Highland Resurrection (Blades of Honor Book 2) (3 page)

But if that wasn’t enough to torture his soul, thoughts of the woman he’d rescued from attackers on his visit to Berwick returned with a vengeance. The same battered lass he’d helped, then left in the care of a passing stranger. He took no pride in the cowardly act, and the uncertainty of whether she’d lived or died would haunt him the rest of his days. He didn’t even know her name.

“You were correct when you said something happened in Berwick that weighs heavy on my mind,” Lazarus began, then hesitated.

“Go on, my son. I’m listening.”

“An unfortunate event did happen, and I intend to rectify if I can.” Lazarus grabbed a wineskin and a canvas bag, filled the sack with healing herbs, then fastened them both to a belt around his waist. “If all is well, I’ll return by dusk tomorrow.” He donned a hooded cloak and strode toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Berwick to set a wrong to right.”

“At this late hour?” Simon threw his hands in the air. “Are you daft? If you dinna want to tell me what troubles you,
fine
. But traveling that distance in the dark is foolish. There is no telling who you might run into along the way. Thieves, murderers, or worse, an emissary of King Philip who has come to arrest you could lay in wait. If you’ll but tell me what you wish to do, perhaps I can go in your stead,” Simon offered, making no attempt to hide the angst in his voice. “I’ll leave at first light.”

“It is a risk I must take,” Lazarus replied. “I appreciate your concern and the kind gesture to go in my stead, but I must see to this personally. I’ll stick to the main roads and do my best to remain out of sight. If I leave now, I can reach Berwick before daylight. Dinna try to stop me.”

Before Simon could protest, Lazarus left the sanctuary of the abbey, fully aware of the peril that could lie ahead. But checking on the lass, to see if she needed his healing skills, or Heaven forbid, a prayer to help her on the way to meet her Creator, was all he could think about.

He quickly threw a saddle on the back of the old mare belonging to the priory, then mounted. He tugged his hood low on his brow and clenched a fist at the neck of his cloak, not only to hide his identity, but to protect him from chilly night air. He grasped the reins in his left hand, kneed the horse, and began his trek. With any luck, he’d reach Berwick before the sun rose. However, finding her might not be an easy task.

Judging by her tattered attire, and what her attackers claimed about her virtue, she was not a woman of high standing. Apparently most considered her nothing more than a beggar and a whore. But when she peered up at him, her green eyes reached into his soul. He recognized the pained expression on her face as she struggled to draw a breath, and he would never forget the angry bruises already forming on her face.

He gave his head a rough shake. There was no excuse for leaving her. Even if he had heard French guards approaching and feared for his own safety.

True, he had not asked to be put in the middle of the situation. He’d merely stumbled upon it and had done what he could to help. But that wasn’t enough. He felt honor-bound to return and do what he could to make amends. Perhaps it was divine intervention that had led him to her in the first place, or just bad luck, but either way, he should have stayed and seen it through. He kicked the horse into a trot, praying it was not too late to do the right thing.

Chapter 3

Lazarus rode through the night, stopping only once to rest and water his horse. By the time he reached the outskirts of Berwick, the sun peeked above the horizon, heralding a new day.

As he approached the village, he spotted several dilapidated shacks in a copse of trees outside the curtain wall. Odd, he’d never noticed them before today. Then again, his trips to town were few, his focus always on his mission to unearth the past, so he paid little attention to his surroundings. His heart began to pound, instinct telling him he might find the injured lass dwelling amongst the discards of society.

Lazarus dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby tree before addressing an old man he’d noticed standing beside the stream. “Good day, sir. Can I ask you a question?”

The man spun around and raised the stick he was holding above his head. “Sir?” He spat on the ground. “What in damnation do you want, priest?” Given his tone and expression of disgust, one would swear Lazarus was a venomous snake crawling out from under a rock.

“I’m not a priest.” Lazarus held his open palms skyward. “I carry no weapon and dinna pose a threat.”

The man glared at him. “Priest, monk, what the hell difference does it make? You so-called messengers from God treat us like outcasts, just like everyone else who throw stones at those less fortunate than others. The only difference is, you hide behind the cross. Be off with you and leave me be.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m looking for a young woman, and hoped you might know where I can find her.”

“I dinna know anyone or anything. Go away.” The old man waved him off with a curt flick of his hand.

“Please. The young woman I seek is injured and might need my help.” Lazarus lowered his gaze. “She’d been beaten by two men who were trying to violate her when I intervened. They claimed she was a whore, but I dinna believe them. She has light, ginger-colored hair, lovely green eyes, and I noticed a scar on her chin.”

“Why do you want her?” the man asked, then wiggled his brow and grabbed the crotch of his trews. “As if I dinna know.”

“It’s not what you think. I only wish to look in on her and see if she needs any help. I’ll leave once I know she is well.”

The man scrubbed his hand across his bearded chin, then spat on the ground again. “Sounds like Sheena. She lives over there.” He pointed to a dilapidated stone hut.

“Thank you.” Lazarus bowed, then headed in the direction the man indicated.

“Alms for the poor?” An elderly woman with weather-beaten skin and ragged clothing tugged at his robe. “Please, have pity. I havena eaten in days.” She held out her bony hand.

“I’m sorry, but I have no coin.” Lazarus’s heart ached for the woman’s misfortune. He reached into a sack he carried, pulled out a stale oatcake and bit of dried venison, and handed the food to her. “I’m afraid this is all I have.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she snatched the oatcake, then devoured it in only a few bites. “Bless you, kind sir,” she said with her mouth full, then grabbed the piece of venison before running off.

Lazarus hesitated upon reaching the door of Sheena’s croft. There was always the chance she did not want his help. What if he was the last person she wanted to see after he’d deserted her? He took a minute to ponder his thoughts, then knocked. He had to try.

The door opened a crack and two dark eyes peered up at him from below the latch. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“I’m looking for a young woman named Sheena. Does she live here?” Lazarus asked.

The door opened a bit wider, and a lad stood before him, wielding a broken broomstick like it was a sword. Judging by his height and stature, he guessed the lad couldn’t have been more than seven or eight summers old.

“I’m na supposed to talk to strangers. Go away. My sister isna well and doesna want any visitors. Leave
now
, or I’ll run you through.”

Lazarus squatted so he might not appear as threatening. “I’m Brother Lazarus, from Ayton Abbey. I met your sister in town yesterday and have come to inquire how she is feeling.”

“She’s asleep.”

Lazarus brought a finger to his lips. “Then I’ll be very quiet. I only wish to check on her and see if she is in need of my healing skills.”

The lad widened his stance, puffed out his chest, then asked bluntly, “Did you hurt her?”

Lazarus shook his head. “Nay. But I helped her get away from the men who did. Your sister is fortunate to have someone as brave as you looking out for her.”

“You’re not the same man who brought her home,” the lad replied. “He was a gentleman and he gave me some coin to buy food.”

“True, I dinna escort her home, but I’m here now, and would like to help. Can I come in?” Lazarus placed his hand on the door and waited for the lad to decide.

“I guess it will be okay.” The lad lowered the broom, then backed away from the door. “She is over there.” He pointed to a pallet on the floor in the corner of the room. “But see you dinna try anything. I’ll be watching.”

“You have my word.” Lazarus entered the cold, dimly lit hut, his nostrils assaulted by the stagnant, musty scent. He immediately moved to the window and threw open the shutters, hoping for not only a breath of fresh air, but a bit of light by which to assess the woman’s injuries.

The lass lay upon a pallet of straw, with a thin, moth-eaten length of plaid covering her slender figure. Lazarus crouched beside her, then lifted her clammy, limp hand. Her breathing was shallow, her face flushed. A gentle brush of his fingers across her sweat-soaked brow confirmed his suspicions. She burned with fever.

He glanced at the lad. “What do they call you?”

“Quinn. Is my sister going to die?”

“Not if I can help it. Did you notice if she had any wounds aside from the bruises and bump on her head?”

The lad hesitated, then answered, “Aye. She has a gash on her arm.”

Lazarus remembered Ian Fraser mentioning blood on the sleeve of her gown. He gently eased back the fabric, revealing a jagged, festering cut about two inches long. “She most likely got this when trying to fight off her attackers. Do you have something you can use to fetch some water from the stream?”

Quinn scratched his head, then rushed to the opposite corner of the hut and picked up a wooden bucket. “Will this do?”

“Aye. Fill it and bring it to me at once. Then I want you to find some wood and twigs I can use to make a fire.”

The lad nodded, then sprinted out of the croft.

Still kneeling beside the pallet, Lazarus returned his attention to the lass, her condition more grave than he’d hoped. As he studied her delicate features, his pulse quickened. Despite the bruising, she was lovelier than he remembered. Long, tawny hair framed her face and draped her slender shoulders. Her pert breasts rose and fell in a shallow, uneven rhythm, and thick dark lashes rested on her cheeks. He lightly traced her soft, pink lips with his fingertips, then cursed his weakness, and asked the Lord’s forgiveness.

“Nay. Dinna touch me,” she said, her hands flailing in the air, as if trying to fight off an attacker.

Afraid she might do herself harm, Lazarus carefully pressed her shoulders to the floor, holding her in place. “Dinna thrash about, lass. You need to rest.”

Her eyes opened wide and she stared up at him, an expression of terror crossing her face. “Leave me alone. Get your filthy hands off me,” she shouted, then stuck out wildly, pounding her fists on his chest.

“Easy, lass.” Lazarus clasped her wrists in an attempt to calm her. “You’re in your home and safe. No one is going to hurt you.”

“What are you doing to her?” Quinn burst into the hut, his eyes wild. He dropped the pail of water on the floor, then charged at Lazarus. “You devil. Leave my sister alone.” He thumped his wee fists on Lazarus’s back and shoulders. “You said you wouldna hurt her.”

Lazarus released Sheena and grabbed the lad by the upper arms. “Calm down. I’m not doing anything to harm her. I am but trying to get your sister to relax. She woke up in a fit and I was afraid she might injure herself further.”

Quinn glared at Lazarus. “You’re telling me the truth?” He glanced down at his sister, then stopped struggling.

“Aye. I only wanted to protect her from doing more harm.” When the lad calmed, Lazarus released his hold. “Go get me some more water. Your sister burns with fever and I need to cool her down as quickly as possible. I also plan to make a poultice for her arm.” He patted the lad on his behind. “Make haste.”

Sheena glared up at the man though a blurry haze, an unsavory mix of fear and hatred churning in her belly. But she’d spent what little strength she could muster on her initial attempt to defend herself. “Do with me what you will . . . I canna fight you,” she sputtered, “but please dinna let the lad see what you have in mind.” She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the worst. “Bar the door if you must, but spare him the anguish.” She steeled herself against what was to come, and flinched when the stranger lightly stroked her arm.

“I know you’re afraid, and with good reason. But I’m only here to help, not harm.”

“I dinna believe you,” she said, peering up at him. She didn’t trust him or any man, and never would.

“I understand your caution, but seeing to your injuries is my only purpose for coming to find you,” the man whispered. He rocked back on his heels, bowed his head, and said a quick prayer.

His voice sounded familiar, but she could not recall where she’d seen him before. Right now, she was lucky to remember her name. Every joint and muscle of her body hurt. Her head pounded with the force and intensity of a hammer set to anvil, and an insidious fog clouded her mind, hampering her ability to think clearly. “How did you know I was ill?”

“I’m Brother Lazarus. We met yesterday in Berwick.” He hung his head and glanced away. “I happened upon you when two men were assaulting you and did what I could to intervene.”

She squinted, his face coming into focus. Judging by his attire, he was a cleric of some sort, a monk or priest. “I remember you.” Her memory of the attack slowly returned. But while he did come to her aid, he then left her in the hands of a stranger who was passing by. How she got home after that was a mystery. She sucked in a shallow breath, suddenly feeling like a huge rock rested upon her chest.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” he asked.

“Why is it men feel the need to beat a woman into submission when she declines their unwelcomed advances?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Lazarus gently swept a lock of hair from her brow.

“Two drunken scoundrels chased me down, then tried to violate me. When I refused to surrender, they beat me until I could no longer fight them. After that, I dinna remember much about what happened. But they made it clear what they intended to do.”

“Aye, but you can rest assured, I stopped them from completing the act and ran them off,” the monk replied.

Sheena nodded. “You helped me,” she said through clenched teeth. “Then deserted me.”

“I know it might have appeared like that, but I left you in the hands of a man who promised to see you home safely. And you’re here, so obviously he did as I requested.”

“Did you know that for certain at the time?” she challenged. He was not getting off that easily. Especially given he was a man of God, sworn to help those in need.

Lazarus shook his head. “Nay, and you’re right, I shouldna have left without making sure you’d be safe, and for that I apologize. I regret my decision to leave when I did, even though I had good reason at the time.”

Fearing she’d lose consciousness, she closed her eyes and rolled her head to the side. “It matters not. I’m home and you owe me nothing.”

“That is where you’re wrong, lass. And I’m here to atone for my sins.”

“I refilled the bucket.” Quinn scrambled into the hut, water sloshing over the rim of the container. “Where do you want it?”

“By the hearth will be fine. Now, go find me some wood and kindling so I can start a fire.”

Quinn shrugged. “I will, but the hearth doesna draw well and gives off little or no heat.”

“I’ll see to it once I have finished helping your sister. Now go and do as I request, lad, and dinna dally.”

The monk’s words faded in and out as Sheena struggled to remain awake. Despite his claim of good intentions, he was a stranger and she did not want him left alone with Quinn. She had to convince him to leave.

“I want you to go. Quinn and I’ll be fine,” she said. “We got along before you got here, and will continue to do so.”

“If only that were true,” the monk replied. “You’re very ill and it will be a while before you’re able to care for yourself or the lad. I plan to stay as long as I’m needed.”

She struggled to keep her eyes open. “I said we’ll be fine. I appreciate your concern, even if it has come a wee bit too late.” She bit her lower lip as soon as words spilled out. He had rescued her from her attackers and had seen that she got home safely, even if he did not do it himself. “You have made amends and I would like you to leave.”

“Please let him stay, Sheena. At least until you’re feeling better.” Quinn folded his hands as if in prayer, his lower lip quivering. “You are very sick and I dinna know what to do to help.”

She could never resist that pout and couldn’t fight them both. “He can stay. But only for—” she began, but soon lost the battle and closed her eyes, praying she was not making a huge mistake.