The Inscription (25 page)

“Do you doubt my skill as a warrior?”

She felt an overpowering desire to strangle him. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to be a hero. I just want us to be together. To do ordinary, boring things and live happily ever after.”

Someone called Lachlan’s name. She saw him tense.

“We will talk of this later.” He reached behind him and unfastened a crossbow. Arming the weapon, he handed it to her.

“And exactly what am I supposed to do with this?” She held it gingerly. “I’ve never shot one of these things before in my life.”

“You will use it to defend yourself.”

“And end up shooting myself in the foot? I’ve a better idea. I could go for help.”

“You would never make it to the gate.”

The clouds thinned and the moon shone through as she watched Lachlan walk toward the clearing. He gripped his sword and reached for the knife as he approached his opponents. Lachlan faced three armed men in addition to the one she’d hit with the rock. Metal clashed and cries of pain rang out. Lachlan whirled around and ran the larger of the two men through with his sword. Then, turning, he stabbed the other in the neck with his knife. One of the remaining warriors charged, thrusting his sword into Lachlan’s stomach.

Her fingers scraped against the rock pile. She felt helpless as she saw Lachlan double over, regain his balance, and attack. His smile was twisted and dark, his movements fluid and methodical as he turned and struck again and again.

It was apparent that the men Lachlan fought were no match for him. He battled as if possessed. The sound of clashing steel and piercing screams swirled around her. In the moonlight she could make out two men lying in pools of their own blood.

The two who remained upright were fighting to hang on as Lachlan pressed his attack. From the shadows of the trees Amber saw a glint of metal. Panic welled up inside her. Someone else was watching. An arrow came shooting through the air, from the direction she’d seen the flash of metal. It hit Lachlan in the chest with a dull thud.

The figure in the forest stepped out of the shadows and started to walk toward the clearing. He was reloading his crossbow in the moonlight and passed dose to where she was hiding. Amber wondered if he even knew she was there. Most likely not or else he did not consider her a threat. Amber pushed the image of Lachlan and the bloodstained bodies from her mind. Stay calm, she thought. Don’t panic. She looked down at the weapon Lachlan had given her. She had absolutely no idea how to use it.

Quite dose by lay a pile of water-smoothed rocks. She glanced at- the man who seemed to be having trouble loading his crossbow. Then she reached for a stone, calculating the distance. She’d thrown a soccer ball twice that far.

She stood, stepped in front of the boulder and aimed for the man’s head. There was a thud, a cry of pain and then the man crumbled to the ground.

Lachlan was covered in blood, barely able to stand, yet he headed in the direction of where the man had fallen. In the meager light his face was filled with blind rage. Amber drew back. It was not the Lachlan she knew, but a man possessed. She had to do something to break this trance, to stop the killing. She moved quickly toward him, grabbing him around his arm.

“Leave go of me, woman.” His voice was low and menacing.

A white-hot fear seared through her; it was as though he had become a stranger. Would he harm her? She had to trust in the man she knew. She held onto him tighter and concentrated on keeping her voice calm. “Lachlan. It’s over.”

Lachlan shook his head as if to protest, but the wild look in his eyes slowly faded. He gazed at her, and then at the bloody sword in his hand.

He slumped forward, dropping the blade to the ground. His voice was only a whisper in her ear. “You did well. Find Angus.”

His face was ashen, but the angry mask had disappeared. Two arrows still protruded from his body as he swayed on his feet. Amber fought back the tears, wiping the moisture from her face. She needed to be strong.

“I’m not going to leave you.”

Lachlan sank to his knees. “I will hold you to your promise.” His jaw tightened as he tried to stand.

“Help me to the castle, before I turn the banks of Loch Ness red with my blood.”

Torches on either side of the door to Lachlan’s chamber cast shadows over Angus as he lay sleeping on the floor. Amber stepped quietly over him and pushed open the door. Pausing, she held her breath as the sleeping giant mumbled. When he’d quieted, she entered the room.

A single candle flickered on a table near the bed. Lachlan lay on the covers as still as the effigy of a knight on top of a coffin.

His shirt and tartan were so soaked with blood from his wounds that the colors of the plaid were obscured. The strength in Amber’s legs seemed to dissolve. She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes and concentrated on remaining calm. There was no way she could help him if she became hysterical. She reached out for the bedpost to steady herself. She had expected to find Lachlan resting comfortably, his wounds cleaned and dressed with care. Instead he looked like a prize candidate for infection. She marched back over to the door and yanked it open.

Angus woke with a start and scrambled to his feet. He rubbed his eyes. “You are not to be in the laird’s chamber.”

Lachlan was wounded. There was no other place she wanted to be. Angus might be formidable in size and strength, but that did not bother her. At the start of each school year there were always a few of her students who tried to see if she was serious about her classroom expectations. Her methods always worked. Treat them with respect, ignore the posturing, and don’t back down. She straightened and her voice rang with authority.

“I will need water and plenty of dean linens.”

“Lachlan will recover in two days. The effort is not needed.”

There was that blasted forty-eight hour thing again. “I’m not leaving until you bring me what I’ve asked for. You may think Lachlan is the kind of man who can survive being attacked by a dozen men, but even the strongest person can die from infection.”

He shrugged. “I heard it was only five.”

Amber couldn’t believe it. They were debating the number of men Lachlan had fought, while he lay on the bed bleeding to death. She pressed the point she was trying to make.

“I will help Lachlan whether I have your cooperation or not.”

Angus smiled and made a bow. “I shall have Una bring what is needed.” A frown creased his forehead. “Will you be putting needle to thread, and sewing up his wounds?”

She looked over at Lachlan then down at her hand. Marcail had done a good job stitching the cut, but Amber had nearly fainted before the task was completed. She doubted she’d be able to keep her hands from trembling if she had to sew Lachlan’s wounds. Amber turned back to Angus and shook her head.

“If that’s necessary, I’ll ask for Marcail.”

Angus seemed to relax. “I shall leave my friend in your care.” He turned and headed in the direction of the Great Hall.

Alone, Amber approached the bed. She took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeves as she removed Lachlan’s shirt. She bit her lower lip as her stomach churned. The arrows had been removed and long, jagged wounds punctured his chest. The queasiness returned. Keep your mind busy, she ordered.

Sweat formed on her lip. She wiped it away then examined his injuries. They would need to be cleaned and bandages applied. She turned toward the door. What was keeping Angus?

The smell of blood was suffocating and the chamber was too warm. She brushed damp hair away from her forehead and willed the room to stop spinning. She was going to get through this.

Someone touched her shoulder. She flinched.

Una stood behind her carrying a bucket of water and clean linen strips. “You look as pale as a shroud, lassie. Others can tend the laird. It is not a task you need perform.”

Amber felt tears burn her eyes. “Yes, it is. When Marcail took care of my hand she put a vile-smelling concoction on the wound. It looked terrible, but it worked. Could you make some for Lachlan?”

Una shook her head slowly. “The laird is to have nothing of the sort. You may clean his wounds, that is ” all.“

Amber looked at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. He looks like a human pincushion. His wounds are deep. I think one arrow pierced his lung, another his heart and one…”

Una patted Amber’s arm. “The laird will be fine, you’ll see.” Her expression remained serious and warning was implied. “He will heal in the same manner as did O’Donnell, if you ken my meaning.”

Amber rubbed her temples. “No, I don’t see. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“Now, lass, ‘tis not my place. I shall fetch something for you to eat. You need to keep up your strength if you are determined to hold a vigil while he recovers.“ She paused at the doorway. ”

“Us a hard road you have set yourself upon. Guard your heart.”

Amber listened to Una’s footsteps as they grew faint down the hall. The woman’s words echoed in her ears. She felt as though she’d spent her life building a barricade around her heart. Just when she’d finally begun to dismantle the walls, Una was advising her to put them up again.

Blinking away her tears, she cleansed Lachlan’s wounds, then wrapped them with bandages. Why hadn’t Una agreed to give him the medicine? She shook her head, stepped back and looked at her handiwork. Not a bad job, if she did say so herself. Thank goodness for mandatory first aid classes in her school district.

Sitting down in a chair beside the bed, she suddenly felt very tired and very uneasy. Lachlan’s coma-like behavior was familiar. Una had mentioned O’Donnell. She paused. Both men had lapsed into a deep sleep after they’d been injured. But the similarities were more pronounced. Both men lay on their backs, as though they waited for something. The legend spoke of an immortal. She’d chosen not to think too much about that possibility, until now. She shuddered. It was eerie.

The door opened. Una had returned, bringing a tray with wine and sliced meat. A cough made the old woman shudder as she set the tray down on the table beside the bed. A deep sadness seemed to weigh her down.

“Are you all right?”

“Aye. I feel my age more of late, but ‘twill pass.” She nodded toward the bed. “He is a good man, that one is. Teach him how to cherish life, if you can.”

Una picked up the clothes and bucket of water and departed.

Firelight danced in the hearth, as if trying to lift Amber’s mood. It wasn’t working. Everyone spoke of Lachlan as if he were a man who was drowning, and worse, as if she was the only one to save him.

She looked over at him. His face was as pale as the linen bandages wound around his chest, but his breathing was steady and strong. She leaned back in the chair remembering O’Donnell. Both men should have had raging infections from their injuries. But they didn’t even appear to have slight fevers.

Amber stood. She was too restless to sleep. It was almost the first of November in the Highlands of Scotland and the weather was balmy. She remembered the legend;
the seasons will alter their natural course, the barriers of time will be broken
.

Amber jerked awake and sat up. Rubbing her neck, she looked out at the black sky. It was the dead of night. Muffled sobs came from the direction of the window. Amber looked over at the bed. Lachlan was still in a deep sleep. But someone else was definitely in the room. She turned in the direction of the sound.

Gavin sat “in the far corner of the room. He looked up at her through tearstained eyes and handed her
The Canterbury Tales
.

“I thought you would read to my brother.”

Kneeling down beside him, Amber held him close. She scolded herself for not thinking of him sooner. Of course he would be worried about his brother. The adult world typically forgot about the children when something like this happened.

“Lachlan will be just fine.” The words sounded mechanical. She hoped they sounded more convincing to Gavin.

“Oh, I know he will get better.” Gavin pulled away from her and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “But MacDougal won’t. Why can’t he be like my brother?”

Amber rocked him gently. “I’m sorry, Gavin.”

Words were inadequate when you’d lost your best friend. Part of her had been inconsolable when Shadow died. The one thing that had pulled her through was being able to talk to her brother.

She wiped the tears from Gavin’s face with a corner of her dress. “Why don’t you tell me a story about MacDougal the wolfhound? Something funny he did.”

Gavin pulled back and shook his head. “
1
couldn’t do that. We are not supposed to talk about someone once he is dead.”

That was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard and she almost blurted out her opinion. “Would you mind if I talked about MacDougal?”

He shook his head.

“Do you remember the time at the festival when he ate so many fruit pies the hair underneath his chin was as red as Angus’ beard? Or how about the time when he tried to fish? He would snap at the water, and then look over as if to say, ‘Hey, I’m trying my best. Is it my fault the fish are so slippery?’ ”

Gavin giggled. “MacDougal took up most of the space on my bed. Sometimes he would stretch and I’d end up on the floor.”

Amber laughed. “My dog did that. I never told anyone. I was afraid they would make him sleep outside.”

“Me too.” He frowned. “I like remembering. Why do you think I’m not supposed to do that?”

“I have no idea, but I do know one thing.

Remembering all the wonderful things those who are no longer with us have done is a way to keep them always in our hearts. Then they can live forever.“ Gavin snuggled closer. ”Aye, I think so, too.“

Early-morning sunlight streamed through the window onto the sleeping Lachlan. Amber bent over and blew out the candles beside his bed then sat down. She leaned back against the chair. Her eyes felt heavy. She’d slept little in the past two days between watching over Lachlan and comforting Gavin. Reaching over the bed, she covered Lachlan with a blanket. Not that he needed it but fussing over him made her feel useful.