Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ivar had not bothered to secure Catalina’s horse to his own as he sped back to Castle MacLeod, with her inert body gripped tightly between his thighs. He was right in thinking that once its companion galloped homeward, it would follow. The journey was no more than two or three miles. At a fast pace, a mere half hour at most. But to him it seemed like an eternity.

As he rode furiously, every fiber of his being urged the unconscious woman in his arms to awaken, to be unhurt. But she remained immobile, jouncing against him with every stride of the horse as it flew onward. With every breath he took, his fears for Catalina’s wellbeing grew, tormenting him until he thought he would either burst or go mad.

And it was that terrifying fear of losing her which finally convinced him of the truth he had been so desperately trying to avoid admitting to himself. But there seemed no point in trying to deny it any longer, come what may.

I’m in love with her.

At last, the horses’ hooves clattered beneath the gatehouse archway and into the main courtyard. Hardly had the beasts skidded to a halt than Ivar was out of the saddle and hitting the ground at a run. With Catalina cradled in his arms, he shouted at the guards to open the door of the keep. They complied without question, and he sprinted straight over the threshold and up the staircase. A few seconds later, he burst through the infirmary door.

“Ye’ve got tae help her, she’s hurt!” he shouted frantically, panting as he was confronted by the startled faces of Aine and Bròccan.

He paced restlessly while the healers examined Catalina, not knowing what to do with himself.

“Is she going tae be all right?” he demanded every few minutes, desperate to know. At last, the healers completed their examination. They conferred for a few moments, during which Ivar only just managed to stop himself from grabbing Bròccan around the neck and shaking some news from his lips.

“Well, are ye going tae say anythin’ or what?” he asked, temporarily pausing in his pacing, his patience wafer thin as he confronted them.

“Aye, she should make a full recovery. We just have tae let her sleep—’tis the best way fer the body tae heal itself—and wait fer her to wake up by herself,” Aine told him.

“Aye, and when she wakes up, we’ll need tae keep her under observation until we can be sure she doesnae have a concussion,” Bròccan added.

A great weight fell from Ivar’s shoulders then, and he slumped into a nearby chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Thank the Wee Man,” he murmured, giving an exhausted sigh as he rubbed his temples. She’s going tae be all right!

A few moments later, he heard dainty footsteps and heavy bootsteps hurrying down the hall outside. Then, the door opened, and a white-faced Anastasia appeared in the doorway. Despite his anxiety over Catalina, guilt suddenly washed over Ivar as he set eyes on his betrothed. Memories of him and her sister pleasuring each other in Agnes’ son’s bed the previous night flashed into his mind, and his face burned.

But Anastasia did not spare him a glance as she rushed into the infirmary and over to the bed where Catalina lay insensible. Ivar was somewhat taken aback to see Dunstan at her heels.

“Where have ye been? What happened? How badly is she hurt? Will she recover?” Anastasia’s questions came like scatter-shot, spraying him and the healers as she bent over her sister, gently brushing Catalina’s dark hair away from her face.

Aine came over and told Anastasia and Dunstan more or less what she and Bròccan had just told Ivar and then withdrew to have a whispered discussion with Bròccan.

“Thank God!” Anastasia breathed, stroking her sister’s face. “I couldnae face losin’ another sister.” Suddenly, she recoiled, snatching back her hand. “Ugh! What is that on her face? Is it… it looks like blood.”

“Aye, ’tis blood,” Ivar said and quickly explained what had befallen him and Catalina on what was supposed to have been an uneventful horse ride. He told them all about Chisholm’s attack.

“They tried to take her, but she fought like a wildcat. I begged her tae run, but she wouldnae leave me. She fought alongside me as well as any man. She even went after Chisholm himself and wounded him. That was when he struck her and knocked her out, the bastard,” he recalled, tears pressing at the back of his eyes. For a few moments, he could not speak because he was too choked with a mixture of fury at Chisholm and pride in Catalina’s incredible bravery. “We would never have gotten away if nae fer her,” he finished, his emotions in turmoil.

“Ach, ’tis all me fault!” Anastasia moaned, looking at Ivar beseechingly. “If I

hadnae pulled that stupid ruse tae make ye both spend time together on that wretched horse ride, this would nae have happened. I’m so sorry, Ivar. It should have been me out there instead of her!”

From the depths of his frazzled brain, Ivar fished for some soothing words for his betrothed, but before he could come up with anything, Dunstan spoke instead. “Hush, now, Ana, that’s just plain silly,” he told her gently, laying a comforting hand on her arm. “Nae man could have kent what was goin’ tae happen. Chisholm was always going tae be a threat.”

The man spoke calmly, yet even in his confused state, Ivar thought he sensed a rebuke in Dunstan’s level-headed words. But he could not be sure. He felt guilty enough already, so he figured he was likely imagining it.

“Ivar and Catalina were unlucky, that’s all,” Dunstan went on. “From now on, ye and Catalina just have tae be very careful tae take a guard with ye when ye go outside the castle. Haldor’s already seein’ tae extra security.” He glanced over at Ivar and caught his eye before adding, “It’ll nae happen again, and I’ll nae let ye blame yersel’ for it. Besides, the important thing is that Catalina’s going tae be fine.”

Ivar felt the prickle of guilt at having endangered Catalina’s life and almost failed to protect her from being abducted, thus he could not argue with Dunstan’s words. He only wished it could have been himself who had said them to his betrothed.

He watched the pair as Anastasia took a little lace hanky from her sleeve and delicately blew her nose. “I suppose so. Thank ye, Dunstan. I ken ye’re just tryin’ tae make me feel better,” she whispered.

“Nae at all. Ye ken ’tis the truth. We both ken she’s a tough little minx, eh?

She’ll be all right, ye’ll see,” Dunstan added, his voice as soothing as cough syrup.

“I hope so. I’ll stay with her until she wakes up.”

“Aye, I’ll keep ye company,” Dunstan said, fetching a chair for her, setting it by the bed. He settled her into it before getting one for himself and sitting down next to her. Ivar watched this interaction absently, sensing the closeness of the pair. In his distressed and guilty state of mind, he found nothing to remark on. The slight form on the bed occupied almost all his thoughts.

“I’m stayin’ too,” he said, unable to leave Catalina’s side until she woke up and he knew for certain that she was all right.

Anastasia and Dunstan’s heads turned to him in unison. “Ye dinnae have tae,” his betrothed said, a small line appearing between her lovely brows as she regarded him.

“Aye, we’ll watch over her. Ye’ve been through an ordeal yesel’. Maybe ye should get some sleep,” Dunstan put in, his dark-brown eyes unreadable as they met Ivar’s.

“I’m stayin’. ’Tis me responsibility since she was with me when it happened,”

Ivar insisted, crossing his legs and folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

“Well, if ye dinnae mind. ’Tis very kind of ye,” Anastasia told him, giving him a strange look before she turned back to her sister.

Day turned into night, and the hours dragged by for Ivar. Despite his exhaustion, having had hardly any sleep at Agnes’ cottage the previous night and then undergone the hard battle with Chisholm and his men, his anxiety for Catalina kept him awake. Though his eyelids drooped on several occasions, his gaze hardly moved from her face as he willed her to wake up. During those long hours, Catalina continued to sleep, and the odd trio maintained their bedside vigil. Other visitors popped in and out, wanting to know what had happened and check on Catalina’s progress.

“Ach, Ivar, what are ye doin’ here?” Dahlia asked him, her eyes filled with concern when she came and sat with him after checking on Catalina.

“What does it look like?” he muttered. “I’m waitin’ fer her tae wake up.”

“But why? Anastasia’s here. What on earth happened tae ye?” She looked him up and down with puzzled disapproval. “Ye look a mess. Have ye been in a fight? And ye’re clearly exhausted. There’s really nae need fer ye tae be here. Ye should go and bathe and get some sleep. I’m sure they’ll come and wake ye of Catalina awakens while yer sleepin’.” she said in her usual practical but caring way.

He shook his head tiredly. “I’m nae goin’ anywhere until I ken she’s all right.”

“But why?” Dahlia inquired, echoing Anastasia’s earlier question.

He wanted to say, “Because I love her, and I cannae face the thought of leavin’ her.” But what he actually said was, “Because I was with her when she was hurt. I need tae make sure she’s nae suffered any long-term injury.”

“’Tis very laudable fer ye tae show ye care so much,” she said, eyeing him closely, a strange half-smile on her lips. “But if ye decide ye need tae sleep, there’s plenty of us who’ll be happy tae take over fer ye.” She patted his hand as if to comfort him. Ivar shifted in his chair. He appreciated the gesture, but nevertheless sensed that he had not entirely satisfied his sister’s curiosity. Much as he loved Dahlia, on this occasion, he was relieved when she left.

But he had to endure the same sort of conversation again when, an hour or so later, Arne appeared. At first, when he saw his brother enter the infirmary, Ivar tried to pretend he was dozing in his chair. He kept his eyes firmly closed when he felt his brother’s enormous bulk sink onto the hapless chair next to him, making it groan as if it was about to collapse. “Dinnae bother tae pretend,” Arne murmured. “I ken ye’re nae asleep.”

Ivar sighed and opened his eyes. Without bothering to acknowledge his brother, he rubbed them vigorously before running a hand over his now very itchy stubble.

“What are ye doin’ here?” Arne asked, handing him a tankard of small ale.

“Thanks,” Ivar replied, taking it gratefully and drinking the whole pint down in one go. Aine and Bròccan had taken turns to keep him, Anastasia, and Dunstan supplied with tea during their vigil, but he found the ale far more refreshing. He felt marginally more awake after drinking it.

“Why are ye askin’ when I’m sure ye’ve spoken tae Dahlia and already ken the answer?” he countered, not even turning his head to look at Arne as he handed back the now empty tankard. His eyes always rested on the pale face in the bed.

“Ye’re startin’ tae stink,” Arne observed in his usual blunt fashion, taking the tankard from him and putting it on the floor by his boot. “More than usual, I mean,” he added. Even in his exhausted, distracted state, Ivar had to smile. Arne brought a welcome burst of normality into the unreal situation. “Dahlia says Catalina’s going tae be all right, though. Is that right?”

“Aye, the healers hope so, but they cannae be sure until after she wakes up,” Ivar told him. “She may have a concussion.”

“Have they been here all night too?” Arne whispered, clearly referring to Anastasia and Dunstan.

Ivar nodded. “Of course. Anastasia is Catalina’s sister. ’Tis natural that she’s more worried than anyone about her,” he observed. Except me.

“Mmm,” Arne replied. The pair had remained in Ivar’s line of sight as he too kept watch over Catalina. Throughout the hours of their vigil, at times, Ivar had felt twinges of something resembling jealousy, for Anastasia had been holding Catalina’s hand and periodically bathing her forehead with cool water. His fingers itched to be the one doing that instead of his betrothed. But of course, he knew he was being unreasonable for feeling that way. Obviously, he had no right, and her sister took precedence.

Besides that, Anastasia and Dunstan continued to punctuate the relative quietness of the room with sporadic, whispered conversation, from which he was excluded. Although he was certain it was not deliberate, it seemed to him that his betrothed and her protector had forgotten he was even there. But in a way, he did not mind. At least it meant he did not have to answer any awkward questions, such as where and how he and his future sister-in-law had spent the night of the storm.

His brother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “What happened out there? Ye didnae come home during the storm. We were all very worried. Haldor sent out men tae find ye, but they couldnae find a thing. And what’s all this about a run in with Chisholm? Dahlia says it was him who hurt Catalina,” Arne said, his voice full of expectancy as he folded his arms and stretched out his long legs. Ivar sighed, seeing the signs that Arne was going nowhere in a hurry until his curiosity was satisfied. He was forced to relate the whole story again, from when he and Catalina had departed for their horse ride to the violent encounter with Chisholm.

But this time, unlike Dahlia, Arne asked a lot of questions about Chisolm, never having seen their elusive foe for himself. Ivar answered them as best he could, pride welling up inside him once more when he described Catalina’s bravery and confirming that she Chisholm had struck her and knocked her out after she had attacked him.

Arne let out a low whistle of admiration. “Well, we kent she was a firebrand from the way she laid ye out in the wood that time.”

“She has the heart of a mountain lion,” Ivar murmured, his heart aching for her.

“A grand lassie tae have at yer side in a fight, eh?”

“None better,” Ivar replied without thinking. Arne fell silent for a moment, and then he got up.

“I must go. We’re workin’ on tightenin’ up security around the castle, and Haldor’s got scouts in the field searching for Chisholm. We suspect he has an encampment around here somewhere.”

“Be careful, Braither. The man’s a dangerous maniac. There’s madness in his eyes. He’s capable of almost anythin’, so dinnae underestimate him,” Ivar warned, briefly averting his eyes from Catalina to Arne, to impress the importance of his words upon him.

Arne nodded. “Noted. Right, I’m off fer now. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon. She’s a survivor, that one, fer sure,” he said, casting a fond glance over at the bed. “Let me ken if anythin’ happens. If nae, I’ll be in tae se ye later. But take me advice if ye ken what’s good fer ye and go and have a bath and change yer clothes.”

He laughed when Ivar swore at him. “I’ll see ye later,” he told him, making to leave. But before he could do so, Ivar had a sudden thought and called him back.

“Arne, will ye dae me a favor?” he asked.

“Name it.”

“Can ye make the arrangements fer the wee fawn tae be brought up from the inn tae the castle stables? I want her tae be able to see it when she wakes up.” His tired eyes returned to the pale figure in the bed.

Arne grinned widely. “Consider it done, Braither.” Giving Ivar a slap on the shoulder, he picked up the empty tankard and exited the room.