The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (11 page)

She shook her head as if in answer. Her voice was quiet. “No. I shall never be safe from him.” Her sobs welled up from deep in her chest. Still, she slept.

“Ye
are
safe,” Seumas insisted.

Her sobbing quieted and finally stopped. She grasped the silver cross around her neck. Seemingly comforted by the action, she lay quietly asleep.

Seumas sat back and thought about what she had said.
I’ll never be safe from him.
A random dream or something more? He could not tell for certain.

He had grown up far away from the pomp and circumstance of court life and had always found women raised to this lifestyle very shallow and self-serving…but Iseabail seemed different. She was naïve not to have realized the danger she had put herself and her little brother in these past two months, but her motives were pure. She was trying to save her family and had given no thought at all to her own comfort.

I shall never be safe from him.

Something caused her to risk her own safety and leave. It must have been the lesser of two evils. She had demonstrated more courage than a lot of the men he knew. Seumas felt a swell of admiration for her. He wanted her to succeed in her task.

A warm wind settled over the area. Seumas picked at the fish and waited for Iseabail to wake. Calum had woken and gone foraging for any berries or nuts he could find nearby, his little rabbit following close behind. With water boiled, more tea was ready for when Iseabail awoke.

At dusk, she awakened, disoriented. Her fever gone.

“Why is it already so dark? Or is it on the verge of morning?” She rubbed her eyes.

“Just gloaming,” Seumas replied.

Iseabail accepted the tea from him. “Methinks you were right about the bannock. I feel much more settled.” She rubbed her stomach.

He handed her the rest of the hard roll, and she ate it eagerly.

“Are ye up for some fish?” He held the speared fish within her reach, and she took a piece of it and put it in her mouth.

“Did Calum cook this?”

Seumas’s eyebrows shot up. “Ye do not think I can stick a fish over an open fire and cook it?”

“No, no.” Iseabail laughed. “It is a joke Calum and I have. I burn everything I try to cook and we eat it and are glad. Calum has more patience.” She put another piece in her mouth. “This is definitely Calum’s work.”

“Ye are correct. Calum cooked the fish. He also made the tea.” As if on cue, Calum returned to drop beside Iseabail and pour the contents of his upturned tunic onto the blanket. His furry pet was the first to dive in. “And he collected berries and nuts for us. Good work.”

They each grabbed a handful and munched noisily. Seumas stirred the embers of the fire, contemplating when they might be able to travel again.

“Are you feeling better?” Calum asked before shoving a handful of berries into his mouth.

“Much better.” She selected the nuts she favored. “I cannot believe what a time I have had.”

“I cannot recall you ever being sick before.”

“Methinks it was the hot spring that brought it on,” Seumas said. Iseabail slowly nodded in agreement. “Ye probably got some water in yer mouth. Ye shall be fine now. What do ye think, lad? Does she look better?”

Calum smiled at being included. “Aye, methinks she looks much better.”

“Then it is decided. We will leave first thing in the morning.”

Calum stretched out and rested his head on his arm. His rabbit continued to nibble at the twigs and leaves left from his pile of food. Within seconds, the boy was asleep.

Seumas settled himself on his side, using his tartan as a blanket.

Iseabail lay down beside her brother. Seumas thought she was asleep, but after a few minutes of silence, she spoke again. “Thank you for finding us help.” He heard the sincerity in her voice. “I was always afraid for us in the woods. So many bad things could have happened.”

She yawned again. After a few minutes, her breathing steadied. He looked at her as she slept. Her dark eyelashes made her skin look very pale. He followed the contours of her body as it dipped in at the waist and flared at her hips. He licked his lips. Too tired to even think, he continued to look. And feel.

At one time in his life, he had been the respectable son of a Highland farmer from the MacDonell clan. Growing up, he had even considered life in the monastery like his uncle. How would he be seen now? Disreputable from his life as a mercenary? Perhaps even from his time on the pilgrimage to Jerusalem? Giles had quickly turned tail and run when the infidels in Damascus decided to fight in earnest. He turned out to be a coward, and Seumas was ashamed of his friend’s actions. Giles had acted savagely with many non-Christian settlements they had found along the way.

The lands they had traveled had villages unlike their own. They had strange ways that none of the soldiers understood, but Seumas did not agree that their differences made it acceptable to rape and pillage. They should have been left untouched.

There was no other group to compare to, however, because they always managed to stay just far enough behind the rest of the pilgrims so Stephen remained in charge. The man had no integrity and treated the villagers terribly.

When Seumas caught Giles in a grove of olive trees raping a girl who looked to be only ten years old, he had come near to killing his friend. Seumas could still see the pained, shocked look on her dark face as Giles savagely took what he wanted, grunting and slobbering like a crazed animal.

“Stop, Giles, stop.” He had grabbed at his shoulder to physically yank him off the girl.

Tears streamed down her face as she cried out for help. “Papa, Papa.”

“Enough, Giles.”

“Get away, Seumas,” Giles grunted at his friend as he yanked his shoulder out of Seumas’s grasp. “Get one of your own.”

The knife blade against Giles’s neck finally stilled him. Seumas drew blood as he pierced his flesh, but his voice was very quiet when he spoke. “Remove yerself now, Giles, or I will kill ye.”

The girl continued to sob as Giles carefully righted himself and stood, the blade still at his neck.

Seumas got so close to his face so Giles could not help but feel his breath when he spat out the last words he would ever say to his friend. “Ye sicken me, Giles.” The knife went further into Giles’s skin and drops of blood dripped onto Seumas’s hand before he pulled his knee up and drove it into Giles’s groin. Giles bent over in anguish and rolled onto the ground.

Seumas went to help the girl up, but she screamed insanely at him, backing away as she yelled. “No, no, no…” Pulling at her torn gown, she ran away, toward the hills.

Seumas knew then his father had been right. His friend had no honor.

This trip differed greatly from his grandfather’s pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Their mission had been as God’s soldiers but only until they took back
the Holy Land. They gave up everything for the pilgrimage and, on their return, dropped their weapons along the way as a sign of peace.

Seumas found himself with a group of men who wanted riches and glory and knew nothing of God. Their greed knew no limits and the end always justified any means. Perhaps he should have walked away, but if he had, he would have been completely alone in a strange land where no one spoke his language. Moreover, he had believed he could mayhap limit the atrocities in some small way. Who knew if he had really made any difference? There were still other villages, other rapes, other murders, other robberies. Might it have been worse without Seumas’s calm voice to contradict their instincts, help them rationalize that it was wrong to treat people this way? His refusal to participate might have encouraged other men. These soldiers were not well-educated. Many had come for the salvation the Pope had promised them but could not resist the earthly riches.

The one redeeming memory had been the family who had protected him after the battle of Damascus. The family of Mongolian traders had traveled south to sell furs and jewels from the Far East. Though most of the Mongols they had crossed paths with would just as soon have killed them as look at them, this large group had come to trade and behaved peacefully.

Seumas had been wounded
outside of Damascus—the injury that had changed his life. They had met up with a small band of Muslims, well-armed with their long, curved blades at their sides. Without provocation, Stephen and his group had attacked, probably assuming the trunks they traveled with to be filled with gold and riches.

Seumas remembered the searing pain as the blade came up between his legs. It seemed they were trying to castrate him before he fell to the ground, unconscious. He remembered Giles rushing back the way they had come, abandoning his group to fight the infidels without him. The same group left Seumas for dead, and he was not surprised to find himself alone.

With the relentless desert sun beating down on his back and the sticky feel of his own blood pooling under his leg, he tried to make peace with the fact that he was going to die. Thinking of his family and never seeing them again, he wept for himself and what might have been. His last conscious thought was that he had turned out to be a disappointment to his father after all.

Instead of dying, he woke up in the midst of this Mongol family. They took him in and nursed him back to health, impressing him with their generosity. He lived with them for nearly six weeks as he regained his strength. They kept his wound clean, no easy task considering its location, and, with their careful tending, he slowly began to heal. He helped the family with what he could as he grew stronger.

He sighed quietly and tried to settle his mind, bring his thoughts back from his tortured memories. The peaceful look on Calum’s face made him wonder what the boy dreamed about. Seumas would have liked to have those dreams.

Sleep was always elusive now. He had learned as a mercenary that drinking to excess was a way to put his demons to rest. The next day he would be ready to do whatever the lord of the manor deemed necessary, though he neither cared for the task nor excelled at it—mainly due to his aching head. Regardless, come nightfall, he would join the men at the table and drink again. It deadened the pain for a little while. It was also a waste of his life.

I can dream of what my life could have been like.

Seumas imagined he was back with his father and they were working in the fields. He could almost feel the sun on his face and taste the fresh water from the cool well. His father’s smiling face was the last thing he saw before he drifted off.

Iseabail awoke to the sun rising over the trees. The pink and red striped sky reminded her of the many beautiful sunrises she had seen from her own bedroom. She sat up slowly to avoid disturbing Calum or Seumas. The river had receded and the smell of drying mud permeated the area. Anselm snorted a greeting.

“Good morning.” Iseabail hobbled toward the horse, favoring her injured leg, her hand open for him to smell. “A grand morning it is.”

She rubbed the destrier’s face. He was gentle for a warhorse. No doubt well taken care of by Seumas. She glanced to where he slept on his back, his arm draped over his face. What kind of man must he have been? He said he had been in the latest pilgrimage to the Holy Land, which made him a defender of Christ. She really knew very little about him except the way his handsome face looked when he was thoughtful, how his deep voice sounded when he was angry, and how his blue eyes twinkled with humor…or when he was being kind to Calum. These were things she knew and trusted.

“You are a lucky one, my friend,” she whispered close to the horse’s ear. “Your owner is probably very good to those he cares for.”

Seumas had said Mark’s lands were vast and his castle impenetrable. How would he describe her own father’s holdings? Her family home was forbidding, built for defense from the Vikings. The people, however, had gotten lax over time as peace settled over the area.

She limped to the edge of the water and splashed some on her face and neck. That would have to do for now. Across the stream, a fawn accompanied by its mother, made its way along the bank. They moved silently, careful not to step on any branches that might give their location away. They stopped to take a drink, not a care in the world. Iseabail wished to be so carefree.

After her uncle had come to live with them, he had successfully cut them off from everyone. That was bad, but it had only become worse. When he had betrothed her to that senile old man he had invited to dinner, she had actually retched at the very idea of him touching her. She had stayed in bed until her uncle ordered her out. Then he had insisted she play the lady of the house for his aged friend and even impress him with her wiles.

She sat on the outcrop of rock, her feet just touching the water. The smell of honeysuckle seemed to come out of nowhere, surrounding her with its sweetness. She inhaled deeply then sighed. Mayhap one day she would find a loving man who would want to take her to wife, but she could never marry. She would have to tell him of her uncle, and she would die before sharing that with anyone.

“Good morn.” Seumas had snuck up the ledge behind her.

She placed her hand over her heart. “You startled me!”

“Ah, I thought it was yer heart ye were giving me.”

Heat crept into her cheeks, and she looked away.

Seumas sat beside her, their legs touching in the close quarters. His musky scent surrounded her. Her eyes closed as she inhaled the pleasing aroma. He brushed her cheek, and her eyes flew open.

He peered into her face. “Are ye saying I do not stink then?”

How did he always know what she was thinking about? “I do not know what you are talking about.” She turned away.

He caressed her hair across her cheek. “Aye, but ye do, lassie. Ye have been wanting something from me I am not sure I can give ye.”

Her head whipped back, her hair slapping against his face. What could he be talking about? Not…

“I have had second thoughts about ye.” His big hand brushed her hair behind her ears. Gently, he grasped her chin. “I will grant ye a boon. We shall have a lesson before we head out.”

Seumas stood, patted her on the head like a dog and left in no apparent hurry. Iseabail’s heart raced and it was difficult to swallow. Her eyes narrowed when she sought him out where he now rested, leaning back on his elbows, next to Calum’s sleeping form.

He had done that on purpose. He knew he was pleasing to look upon, and that she liked everything about him. He had intentionally tricked her into thinking he meant something more intimate than teaching her to defend herself. What a fool she was. He had no interest in her.

She exhaled through her nose and fought to stamp down that little spark of desire his touch had ignited. It mattered not. She pushed her hair out of her face and turned back to the river. All that mattered was that he had said he would teach her. That was really all that was important. Puffing her cheeks, she blew out her exasperation.

“Iseabail?” Calum called to her.

She walked as steadily as she could, showing them both she was much better.

His eyes lit up and a big grin covered his face. “
Wonderful!”

“Ah, you are good for my confidence, lad.” She tried not to emphasize ‘you,’ but when Seumas’s head jerked up, she wondered if she had succeeded. “More berries for our morning repast?”

Calum jumped up, bunny in hand, to head back into the still-dark woods. Too late, she realized the uncomfortable position she would be left in with Calum getting breakfast. She shifted her feet, her hands clasped before her as she stood beside the blanket they had slept on.

“Ye can sit.” Seumas’s voice was gruff. “Even if I am not good for yer confidence.”

She turned her face away so he would not catch her smile. She twirled her hair between her fingers but remained standing.

“Is there something else ye need?”

She frowned at him. “What are you meaning by that?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

She sat in a huff on the corner of the blanket, as far away from Seumas as she could get.

Seumas brushed his hands off and stood up. He extended his hand to her. “Might as well get started.”

She reached up, and he gently pulled her toward him. He helped to steady her when she would have careened into him.

“Not quite steady on yer feet, I see.”

“I am trying.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “I will continue to get better.”

He nodded abruptly. “So ye understand. Ye are not going to be able to attack anyone, but I can teach ye a little to defend yerself if they come up against ye.”

“Against me, how?”

“I do not mean
against
ye. I mean against ye…they try to take ye down.”

She nodded and bit her bottom lip. She glanced up to see his gaze traveling the length of her. He stopped abruptly, their eyes locking. “Just trying to figure the best way to approach this.”

Approach this?
“I have a dagger.”

“Well, then, and where did ye get that?”

“Iain.” She reached under her skirts to where she had secured it to her leg with a leather strap. She held it in her hand, remembering his words.
Trust no one.
She breathed deeply before letting it go, extending the little knife toward Seumas at the same time.

Their eyes met over the blade. She saw something akin to appreciation in his gaze. For her dagger?

“Good for ye, lass. And have ye ever used it before?”

“In the woods.” She glanced toward the forest, assuring herself that Calum had not yet returned. “To skin some rabbits so we could eat. We would have starved, no doubt, if Calum had realized what we were eating.”

His eyes creased with his wide smile. “Very good. To defend yerself,” he adjusted the dagger so the handle sat in the palm of his hand, the blade facing out, “ye want to push up into the flesh. Sink it in deep. All the way to the hilt. So there is no mistaking yer intent.”

He placed it in her hand, supporting her small hand with his own. He encircled her body. His heart beat against her side.

“See how it feels to grasp the knife? Be firm now. Ye do not want to let it loose. That is it.” She held her fingers tightly around the handle of the dagger. “Now ye have it. How does it feel?”

The shining blade protruded from her hand as if it were an extension of her own body. It felt…good.

Calum chose that moment to come toward them, his tunic pulled loose and cupping a tremendous amount of blackberries. He beamed with pride as he dumped them onto the blanket then plopped down. She smiled her thanks and turned her attention back to Seumas.

“Fine, then. Ye are doing fine. But remember…yer best defense is surprise. Ye cannot let them know ye have it. So ye get a chance to—” He closed his fingers around hers and jabbed the object as if stabbing someone. “Push it in, and up. See?”

Her confusion must have shown on her face. He was stabbing at no one. He turned to face her. He held the blade pointed at himself, just under the ribcage.

“Here. That is where ye need to push the blade in. In and up. It will go right for the heart. Ye see?”

He pulled her wrist in toward him with the motion. The thought of actually pushing the dagger into a person suddenly became real for her. She glanced up at him. He smiled and nodded his encouragement. He pulled her wrist in again.

“In and up. Understand?” She nodded, but her uncertainty must have shown. “Ye will be able to do it if it means yer life, Iseabail.”

She believed him, but standing this close to him, with the dagger being pushed toward his heart, she was not sure. She shook her head and shrugged.

“Imagine it is Uncle Henry.” Calum’s voice startled her to reality. He sat on the blanket, his rabbit on his lap and his mouth full of berries. “You could do it then.”

Seumas turned back to her. “Is that who ye could kill? Yer uncle?”

The dagger dropped on the blanket between them. She bit her lip and sat next to Calum.

“I do not know that I could kill him, Calum.” Her voice was quiet. She shoved in a handful of berries to avoid saying more.

“That is enough for now.” Seumas’s voice was tight, but he sat beside her. “Ye did fine, lass.”

Thoughts of killing her uncle flashed through her mind. She should have poisoned him after that first time. She had thought about it. How easy it would have been to rub a few of those lovely white bell flowers along the mouth of his drinking cup. She might have needed to do it a few times, but he would have been taken care of and unable to touch her again.

“Where did ye go?” Seumas stroked her cheek. “Ye looked to be a hundred miles away.”

She blinked at him. He was not her uncle. She was safe.

“Tell me about this uncle.” Seumas’s voice reminded her of the chapel priest, coaxing for a confession of her sins.

Her uncle told her enough what a sinful girl she was. His leering smile flashed in her mind, his head back in ecstasy.
Faster, now, little Iseabail.
No, she would not be telling him that.

“He is spreading the lie that we murdered a guard, and that we were trying to kill him.” Calum spoke up loud and clear, saving her from having to answer. His head was held high. He was not sorry for having told their secret.

“What?” His shoulders straightened, his eyes widened. “How can that be? People cannot believe it of ye.”

“That is why the price for our capture is so high. He has thought of everything,” Iseabail answered. She lowered her head, defeated. “I wish this terrible ordeal had never started. We had to get away from my uncle and his ambitions. His greed and desire for power know no limits.”

“Are you sorry to be helping us?” Calum asked the question, but it was Iseabail who held her breath, waiting for his reply.

Seumas walked to the river’s edge. He squatted beside the cool water and seemed to look out across its depths, thinking of the right answer for them. After what felt like an eternity, he came back to the blanket. His gait was stiff. He was irritated.

“Ye should have told me right away that ye were wanted for murder. The fact that ye did not shows me ye do not trust me.” He looked between the two of them. “I do not offer my help lightly. I will abide by our agreement. I will get ye to my friend safely, but if anyone along the way recognizes ye…” He shook his head with disgust at his own thought. “At least now I have a chance of protecting ye.”

He stood and turned away from them. His hands on his hips, he spoke to no one in particular. His voice was hard. “We need to head out now.”

Yes, her uncle was very clever in putting her name out there as a murderess and with a price, no less. Many would go to great lengths to return her to her uncle in the hopes of becoming rich. That they had shown such little faith in the one person who might have protected them ate away at her. She went to stand behind him.

“I am sorry.” She reached toward him until he started shaking his head, still facing the river. She dropped her hand. “Come on, Calum. Let us get these things together.”

*****

Seumas led them back across the brook and into the denser woods that led to Fairhaven. Calum kept up with him, and they made good time. At least he knew the whole story. Patrick coming after them made a lot more sense now, but if they had decided to hold back that little bit of information, what else were they not telling him? That was the problem with half-truths—they led to a lack of trust.

When they finally came to a clearing, Seumas gauged the distance they had yet to travel. “We may be supping in Mark’s Great Hall come the morrow.”

Calum smiled up at Seumas.