MacDougall 01 - Laiden's Daughter (11 page)

******

Thankfully, the men had allowed her to keep her tunic on while she lay face down on the plaid.
 
Manghus had brought water to clean her wounds with and apologized repeatedly for it being so cold.
 
The tunic was so big that Duncan had no troubles pushing it up towards her neck so that he could get to the bandages.
 

Although the cuts were healing nicely, her back was a ghastly sight.
 
A dark bruise, looking very much like the bottom of a man’s boot, could be seen quite clearly just under her left shoulder blade.
 
There were five deep cuts across her back, left by a man’s belt.
 
Not just any man’s belt; these were left behind by the same bastard who had killed his family.
 
If the man had not already been dead, Duncan would be on his way to Penrith to slice his blade across the man’s throat.

By the time he was finished cleaning the wounds, applying fresh salve and bandages, his jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
 
He could not comprehend how a man could do such a thing.
 
Duncan was also baffled by the fact that not once in the past days had Aishlinn complained of being in pain.
 
She had only winced twice when he had applied the salve, but spoke not a word.
 
Duncan knew from his own experience how badly the salve stung when first applied to a cut or open wound.
 
But the lass had only balled her hands into fists and said nothing.

Duncan had carefully lowered the tunic and patted the back of her head.
 
“We be done now, lass.” His throat had gone terribly dry and left his voice sounding husky.
 

Aishlinn quietly thanked him as she pushed herself to sit.
 
His stomach seized when he saw her face and the tears that had fallen from her eyes.
 
She wiped her cheeks with the sleeves of the tunic but said nothing.
 

“Lass, I ken it hurts like the devil. Tis right fer ye to say it does,” Duncan told her.

Aishlinn forced a smile to her face. Yes, it did hurt like the devil, but she had learned at a young age that the only thing complaining got you was a slap to the back of your head. Or worse. “Aye.” It was all she could think to say as she tried to stand.
  

He studied her closely for a moment and realized she was quite a remarkable young woman.
 
She complained not of anything and did her best to behave bravely. There was not one woman who came to his mind, who could have endured what this lass had, and still manage to hold on to her composure and pride.
 
He also took note that she was doing her best to not be a bother to them.
 
He tried to give her a moment or two to walk on her own.
 
He saw no sense in allowing Aishlinn to try to force her body to do something it was not quite capable of doing just yet. Duncan scooped her up in his arms and headed towards the horses.
 
There would be time, soon enough, when she wouldn’t need to be carried to and fro.
 
Today wasn’t that time.
 

“Really, Duncan,” she told him.
 
“I do know how to walk.
 
I believe I mastered that task right around the age of one!”
 
If they would only give her but a minute, she would be able to convince her legs to move on their own accord.

“Aye. I’m sure ya did lass.
 
But I’d rather not wait while ya relearn it!
 
We need to away from this place and get to Dunshire quickly.”
 
He quashed a smile that had formed when she began to protest again.
 
“Lass, I’ll damn well carry ya if I damn well choose.
 
Ye be in no condition to argue the point.” He handed her to Rowan and mounted his horse.

“How long do you plan on carrying me wherever I need or wish to go?” she asked him. Rowan handed her up to Duncan who sat her gently upon his lap before wrapping the blankets around her.
 
“Until I grow weary of it.”
 
He cast her a look, that had she known him better, would have warned her not to argue the point.

“I’m not quite as helpless as you might think, Duncan McEwan,” she huffed at him, refusing to allow him to place her head upon his chest.
 
Although she did rather enjoy that spot, she was growing quite frustrated.
 
Not with Duncan or his men, but with her own inability to walk unassisted.
 

Duncan nudged his horse along.
 
“Yer not?” he said. “Then do ya care to find yer way to Dunshire alone?”
 
He was not about to abandon her, but she didn’t need to know that at the moment.
 

Her eyes flew open and her mouth clamped shut.
 
He could see the fire begin to rise in her eyes; deep dark green eyes the color of heather right before it bloomed.
 
“If you did chose to leave me here, I can assure you I am quite capable of finding my way about.
 
My father did not raise me to be an addle-headed woman, incapable of finding her way to the end of the road and back.”
 
She crossed her arms and scowled at him. He returned her scowl with one of his own and she had to admit, his was far more intimidating.

“Lass, I’ll thank ya no’ to try my patience this day.” He was not used to people questioning him. But he had to admit he did admire her tenacity.

‘Twas then that Aishlinn noticed he had a very handsome face. He had full lips that she imagined might be quite warm and soft. Her wandering mind had caught her completely off guard when she thought of how those lips might feel if they were to touch her own.
 
She was never one to daydream of such things! Well, at least not very often. Disheartened, she shrank from the realization that plain women such as she did not receive kisses from men like him.
 

When she noticed Duncan smiling at her apparent submissiveness, she sat upright. ‘Twas agony to do it, for her ribs and back still ached.
 
But she did not want him to think she would cower every time he might cast a scowl her way.
 
“What about tomorrow?” she asked as she forced a sweet smile to her lips.
 
“Would that be more to your liking m’laird?”

He nearly burst out laughing when she batted her eyelashes at him. He somehow managed to maintain his composure as well as his scowl. There was no doubt in his mind that if he had abandoned her here she would find her way to Dunshire. “Do no’ try my patience this day, or any other,” he warned her, knowing she had no idea whose lap she sat upon.
 
Had she been aware of the fact that he would someday be the chief of Clan MacDougall, she would hold an entirely different attitude towards him.

She did not know why tears welled in her eyes. It could have been from the way he growled his warning or his scowl or from embarrassment.
 
Her attempts at levity had failed and she felt like a fool.

His heart lurched when he saw the tears.
 
He nudged his horse to go faster for he did not want his men hear what he was about to say.
 
“Lass, I’m sorry.”
 
He was the leader of hundreds of men. It would not do to have them question his authority or might if he melted every time the lass looked at him.
 
“People do no’ normally question me when I give an order.
 
I dunna want my men thinking I’d be swayed by a bonny lass,” he whispered to her.
 

Had her face not been black and blue then he would have been able to see the blush come to her cheeks.
 
She dared not ask the question that popped into her mind.
Do you really think me bonny?
 
She knew what he meant, that he was a leader of men and he had a certain appearance that he must maintain at all times. Thinking it best to ignore the question burning in her mind, she chose instead to apologize.
 
“I’m sorry.”
 

Rowan and Manghus caught up to them. Duncan gave her a slight hug. ‘Twas just a little hug, a nudge really and there was no hidden meaning to it.
 
Still, it sent shockwaves spiraling down her spine. “No worries, lass,” he whispered to her.

“We must hurry if we wish to reach Dunshire before winter,” he told his men as he tapped the flanks of his horse. For a brief moment, Aishlinn wished they would not hurry. She knew that once they arrived at the castle, there would be no other opportunities to have Duncan’s arms wrapped around her.

******

In those rare moments when she was awake, she would listen to the men as they spoke in their native Gaelic.
 
Aishlinn felt the language had a rough and powerful quality to it and somehow it made her feel closer to her mother. She wished she had been blessed with learning it, but where she grew up people were not allowed to use anything but the English.
 
The king’s edict had been passed not long after Aishlinn had been born. Its simple goal was to squash anything Scottish. Whether it was their language, customs or traditions he’d not allow the lowlanders any of it.
 
They were now part of England and English they were expected to behave.

They did camp that night, but not for long for they had lost two days by seeking shelter at Aric’s home.
 
After only a few hours of sleep, Duncan gently nudged her awake. It startled her and she let out a slight squeal.
 
“Haud yer wheest!” Duncan whispered and smiled as he helped her to her feet.
 
He debated whether he should carry her or allow her to walk on her own.
 
He watched her closely for a moment and when he saw she did not teeter to the point of falling, he decided the latter.

As they walked in the dark, Duncan at the ready should she need his assistance, Aishlinn whispered to him. “Thank you for allowing me to walk.” Although she would never admit to it, she rather liked being carried by the tall Highlander. Duncan noted a tinge of pride in her voice and he was about to whisper ‘you’re welcome’ when she tripped on a rock and nearly fell flat on her face.
 
He caught hold of the back of her tunic, and pulled her upright. Letting out a heavy sigh, he scooped her up and carried her to the horses.
 

Aishlinn bit her lower lip to keep from protesting, although she was quite glad to have him hold her.
 
Eejit!
She thought of herself.
 
Men like him do not care for lasses like you. Quit acting a fool.

Rowan bid her good morning in English when Duncan handed her to him. He mounted his horse and readied the plaids.
 
Still embarrassed over tripping and wanting to impress the men with the fact that she was learning some of their Gaelic words, she smiled sweetly, and with a good deal of pride said to Rowan, “Haud yer wheest!”
 
The men remained quite still for a moment before Duncan burst out laughing.
 
Aishlinn face burned crimson.
 
“Did I not say it correctly?” she asked him as Rowan handed her up.

“Nay,” Duncan laughed as he set her upon his lap.
 
“Ye said it correctly, lass.”

“Then why are you all laughing?” she asked, rather puzzled. “I merely bid him good morning in your own language.” She could feel Duncan shake with laughter.

“Nay, ya didn’t, lassie,” Duncan said shaking his head as he tapped the horse’s belly.
 

“Does
haud yer wheest
not mean
good morning
?” Confusion and embarrassment began to flood over her.

“Nay lass, it does no’.”

Aishlinn waited impatiently for an explanation.
 
When she saw none was forthcoming she said, “But you’ve said it to me each time you wake me.” She was quite confused and growing more perturbed the more they laughed.

“Aye, I have,” he said.
 
“But only because when I wake ya, ye let out a bit of a scream.”

She had not realized it and she felt humiliated.

“Ya were scarin’ poor Rowan with it!” Duncan’s laughter was building up again.