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“You will tell me where Miriam Ferguson is, or I will kill the babe.”
“No! Please, I beg of you. I speak the truth. We dinnae ken who Miriam is,” Sorcha said.
Mysie was trembling as she clutched her little cousin. Her eyes widened in fear when the pilgrim said, “Then I will kill the girl.”
It was then Yesenda slowly stepped out of the shadows and said, “Relinquam illam solam. Ego hic.” – Leave her alone. I am here.
The pilgrim replied, “Miriam, ego expectavimus diu.” – I have waited a long time.
Sorcha and Mysie looked at Yesenda in confusion but dared not move.
Yesenda took a step closer and said, “When did you become such a coward that you would quarrel with bairns? Let them go. I have what you want.”
The pilgrim said, “You think me foolish? I know what you are. I will not make it past the door unless I have the babe as safe passage.”
Yesenda monitored the spiked war club he wielded. He waved it above Mysie’s head as he spoke.
Yesenda said, “Mysie, dinnae drop your cousin. Hold him tight.”
Mysie sniffled, nodded, and held him a little closer to her chest.
“If you leave the bairns alone, I will come with you unarmed and make sure we both leave in one piece,” Yesenda said, hoping to buy some time.
The pilgrim contemplated her offer.
Yesenda could just make out Iain hovering beyond the door. She waited for Iain to do what she assumed he would. Then she could do what she was trained to do.
As the seconds ticked by, Iain finally stepped into the room, and when he did, his shoe hit a creaky floorboard, giving away his position instantly.
That was what Yesenda was waiting for. Trust a man not to do what he’s told, she thought. Then she moved.
With bare feet as swift as Hermes, son of Zeus, Yesenda sprinted towards the pilgrim while Iain’s entrance momentarily distracted him. She reached under her cloak and pulled out her weapon.
“Run, Mysie,” she yelled. Mysie ran.
The pilgrim sensed her approach and swung his spiked war club in Yesenda’s direction. Instead of piercing flesh, it clashed against her eight flanged bronze head mace.
“Brother Mateo has taught you well,” he grunted.
He swung his club again, this time aiming for her head. He was strong and adept at his weapon. So was Yesenda. She dodged the hit, expertly twirled her mace in her right hand, and blocked another one of his crushing blows.
“You have a strong right hand, but you’ll need to do better than that to kill me,” the pilgrim said, laughing.
“Where the bloody hell did you get that thing?” Iain growled as he entered the fray with his claymore.
“A lady never tells,” Yesenda said.
“What on earth are they teaching at the abbey nowadays?” Iain muttered as he narrowly missed a blow to the head.
“You’d be surprised,” Yesenda replied.
“Get down!” Iain yelled. Yesenda ducked as Iain blocked the club with his claymore.
“Move!” Yesenda shouted, and Iain sidestepped as Yesenda swung her mace with her right hand at the pilgrim’s left side to hinder him.
The pilgrim switched his war club to his left hand and blocked her attack. He chuckled. “That’s the problem with right-handed women. You cannot match my skill.” He ran at Yesenda so fast. It almost took her by surprise. Almost.
The pilgrim aimed his war club at her right hand to dislodge her weapon. In a move he hadn’t anticipated, Yesenda flicked her mace behind her back, catching it with her left hand; she twirled it and brought it crashing down against his unguarded rib. It connected, and she heard the crunching sound as the flanges broke bones and tore through his flesh. The pilgrim winced in pain as shock registered on his face.
“Tis lucky I am left-handed,” Yesenda said as he collapsed to his knees.
The pilgrim still attempted to swing his club as blood poured from his side. Iain slammed his foot on the handle and kicked it away.
The pilgrim grimaced in pain as blood poured from his wound. His breathing was shallow, and Yesenda was familiar with the sound. It was from broken ribs and a punctured lung. If she did not help him soon, he would die.
“Who sent you?” Yesenda demanded.
He remained silent.
“Tell me who sent you, and I can heal your wounds?” Yesenda said.
Still, he remained silent.
“Answer her!” Iain shouted.
The pilgrim looked up at her, his face a mask of unsettling serenity. He pulled out a dagger and yelled, “Nam Episcopus et Anglia!”–For the Bishop. For England. Then he stabbed himself in the heart.
“No!” Yesenda said. But it was too late. He fell forward, dead.
“What the devil is going on, Yesenda? And why did he call you Miriam?” Iain asked.
At that moment, Bram came bursting through the door with Sorcha close behind. “What is happening? Who is this man, and why did he try to kill Mysie and my bairn?”
“Calm down, Bram, let her speak. She just saved our lives,” Sorcha said, clearly recovered from her ordeal.
Yesenda said, “I dinnae have time to explain. All I ken is if he is here, danger lurks close by. Are the bairns safe?” Yesenda asked Sorcha.
“Aye, Niall and Fia are with them now,” Sorcha said.
“What do you mean, the danger is still close by?” Bram asked.
Yesenda said, “This man is part of a brotherhood. They travel in twos, and one is never far from the other. Wherever they travel, people end up dead. Alert the guards and keep your family close.”
“Why did he call you Miriam?” Iain asked again.
“I dinnae ken. I just played along to give me time.” Yesenda lied.
Iain gave her a skeptical look but said nothing.
Yesenda asked Sorcha, “Did he mention anything else, anything of importance that you might have thought strange?”
“Aye, he said something about healers.”
“Where is Tyra?” Yesenda asked.
“She was headed back to the glen the last I saw her,” Bram said.
“Then she is in danger.” Yesenda bolted for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Iain shouted as he sprinted after her.
***
TYRA AWOKE. SHE WAS bleeding out, and she could feel the cold sickness seeping in. Her body was losing heat. She tried to sit up but had no strength. Her one consolation was seeing the dead monk’s body lying by the river and Lachlan’s sword stained with blood.
Lachlan ran to her, the look of worry clearly expressed on his face as he stared at the blood. He picked her up and kept her clutched to his chest. “Tyra, stay with me, sweeting,” he pleaded as he started running towards the longhouse. Tyra’s teeth were chattering, and her lips were turning blue. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she passed out again.
As Lachlan made his way up the path to the longhouse, he met the others. The look of fear on his face was palpable. Soon they moved in unison to rally around Tyra.
Iain and Bram paled when they saw the deathly pallor of their sister and cousin.
They exchanged quick words of explanation. Bram and his men went to retrieve the bodies of the cleric and the murdered guard.
Iain rode back to the Keep fetching Willa and Sorcha so they could help with healing Tyra.
Lachlan burst into the longhouse with Tyra in his arms. Yesenda was in the longhouse, and he was thankful there was a fire going with hot water on the boil. There were also blankets and towels.
Yesenda quickly cleared the table and said, “Lay her there. We need to get the wet clothes off her. You can stand outside while I—”
“No!” Lachlan said. “I will stay and help you.”
“But her modesty—”
Tyra lay shivering in Lachlan’s arms and near exhaustion. Seeing her that way unmanned him.
“Please. I cannot leave her,” Lachlan pleaded, his voice guttural and filled with emotion.
“Aye, alright, put her down now,” Yesenda said.
Together they stripped her of her wet clothes. Lachlan wrapped her in a warm plaid while Yesenda carefully cleaned the wounds to her shoulder and her arm.
“The shoulder wound is deep. Tyra will lose more blood if I dinnae close it. The cut on her arm should only require a bandage,” she said.
“Do you need a hot blade to close the flesh?” Lachlan asked.
“No, I ken something better. Press this cloth against Tyra’s shoulder while I gather some things.”
Lachlan pressed a clean cloth against the wound and waited for Yesenda.
Yesenda moved about the cottage, gathering things. When she returned, she had catgut sheep thread and a needle. She washed her hands, threaded the needle then poured hot water on both.
“Hold her steady while I sew.”
Lachlan nodded and kept Tyra still. Then he watched in awe as Yesenda’s deft hands made neat stitches along Tyra’s skin.
“Where did you learn to do this?” he asked.
“In the abbey. The nuns teach us sometimes.”
Willa and Sorcha arrived with Iain. Willa made up a clean bed with warm blankets for Tyra to convalesce. She also cooked up a bone broth. Sorcha helped Yesenda treat and bandage the wounds.
Iain stepped inside and threw a clean shirt at Lachlan. “The least you can do is put some bloody clothes on.” He scowled then walked back outside.
Lachlan realized he had been shirtless the whole time since the training grounds. He quickly donned the leine.
The women took turns cleaning Tyra and drying her hair so she did not catch a cold. Eventually, they settled Tyra on Lachlan’s lap close to the fire because she called for him. Lachlan did not object.
Iain came back inside and gritted his teeth at the sight of Lachlan cradling his sister, but he said nothing.
“Will she be all right?” Iain asked Yesenda and Sorcha.
“We need to watch her for fever, but if the wound does not fester, she should be well,” Yesenda said, and Sorcha agreed.
There was movement at the door, and Liosa entered.
“Iain, I was just at the Keep. I was so afraid for you. I heard there had been an attack. Are you well, my love?” Liosa asked as she fussed over Iain.
Iain looked slightly embarrassed but assured her he was all right and advised that she return to Willa’s old cottage.
Willa and Sorcha gave Liosa filthy glares when she left, but Yesenda just smirked.
“What are you smirking at?” Iain asked as he made to leave.
“I just thought of some timely advice for you, Warrior.”
“And what’s that?”
“Be careful where you sheath your claymore,” she said.
Iain flinched, shocked by Yesenda’s comment. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. Then he threw his head back and burst out laughing.
Yesenda just grinned and went back to her task.
An hour later, Tyra was sleeping peacefully against Lachlan’s chest, and her lips were less blue. The color was returning to her cheeks. Lachlan dozed in the chair, his arms firmly around her until he felt Willa tap him on the shoulder.
“Lachlan, she can rest now in her bed. Lay her there, then you can find your rest too,” Willa said, and her smile was warm.
Lachlan stood and carried Tyra to the bed. He gently laid her down and then moved out of the way as the women fussed over her and covered her with thick bedding.
Sorcha said, “Lachlan, there’s hot water left over. You can have a warm wash in the other room. Then come and join Tyra. You need to watch her tonight in case of fever.”
“Aye, I will do it,” he said, grateful that they were letting him spend time with her.
Eventually, Sorcha and Willa returned to the Keep with Bram.
Yesenda remained in Tyra’s cottage if needed, and after a welcome warm bath and change of clothes, Lachlan settled in beside Tyra.
***
LACHLAN ADDED ANOTHER log to the fire then got back into bed beside Tyra. He felt her forehead, and although it was a little clammy, there was no sign of fever. Needing to be closer, he gently pulled her body against his, draping one arm over her stomach. He pushed a lock of hair away from her face and breathed a sigh of contentment. She almost died and would have if he had not arrived in time. He shuddered when he recalled seeing the cleric trying to kill her. As soon as she was better, they would need to talk about their future. There was no way he was ever going to let her go. Those were his last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep.
Just before dawn, Tyra woke to a roaring fire. She lay naked, tucked under a warm fur cover. She felt so toasty and comfortable despite the niggling pain in her shoulder and arm. She turned to see where she was, coming up against a hard-muscled wall.
An arm tightened around her. “Dinnae even think of getting out of this bed,” Lachlan said.
Tyra blushed when she realized he was in bed with her. Then she remembered the events of the previous day.
“Lachie, is everyone safe? There was another man headed to the Keep.”
“Dinnae fash, all is well.” Lachlan pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.
“Where are the others? How come you are here?” she asked, still slightly confused and sore.
“The others are resting elsewhere. I promised to remain with you and watch for fever.”
He felt her forehead again with the back of his hand. “Are you hale? How do you feel?”
“A little sore, but I am well. Does Iain ken you are here?” she whispered.
“Aye.”
“And he allowed it?”
“Aye.”
Tyra suddenly felt exhausted. She snuggled back into his embrace and closed her eyes. Resting her head on his shoulder, she kissed his chest then snuggled again.
Lachlan held her tight in his arms and said, “Go back to sleep, sweeting. We will talk in the morn.”
She smiled and drifted off to sleep.
***
LACHLAN FELT SOMEONE shaking him awake. He reached for his sword when Iain said, “Settle down, tis just me.”
He extracted himself from Tyra and tucked her under the blankets then sat up.
“What is it?” he asked Iain.
Lachlan noticed it was pre-dawn outside.
Iain just glared at him then pulled up a chair by the fire. He still did not speak.
Lachlan sighed and rose from the bed and pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the table.
“You saved Tyra’s life,” Iain said.
“Aye,”
“I thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. I would die for Tyra.”
“What happens now?” Iain asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve spent the entire night with her in the longhouse with no one else about. Soon word will spread. So, I will ask you again, Gair, what happens now?”
“I am going to marry her,” Lachlan replied.
“Aye, you will. I dinnae like you, but I ken Tyra needs you.”
Iain rose grabbed two cups and a bottle of whiskey. He poured two serves, sat, and gave one to Lachlan. “Drink,” he said.
Lachlan lifted the cup and said, “Slàinte Mhath.”
Iain lifted his cup and replied, “Do dheagh shlàinte.”
Both men made eye contact, skulled the dram, and placed their cups on the table.
Iain stood and headed for the door. When he opened it, he paused and said over his shoulder, “If you hurt her in any way, Lachlan, I will slit your throat in your sleep. I’ve done it before. Welcome to the family.” With those parting words, Iain left.
Lachlan exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and just shook his head. Then he looked over the bed and watched Tyra sleeping, oblivious that her life was about to change. He gazed upon her lovingly and felt joy and hope explode in his chest. She was his now, and that feeling alone warmed his heart.
The following morning after Lachlan washed in the river and changed into fresh clothes; he returned to the longhouse to help Tyra bathe. Her shoulder was stiff, and she was still sore from the previous day’s ordeal. She was currently sitting in a large tub filled with warm water rinsing off the soap.
“Lachie. I look a sight.”
“You’re bonnie to me, love.”
Tyra blushed and turned away.
He held her chin and turned her to face him. “Dinnae, turn from me. Tis true. You are the bonniest woman in the entire world. No other compares to you. Even when we’re in our dotage and the young-uns call us old and grey, you’ll still be the bonniest lass in the Highlands.”
Tyra leaned across and brushed her lips against his. “Thank you for saying that.”
Lachlan grinned, then helped her out of the bath. He wrapped her in a large drying cloth and pulled her onto his lap by the fire, where he proceeded to dry her hair.
***