Chapter Twenty-one

 

 

Alex pressed, “M’lady, we have not the luxury of time. His wounds poison.”

Catherine didn’t hesitate more than a breath to make a decision. “I shall open the wounds.”

The two men eyed her warily. “You shall lance the festering?” Alex queried.

Catherine nodded, grimness molding her mouth. “How difficult can it be?”

“But—”

“My lady wife shall tend my wounds,” Duncan asserted, cutting off further discourse. “I trust her to do so. The healer tends Angus.”

Her eyes never left Duncan’s, thanking him for his trust. “I shall do whatever it takes to see you well.”

Duncan nodded.

Later, Catherine thought, I should have called the healer immediately. ‘Twas folly to believe it a simple matter. She’d almost gagged over his leg and chest injuries. Alex and Euan held him down. She dug down and endured, fearing she might pass out.

Afterward, when the healer finally came, she lifted the covering from Duncan’s body to inspect Catherine’s work. “You did well, lass, though you look a might peaked.” She cackled. “Sight of rotting wounds more than you bargained for, eh?” She perused his naked form, flashed Catherine a smile and cackled, “Och, your husband is a braw and bonnie lad. Small wonder you wish him hale and hearty.”

Catherine blushed and Duncan scolded weakly, “Leave be, Maddie. My lady wife has been through an ordeal this day.” He reached out his hand for Catherine’s and linked fingers.

Maddie walked to the hearth to prepare a hot poultice. Drawing worts from the cloth bag hung from string twined at her waist, she spread them onto a cloth, folded it, then saturated it with hot water. “I use woad to staunch the bleeding.” She crossed to Duncan, slapped the hot mixture onto his leg.

He yelped, “Fires of Hades, Maddie, what means of torture be this?”

Catherine gasped and bent to remove it.

Maddie shoved her hand aside. “Leave be. Do you want him healed or rotting?”

“Healed,” Catherine answered, aghast, “but that hurts him. ‘Tis hot.”

“Of course ‘tis hot. ‘Twould do no good if ‘twas not.” She quirked a brow at Duncan, but voiced her comments to Catherine. “Are you saying our braw laird cannot take a wee bit of pain?”

Outraged, Catherine exclaimed, “Wee bit of pain? He survived a horrible battle. He—”

Duncan raised his fingers to her lips to stay her torrent of words. “Do not fash, Mo Chride.”

His eyes locked with Catherine’s. “She knows exactly what I have been through. Her son was with me at Stirling.” He nodded at Maddie. “Continue your torture, auld woman.”

~ * ~

The man was driving her daft.

“I want to go down the stairs, woman. I am fine.”

“Fine? You have broken bones, festered wounds, you have barely eaten in a sennight. You are not fine,” she bullied, rather than letting him see her upset.

He gave her his sexiest smile. “Aye, but you care for me so skillfully I dare naught but get well.”

“You are right,” she argued, “‘tis for me to say whether you get out of that bed or not. And I say not!”

The door opened and Catherine rushed to shoo his men. “Out, the lot of you. Duncan rests.”

“We must see him, Lady Catherine,” Dohmnall said.

“I give up.” She threw up her hands in resignation. “By all means, come. See that he lives still—through sheer stubbornness.”

“Lady Catherine”—Siobhán entered the room and crossed to the table to refill the ewer and basin—“you must rest. You weary yourself.”

“I shall rest when he fares well,” Catherine challenged. “Until then, I go nowhere.”

Duncan groused. “My lady wife is too stubborn to listen to reason. ‘Tis a flaw I have not yet corrected.”

Siobhán teased, “Aye, ‘tis one of the reasons you love her.”

To ease the embarrassment of her friend’s words, Catherine busied herself with changing the foul-smelling poultices.

Duncan’s eyes followed her every move as she worked, though he conversed with his men on clan business.

Alex winked at his laird and told those gathered, “We should leave. Duncan is in fine hands.”

Duncan caressed her arm when she brought him water to drink. Every time she got near, he touched her, skimmed his fingers over her cheek, her hand, the end of her braid as it hung over one shoulder.

Finally his eyes drifted closed.

She wanted to touch him, but feared she’d hurt him. Instead, each night she waited until he slept, then skimmed her hands over his arms, his chest, his cheek. She told herself she only did it to ensure he was fine, had no fever. She knew it was a lie.

“My wounds itch, wife. Means they heal. ‘Tis time you rest. Come lie beside me.” He patted the bed. “Or do you wish me to pretend to sleep so you can approach me?” he provoked.

“You...oh...” Shocked that he was awake, she stepped back.

Catching her off guard, Duncan pulled her down so she sank to the bed. He drew her close and brushed his lips over hers, soft as a feather. He wrapped his arms around her, held her close, then whispered, “Sleep, stubborn lass.”

Despite reacting from being up against him, her eyes drifted shut, safe in his strong arms.

~ * ~

At sennight’s end, Tamara arrived. Sobbing, she flung herself into her brother’s arms as he sat in bed.

“No need for tears, wee sister. I fare well,” he assured with a grunt. “Or was until you reopened my wounds.”

She drew back and looked horrified, but Duncan smiled. “I tease. You could have found me below stairs, only my vixen wife will not let me go down. She holds me prisoner.”

Tamara eyes were full of womanly wisdom. “’Tis because she loves you.”

Catherine’s mouth dropped open, aghast.

Duncan’s gaze settled on Tamara, doubt showing in his eyes. Catherine’s love was something he could only one day hope for.

Interrupting the uneasy silence, Tamara told him, “Da is concerned for your welfare. He sent me to check on you.”

“While I misdoubt that, tell our sire I fare fine.” Immediately he remembered the feelings he’d had when he thought he’d die. That mayhap their quarrel had been carried on long enough.

After Tamara’s departure, Duncan returned to his intent before the interruption—reconnecting with his wife. It was difficult to charm Catherine when he barely had enough strength to sit, but he determined to try. It was important to reestablish the closeness they’d achieved before he left for Stirling. He grabbed her wrist to pull her down beside him.

“Duncan! What are—”

He silenced her with a kiss.

“Duncan, you are injured.” She tried to pull away. He wrapped his arms around her and held her fast.

Duncan groaned in frustration, drew back to meet her eyes. “I thought of you day and night, Cat. ‘Tis the only thing that kept me alive.” He pressed his hand to the side of her face, touching her gently before running his fingertips up and down her cheek and neck.

“Duncan MacThomas, you have no idea how I fretted. I dreamt over and over of a horrible battle and feared you would not return.”

“I know, my men told me. I needed you at Stirling, Mo Cridhe.” He stopped, stared into her eyes. “I know not how God made that happen, but I thank Him for allowing that.”

Catherine trailed her fingers lightly over his bandages.

“Looking for signs my wounds reopened?”

She saw no blood. “All right, my lord husband. You are well enough to leave our room.”

~ * ~

Duncan yanked on the girth of his saddle and then secured his pack to it. “I am loath to leave.”

Catherine offered, “Then I shall ride to Crieff with you.”

“Nay, my heart. Stay with Meggie. I travel faster with just my men and will be back on the morrow.”

“Stay home—or send a messenger.”

“Cat, I shall not rest easily until I see how Grant and Ian fare. It took Angus and me longer to heal than I liked. Grant would tell a messenger anything to have me not worry. I must personally see them to know naught dreadful happened.”

Trying not to pout, she nodded. “All right. I shall prepare a room for Tamara. According to the missive last week, she should be here soon.”

Now she and Meghan stood in the doorway and waved goodbye as he and his men rode away.

Meghan and she watched the men ride out of the bailey. It hurt. This was the first time he’d been away since his return. It brought back too many memories of his leaving for Stirling, the dreams, his return. She would live in fear something would happen to him.

The following day she felt restless. Nagging fears haunted her, so she sought a diversion. She’d already prepared the room for Tamara’s visit, everyone else was busy carding wool. Suddenly, Catherine brightened and rushed downstairs.

“Cook,” she said, “Marjory just had a babe. I would like to take some bread and cheese to help until she feels stronger. Meggie enjoys playing with Nettie. I shall take her with me. Would you prepare a basket?”

Cook frowned. “‘Tis a grand idea, m’lady, but you should not go out. My auld hip is aching this day. Means a storm brews.”

Catherine sniggered. Now they foretell storms with their silly omens. ‘Tis not bad enough men watched a bull race across the sky in a cloud, now hip joints foretell rain as well.

“I shall not be gone long, only a quick stroll to Marjory and Liam’s croft. After Meggie and Nettie play a spell, we shall come right back.”

“Be sure you take a guard with you,” the auld woman barked as she packed the basket.

Catherine laughed. She could just imagine her mother if her cook had dared to presume to give orders. Here everyone was one big family. “Why of course, Cook. How could I go anywhere without an ever present watchdog?”

~ * ~

Catherine lost herself in the wonder of the small babe. Meghan and Nettie played with Nettie’s new puppy, but Catherine couldn’t take her eyes from the little boy. Fascinated, she exclaimed, “He is perfect. Look at his wee fingers and toes. Oh, I wish...” She stopped, not allowing herself to finish. Merciful God in Heaven, she wanted a child so badly—Duncan’s child, but feared it would never happen. The physician back in London had said it wouldn’t. She rose and stared out the door so Marjory couldn’t see her tears. I wonder what my daughter would have looked like now. Would she have Duncan’s beautiful grey eyes or would they be brown like mine? Would she look like Meggie, or be a smaller version of herself?

A thunder clap snapped her out of her reverie. Clutching the tiny babe to her chest, Catherine glanced up to see clouds darkening. She’d been so busy she’d not noticed storm clouds approaching. She turned to Marjory. “I must leave, have tarried too long.” Reluctant to return the infant, Catherine nuzzled her face in the fine, soft wisps of hair on his head.

She raised her eyes to the young mother, unable to hide the longing. “Care for him well. He is a blessing from God.” Her heart hurt too much thinking about the babe she’d never have.

She dashed out the door and collected Meggie, her eyes searching for Tanner. Surely, he was aware of the approaching storm and knew the need to return quickly to Cray Hall. She called to him several times, the rising wind carrying away her voice. She glanced nervously to the sky. It had that strange yellow cast it does when hail comes with the storm. It would be hazardous getting caught out in the open.

“Well, Meggie, we cannot wait for the lad. We may have to run most of the way home to keep from getting wet. Come, we need to hurry.”

Catherine glanced about the croft as she moved away, uneasy about where Tanner had gone. Duncan wouldn’t be pleased the lad was lax in his attention to guarding her.

They got only a short distance before the first light patter of rain fell. Catherine raised her face to the droplets and laughed. “I cannot wait to hear what Cook says about this. Her hip was right after all.”

Nearly halfway there, the rain fell harder. She glanced back toward the direction of the croft. It was just as far to go back as it was to the Hall, so she decided to press on, the disquiet over Tanner’s absence growing.

The landscape grew darker, the oddly colored clouds lending an eeriness to the path through the woods. Catherine fervently wished she was home, safe within Cray Hall. She quickened her pace.

Meggie twirled in circles, her arms spread wide. She moved her arms up and down and yelled, “Look at me, Mam. I fly on the wind.”

Catherine laughed, but urged, “Meggie, come.” She reached down to grip her small, trusting hand.

Suddenly Catherine snapped around to look behind her, a shiver of fear snaking down her spine. What would give her this feeling of foreboding? She’d had this same sensation before. When? The realization slammed into her—she’d had it as she approached the maze on her father’s estate.

In the distance, a rider approached, the horse riding hard. The destrier’s hooves cut deep into the soft sod, sending clumps flying in its wake.

Coming toward them. Closer, closer.