from his earlier determination to get her help. She smiled at him, even though her leg remained sore, and he smiled back.

“Me own personal hero,” she said.

“Och, I hardly think?—”

“Indeed, I would agree,” the healer said.

Iseabail couldn’t help smile even wider when she noticed Owen’s discomfort. She hadn’t taken him for the bashful type, but then, she supposed she had never seen him in such a heroic moment.

“Now, lie still and let me see tae ye,” the healer said, dabbing something onto one of the cloths he had readied.

“What is that?” Owen asked.

“First, I am administering Lavender oil behind her ears.” The healer looked Iseabail in the eye. “It’ll calm and stabilize yer heart rate. The more distressed ye are the quicker any venom left in yer body will travel through it. Though, I dae think yer protector?—”

“Owen,” Iseabail said.

“Owen,” the healer confirmed, “has managed tae get most o’ it out.”

“And what about Owen? Shouldnae he have some too?”

The healer turned and handed the bottle of oil to Owen. “It will dae ye nay harm. Just in case.”

Owen screwed his nose up, and took a sniff. “Great, now I’ll smell like all the lasses.”

“Better that than be dead,” Iseabail countered.

“Ye heard the healer… I’m sorry, what is yer name?”

The old man smiled, while pressing leaves against the wound on Iseabail’s leg. “Thomas,” he said.

“Thank ye, Thomas.” Iseabail smiled up at him.

“Ye’re very welcome. I’m glad I can be o’ some help.’

“But ye heard Thomas,” Owen repeated. “The poison isnae deadly.”

“Nae,” Thomas interjected, “but it will make ye unpleasantly ill,” the older man confirmed.

“Ye see?” Iseabail said, opening her eyes wider and nodding to the bottle. “Please, Owen. Fer me.”

Owen rolled his eyes and shook his head in obvious disbelief that he was about to dab lavender oil onto himself, but when he did it, Iseabail was far more relieved and smiled broadly at him.

“Happy now?”

“Aye. Considerably,” she said a little too smugly.

Thomas clearly found their banter amusing for he smiled to himself as he worked. “Ye two make a fine couple,” he said. “In fact, it is nice listening tae how deeply ye care fer each other.”

“Och, nae,” Iseabail shook her head. “We’re nae married.”

This news seemed to surprise Thomas, and looking from Owen to Iseabail, he inclined his head, raised his eyebrows and said, “Huh.”

Sometime later, once the healer had checked Owen over and was satisfied, he had likely managed to avoid poisoning himself, he said, “Now, ye may be out o’ the woods, but I would suggest ye rest here in the village tonight.”

Iseabail’s widening eyes seemed to induce the soft comfort of the old man. “Now, now. There’s naething tae worry yersel’ about. I have applied a poultice o’ plantain leaves that will ensure nay harm will come tae ye. Only, I think it best that ye rest the night. Are ye in any hurry tae move on?”

Iseabail looked past the healer and caught Owen’s eye. Owen shrugged noncommittally and shook his head. They were only wasting time, after all.

“Nae really,” Iseabail replied.

“Good. Then ye should stay. The tavern will have a room, and ye’re in luck, for we have a wedding celebration this night. Ye can stay and enjoy the festivities. We are a small community, and close. I’m sure ye will be welcomed openly.”

“Will ye be there?” Iseabail asked.

“Of course.” Thomas smiled. “I am nae only the healer, but a musician. Without me, there will be nay beat from the bodhran.”

“Then we will definitely be there,” Iseabail beamed, “fer I dinnae want tae miss that.”

When they arrived at the tavern, word had already spread of their arrival.

“So, ye were bitten by a snake?” the innkeeper said, his eyes wide with interest.

“Aye,” Owen said, sporting a knowing smile. “But Thomas fixed us right up and sent us tae ye.”

“And I’m glad he did too. Ye’re in luck. We have one room left. Phillip is me name, and anything I can get fer ye, ye only have tae ask.”

“Thank ye,” Iseabail said, her tone conveying how impressed she was with his kindness.

“Ye’re welcome, miss. Ye’ll find the village is a friendly bunch. And tonight, we have a celebration.”

Owen nodded. “Aye. Thomas was telling us.”

“Well, be sure tae come and join us. We’ll be in the field beyond the main road. There’ll be music and dancing. ‘Tis me niece who’s getting wed.”

No sooner were they in the room, than Owen turned to leave again.

“Where are ye going?” Iseabail asked in surprise.

“I’m away to retrieve yer mare. We cannae leave her out there all night. Ye stay here and rest that leg. I’ll nae be too long.”

Iseabail nodded, and a second later, Owen had slipped out of the room. Dropping onto the bed she lay back and relaxed. What a day it had been. Between dead merchants and near-death experiences, she had had her fill of excitement, and the day was not yet done.

“I dinnae ken if I can take anymore,” she breathed.

As she lay there, she thought about the madness of the last hour, and recalling Owen sucking the poison from her leg, she sighed, allowing herself to remember it now, without the added pain that had accompanied it earlier. It had been the strangest sensation, and yet, not unpleasant at all. How bizarre that her stomach flipped as she thought about it.

All that had happened since leaving the Sinclair’s castle then came back to her, one circumstance at a time, and as she considered all that Owen had done for her, she could hardly fault him. Indeed, he had made a mistake yesterday, getting into that fight, but it was becoming more and more obvious that the old woman had been right. He had done it for her. Just like he had risked his own life for her today, and then hurriedly made sure she got the attention and care she needed.

Perhaps she had judged Owen Sinclair a little too quickly.

Perhaps ye’re finally giving in tae what ye felt that very first night he saved ye.

Yes, he had taken her breath away. He had also unnerved her. A feeling she was not at all used to. But then, she hadn’t really had chance to think about herself over the last months.

Marriage was hardly a consideration one made when one’s clan was under constant attack by a madman. Owen had asked her yesterday, why she was not married. The question had been unexpected, and thus, she had rushed to answer it. Her tone had been rude, and perhaps a part of that was the fact that she didn’t want him to know what Laird Sutherland had in store for her. She had told him that it was none of his business, but the truth was, she might have to marry far sooner than Owen might think.

When Iseabail blinked her eyes open, she was at first, a little confused. And then realizing where she was, she yawned.

Owen’s voice carried from across the room. “Hello, sleepy head.”

Pushing herself onto her elbow, she squinted her eyes and gazed across at him. He was sat in a chair beside the fire, a book in one hand and a tankard sat on the table beside him.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“A couple o’ hours,” he replied. “I think that snake bite had ye rattled. Thomas said yer body would be in shock.”

“Good grief.” She yawned again. “I cannae believe I slept that long.”

“Clearly, ye needed it.” He stood and placed his book on the chair before striding over to the dresser. Taking the jug, he poured water into a cup and moved towards her. “Here. Drink that.”

Iseabail pushed herself up in the bed and took the offered drink. “Thanks.”

He returned to his chair, sat himself down again, and after giving her a final glance, commenced with reading the book in his hand.

“Have ye eaten?” Iseabail asked.

Owen looked over at her and shook his head. “Nae yet. Are ye hungry?”

She nodded. “I think I could eat. We never did get that meal earlier. Ye said ye were starving. I thought ye would have got something.”

“I was waiting fer ye,” he replied.

Huh!

Iseabail was once more taken back by Owen’s manners. Yes, he was the son of a laird, and indeed, he ought to be well-behaved, but he was no ordinary son of a laird, was he? He was a son who kept secrets from his father. Secrets she had used against him.

A slight feeling of guilt rose as she thought about that, but she swallowed it.

“Then let us go eat. I cannae have a growing lad like yersel’ starve now, can I?” She smirked.