Dangerous Pride (7 page)

Though the lessons with the tutor had not lasted for many years, they had awakened in Catriona a hunger for knowledge; a desire to learn more about the world around her.  Once her formal studies were over, she had taught herself from the books she pilfered from her father’s library.  She delighted in losing herself in worlds limited only by an author’s imagination, and in knowing that someday her ability to read and do simple mathematics would make her less dependent upon her husband, and his judgment.

Not that it was likely she would ever marry, Catriona reflected ruefully, as she made her way through the inner bailey.  Her father had dowered Elizabeth generously, but had made no bones about the fact that he did not intend to provide such largesse for his youngest daughter.  Since she was no great beauty, Catriona reasoned it was unlikely any man would be compelled to marry a plain, landless, dowerless woman.  And even if by some miracle a man did express interest in her, she knew she would be satisfied with only one man – a man who was out of her grasp forever.

That morning, most of the clan had joined together after attending the kirk, joyfully celebrating the christening of a young lass born to the cobbler and his wife.  Catriona’s progress was stalled by the many villagers who stopped to speak with her.  She made a point to congratulate the happy couple and comment on how bonnie the bairn was before she took her leave from the celebration.  There would be dancing and feasting into the wee hours of the morning, and Catriona was pleased that her kinsmen had come together in celebration.  An added benefit was the fact that her absence would not likely be noticed, even if she was gone for several hours, as the inner bailey was crowded with relatives and friends from throughout the area.

Catriona relished the opportunity to be alone with her thoughts, if only for a few hours.  She deliberately left Lily in the stable, anxious to stretch her legs and enjoy some quiet exercise.  Besides, she was anxious to gather some herbs she needed in order to replenish her stores.  There was a small patch of yarrow not too far from the castle, and she needed fresh blossoms for the pain relieving ointments she used to treat minor burns and cuts.  The rowan trees would be rich with berries, and with any luck she would be able to pick them to use later in jellies and a special mixture to ease sore throats.

With a smile to the guard on duty, Catriona passed through the gate, and over the bridge the guard had drawn over the moat.  The Earl of Seafield had spared no expense in fortifying his castle, having worked so hard to gain it.

The bright day matched her mood, and Catriona lifted her face to the sky, reveling in the feel of the sun’s warmth on her pale skin.  Though her mother would surely be displeased with her for allowing her skin to become even more freckled, she refused to subdue her joy in the beautiful day.

She climbed the hill swiftly, making her way along a narrow path that led to a small cluster of trees.  She looked down upon the valley below her, savoring the rich fragrance of wildflowers that scented the air.  A small cluster of yarrow grew a few feet from the trees.  Skillfully, she picked back the portions of the plant that would be useful, making sure to leave enough new growth behind so she could return later in the season for more.

Though her basket was quickly filled with the necessary herbs, Catriona was loathe to return to the keep so quickly.  On impulse, she decided to walk to the hot springs in Whitehills, an hour’s distance by foot.  The Red Well had been built hundreds of years earlier by the Romans, and provided a wonderful place to soak and relax in the warm waters.  Very few of the residents in the area visited the hot springs, fearing that the site was unnatural because the waters ran red.  Catriona had explained countless times that mineral deposits in the rock colored the water, but she could not convince her superstitious kinsmen of this fact.  Stories of hauntings and ghostly visitations had been focused on the Red Well for as long as Catriona could remember.

She followed the burn that led to the springs, noticing  the stream ran much faster than usual, and looked ready to run over its banks.  The heavy rains had been a blessing for the crops, and had lent a rich lushness to the valley. Still, she knew from experience that too much rain could do irreparable damage both to the harvest and the animals living in the valley.

The hot springs were surrounded by a large beehive shaped building the Romans had designed to contain the waters centuries earlier.  Catriona carefully stepped along the path worn into the bracken.  It wound around the hill, gradually working upward, until the Red Well was in sight.  Catriona had to duck before she could enter the building, which had gradually been falling apart over the years.  Picking her way through the loose rocks, she walked several paces in darkness before she could see the light pouring through a small opening at the end of the building.  The hot springs were situated just before the opening, with enough sunlight seeping in to illuminate the bathing area.  Larger rocks directed the flow of the natural spring so that warm water filled a pool large enough to fit several people.  In all the times Catriona had visited the hot springs, she had never encountered another person, though at times she had seen red deer, raccoons, pheasants and other small animals in the area.

Stripping off her house dress and her arisaid, Catriona lay them carefully over the edge of the spring. Her chemise, boots and stockings soon followed.  As she slowly lowered herself into the warm waters, a sense of wellness and calm enveloped her.  She immersed herself until only her head was above the water, and she was comfortably seated on one of the many large rocks that lined the edge of the spring.  The Romans had long believed the hot springs had curative properties, and in that moment, Catriona couldn’t find a single flaw in their logic.

She must have dozed for a time, for when she next took note of her surroundings, she saw the sun no longer provided much light inside the tiny building.  Sighing, she dragged her sated body from the water and dressed quickly, cursing the lack of any toweling to dry herself.  The air was so cool against her heated skin that it took her breath away, setting her to shivering until her teeth chattered uncontrollably.  The feel of her clothes sticking against her damp skin did little to improve her mood, which was becoming darker by the minute.  She was overdue at home, and would have to hurry if she were to return to the keep before the evening meal was served, and her absence was too obvious to be overlooked.

Stepping from the shelter, Catriona realized immediately that the weather had taken a dramatic turn for the worse.  Strong winds whipped around her, teasing strands of hair loose from her braid.  Impatiently, she tucked the stray hair behind her ears, gradually making her way along the bracken path.  The sky was grey and threatening, with heavy clouds blocking the sun’s warming rays.  Catriona realized that she would have to hurry home, or risk a thorough soaking when the clouds, heavy with rain, finally broke.

As she briskly made her way into the valley, idly contemplating what excuse she would give her father, a faint, plaintive cry reached her ears.  Catriona cocked her head to the side, straining to hear who – or what – might have made the noise, and where it had come from.  The powerful wind made it difficult to trace the origin of the sound, but Catriona followed it as closely as she could.  As she left the path behind her, Catriona was torn between her desire to return home and her need to offer assistance.  She knew she risked being caught in the rain, but her conscience would not allow her to ignore the cries of distress.

Catriona slowly traced the sound to the edge of the valley, finding it difficult to follow the infrequent cries.  She had not gone far when the rains began to fall,  slowly at first, but gradually with greater force.  In little time she was soaked to the skin by the downpour.  Her boots slowed her progress as she continually fought to keep her balance on the wet, soggy grass.  With a frustrated sigh, she tucked the herbs she had gathered in the pockets of her apron, holding the basket above her head for a small measure of protection from the rain.

Though the cries had grown consistently weaker, Catriona’s  persistence was rewarded when she stumbled upon a small cluster of gorse and trees near the edge of the winding stream.  An exhausted ewe lay in the shelter of the pine trees, struggling to give birth.  Her cries had stopped when she had heard Catriona approach, and the fear that was reflected in the animal’s eyes gripped her heart.  Approaching slowly, she whispered soft, soothing words to calm the ewe as she knelt down beside the struggling animal.

A crash of thunder boomed through the cooling, moist air, causing the skin on Catriona’s arms to stand on end.  Within seconds the sky was awash with flashes of bright lightening.  Distracted by her concern for the animal, Catriona hadn’t noticed how quickly the storm had progressed.  The wind tore at her clothes, which were now plastered uncomfortably to her skin.  Silently, she cursed her lack of foresight.  She’d brought nothing to shelter her from the rain or the cold, and without a horse, it would be a long, cold walk back to Boyne Castle.  Stubbornly, she pushed these distracting thoughts from her mind, focusing her attention instead on solving the dilemma at hand.

Already, there was little fight left in the frightened animal.  The ewe had not tried to elude Catriona as she had drawn nearer, clearly too exhausted to attempt to flee.  Knowing she could delay no longer, Catriona resigned herself to the task of trying to shift the lamb into the proper position for birthing.  She knew something was preventing the animal from descending further down the birth canal – perhaps it was in the breech position, or a leg may have been twisted.  No matter what the cause of the stalemate, there were no other choices open to her.

The ewe still offered no resistance to her touch, drawing only shallow, stuttering breaths.  Whispering a hasty prayer under her breath, Catriona gently eased her fingers into the ewe’s trembling body.  Her efforts were quickly rewarded when she felt the lamb’s tiny limbs beneath her fingertips.  Experience had taught her the way to manipulate the lamb, and within a few moments she had placed the animal’s wayward leg into the correct position.  She sighed her relief as she settled beside the ewe, content she had done all she could for them.  Now, nature would have to take its course.

Catriona leaned back against her basket, once again aware of the chilling breeze that coursed over her drenched body.  Water streamed down her cheeks.  Her braid hung in a heavy, sopping mess down her back.  With a resigned sigh she gathered up a handful of wet grass, doing her best to clean her hands as she watched the ewe’s breathing take on a more normal rhythm.

As if sensing Catriona’s impatience, the ewe seemed to regain some strength, and in a short span of time the tiny, struggling lamb emerged from her body.  Catriona held her breath until the lamb found its legs, and its way to its mother on unsteady, weak legs.  Only when the animal had begun to suckle did Catriona allow herself a small, satisfied smile.  She gently rubbed the animal down with more of the wet grass, helping the ewe as she worked to clean her newborn.

A harsh clap of thunder brought Catriona back to the reality of the situation, pushing all other thoughts abruptly from her mind.  The tiny lamb would be unlikely to survive the night unless she could find them shelter from the storm.  She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d left the keep, or since she had stumbled upon the ewe.  Clearly, she needed to get out of the rain before she too was at risk of succumbing to the storm.  Already, the temperature had fallen dramatically, and it often did in the unpredictable lands.

The lamb was still too weak to travel under its own power, so with a sigh of resignation Catriona reached down and drew it into her arms.  The mother watched her closely, and Catriona knew the animal would follow her wherever she went.

It was difficult for Catriona to choose a path, even now that her mind was set to the quest for shelter.  The wind was splaying water in her eyes, and it was hard to see her way.  Though she knew her way around her father’s lands, the cold,  darkness and unrelenting downpour made it difficult for her to gain her bearings.  Using the flashes of lightening as her guide, Catriona slowly made her way in the direction of a small grove of birch trees lower in the valley.  The risk of a lightening strike made it unreasonable to go higher up the hill, and that as much as anything decided the path she would take.

With every flash of lightening that illuminated the sky, she struggled desperately to find her way to the shelter of the trees.  Exhausted, shaking with cold and fatigue, her pace slowed until she barely made any progress at all. The lightening came less frequently now, and she began to fear that she had lost sight of the shelter.

As she paused to catch her breath, the wind carried a sharp noise to her ears.  Catriona straightened, pushing her soaking hair from her eyes as she struggled to see what might have made the noise.  She knew too well the dangers she faced being out in such conditions, and cursed her foolishness for not having brought so much as a dirk for protection.

The noises became louder, drawing closer, and Catriona was able to make out the sound of a man’s voice.  No matter who he might be, surely she would be safer with him than staying where she was, in the eye of the storm.  Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted into the night.

Catriona’s voice had become hoarse and tears of frustration had joined the rain that tracked down her cheeks before she could make out the form of someone drawing towards her. The horse and rider bore down upon her at a fast pace, and stopped just short of her.  Clad in a dark cloak, the man slid effortlessly from the back of his horse, crossing the distance to Catriona with quick, confident strides.  Her greeting died on her lips as rough hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up to stand before him.

“You haven’t so much as an ounce of common sense, do you, lass?” the deep voice accused.  Catriona felt her knees shake as her exhausted mind struggled to recognize the voice.  His face was obscured by the hood of his cape, but when the lightening flashed, she caught a glimpse of cool grey eyes that flared with a mixture of anger and relief.