Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (24 page)

Lachlan screamed. Catriona sobbed. Rachel's hands shook as she pulled the metal away, thrust it into the fire and applied it again.

The boy was still now, silent, limp, and sweating.

His brow glistened in the firelight. But the blood had slowed to a dribble, seeping between his ribs in meandering, scarlet rivulets.

"Soak a cloth in boiling water and bring it to me," she ordered.

They did so. She washed away the gore with the steaming cloth and reached out for the bandages. Quickly, she folded one and pressed it to the wound, then ordered blankets to be placed over and under him.

Rachel pulled them to his chin and tucked them under his sides. Finally she rose to her feet.

"Will he live?" Catriona's question was no more than a whisper, her eyes unblinking as she stared at her brother's small body, hidden as it was beneath a layer of woolen blankets.

"Tis in God's hands."

"What do I do?"

"Pray," Rachel said. "And if he wakes... even for a moment, give him water. I will be in the woods."

"I'll come with you," Rory said, but Liam straightened beside her, every wild instinct in him humming to life.

"Twould be a bad night for you to lose your wick," he said.

"What?" The Rom straightened and thrust out his chest.

Liam smiled and reaching down, lifted Rachel's rag pouch from the ground. “Tis dark. Twould be a bad night for you to lose your way," he said, then nodded toward the woods. "I'll accompany me wife."

Pulling a torch from the earth, he followed Rachel into the woods. Twas like her to forget she would need a light, he thought—at least at times like this. True, at other times she was clever and careful, but twas not her way when she was tending the wounded. Then she became this woman possessed.

"Bring the torch," she said, motioning behind her.

Liam raised the flame and approached. "What did you find?"

"Myrrh." She said the word most reverently, and bending, broke it off carefully at ground level.

Liam handed her the pouch. She shoved the plant inside without seeming to notice his presence.

Then she was off again, striding through the woods, unconcerned for the darkness or any evils that might be lurking there.

Finally, her pouch filled with her precious finds, she hurried back to camp.

"How does he fare?" she asked, her tone taut as she swung her pouch to the ground and approached the child.

"He has not awakened," Catriona said.

Rachel pressed a palm to his forehead. "Has he spoken? Any movement?"

"Sometimes he moans."

Rachel nodded, stroked the child's cheek then moved toward the fire, where she dropped yarrow leaves into the kettle there. Next, she busied herself with a hundred small details, ripping the roots from the witch hazel plant, hanging comfrey up to dry.

Finally she settled down on a log not far from the wounded lad.

Liam glanced up from where he sat on the ground, his back braced against the trunk of an elm.

"You should sleep," he said.

Rachel shook her head distractedly, clasped her hands together and stared into the flame. "The tincture will be ready soon. I'll use it immediately." Lifting her eerie gaze from the fire, she turned it on Catriona. "But you should sleep. He may well need you on the morrow."

"Where did you learn these skills?" asked the Gypsy girl.

"Lady Fiona..." Rachel began, but Liam stopped her, realizing suddenly that even he hadn't noticed her lack of peasant brogue.

"Me wife was a maid to a healer for a spell," he said, meeting her gaze with his own. "She learned much."

Rachel nodded distractedly. "Sleep, Catriona," she said, but the other turned silently away and remained where she was.

Two stubborn women and a wounded lad, Liam thought, and sighing, he closed his eyes and prepared for a long and difficult night.

Some time later a tortured wail woke him, jerking him from his dreams.

"Liam," Rachel cried.

He stumbled groggily to his feet and lurched toward them.

"Hold him down," she ordered.

He did so. She finished pouring the tincture onto the wound as Lachlan writhed in agony, his eyes wide and his arms held by his sister and Liam.

"Tis finished," Rachel gasped, but the boy continued his keeling moan.

"Please," Catriona begged, "do something."

Rachel bit her lip, then lurched to her feet and fetched a kettle from near the fire. Pouring a bit into a mug, she motioned them to lift the boy to a sitting position then raised the cup toward him.

Lachlan mewled piteously and writhed in pain. She pressed the mug closer, but he turned his face away.

"Lachlan!" Rachel said sharply. "Are you Rom or are you not?"

He stopped his movement, but whimpered in misery and squeezed his eyes closed.

"Are you Rom?" she asked again, her voice low.

"Aye." The word was barely a moan of assent.

"Then you've a duty to your family," she said. "A duty to stay alive. Do you hear me?"

He opened his eyes. His nod was shallow. Rachel caught him in her gaze.

"You will drink this," she said. "And you will live. Do you understand?"

He nodded again. She pressed the mug to his lips.

He did his best to drink, but even that small effort seemed too much for him. The warm liquid dribbled down the side of his mouth. He moaned again, but his gaze never left Rachel's.

"You will drink it," she repeated.

He slurped at the cup, seeming to take forever, until his eyes were falling closed and his body was limp in his sister's arms.

"A Rom does not give up," Rachel murmured.

His throat convulsed one last time, and then he went absolutely still.

"Lachlan?" Catriona's voice shook.

"He's resting," Rachel assured her. Lifting a bandage from a nearby blanket, she wrapped it about the lad's narrow chest, and the vigil began again.

Liam slept and awoke and slept and awoke, and each time Rachel was there, sitting beside the lad, her hand on his brow or her fingers worrying at a potion. Night turned to morning. The familia awoke, but little changed. Rachel and Catriona remained, speaking in low voices, stroking the child's forehead.

The day passed slowly. Fatigue lay on Rachel like a millstone. Doubt gnawed at her. Maybe she shouldn't have given him the tonic. True, he was without pain now. But pain was not always her enemy. It could well be that he would not wake from his slumber but fall from it straight into the hereafter.

Restless yet fatigued, she wandered back into the forest, searching yet again for herbs. Liam shadowed her, saying nothing, simply following.

That night was no better. Marta found her bed, and Rory lay beneath the wagon. Bear sat on his haunches near the boy and alternated between haunted moans and weepy sniffling.

Finally, able to stay awake no longer, Rachel fell into an exhausted sleep. Sometime far into the night, she awoke to a small, creaky voice.

"Get away, Bear."

She sat up straight, pushing the blanket away as she launched toward the boy.

"Go away," he said again, turning his face from the bear's happy tongue.

"Lachlan!" Catriona's voice broke as she spoke. Crawling to him on her hands and knees, she pushed the bear away with some effort. "Lachlan, are you awake?"

"Aye." His voice cracked as he spoke. "But I'm thinking I may not ride the mare standing up again."

Catriona laughed and collapsed atop him amidst sobs and caresses. Rachel clasped his hand in her own and cried.

"God's breath," Lachlan rasped, his face showing his embarrassment. "First the bear and then women."

Liam squatted beside him. "Life is hell, lad," he said, wryly watching the women stroke him.

"Still, I'm glad to see you amongst the living."

"You love him."

"What?" Rachel's hand faltered on Lachlan's brow as she jerked her attention to Catriona's face.

The Gypsy shrugged, her expression impassive. "You love him."

Rachel swiped the lad's hair back from his sleeping face and tried to look casual. "You needn't worry. Even if I did have feeling for your Rory, he's got eyes for you and none other."

"Tis not true." Catriona didn't bother to turn to where the Rom slept beneath the wagon some thirty yards away. "Rory has an eye for any bonny lass. And you well know it. But you must think me a fool, indeed, if you believe I speak of him."

Rachel tensed. "I've no idea what you're talking about then?"

"I've spent some time wondering why you flirt with Rory when tis your own man who holds your attention."

"Hugh?" Rachel rose to her feet and tossed back her hair, trying to imitate the fiery Gypsy she was not and deeply grateful that Liam had chosen this night to sleep in the wagon. "Hugh and I..." She paused. The truth was complicated enough. Lies were like water-soaked knots that would never be unbound. "Our marriage was a matter of convenience, nothing more. You're young and romantic.

Maybe you don't understand—"

"You love him," Catriona repeated, stepping forward. "And thus I wonder why you do not sleep together."

Rachel opened her mouth, but no words came for a moment, and by then Catriona was speaking again.

"Has he been unfaithful? Is that the reason for your anger?"

"Tis a matter between me husband and myself," Rachel said, busying herself with her herbs.

"I can say from experience that men are like that. I don't think me father was faithful to me own mother. And Rory..." She shrugged. "But he says that once we wed, he will be different."

Rachel knew she should keep quiet, but it was not quite in her nature to do so. "And do you believe that?"

Their gazes met. "He cares for me. Yet I wonder, why would fidelity become easier with the passage of time? Women age and men's eyes start to rove. In truth, Flora, I would give much to own what Hugh gives to you."

"Whatever do you mean?"

She shook her head as if surprised by Rachel's naivete. "I know what I am, Flora. None knows better."

Rachel turned toward her.

"I am young, I am beautiful, and I am Rom. Most men believe that to be an open invitation for their advances. More than once I have considered wedding Rory for naught more than his protection."

"You're not in love with him?"

"I am fond of him."

"But in the wagon..." She remembered the knife in Catriona's hand quite vividly.

"You...ah...seemed enamored."

The girl laughed, her teeth flashing white in the firelight. "Tis the Rom way to protect what is hers," she said, and shrugged. "I thought I would sharpen my skills."

"On me?"

Catriona laughed again, but sobered in a moment. "You'll never have a need to keep others from your Hugh." Rachel turned nervously back to her potions, trying to ignore Catriona's words and avid attention. "In truth, I am one to usually draw a man's attention, but I am not certain he has noticed yet that I am a woman."

Rachel snorted, anger and frustration rising in her. "Take heart, lass. He has noticed."

Catriona remained silent for a moment then shook her head. "He has no time to think of another.

You are all he sees."

"Believe me. Tis the furthest thing from the truth!" Rachel snapped then wished she could draw back the impassioned words.

"Could it be that you don't know the hold you have on him?" she mused.

"Tis late," Rachel said. "You'd best find your bed. I'll see to Lachlan."

"You don't know."

"If you don't sleep, I will."

Catriona laughed in astonishment. "Tis the truth. You've no idea how your Hugh adores you."

"He does not adore me! He would rather be alone till the end of his days than to spend a moment in my company!"

Absolute silence filled the camp. Catriona looked as if she'd been slapped, then she grinned that scampish, sensuous expression that lighted her from the inside out.

"You are amazing."

"And you are daft," Rachel said, feeling irritated and fatigued.

Catriona ignored her. "So you turn him away. But in truth, I don't know how you can resist him.

He is not an unhandsome man. In fact—"

"I don't care to hear your assessment."

"You're jealous," Catriona proclaimed mildly.

"He is my husband. And I am not jealous."

"You are jealous," she countered. "And you are trying to make him jealous."

The air left Rachel's lungs in a rush and her shoulders sagged. "I fear I am pathetically poor at it."

Catriona laughed. "Dear Flora, if you had the man wound any tighter about your finger, he would spin in circles when you let loose."

"Then why does he not..." Rachel began, but she could not finish the sentence.

"What?"

Rachel turned abruptly away.

"Why does he not what?"

"Why does he not sleep with me?" It was easier to say it to the darkness.

"Never?"

"Never."

"Not even on the night you were wed?'

It would be nice to share the truth, but part truths were hard enough and certainly more than she should admit. "Never."

She felt the girl's hand on her arm and turned reluctantly at her urging. "There is much I don't know about. But driving men insane with longing...that happens to be my greatest talent."

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"And I am a mole. Where did you learn to dance?"

"I don't dance."

"My point exactly," Catriona said, and hurrying to a nearby wagon, reached inside for a slim flute of sorts. Bringing it out to the fire, she practiced a few notes then began a slow tune.

Rachel stared at her.

"Dance," she said.

"I don't dance."

Catriona scowled, drawing her brows sharply over snapping eyes. "We have taken you in out of the goodness of our hearts. You will dance and help pay for the funds you have cost us." The corner of a grin snuck through. "And you will make your Hugh mad for you. Dance."

The music began again.

She shouldn't do this, Rachel thought. She should concentrate on her mission and hurry on her way. But her soul disagreed. Dragonheart was burning warm and heavy between her breasts, and her feet suddenly itched to move. They began of their own accord. The tempo increased. Rachel stumbled.