Chapter Nine

Truth be told, he was a wee bit stunned that neither of them had suffered any broken bones. Frankly, their leap had been made in desperation, with Austin having little confidence in how it might end. He'd thought he, larger and heavier, would have landed worse or more awkwardly, had pictured an arm sent out to soften his landing breaking into pieces at the moment of his crash. Alternately, he'd fleetingly supposed that Fiona, smaller and lighter, would have been more damaged by meeting so forcefully with the hard earth.

Vegetation saved the day, he concluded. Not that they weren't bruised and battered—Fiona's bonny face was crisscrossed with scratches and cuts; the sleeve of her left arm had suffered a long tear, exposing most of her pale arm and ribbons of blood; and her hair, only this morning an amazingly tidy braid, was now disheveled beyond immediate repair, one side of it a large bubble of thick strands loosened from the braid itself.

He ached just about everywhere, limping on a sore ankle, confident that he appeared as utterly mangled as Fiona.

"Meant to be," he murmured in regard to the fact that their nearly spontaneous leap hadn't killed them. They moved swiftly through the trees and thick undergrowth at the base of Cairnstone Hill, driven by the urgency to put as much distance between themselves and the English as possible, traveling steadily north. He knew the area but vaguely, knowing only in what direction they wanted to be going.

He held Fiona's hand again as they trotted along the uneven ground. The alternative would see her hand swinging and bouncing lifelessly inside the iron shackle that still connected her wrist to his.

She'd begged once to stop, after they'd gone but a quarter mile. Austin had refused.

"We dinna come this far only to come this far," he'd told her. "Nae sense in the leap from the mountain if we dinna make guid our escape."

She'd responded, not unexpectedly, with a muttered curse, beseeching the saints above to cleave him from her life. He'd grinned at that, gratified by her returned pluck. Still, he didn't have the heart to tell her he planned to keep moving until nightfall.

They hadn't stumbled on much further when Fiona gasped behind him, crying out, "God's bones, yer arm!"

Austin halted and looked down, his eyes widening in surprise. Embedded in the back of his upper arm was a short but wide twig, half an inch in diameter, blood seeping around the wound. He blinked, astonished that he hadn't felt it until now.

His mind tried to make sense of it. The shock of their escape, coupled with the physical shock of hitting the ground and bouncing down the side of a mountain, must have masked the pain, his body focused on survival rather than individual injuries.

He frowned at Fiona, who had been running behind him for half a mile. "Ye just noticed this now?"

"Ye dinna notice it? ?Tis yer arm it's sticking out of!" She shot back. "I dinna ken it, as I was busy watching the ground as ye dragged me along with nae concern that my legs are nae as long as yers."

"I must've done it in the fall," Austin muttered, ignoring her complaint, wincing as the reality of the injury set in. "With everything else hurtin', I dinna notice it." He shook his head, marveling at how adrenaline and sheer determination had numbed him to the specific injury.

As Fiona stepped closer to examine the wound on the back of Austin's free arm, her brow furrowed in concern, Austin's gaze shifted to her face. Beneath the layer of dirt and grime wrought by their harrowing escape, there existed the trails of dried tears etched into her cheeks. The streaks were faint but unmistakable, a reminder of the grief he had so heartlessly influenced. He felt a pang of remorse, regretting the cruel words he had used to make her cry, and how callous his actions had been, how he had pushed her to the brink in pursuit of their freedom.

"It'll have to wait," he said gruffly, made uneasy now by his behavior then. "We're nae far enough away yet for my liking."

Fiona's shoulder lifted with a long inhale, and she blew out a frustrated breath. "Will we ever have enough distance between us and them?"

"Nae," he said, pausing to lift his hand and pluck a vibrant green leaf from the messy nest of her bright hair. "Nae as long as we remain separated from our armies."

"We need to find somewhere—some way—to get rid of these shackles." She lifted the iron bracket and extra cuff, that which he'd disjoined from the wagon bed. "This thing slammed into my head about five times as we rolled and bounced."

Austin winced at that, wondering if that was the cause of a rather large gash on the hairline of her forehead. Blood dribbled slowly, hadn't yet reached her brow, a good sign, he believed.

Supposing both the shackles and their wounds needed attention, he proposed, "One more mile and then we can relax to some degree and see about getting rid of the shackles."

Grimly, Fiona nodded her acquiescence. Though she was clearly exhausted, she no more wanted to be recaptured by the English than he did.

They walked on, Austin no longer subjecting her to the sprint he'd enforced on her at first. They spoke little, both out of an abundance of caution, not wanting to alert anyone of their presence, and with little to say that hadn't been said and determined, that they needed eventually to rest and tend their wounds and they needed to find some means to remove the iron cuffs, which by Austin's guess, would come at the hands of a smithy.

The notion of apologizing to Fiona tugged at Austin's conscience, yet he hesitated to broach the subject. He dreaded reopening the wound of what had led her to tears, fearful of causing her further distress. Instead, he hoped that her mind was consumed with thoughts of their daring and thus far successful escape and, to a lesser degree, of the uncertainties that lay ahead. He stole glances at her as they pressed through a dense forest, whenever she walked at his side and not half a step behind. He'd become accustomed to the determination that was forever etched into her features. While her focus seemed fixed on the path ahead, he did wonder what consumed her inner thoughts.

Fiona did not again request that they pause or stop, despite the fact that they walked for several miles by the time the sun dipped low beyond the western horizon. Shadows lengthened inside the forest and not long after Austin had resigned himself that as no outlet appeared, they might be forced to spend the night inside the dense woodland, the trees gradually began to thin. They emerged upon a field of gold, dust motes and insects dancing in the evening sunlight just above the tops of the swaying meadow foxtail. A gentle breeze whispered through the field, carrying with it the sweet scent of wildflowers, though none were seen.

Knowing they couldn't find shelter in an open field, they trudged on and soon stumbled upon a small village nestled in a glen, where the last rays of sun bathed the thatched cottages in a warm, golden glow. The approaching darkness and their condition urged them to be cautious. Rumpled and roughened as they were, and chained together, they would likely be perceived—correctly—as escaped prisoners.

Austin paused, considering their options, noting smoke rising from several chimneys below.

"Let's hope they're nae so loyal to Longshanks as their overlord might be," Fiona mused, summing up Austin's concerns.

While many nobles had sided with England and Edward I against Robert Bruce and the cause for Scottish freedom, the common folk in general still held a flicker of loyalty to their homeland and the man who'd proclaimed himself king.

"Aye, they've little reason to love the English," Austin noted, his gaze sweeping over the humble cottages and fields.

Standing next to him on a small precipice overlooking the village, Fiona extended her arm, pointing out a lone shadowy figure bending and stooping repeatedly in the fields of muted greens and earthy browns. The lone figure moved methodically among the rows, her silhouette illuminated by the fading glow of twilight.

As there was no one else about, Austin and Fiona descended the hillock and strode toward the woman in the fields, tending what turned out to be rows and rows of cabbages. They walked carefully between the rows, mindful not to disturb any of the newly sprouted plants.

Though their footfalls made no noise along the soft earth, the low clinking of the iron shackles brought the woman upright when they were but twenty feet away from her.

Her eyes widened at the sight of their disheveled appearance and the chains that bound them together. For a moment, there was silence as she froze with wariness.

"We mean nae harm," Fiona assured the woman.

Austin judged her around thirty years old, and noted the tidy but worn face and garb that spoke of hardship and toil. She was very lean, her cheeks sunken, and yet in her humble appearance there was a quiet dignity about her.

"Who are ye, and what's brought ye here?" the woman asked, her voice not unkind but edged with apprehension.

Fiona exchanged a glance with Austin before replying, "We're in need of help. We've just escaped an English troop that meant to deliver us to York to hang for our loyalty to Robert Bruce and freedom. We seek naught but refuge...and mayhap something to tend our wounds." Fiona turned to Austin and beckoned with her hand that he turn and show the woman the large tree piece impaled in his arm.

With one hand on her hip, the woman lifted the other to her mouth, covering her gasp when Austin complied, pointing the gruesome injury in her direction.

The woman's eyes softened slightly before she moved her gaze over the cluster of homes. She chewed her lip with a fleeting indecision. "Come with me," she said quietly, picking up her skirt and stepping over the cabbages as she cut across the vast field.

Austin and Fiona followed her. He held more of the chain now, reducing the amount of noise it made.

"Be wary," the woman called softly over her shoulder. "Nae all here may be as sympathetic."

She led them quickly beyond the edge of the cultivated fields where sat a tithe barn, the rows of cabbage separating the structure from the dwellings. Built of rough-hewn timber, its weathered boards and thatched roof blended seamlessly with the surrounding countryside. Moss clung to the lower wooden planks, and the thatch showed signs of recent repair.

Carefully, the woman pulled open the wide single door. Inside, the barn was dimly lit by the last rays of sunlight filtering through gaps in the walls. The scent of hay and stored grain filled the air, joining the earthy smell of the wood and moss. Bales of hay were stacked against one wall and the dirt floor was compacted from years of use, imprinted with tiny footprints, hinting at the presence of mice or other barn-dwellers.

Against another wall stood several large barrels, likely containing the village's grain stores, and a few crude farming tools were propped in a corner. The space, though modest, felt secure and secluded, and would hopefully prove a hidden sanctuary from any English who might have followed their trail.

The woman gestured to the bales of hay. "I might suggest ye rearrange those to conceal yerselves as best ye can," she suggested, a bit of urgency in her tone. "The English rarely come this way. Ye'll be safe until ye can move on." She returned to the door, hovering and glancing between Austin and Fiona. "I dare tell only my husband and he will want to meet ye and...well, he'll want to meet ye. Expect him soon." She lifted dark blue eyes to Austin and then shifted her gaze to his arm. "I'll send him back with linen and salve."

"Yer name?" Fiona inquired.

"Madra," the woman answered.

"Thank ye, Madra," Fiona said earnestly.

She disappeared, closing the door behind her, dropping the latch into place.

Without a word, Austin and Fiona took in their surroundings once more before mutually agreeing to move the hay bales now and settle in to wait for the woman's husband to come.

They hadn't sat for more than a few minutes when the metal latch scraped as someone lifted it.

A man entered, carrying a bundle of linen strips and a small earthen crock. He was a grizzled figure, about forty years old, and it was immediately noted that he possessed only one eye. The scar around his missing eye was twisted and still red. His remaining eye, however, was sharp and observant.

"Name's Ewan," he introduced himself, setting down the items on the top of a barrel as Austin and Fiona walked out from behind the bales. "Madra told me about yer predicament."

His gaze paused for a long moment on Fiona, but what he made of her appearance, or about a prisoner meant to hang being a woman, he did not say. He blinked, as if to refocus and said to Austin, "Let's have a look at that arm."

They met together in the center of the barn, Ewan revealing a serious limp as he stepped forward. Austin turned and presented the back of his arm and the four inch limb embedded there.

Ewan whistled softly as he inspected the wound. "Ach, that's a nasty one," he remarked, his voice low but lively. "Too risky to light a fire tonight," he determined, "might draw unwanted eyes. But ye ken, this'll need to be cauterized."

"I kent as much," Austin concurred.

"Bleed like a stuck pig when ye remove that stick."

Fiona glanced worriedly at Austin, who gritted his teeth but nodded. "Aye, I suppose it will."

Ewan chewed the inside of his cheek and gave his scrutiny to the heavy iron cuffs attached to their wrists and the spare that Fiona held. "Guess that'll be me, taking it out?" He surmised.

"If ye dinna mind," Fiona recommended quietly, a wince in her tone and a glint of hope in her gaze.

"Aye," Ewan agreed. "Seen worse, seen better." He collected the linen strips from the barrel and handed them to Fiona. "Be ready with these, lass, when it comes out."

"Where were you wounded at?" Austin asked, supposing his willingness to help meant his old injuries were not the result of any farm mishap.

"Where was I nae wounded at?" The man returned. "Lost my eye at Scone. Arrow tip from Falkirk is still lodged in the back of my guid leg and brought home the limp from the Cree." He inclined his chin toward Austin's current wound. "How'd this happen anyway?"

"Leaping from the transport wagon near the peak of Cairnstone," Austin informed him, earning another whistle, this one either appreciative of their boldness or questioning their sanity.

"Desperate times, eh?"

"We kent it held much less risk than going to York."

Ewan harrumphed a snort of agreement. "What'd they get ye for in the first place?"

"Bringing a siege to Castle Wick," Fiona answered.

The man paused, having just gripped the stick firmly but having yet to pull. He frowned first at Fiona and then at Austin. "Ye two have a boatload of guid ideas, aye?" He grinned and then his teeth clenched, and while he stared at Austin, he ripped the small tree limb from his arm.

Austin's face contorted with pain. He saw white and tipped his head up to the vaulted ceiling frame and opened his mouth, using every ounce of strength to keep inside the tortured howl of pain that wanted to come.

Fiona was there at once, pressing the linen to the backside of his arm. Their connection via the shackle pulled his left wrist and its fisted hand toward his back.

"By the devil's own teeth," Austin growled, his teeth bared, and his jaw locked. "Saints be damned."

Ewan chuckled softly, this man understanding the pain more than most. "Aye, it hurts. But like leaping from the top of a mountain, sometimes the only way out is through."

Pivoting awkwardly, Ewan returned to the barrel and removed a horn attached to a length of leather from around his neck, laying it on the dusty wood. "Like as nae, ye've had better ale, but this'll quench yer thirst." From his belt, he untied a small lumpy pouch and set that next to the bread. "Madra's bread will stave off hunger, sit in yer belly until yer dead by my reckoning." He limped toward the door, directing, "Rest up. We'll see to that wound properly when the sun rises. I canna do anything tonight for those shackles, but come the morn, I'll see what Edgar says. He's got a small smithy behind his croft."

"Can he be trusted?" Fiona asked.

"Och, aye. Nae love for the English has Edgar. Nae for any who do."

"Thank ye, Ewan," Fiona said sincerely when Austin could focus on little more but the pain.

When Ewan was gone, Fiona led Austin across the barn to the barrel. She wasn't interested in the sustenance that Ewan had provided but reached for the salve and another linen strip. She dropped to the ground the one she'd used already, which was drenched and almost completely red.

"Turn this way," she instructed when she faced Austin.

Working from this angle, which now pulled Austin's shackled hand across his chest while she administered to the back of his right arm, seemed a better idea. To disengage from the pain, which throbbed throughout his entire arm and turned his stomach, Austin concentrated on her as she dabbed again at the blood, in a hole that was likely of good size to have accommodated the diameter of that small branch.

He turned his chin onto his shoulder, pretending to witness her progress but studied her instead, reminded almost immediately that her beauty was undeniable. Her red-blonde hair framed her face in wild strands. He watched, captivated, as her green eyes shimmered with determination and a hint of worry as she worked. She bit her lower lip in concentration, her brows furrowed as she tried to staunch the flow of blood. A few freckles dusted her cheeks, standing out against the dirt smudges, and he noticed again the scar that stretched from her cheek to her ear.

She was dirty, rumpled, and brilliantly alluring.

With his wounded arm between them and bent at the elbow, he traced the scar with the back of his forefinger.

Her brow knitted again but she did not startle at his touch.

"Where'd ye get that?"

A bare shrug and a look of annoyance preceded her answer.

"I'd like to say I gained it proudly in this fight or that battle," she said, her voice softer now for their close proximity. "Regrettably, this was a mishap involving a skittish mare and the swollen creek she refused to cross."

He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Yer horse did this?"

"Aye, but nae the one I rode most recently but the one before her, who was quite infamous for her spirit. I worked for months with her. She was simply irrepressible and dinna take kindly to me forcing her across the water, which by the way dinna even cover her hocks. She threw me just as we reached the far side, tossing me face first into a thorn bush, less forgiving than any foe I've faced."

Austin couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Brought down by an unruly horse and an harmless plant. I'd wager that tale doesn't make it into the ballads."

Fiona rolled her eyes, and much to his delight, a small smile tugged at her lips. "Nae, it dinna. And I'd prefer if it stayed that way."

"Yer secret's safe with me."

When she was satisfied that the wound had stopped bleeding, or had ceased oozing blood profusely, she dropped the linen and turned to the barrel behind her, dipping her fingers into the small crock of salve.

But she paused before she would have applied it to his flesh.

"Oh, um," she began, awash in a sudden nervousness, "ye'll have to...it needs that ye remove yer tunic."

She had thus far been trying to staunch the flow of blood with his sleeve and through the hole made by the branch.

The growing grayness inside the barn was not very useful but Austin would have sworn a flush of red travelled upward from her neck and settled in her cheeks.

"Just the arm," she was swift to clarify. "Ye only need to expose yer arm."

Ever the scoundrel, Austin was intrigued by her sudden bashfulness. Fiona had led an army of men; surely, she'd seen them shirtless or entirely naked before. Yet here she was, blushing like a maiden.

All pain happily forgotten, a mischievous grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Aye, but I dinna ken I can lift my arm above my head. Ye'll have to do it."

Her eyes widened before they narrowed, and she fixed on him a knowing and unamused look. "Ye dinna come this far only to come this far," she repeated his words from earlier. Lifting her hand, the one shackled with his, she suggested, "Pull it forward over yer head and down yer arm."

Refused an opportunity to go in the direction he'd wanted to go, he reached up with his good arm and did as she suggested, pulling the tunic by the collar at his nape over his head, grimacing slightly as he maneuvered it down over the injury. The fabric slid off, trapped on one arm by the shackle and held by his free hand, revealing his bare chest and the muscles rippling beneath his skin.

Fiona turned her gaze to the wound, pointedly trying to ignore the sight of his exposed torso. "I said ye only needed to expose yer arm," she muttered, her cheeks still flushed.

"That would have required more maneuvering," he reasoned, his tone light. A plethora of hope was suddenly alive inside him.

She huffed in exasperation but didn't argue further. Instead, she focused on applying the salve, her fingers gentle yet efficient. Austin watched her intently, noting the way her blush deepened every time her eyes inadvertently strayed to his bare chest. While the cool ointment fleetingly eased the sting of pain, Austin was enamored by the way her lashes fluttered every time she blinked, which she apparently did often when she was nervous. Her lips, slightly parted in concentration, were tempting, and he was happy to lose focus for this endeavor, staring at Fiona. The barn's quiet setting and the deepening night amplified the intimacy of the moment, making him feel oddly content.

Fiona eventually sensed his heated regard and her demeanor changed accordingly. Her responding nervous swallow was seen travelling down the graceful column of her throat.

Without looking directly at him, though she paused briefly, her hand arrested near the back of his arm, she demanded in a strained voice, "Dinna stare like that."

"How am I staring?"

She swallowed again, thickly, and her lips parted once more while she kept her green eyes locked on his arm.

"As if...as if ye plan to misconduct yerself."

A slow and thoughtful smile curved his lips. His wound, the shackles, the possibility of recapture, the war itself—all was swept from his mind, which was now consumed wholly by her and her closeness, her surprisingly innocent blush, and her rare display of apprehension.

Aye, he very much longed to misconduct himself with her.