The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) (27 page)

“If you need aught, send word.” With that he was gone.

“Time for more tea and a fresh compress,” she muttered to herself. ’Twas true. Struan’s color was good, and his breathing and pulse were steady. Mayhap he’d wake on the morrow, and all would be well.

Her family and servants trickled in and out of the chamber throughout the long night, offering aid and comfort, bringing more of the healing potion and fresh cold water for his compresses. Weariness pressed in upon her. A few hours before dawn, she succumbed. Crawling onto the bed atop the covers, she scooted next to Struan should he wake, and lay down. Finally, she fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams filled with the booming of a cannon and images of blood and torn flesh passing before her eyes.

“My lady, you must be up,” Anne said, shaking Sky’s shoulder. “Lord Robley and Sir Connor wish to speak with ye as soon as you may be ready.”

Sky opened her eyes a slit and sought the source of the disturbance. Groaning, she stretched and pushed herself up to sitting. She glanced at Struan, her heart dropping at the sight of his unchanged state. Still, but breathing. “You’ve brought fresh well water?”

“Aye, ’tis right here,” Anne said.

Sky climbed off the bed and stretched again. “Put a fresh compress ’round his head, whilst I go clean up a bit.” She longed to visit the bathing room and soak in a hot bath, but she couldn’t bear being away from Struan for that long.

“I’ll see tae the compress, Lady Sky, and yer ma is brewing a fresh potion for the lad as we speak. Go now, and take as long as need be. I’m tae fetch Lord Robley and Sir Connor when ye are ready, and I’ll bring food tae break yer fast as well.”

“I am grateful to you, Anne. You’ve been an enormous help.”

Anne beamed at the praise and bobbed her head. Sky left to visit the garderobe, then continued on to her chamber. She glanced down at her blood-spattered apron. A good wash and fresh clothes would surely renew her spirits, and then she’d resume tending Struan.

Washed, changed and her hair brushed and braided, Sky returned to Robley’s chamber. She opened the door and walked inside to find Rob and Connor already within. Rob rose from where he sat at the table. Connor was pouring tea down Struan’s throat.

“Is that the medicine Ma steeped this morn?” she asked.

“It is,” Connor said, continuing with his task. “Sit, lass. Your mother, Robley and I have been talking.”

“Aye?” Her knees weakened at his tone, and she dropped into the chair beside the bed.

“Aye.” Rob came to her side and rested a hand on her shoulder. “We are all in agreement. Struan’s condition is . . . unchanged, and we believe his best chances for recovery lie in the future.”

Her throat closed, and she nodded mutely. The same thought had flitted through her mind during the long night.

“There are two possible portals between Moigh Hall and DúnConnell.” Connor set the mug aside and carefully laid Struan back down. “We propose to stop at each, and if neither opens during the night we camp there, we’ll continue on to your brother’s keep. My wife is a doctor, Sky. She’ll know what to do. We’re hoping Madame Giselle will be at DúnConnell, and that she’ll aid us in getting the lad to the twenty-first century—preferably near a hospital. If we find a portal along the way, I’ll take him through. If not, Katherine and I will travel with him together.”

Her poor heart would surely cease beating. “I fear the journey through time will kill him.” She twisted her hands together. “Besides, you ken what happened when the four of us went through, clasping hands as we did. We were parted. How do you mean to stay with him? How can he fix his mind and heart on any destination in his current state?”

“We managed to keep our backpacks, aye?” Connor looked to Rob, who nodded encouragement. “Your cousin and I have come up with a solution. We’ll lash Struan to my back. We’ve already talked to the tanner, and he’s fashioning the straps now.”

“Sky, it’s Struan’s best hope.” Robley squeezed her shoulder. “A wagon and food are being prepared for the journey. We mean to leave within the hour.”

She shot up. “I’ve much to do before we leave. Herbs for his healing tea, salve for his wounds, fresh linen for bandages. I must bid my family farewell.”

Connor shook his head. “Sky—”

“Dinna think to stop me. Someone must tend to him along the way.”

“Your sire forbids it, lass.” Robley lifted Struan’s rucksack and hoisted it over his shoulder. “I’ll send servants up to see that Struan is washed, dressed and ready to go.”

Sky fisted her hands at her side. “I’m going with you, and if you leave without me, I’ll find a way to follow, so you’d best await me at the ferry.” With that, she stomped out of the chamber and strode toward her da’s solar. She threw the door open only to find the room empty. Mayhap he was with their garrison, praising their men for a job well done. He might be in the village, seeing to burying the dead and assessing damage to the cottages.

Hurrying down the corridor, she headed for the stairs to the hall, taking the stairs as fast as she dared. There she found her mother and sisters sitting at the high table.

“Come, Sky, break your fast.” Her mother filled a bowl with porridge from a pot at the center of the table.

“I’ve no time.” She gripped the fabric of her gown in her hands. “Robley and Connor mean to take Struan away, and I’m going with them. I fear Struan willna survive without a healer along to look after him.” She blinked against the sting in her eyes.

“Ah, I suspected you might.” Her ma lifted a canvas sack from the floor, and her worry and sadness washed over Sky. “I’ve prepared bundles of the best herbs to use for him, and there’s a small copper pot within for steeping.

Stunned, Sky stared at the sack and then at her mother. “Where are Da and the twins?”

“I’m not certain. I know the three of them spent some time beneath the keep, talking to our garrison.” Placing the sack upon the table, her mother stepped down from the dais and walked toward her. “Don’t worry about your father, Sky. I’ll deal with him.”

Helen lifted a pack from the floor beside her and set it upon the table next to the one her ma had prepared. “Sarah and I packed a few things for you too.”

“You . . . you kent I would go with Struan, even though Da has forbidden me from doing so?” Her gaze went to each of them. She was overwhelmed by gratitude and love. Her mother and sisters stared back, their expressions and emotions a heady mix of pride, sadness and strength. Humbled, she rushed forward, hugging each of them in turn.

“Sky, whatever you decide, know that we love you, and this will always be your home,” her mother whispered in her ear. “Follow your heart, and never forget who you are.”

Stepping back, Sky swiped at her eyes and nodded. “I dinna ken what—”

“If you should decide to come home, travel on to your brother’s keep with Hunter’s guards, and return with Robley and Erin when they journey home. I ken they won’t mind stopping here first,” her mother rasped out. “Go. Gather what you must from your chamber, and be quick. We won’t let Robley and Connor leave without you.”

One more fierce hug for her mother, and Sky ran upstairs. All she needed was the rucksack she’d brought with her from the future. It held her passport and state ID, along with other sundries she’d need . . . just in case. Slipping the straps over her shoulders as she went, she strode down the corridor to Struan’s chamber. Connor was tugging boots onto Struan’s feet.

“I’m ready,” she announced, lifting her chin. “Ma has prepared what I need to look after Struan. We’ll grab it on our way to the ferry.”

Robley winked at her. “Your da is going to kill me, but truth be told, I’m gladdened by the news that you’ll look after the lad.”

She held the door open as the two men lifted Struan and carried him through the door. Connor carried his pack and Struan’s on his broad shoulders. Following them down the corridor, her heart wrenched at the thought of not saying good-bye to her da and brothers.

An hour later, she laid a sheepskin, fleece side up, on top of a bed of hay in the bed of the wagon that would carry Struan. She arranged the bundles and packs around the outer edges, so that they might buffer him from jostling too much. “All is in readiness. Lay him down, and I’ll ride with him in back. Tie my mare to a lead.” She lifted a thick woolen blanket and oiled canvas to cover him, and glanced at the sky. The day was gray, the early morning air damp and chilly.

“Sky!” her da shouted. “What goes on here?”

She sucked in a breath and blood rushed to her face. The earl of Fife strode down the center of the village, flanked by Owain and David, and all three wore identical scowls.

“Tell me you dinna mean to leave Moigh Hall,” her sire demanded, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Shaking, she straightened and lifted her chin. “Aye, I do mean to leave. Connor will take Struan back to . . . to his
home
, and I mean to see that he’s able to make the journey.”

“You’ll return to us?” David asked, reaching for her hand. “Once he’s sent back, you’ll come home?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I . . . I dinna ken. Oh, Da, what am I to do? I dinna wish to leave all of you, but . . . I love him.” She peered into her sire’s eyes, noting the gray hair at his temples and the new lines etched into his beloved face. “Dinna force me to defy you. Give me your blessing.”

“Och, lass.” She found herself in a fierce hug. “Is your mind made up then? Will you return to Struan’s valley with him?”

“My mind, like my heart, is torn.” She held on tight.

“Well, then,” he said. “I’ll hold on to the hope you’ll come home to us anon.” He stepped back and glared at the warriors who would travel with them, and then he sent Robley and Connor a hard stare. “Be on the watch for any stray Erskines, and guard my daughter’s life well.” Her da clasped Connor’s forearm, and then Robley’s. “Safe journey.”

Everyone mounted as Sky hugged her brothers. She climbed onto the wagon and took her place at Struan’s head. One of their guards took up the reins and started the wagon moving up the hill. She looked over the land and the village. Finally, her eyes rested upon the island. Home. Tears fell from her eyes. Now she kent what Struan had gone through when he faced the decision to travel with her to her century. Her decision would not be made until she had to make it, and she had no idea what she would do.

She must have dozed, for she woke to a chilly drizzle falling upon her face. She drew her cloak closer around her, then reached for the water skin filled with Struan’s medicinal tea. Sky went up on her knees and turned toward him. His cheeks were flushed. She lifted one of his eyelids to find his eye bloodshot and glassy. Her stomach knotted as she pressed her cheek against his forehead. He was burning with fever.

“Robley, Connor,” she shouted. “Make haste and dinna stop unless absolutely necessary. We must travel to DúnConnell straightaway.”

Robley rode back to the wagon. “What is it, lass?”

“Struan is feverish,” she said, her voice breaking. “Katherine brought medicines from the future back with her for Meghan and Hunter, antibiotics she called them. I canna fight a blood infection with medicinal teas. Struan’s only hope is to get to my brother’s keep as quickly as may be.” She met his gaze. “I’ll do what I can with what I have, but . . . let us pray we get there in time.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

S
truan was underwater. He struggled to rise to the surface, tried like hell to move his feet and arms. Muffled voices were his only reward for all the hard work. He hadn’t broken through. Were there others here with him in the murky depths? Must be the lake at Gordon Hollow.

But . . . if that were true, why wasn’t anyone helping him? He inhaled, and his lungs didn’t fill with water. Not a lake after all. Where was he, and what was the thick, dense heaviness pressing in on him from all sides?

Wait. Rest.

He floated for a bit, until he regained some of his energy, then he ordered his eyes to open. His heavy lids paid him no heed. Frustration and helplessness coiled through him. Concentrating, he poured all his will into the effort, and managed only the merest slit. His hand, resting upon a white blanket, was the only thing visible in his line of sight. A syringe had been stuck into a vein on the back, with a plastic tube connected to the end, stretching upward. The whole apparatus was taped in place. Damn, he hated IVs. He struggled, following the tube with his gaze, taking note of a bag of liquid and a plastic apparatus that dripped another liquid at intervals. Hospital. Struggling to pull his thoughts together, he tried to remember how and when he’d gotten there.

He’d been in a hospital before. Was this . . . then? He managed to catch a glimpse of his other hand; one finger had been encased in plastic, with yet another tube leading to some kind of monitor. Images began trickling into his awareness—people’s faces, a battle fought upon the shores of a lake. The battle . . . he’d been surrounded and fighting desperately for his life when an arrow hit his thigh. He went down on one knee, his sword arm burning like the fires of hell, when a man called out to him, and then everything went black.

He remembered a medieval village, an unfamiliar place overlooking a lake. In the middle of the lake, an island, and on the island . . . a castle. Perhaps all of what he saw in his head had been a dream, and he was finally waking. He blinked. Concentrating made his head ache with dull persistence.

Surely the Gordons would come any minute now, and . . . The memory of a beautiful woman popped into his head.
Sky
. Focusing upon her image brought a wrenching ache to his heart.
Great.
Now his head
and
his heart hurt. Was he dying? He closed his eyes again. Too much. Thinking had worn him out. A door opened, and the muffled sounds returned, only this time, they weren’t so muffled.

“His vital signs are good. The infection has responded well to the antibiotic drip,” a woman’s voice said.

He recognized that voice, but the name floated out of his grasp, disappearing into the cloud of confusion binding him.

“What about the swelling in his head?” a man asked. His words had a slight lilt.

“That’s gone down too. He could wake at any time,” the woman said.

Struan forced his eyes open a crack, hoping a visual would help him remember who they were.

“Katherine, his eyes are open again,” the man said.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s conscious. I’ve explained this already.”

“Aye, I remember, but he seems to be following us this time.”

Struan tried to talk. He opened his mouth slightly, but his tongue had turned to old shoe leather. Nothing worked. Since that was a bust, he exerted a monumental amount of energy and lifted his hand.

The woman, Katherine, gasped. “Struan, are you with us again?”

He nodded slightly.

“Push the nurse’s button, Connor. Oh, Struan, we’ve been so worried about you.”

He needed water, something to make his tongue work again. So many questions. He looked around him. A curtain had been drawn around the narrow bed he lay in, and there weren’t any chairs for visitors. Katherine and Connor, the McGladreys—he remembered now—stood by his side and peered down at him, their faces wearing identical expressions of relief. Connor pressed a button at the end of a cord near Struan’s head, and Katherine fussed with his pillows and blankets.

A nurse opened the door and popped around the end of the curtain. “Did you need something?”

A Scottish accent. So . . . he was in Scotland?

“Yes,” Katherine answered, all businesslike. “Struan is awake. Please inform his doctor.”

The nurse glanced at him with an expression of doubt. He stared back, raising his eyebrows slightly. Her eyes widened, and she moved closer, dragging a machine with her. She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and pumped it full of air, while checking the monitor and the IV drips.

“Water,” Struan managed to eke out of his rusty throat.

“I’ll get some for you just as soon as I’m done with your blood pressure, Mr. Sutherland.” The nurse waited until the machine beeped, took a gander, and removed the cuff. “I’ll page your doctor.”

He nodded. The nurse raised his bed so that he was in a sitting position, and then she left.

“What happened?” he rasped, looking to Connor and Katherine for answers.

“You took a blow to the head whilst fighting the Erskines. You’ve been comatose ever since. We all thought it best to bring you back to . . .” He peered around the curtain for a second. “Well, back to
now.
You’re at the Inverurie Hospital in Aberdeenshire, Scotland. We—”

“I hear our patient is awake,” a male voice intoned. He pushed back the curtain, pen and clipboard in hand, and beamed at Struan. “You’re a very lucky lad. Whoever did your triage care did everything exactly right, though I must say the stitches are a bit . . . unorthodox.” He laughed as if he’d told a joke.

Stitches?
That explained the tugging sensation on his right shoulder.

“I’m Dr. Hamilton.” The doctor looked like he might be in his midfifties. He was on the stocky side, with graying hair, bushy brows and a mustache to match. He lifted Struan’s eyelid, flashed a light in his eye, and repeated the process on the other side. “Headache?”

“Aye.”

“Do you recognize these fine folks who brought you here three days ago?”

“Three days?” Struan’s gaze shot to Connor.

Just then, the nurse returned with a plastic pitcher and a cup with a straw in it. Everyone shifted, and the wheeled tray was moved over his lap. She poured water for him and bent the straw so he could drink. Lifting it to his lips, she advised him to sip slowly. He drew in a mouthful, swished it around his mouth and swallowed. He took another couple of drinks before nodding to her and laying his back down on the pillow to answer Dr. Hamilton’s question.

“I recognize the McGladreys.” Where was Sky? His throat tightened. Perhaps she’d stayed behind. Surely her sire would have forbidden her from coming with him to the twenty-first century again, and she was nothing if not bound by duty and obligation. He closed his eyes. Weariness and grief sat squarely upon his chest, and he was far too weak to bear the weight of either. He listened as the doctor ordered some blood work, and the nurse hustled off to do Dr. Hamilton’s bidding.

“Do you know what date it is?” the doctor asked.

Struan heaved a sigh. “No, but then, I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious either, so it’s hard to calculate.”

“Well if you’ve the wits to figure out why you can’t say, that’s a good sign.” Dr. Hamilton put him through a series of questions, had him count and recite the alphabet, touch his nose with one eye closed, then the other, until finally he seemed satisfied. “I want to keep you here a couple more days to be certain the blood infection is completely eradicated, and we’ll want to do a few neurological tests to make sure you’re well on the mend.” He straightened. “We’ll know more once the tests are completed, but all signs point to a full recovery.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hamilton.” Katherine crossed the narrow space to shake his hand. “We appreciate the care he’s been given.”

So many questions swirled around in Struan’s sore brain; it made the room spin just to think about them. He waited until the doctor left before turning to Connor and Katherine. “This isn’t a private room, is it?”

“No, it’s not, but your roommate is sound asleep.” Katherine perched on the edge of his bed. “Or perhaps he’s in a coma as you were.”

“Who took care of me? Who did the excellent triage nursing the doctor mentioned?”

“Sky,” Connor said, his expression solemn. “From the moment I brought you to Moigh Hall, she was by your side. She kept cold compresses on your head, dosed you with all kinds of medicinal teas and stitched up your shoulder. You had a gash there and an arrow in your thigh bone.”

“I want to see the stitches.” He tried to raise his hand to his shoulder, but he could only reach halfway because of everything hooked up to him.

“Here, I’ll help.” Katherine came to his aid. She untied his hospital gown and slid the sleeve down.

Struan twisted his head to get a look. Scarlet thread in a neat pattern ran a good four inches down his shoulder. “Silk embroidery thread.”

“Indeed.” Connor grinned. “Very neatly done, too. You probably won’t have much of a scar.”

His eyes stung. Closing them, he laid his head back on the pillow. He just didn’t have the heart to talk anymore, and he couldn’t muster the courage to ask the question burning a hole in his heart and mind. Sky wasn’t here at the hospital with Connor and Katherine. Didn’t that say it all? “I’m so tired. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done and for getting me back to . . . I know we have lots to talk about, but all I want to do right now is sleep.”

Katherine fixed his hospital gown and brushed his hair out of his face. “Sleep, Struan. We’ll be back tomorrow, and by then you will have eaten disgusting hospital food and gained a little bit more strength. We’ll talk then.” She patted his cheek. “Is there anything you want us to bring you?”

Yes. Bring Sky.
He shook his head, his eyes still closed. The McGladreys left, and a few tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. Did he dare travel through one of Connor’s portals again? What if he took the trip and ended up somewhere else, or at the wrong time, like when Sky was only five, or seventy-five? If he’d lost the love of his life to the past, how could he face the future?

Struan forced another spoonful of the disgusting, watery oatmeal into his mouth. It had no flavor at all, and it was slimy. Once the stuff was in his mouth, he forced himself to chew and swallow. He needed his strength, and truth be told, he’d eaten worse whilst living in the fourteenth century. At least the porridge, if you could call it that, didn’t have any bugs or wormy things floating in the soupy mess.

A plump middle-aged woman in scrubs pushed his curtain back. She carried a small tray with a syringe, a few vials and a length of rubber to tie off his arm. “I’ve come to take blood,” she announced as if he hadn’t the wits to deduce that much on his own.

“Again?” he grumbled. “If you keep taking my blood, how am I to recover?”

“A strapping lad such as yourself?” She gave him a once-over. “You shouldn’t have any difficulty.” She tied off his arm, placed it upon the wheeled tray and swabbed the crook of his elbow. She gave his veins a few taps and reached for the syringe.

“I hate needles,” he muttered.

“Who doesn’t?” She shot him a wry look. “This’ll sting a bit.”

Perhaps the sting would take his mind off his other pains, especially the gaping wound to his heart. He turned his face away from the proceedings while the woman filled the vials with his blood.

“All done,” she said cheerily, taping a bit of gauze on his pricked skin. “Dr. Hamilton will be by to see you this morning around half ten.”

He nodded his acknowledgement. She left, taking his blood with her, and a young man, also in scrubs, took her place. Struan frowned. “I’m out of blood.”

The young man grinned and leaned a cane against the frame of the bed. “My name is Ronald, and I’m here to get you out of bed. We’re going to take a stroll down the hall.” He held up a folded hospital gown. “Even though they begged me not to, I brought this so you don’t give the nurses a show.”

“Great.” Getting out of bed would be good. He’d have to ask the McGladreys how long he’d been comatose. Judging by how weak he’d become, it had been a while.