Highland Moonlight (20 page)

sweet smell of it forced her to draw deep breaths to control the nausea

plaguing her. She bound the thigh injury of the last man then scrubbed her

hands one last time.

She saw the three men were given something to drink, then stepped

away from the fire for a breath of air untainted by the smell of blood.

Absently, she wiped at the rusty stains marring her surcoat.

Alexander placed her cloak, crusty with dried blood, around her

shoulders. She looked up at him. “How much farther to the castle?”

“A few more hours.”

“Have Gabriel ride with Derrick so he is well supported.”

He nodded.

“Artair’s arm is the worst I have seen. If it does not fester he may yet

keep it.”

She studied her husband’s face. To know this was the kind of life he

had known for nearly half his years had an almost physical ache settling

inside her. She wanted to comfort him in some way, but the men were all

around them. She was not sure he would understand even if she did. She

slid her hand into his larger one melding her palm to his.

Alexander’s attention swung to her face, and for a moment, their gazes

met and held.

“‘Tis a warrior’s wife you have become this day, Mary,” he said his

voice soft.

His words following the same vein as her thoughts had her

swallowing against a knot of tears that suddenly rose to block her throat.

“I was a warrior’s wife the day we wed, Alexander.” She rested her

hand against his shoulder for a moment then turned back to the fire to

gather her belongings.

Alexander saddled one of the horses seized after the battle to replace

her dead mare. The black gelding had three white stockings and a blaze

down his forehead. Mary studied the animal thoughtfully. She had seen the

horse before, but could not place where.

Her gaze moved to the row of bodies laying a short distance away. She

stepped in that direction, but two Campbell clansmen blocked her way.

“You do not wish to see such things, Lady Mary,” one of the men said.

“‘Twould not be good for the bairn.”

Could anything be worse than the injury she had stitched? “What clan

are the men from?” she asked.

“‘Tis not known for certes.”

Her gaze moved back to the horse.

“Is there something amiss, Mary?” Alexander asked. He stood by her

mount, ready to give her a boost.

Aware of the company’s eagerness to be away, Mary crossed to him.

“You do not know what clan the men hail from?”

“Nay, they have taken pains with their dress to ensure we do not

know.”

He boosted her into the saddle.

“Why would they attack so far inside Campbell land?” she asked.

He handed her the reins. “I do not know, lass. I’ll be riding beside you

the rest of the way, lest there be trouble ahead.”

She nodded and reached for her gloves tucked within her surcoat. She

looked down at the leather and noticed her hands were shaking. “The first

arrow was meant for you, Alexander.” She tugged on the gloves.

“Aye,” he acknowledged. “‘Tis a fact of warfare you take out the

commander of the company first to throw the men into confusion.”

Her gaze rose to his face. “How did they know you were the leader?”

His gaze rested on her for a moment. “There are times you are too

quick, Mary.”

She swallowed. Her father’s threats after the council came back to her.

She was afraid to voice her fears, afraid to dwell on the possibility that her

father wished her and her husband harm.

As they rode past the row of dead men, her eyes were once again

drawn to them. “Mayhap I could—-”

“Nay,” he cut her off shortly.

For the remainder of the journey Mary concentrated on the three

injured men. The task left her little time to brood over her fears.

The valley widened at the end of the loch. The rugged craggy hills

encircling the land looked cold and forbidding in the weakening light. Snow

began to fall again.

The village spread around the hulking form of the castle lying close

against the loch. The stone structure appeared gray and forlorn, its crest

misshapen. One side was finished the other was not.

Mary viewed her new home with mixed feelings of relief and anxiety. It

would be up to her to do her husband and herself proud, to run his

household and care for the people beneath his roof. She prayed her aunt

had trained her well enough.

As they passed through the village, Alexander dismissed the men to

go to their homes. Their party quickly dwindled to ten.

They entered the castle courtyard and stable lads ran forth to grasp the

reins of their horses and hold them steady. Men appeared to help lift the

injured from their mounts and take them into the castle.

Alexander dismounted and reached up to help her down from her

horse. He guided her inside out of the cold. They stood close to one of the

fireplaces at either side of the great hall. The room looked similar to the

great hall at Lorne except the gallery above projected over nearly half the

room holding the heat of the fireplaces closer to the floor.

Alexander took her cloak from her shoulders and handed it to one of

the servants. “Mary, this is Fergus, my steward. He will see to whatever you

need.”

She nodded to the stoop shouldered man who greeted her. He had a

thatch of gray hair curly and thick and bushy brows. He focused moss green

eyes on her, studying her openly.

“The men will need a chamber in which to rest and some brewed

sorrel bark to ward off fever. I will also need thyme and some salt brewed to

clean their wounds, and more bandages. Some broth would not go amiss

once they have been settled and are in less pain.”

She turned to Alexander. “Have you sent word to Derrick’s wife so she

may know he is hurt?”

“Aye. ‘Tis done.”

Mary saw the two men with sword wounds settled in a chamber

together. She had Derrick placed in a room alone. A manservant soon

appeared to help her rid all three of their muddy boots and bloody clothes.

She bathed away the dried blood and cleaned their wounds. Fergus sent a

soothing balm to apply to the injuries, to keep the bandages from sticking.

She lathed it on generously.

She decided, as she put a fresh bandage around Artair’s arm, the

violence she had witnessed until that day had not prepared her for the

realities of war and what men were capable of doing to one another. If the

wound healed, Artair would carry the scar with him for the rest of his days.

Her thoughts brought her husband’s scars to mind for he had several

marring his body due to injuries he had suffered through the years.

With the help of the manservant, she fed the men and offered them

each some wine. It had grown late and a servant appeared to light the

torches mounted in the walls of the passageway. She leaned wearily

against the stone wall outside the sick rooms, her muscles aching with

fatigue.

“Mary?” Alexander’s deep voice came from down the wide corridor and

she looked up. “Are you ill, lass?”

“Nay, mayhap a wee bit weary.”

Alexander grasped her hand. He drew her down the corridor and up a

spiral staircase. He paused outside a room furnished with several tables

and chairs. A window seat constructed in an alcove before one of the tall

narrow windows, offered a place in which to sit as well. Rush mats covered

the wooden floor. “‘Tis the solar,” he explained.

He continued upward to another doorway. “This is our chamber.”

He drew her into the room. She noticed at once the bed dominating

the space, much larger than the one they had shared at Lorne. Thick woven

mats covered the floor beside the bed and before the hearth. A pitcher and

washbowl set atop a table near the fireplace. Her brush and comb rested

there beside Alexander’s shaving things. The blazing fire, lit candles, and

the wooden shutters closed against the cold, combined to lend a cozy

intimacy to the room.

“I have had your clothing placed here with mine,” he said as he raised

the lid of the chest at the foot of the bed. She stepped close to peer inside

and found her clothing neatly folded away.

“Your sewing things are here within the bedside table.” He opened the

doors of the small chest to show her the cloth and her basket.

“The garderobe is there,” he pointed out to her an alcove covered by a

heavy drape.

Mary offered him a smile. His eagerness for her to be pleased with the

room gave her a warm feeling of belonging, of homecoming. “‘Tis a fine

room for us to share.” She perched on the edge of the bed.

“Aye,” he agreed as he looked around the room. He moved to sit

beside her and placed an arm around her waist. His amber eyes focused

on her face, the irises appearing a tawny gold surrounded by a ring of

brown. “You have done well this day, Mary,” he said huskily.

A rush of tenderness for him made her chest feel tight and full. She

raised a hand to caress his scarred cheek.

His lips brushed her forehead and his arm tightened about her. “I have

ordered a meal brought to us here and water for a bath.”

“I am in great need of both at the moment,” she said with a smile.

“As am I, my lady.”

“Your leg, how has it fared the day?” she asked, laying her palm flat on

his thigh where she knew the injury to be.

“‘Tis close to being completely healed,” he said his voice growing

huskier.

Color stained his cheeks and she stared at him in surprise. He had

never responded to her touch in such a way before.

The meal arrived and the water placed on the hearth in a heavy kettle

so it would stay hot. Alexander hastened to move a small table before the

fire so they could eat. He held her chair for her, then took a place opposite

her.

“You will have time to meet all the servants and men tomorrow,” he

said as he served her from the tureen of stew. He placed the wooden bowl

before her then broke apart a loaf of bread to share with her.

“If the men should grow worse in the night I have asked that I be

awakened.” Suddenly famished, she lifted her spoon to her lips.

“Aye.” He served her a slice of the meat pie and poured her a glass of

ale.

“The food is very good,” she said as she pushed her bowl away and

sipped her drink. The warmth of the room and her full stomach made her

drowsy and she covered a yawn. Exhaustion pressed down on her and she

longed to lie down.

Openly watching her, Alexander smiled. “I will pour the water for your

bath whenever you are ready,” he suggested. “‘Twill be I who will have to act

as lady’s maid until you choose who you will have.”

“I have never had a maid.”

“You may wish to meet with some of the women and ponder it for a

time,” he said with a shrug. He offered her some of the cheese and dried

fruit on the tray.

Mary shook her head and rose from her seat. She made quick use of

the gardrobe then moved about the room to study her surroundings. She

plucked the scrap of ribbon from the end of her braid and ran restless

fingers through to unweave it. She stopped by the large metal disk hanging

over the washbasin to study her image. She reached for her brush and ran

it through the twisted strands of hair with long deep strokes until it lay in soft

waves across her shoulder.

“You look as though you, too, have done battle,” he said from behind

her, his fingers touching a stain on the shoulder of her gown.

“A battle of a different kind. I hope the stains can be cleaned from my

cloak and surcoat.” She unfastened the wooden buttons at the front of the

garment and it parted to the waist. She shed the outer gown and draped it

over the back of a chair.

Alexander lifted the heavy kettle of water and filled the basin for her.

Aware of him watching, she shed her shoes, stockings and garters. After

washing her face and hands, she unfastened the sleeves of her kirtle and

untied the drawstring at her neck to pull her arms free. A wave of nervous

shyness made her fingers clumsy as she shed the garment and stood

before the basin in her shift. She pulled the lace that held the garment

closed and wet a cloth. Dried remnants of blood still flecked her neck and

she wiped it away.

Alexander’s reflection joined hers in the metal disk. His hands lightly

messaged her bare shoulders, slid gently over her skin to her arms, then

around her waist to draw her back against him. He bent his head, his lips,

parted and moist, finding the sensitive area between her neck and

shoulder. Delightful shivers raced down Mary’s spine. Her knees grew

weak and her nipples tingled and grew taut beneath the fabric of the shift.

She leaned back against him welcoming his support and his closeness.

A knock at the door had them both turning. Alexander murmured an