The Highlander's Stolen heart (Macinnes Sisters Trilogy) (8 page)

Rogan stumbled to his feet, ready to fight, though pain radiated in his head. He looked around, rubbing at his bleary eyes, not believing what he saw... or what he did not see. Not a ghost warrior remained and not one of his warriors was in sight. The only person besides him was Emma. She lay on the ground, blood seeping out beneath her and pooling in the muddy grooves around her. With clarity, he recalled how she came rushing at his attacker, sword swinging, and just as clearly he recalled how the warrior had thrust his sword back without looking and speared her shoulder.

He rushed to her side, his head continuing to pound, though not as badly as his heart on seeing Emma lying there so lifeless. He sunk to his knees beside her. The blood was coming from a wound to her shoulder. She was pale and did not respond to his touch. He needed to see to her wound, needed to get her to safety. He wondered where his warriors were, but had no time to dwell on them. He had to stop a few times, growing too dizzy to move as he gathered their two horses, the only ones there. His warriors had not only disappeared, so had their horses.

With no time to give the matter serious thought and his head hurting too much to linger on any heavy musings, he returned to Emma. He examined the wound as best he could and saw that the blade had pierced her shoulder, though had not gone clear through. He took his dagger and cut a strip of cloth from a blanket and wrapped the wound with it as best he could. It would have to do until he could get her someplace safe, if there was anyplace safe left to them, and sear it closed.

He draped her over her horse until he mounted his own, then he reached out and moved her over to his horse and tucked her in the crook of his arm so she could rest against his chest. The closest place he knew where he could get help was Samuel’s cottage, and he intended to ride straight through until he reached it.

She began to stir after they were traveling for about an hour. When she attempted to stretch her way out of Rogan’s embrace, she let out a howl and slunk back in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, tears ready to fall.

“You have suffered a wound to your shoulder. You must stay as still as you can to keep the blood from flowing.”

She scrunched her face against the pain that shot like hot coals through her shoulder. “And you? How have you faired?”

She worried about him when she had suffered far worse than he had? That she cared should not surprise him. He had seen the way she had treated Macinnes warriors, as if each and every one was important to her. She had a generous heart. And that he had failed to protect her, failed to find her sisters, failed to keep his men safe... stirred deep anger in him.

“A blow to the head,” he informed her.

“More than one,” she said, as if just remembering and winced at the pain that seemed to be growing worse with each pounding of the horses’ hooves.

Rogan muttered several oaths, though offered no apology for the rough ride. It was necessary. He could do nothing about it. The day wore on, tiring them both and shortly after night fell, Emma begged him to stop.

“Please—the pain—I need to rest,” she pleaded. “And drink, I am so thirsty.”

Rogan did as she asked, not that he wanted to, but he realized that she needed rest as did he. He found a cropping of rocks and set up camp behind them. She drank and ate from what Samuel had generously given them.

When she finished and looked ready to sleep, her eyes heavy with fatigue, Rogan said. “I need to look at your wound.”

He carefully removed the strip of blanket he had used to wrap it and saw that while the bleeding appeared to have stopped, the blood around it was still wet. It had yet to cake, and he worried that the rough ride kept the wound bleeding. It needed to be seared closed or she would continue to bleed. There was also fever to worry about, not to mention the possibility of the wound turning putrid.

“The wound needs to be seared so the bleeding stops,” Rogan said.

“Then do it and be done,” she said. “Tomorrow as we ride, I will instruct you on how to use the herbs in my pouch that will help keep fever at bay and how to prepare a poultice that hopefully will keep the seared wound from turning putrid.”

He spoke his thoughts aloud. “You possess much knowledge.”

“I enjoy the pursuit of knowledge. It fills my days. Now please listen carefully, you will need to cut away the cloth around the wound. But first you must take some of Samuel’s brew and use it to clean away the blood before searing the wound. Use my dagger to cut away the cloth while your knife heats in the fire, for if the blade is not stinging hot, it will not close the wound sufficiently.”

Rogan could not help but marvel over how calmly Emma gave him instructions. She was in pain. He saw it in her eyes and the scrunch of her brow, yet she did not groan or cry out. He wondered if she would be so brave when he laid the hot blade to her flesh. The thought that he would cause her such pain turned his stomach, but it had to be done or she could possibly die.

He retrieved a rolled blanket from the back of her horse and with a gentle lift of her head placed it beneath it. “So you have a better view when I tend the wound and can tell me if I do anything wrong.”

Rogan placed his knife in the flames, then took her dagger and carefully cut away the bloody cloth around the wound.

“Take the sleeve if you must and whatever else is a bloody mess. Leaving it will do me more harm than good,” she encouraged.

By the time he was done, her sleeve was discarded and her one breast lay exposed down to the nipple that had puckered at the night chill or had it been his touch? Not something he should be thinking of at the moment, but her breast was quite plump, far more than a handful, though blood covered most of it. His brow knitted, thinking of the blood she had lost, and he quickly got busy cleaning off the blood with the brew so he could close the wound.

Emma wondered why his brow knitted so deeply when she saw that his eyes focused on her breast. Did he find her lacking? She shut her eyes against the ridiculous thought. Whatever was she thinking? She had been injured and he was tending her. It was nothing more than that.

Rogan concentrated on his task at hand. He refused to let himself linger over how lovely her breast was or how rosy her puckered nipple was after he finished cleaning it. This was neither the time nor place to think such things, and she certainly was not the woman he should be lusting after. He reminded himself over and over that it was her sister who was to be his wife as he continued cleaning away the blood.

When it was finally done, Rogan wrapped a cloth around the knife’s hilt and pulled the hot blade out of the fire and looked at her. “This is going to hurt like hell.”

“A cloth,” she said and when Rogan handed her a piece of the torn blanket, she stuffed it in her mouth and nodded.

He hated what he was about to do, but he was quick about it. He was surprised when she did not faint from the pain, though it would be better if she had. Her eyes turned wide, she clamped down hard on the cloth, and her whole body stiffened against the excoriating pain that would linger after it was done.

He pulled the cloth from her mouth when he finished. “Are you all right?”

Her eyes drifted closed and she nodded. “Do not wrap it yet. Place a cloth over it until morning.”

He did as she told him, then said, “Rest, we leave at first light.”

She nodded, her eyes closing and was asleep before Rogan laid his blanket on the ground on the opposite side of the campfire. His head still hurt, though was no longer pounding. He found he had no urge to sleep just yet. He kept an eye on Emma while his mind began to stir with the events of the attack. He was concerned for his missing men. What had happened to them? They were loyal warriors and would not run off and leave him to fight alone. That meant they had been taken by the ghost warriors, but why had he and Emma been left? And why had they both been left alive or had they thought them both dead?

Rogan sat staring into the darkness that surrounded them. Were they alone now or were they being watched? Never had he come up against warriors that were not seen until it was too late. While he was a skilled warrior, he was one man with an injured woman to protect. He needed to get Emma to safety and let her heal, and then he needed to return home and devise a plan to find Heather.

Morning dawned with the sun fighting back a few clouds. With the day looking promising, Rogan felt renewed, though he had gotten little sleep. He hated waking Emma, knowing rest was what would serve her best right now, but he had no choice.

Her movements were slow as she instructed him on how to bandage the wound. She winced in silence as she settled in his arms once mounted on his horse and fell asleep shortly thereafter. She woke a short time later, though it was more like she roused herself from sleep.

“A fever is setting in... I can feel it. I need you to listen and do what I tell you,” she said and grimaced, at the hot pain that struck her.

“I am listening and will follow your instructions,” he assured her.

She detailed how to prepare the herbs in her pouch and how and when to use them. Once she finished, she laid her hand on his arm.

Her hand was limp and much too warm, and Rogan’s concern grew.

“If my skin grows hot you will need to keep me cool. Do not ply my body with blankets. Strip me down to my shift,” —she hesitated— “strip me bare if you must, but keep me cool until my fever breaks.”

“As you say,” he said and her eyes drifted closed once again. Her strength continued to amaze him. And that she should tell him to strip her bare of her garments if necessary meant one thing—she trusted him.

~~~

Rogan was relieved to see the cottage, but as he drew closer he grew concerned. There was no smoke from the chimney. The few farm animals Samuel had were nowhere to be seen. The place looked as if it had been deserted.

He approached more cautiously, wondering if the ghost warriors had attacked and taken the animals. Could they have taken Samuel too? But why? They would have no need of an old man or food, since it was said the Dark Dragon provided well for his warriors.

Rogan felt much too vulnerable with Emma in his arms. If attacked now, he could not defend them. He eased off his horse, holding Emma firm, and pushed the front door open with his shoulder. He entered cautiously. The place was empty, the hearth cold and cleaned of all ashes as if it had not been used in some time.

He placed Emma on the bed and pressed his hand to her brow. She was much too hot. He did not know what had happened here that the place should seem deserted, but he had no time to give it thought. He had to see to Emma and to securing their safety.

With quick steps, he returned to the horses and secured them in the lean-to, supplying them with food from the trough and water from the rain barrel. He then gathered their bedrolls and weapons and hurried back to the cottage.

He made sure the door was firmly latched against unwanted intruders, then he laid the items he carried aside, rid himself of his cloak, and went to Emma. She looked so pale, and when he reached out and pressed his hand to her brow, his breath caught.

She was as hot as Hades.

Rogan did not waste a minute. He began to undress her. There would be no saving her shift. It was beyond repair. And with her fever raging, he would have no choice but to strip her bare. He was careful as he maneuvered her in his arms, trying not to cause her any pain. The squint of her brow and the small intake of breath let him know that as hard as he tried, his good intentions still caused her to suffer. And the thought ate at his gut.

Finally, she lay completely naked and he would have pulled the soft wool blanket he had placed at the end of the bed over her, if he did not recall her words.
Strip me bare if you must, but keep me cool until my fever breaks.

She was burning. He needed to leave her as she was—naked.

He could not help but admire her gorgeous body. She might be plain to look upon, but her body was perfection. Plump breasts, narrow waist, flat stomach, rounded hips, firm thighs, all perfectly proportioned, as if sculpted by a skilled artist.

He shook his head.
She is not yours. You have no right to touch her.

She groaned and moved uncomfortably in the bed.

His hand went instinctively to her head and with a tender caress, he said, “Rest, Emma, I will take care of you. You have nothing to fear.”

She quieted, and he was reluctant to leave her to see to the brew, but it had to be done. She had to be healed. It was bad enough that he had failed to find her sister. He would not lose Emma to death.

After he started a fire in the fireplace and set water to heat, he returned to Emma to check her wound. He slipped his arm beneath her back and lifted her gently to place a rolled blanket beneath her head. Her head lolled against his chest, her heat searing him. He shifted his one hand to the back of her head while he slipped his other hand around her waist to ease her as gently as he could back down on the bed.

Her hand suddenly latched onto his arm and though her eyes remained closed she said, “It is all a lie. You lied to me. You never meant what you said.”

It took Rogan a moment to realize that she was not truly speaking to him. At first he thought she was accusing him of not keeping his word about finding her sister. But it was obvious that her fever had taken her to another time and place when next she spoke.

“I am not ugly.” A tear slipped from her eye. “Heather! Heather, where are you? Daniel lied to me. Please, Heather, I need you.”

Her anguish gripped at his stomach. Had Emma once been in love? Had the man wronged her? His anger grew at the thought, far more than he would have expected.

It pleased him to know that Heather had consoled Emma in her time of need and no doubt protected her as well, especially with Emma being the youngest of the three sisters. His da had warned him that the Macinnes sisters were close and that it might cause a problem for him. But seeing Emma so determined to find her sister, no matter the cost to herself, made him realize how strongly she loved. His mum and da had loved that strongly, which was why his da was having such a difficult time since her death.