Shaw turned to the old servant. “The first thing you will do is go out into the countryside and harvest whatever herbs your mistress requires.”
“In the dark of night?” The old woman’s brows lifted.
“Aye. And be quick about it.”
“It would be better if I could go along,” Sabina protested.
“To plot your escape? Nay, woman. You will remain here.”
At the finality of his statement, Sabina reluctantly recited a litany of herbs, plants and roots, while mentally fretting that she could not accompany the old woman, who had grown a bit forgetful.
“You must remember the willow bark, Astra, and bitterroot,” Sabina instructed.
“And balsam,” Merritt added.
The old woman merely nodded.
“You will not forget?”
“Ye will recall, my fine ladies,” Astra said rather testily, “that I have forgotten more than ye will ever know about healing—”
Shaw interrupted. “Just remember, old woman, the lives of these two lie in your hands. They will remain here with me in these chambers until you return. If you should be tempted to go to a nearby village for help, or if you are not alone when you return, your mistresses will die by my hand before anyone can intervene. Is that understood?”
“Aye.”
From the sullen look she shot him before taking her leave, Shaw was convinced that the old woman had indeed been planning just such a surprise for him. But, despite her barbed tongue, she seemed loyal to her two mistresses. He sensed that she would do as she’d been commanded, for their sakes. When she was gone, he indicated the bed. “You may as well rest. You are not leaving until your servant returns.”
Merritt drew herself up to her full height and answered for both of them. “Do you think we would dare to close our eyes while there is a villainous Campbell watching?”
“The choice is yours,” he said wearily.
“Nay, sir.” Merritt touched a hand to the pain at her shoulder. “If we were given a choice, you and that savage brother of yours would be exiled from Inverene House at once.”
“Hush, Merritt.” Sabina placed a hand on her sister’s arm. She was not eager to enrage the barbarian who had charged into her chambers wielding a sword. Besides, she had always found that more could be accomplished by being compliant than by being combative.
Her hand came away smeared with blood. “You’re bleeding, Merritt,” she cried. “Sit here by the fire and I will tend your wounds.”
Shaw watched as the dark-haired woman efficiently washed away her sister’s blood in a basin of water and dressed her wounds, using strips of linen torn from the bed hangings.
As the two women settled themselves in chairs in front of the fire, Shaw cast a longing glance at the bed. His wounds, though only minor irritations, were still bleeding. He was weary beyond belief. And he would have to keep watch throughout the night, until the servant returned. Even then, there would be no relief, for he would have to remain awake and alert and at his brother’s side until Sutton was well enough to withstand the journey over treacherous terrain back to Kinloch House.
With a sigh Shaw drew a chair beside the pallet where his brother lay. Knife in hand, he sat stiffly at attention and began his vigil.
~ ~ ~
Shaw’s head nodded, waking him with a start. For a moment he was completely disoriented, wondering why his body ached in so many places. Glancing down, he saw dried blood on his sleeve and tunic. His other sleeve was slashed and torn, revealing the chunk of flesh that still bled profusely.
He caught sight of his brother, lying as still as death. At once, he became alert. Reaching down, he felt the thready pulse. He glanced around. The room was in darkness, except for the faint glow of embers on the hearth.. He could make out the two figures of the women, heads slumped, asleep in their chairs.
Some sound had disturbed him. Had it been the feeble shout of a child? Or the call of a night bird? Yet, as he strained, he could hear nothing more. Forcing himself to stand, he crossed the room and walked to the balcony. Below, the waters of the loch were dark and motionless. But as he watched, a sudden movement caught his eye, then disappeared. When he looked again, he could see nothing out of the ordinary.
Thinking it must be Astra returning with the herbs, he started to turn away. But a sudden flare of light rent the darkness, and as he turned back to watch, the blaze of light seemed to engulf the stables.
“God in heaven! Fire!” he shouted.
At once, both women stirred, then came up out of their chairs, running toward the door of the chamber. Shaw was ahead of them, racing down the stairs and out into the cold night air. He stopped short at the sight that greeted him. Fueled by thatch and dry timber, the fire spread with the speed of lightning. The intense heat made it impossible to get close. But even from a distance, the empty stalls were visible. Before the fire had been started, the horses had apparently been stolen.
Within minutes the roof of the stable caved in upon itself, and, fed by the flames, sent sparks shooting high into the midnight blackness. There was nothing anyone could do but stand and watch helplessly as the fire consumed the entire structure.
Shaw felt his rage growing. He needed his mount almost as much as he needed his weapons. Without a horse, he was trapped in the Lamont fortress, far from his own people.
He turned to where the two sisters stood clinging together, watching with similar looks of honor and disbelief. Their grief was palpable, as was their anger.
“So,” he said, “I see firsthand the work of these Highland Avengers.”
“This was not the work of the Avengers,” Merritt said.
“And how would you know?” She looked away, compressing her lips together.
“Can you think of any besides the Avengers who carry such enmity in their hearts,” Shaw asked, “that they would burn your stables and steal your horses?”
Spearing a glance at her sister, Merritt replied, “The Highlands abound with men who suckled the milk of hatred from the moment of their birth.”
Shaw was intrigued by her words, for he knew them to be true. He had witnessed bitterness between generations of Highlanders that seemed destined to go forever unresolved. Was that not true of their two families? The Lamonts and Campbells had been estranged since the time of their fathers.
A stooped figure emerged from the pall of smoke, carrying a basket filled with plants and roots.
“Astra,” Merritt called. “Did you see who did this?”
“Aye.” The old woman nodded toward the towering forest. “Horsemen, leading many horses.”
“Did you know these men?” Shaw asked.
“Nay.” She shook her head. “’Twas too dark to see their faces.”
“But we know them to be your clansmen,” Sabina added.
“And how would you know that?”
At his look, the dark-haired beauty turned away. But her fiery sister said, “It is the thieving Campbells who have always made our lives miserable. And because of them—”
“Nay, Merritt.” Sabina caught her hand, adding, “There is no reason to confide in this stranger. He is one of them.”
The two sisters turned away, leaving so many of his questions unanswered.
Seeing the old woman struggling beneath her burden, Shaw took the heavy basket from Astra’s hands. She appeared genuinely surprised at his act of kindness. Leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick, she trailed behind as they returned to the manor house.
~ ~ ~
Shaw followed the two young women to the kitchen, which showed the same signs of neglect as the rest of the house. The floor was bare of rushes. Several wooden benches lay battered and broken beside the fireplace, apparently to be used as firewood. To his amazement, he discovered that, except for a few dried fruits and vegetables, the larder was empty.
He thought of the larder at Kinloch House, filled with the carcasses of deer, boar, sheep and pigs, as well as pheasant and partridge. Anyone in the nearby villages requiring food need only ask the laird and it was given to them.
While the three women set about crushing herbs and grinding roots into paste, he made several trips outside and returned with logs and dried grasses, which he used to start a fire in the huge, blackened fireplace.
Soon the room took on a cheery note, as the warmth of the fire chased away the gloom of the predawn darkness. Astra made her way to Shaw’s side, carrying a goblet.
“Ale, my lord?”
“Aye. Thank you.”
It was the first nourishment he’d had in hours. He drained it in quick gulps and felt the warmth settle low in his stomach, then spread slowly through his veins, reviving him.
The old woman refilled his goblet before hobbling away.
Easing himself into a chair in front of the fire, he watched as Sabina and Merritt prepared a tea made from the bark of a willow. As the liquid bubbled, the strong earthy fragrance filled the kitchen.
He studied the two sisters, who were so different. It was not just their clothes, although Merritt’s choice had his lips twitching in humor. While Sabina wore a modest gown of pale blue, to match her eyes, Merritt was dressed in the rough garb of a stableboy, with oversize breeches and boots, and a coarse hooded cloak. Sabina’s hair was as black as a raven’s wing; Merritt’s the color of flame. Sabina stood a head shorter and had the calm demeanor of royalty. Merritt’s every movement seemed charged with energy. While Sabina seemed comfortable in the kitchen, working with an economy of movement, Merritt’s distaste for such lowly work was obvious in the way she sighed with impatience over each chore. Sabina seemed oblivious to everything except the herbs she was mixing. Merritt glanced up often, inquisitive green eyes studying the stranger who sat facing her.
“This will ease your brother’s pain,” Sabina said as she poured the strong willow tea into a goblet.
At once Shaw stood and led the women up the stairs to the chambers where his brother lay. Inside, he knelt and gently lifted Sutton’s head so that the liquid could be forced between his lips. Taking the cup from Sabina, he murmured soothingly, “Drink, Sutton. We’ve brought you something for the pain. Drink. So that you might rest.”
His brother was completely unresponsive, but with a great deal of patience, Shaw managed to force a little of the tea down his throat.
The women watched, silently marveling at the gentleness in one so strong. It was a quality they had rarely witnessed among Highland men.
“We will change his poultice now.” Sabina said.
While Shaw lifted and turned him, Sabina and Merritt were able to remove the old bloody dressings and replace them with clean fresh ones. By the time they had finished, all of them felt drained from the effort.
“We must rest now,” Sabina said. “For the night has been long, and we are near exhaustion.”
“Aye.” Shaw indicated the bed. “You may sleep there. Your servant can sleep on the floor next to your bed. I will sleep beside my brother.”
The women were shocked at his suggestion, but it was Merritt who spoke for them. “You cannot keep us prisoners in our own home. We will not stay with you.” She began to brush past him. “We are returning to our own rooms, to sleep until the morrow.”
Catching her roughly by the arm, Shaw withdrew his sword and was rewarded with a flash of fear in her eyes.
“You will lie down.” He gave her a shove, not only to add to her fear, but because the touch of her caused a strange kind of heat in his loins. A heat that was unaccustomed and unwelcome. “And you will do it quickly. My patience has reached its limit.”
While Sabina and the old servant quickly retreated to the bed, Merritt lingered long enough to send him a withering look. “If I had my weapons, Campbell, you would not be so quick to give orders.”
“If you had your weapons, and dared to defy me...” He dragged her close, until the heat of his breath stung her cheek. Up close she smelled of the earthy spices and herbs she had been mixing. An altogether pleasant fragrance that had him breathing it deeply into his lungs before he reminded himself how much he despised these Lamonts, who had been the cause of his brother’s pain. “Woman or no, you would be dead. Now heed my orders and be quick about it.”
He gritted his teeth as he shoved her away.
With her head high and her spine stiff, she marched to the bed and climbed beneath the covers. But she kept her eyes wide, continuing to watch him as he secured the room.
Barring the door from within, Shaw pulled a fur robe around himself and eased down beside his brother, taking care to place his sword in his right hand and a dirk in his left.
Though he was exhausted beyond belief, he knew he would never be able to fall asleep. Because the truth was, he was also exhilarated by the success of his quest. He had, after all, found his brother alive. Though he knew the next few days would decide Sutton’s fate, Shaw was convinced that he had been brought to his brother’s side during this critical time because Sutton was meant to live. Please God, he prayed fervently, Sutton had to live.
His gaze fell on the figures in the bed and his thoughts turned to the little firebrand, Merritt. She was a most annoying gnat, getting under his skin, stinging at the most unexpected times. It was obvious that, unlike her sister, Sabina, she’d had little training as a lady and much preferred the life of a warrior.
Why was she doing things that, by rights, ought to be done by her father? Where was the old villain? And where were the servants? How had Inverene House fallen into such disrepair?
So many questions. So many worries. His mind was reeling.
With the warmth of the fire at his back, and the heat of the ale in his belly, he soon gave in to the need to sleep.