“It was nay a bother,” he said quietly.
“I must mark the grave,” she said as she started to walk back to the cabin, dreading what she would find but determined to do her sister and her husband honor.
He cursed softly. Her voice was slurred, like someone half-asleep. He signaled Robbie and they followed the woman. He noticed that she walked oddly, as if she was dragging her feet. Her left arm hung limply at her side and he could now see the dark stain of blood on the blue sleeve of her gown. The woman was wounded worse than she had claimed. Quickening his pace, he drew up beside her. When he looked at her he noticed that she was very pale and was sweating despite the cool breezes.
Grasping her wrist to halt her, he scowled when she stared at his hand then slowly looked up at him. Her eyes were cloudy and he doubted she was seeing him clearly. Then she began to sway. He grabbed her around the waist as she began to fall to her knees.
“Do not let me fall on him,” she said in a rapidly fading voice.
The abrupt increase in the weight he supported told him she had fainted. Just as he shifted to pick her up a small boy scrambled out from beneath her skirts. Robbie caught hold of the child before the boy could grab her.
“Em! Emmy!” The child thrashed in Robbie’s hold, reaching blindly for the woman Iain was now cradling in his arms.
“Hush, laddie. Hush!” Iain cautiously stepped closer so the boy could see the woman he held, even touch her slightly. “She has but swooned. She sleeps because she was hurt.”
The child calmed although he stuck his thumb in his mouth and shuddered a little with the remnants of his fear. Here was the child they had been searching for. The boy looked physically unharmed but Iain knew there would be scars left from what had happened at his home. It brought up his own memories of trying to explain to young Lachlan that their parents were dead. He quickly shook them aside and started walking toward the burned cabin.
By the time he reached the graveside Emily was stirring. Reluctantly, for he found holding the slender woman pleasurable despite her unconscious state, he set her on her feet, holding her by the waist until she steadied. Even with her disordered appearance and too-pale skin she was a pretty little thing. Her blond hair was in a thick braid tied off by a ribbon that matched the color of her gown.
After she took the child into her arms she turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide, with a lush fringe of surprisingly dark lashes and they were a soft gray with the faintest hint of blue. A small, straight nose cut a line down the middle of her heart-shaped face. Even pinched with pain her mouth looked to be full-lipped. He inwardly shook his head, shoving aside his interest in her looks. She was English. She was also a woman in need of some help who had suffered a hard loss. She was not a woman he should be feeling any sort of amorous inclinations for.
“This is Neddy, my sister’s boy,” she said, and a lone tear wind down her pale cheek. “Only one grave?”
“We buried them together, holding each other.” He glanced at the other marked grave a few feet away and wanted to ask her about it but decided now was not a good time.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “They would have liked that. I would like to place a marker if I may.”
Iain looked to Matthew who held a crude wooden cross he had obviously prepared for the grave. “We can do that. What do ye want it to say?”
The urge to curl up on the ground and bawl like a child was a tight knot in Emily’s chest and throat as she told the man what to burn into the cross. She set Neddy down and held him by the shoulders as she said a prayer while they placed the cross. What she truly wanted to do was curse. Beneath her grief burned rage but she knew she could not give in to it. She now had a child to protect and hide for there was no certainty that the men had seen or believed that second grave held the child they sought. Anger could be dealt with when they were both strong enough to act on it.
By the time they were done, she was feeling weak and light-headed again. Forcing herself to hold fast to her senses, she looked toward the ruined cabin. There was one last thing she needed to do before she could give in to her weakness and pain.
“Was the floor badly burned?” she asked.
“Nay,” answered the one called Robbie, his freckled face flushing red as he dragged a hand through his brilliantly red hair. “It seemed steady save for the floor by the opening to the cellar. A wee bit singed and now wet.”
Emily nudged Neddy toward the young man. “Will you watch him for me for a few moments? I need to see if I can retrieve something.” She started toward the cabin and then frowned at the man who quickly fell into step beside her. “I shall only be a moment.”
“Aye, but ye are still weak and, when ye go down, ye go down fast.”
A blush heated her cheeks and she frowned even more, thinking it not quite proper for him to point that out. Then she shrugged and hurried into the cabin. Stepping cautiously, she made her way to the fireplace. The wet sooty mess on the floor made her grimace as she sought out the cleanest spot, tossed down her handkerchief, and knelt on it. The wet made it difficult to lift the hearthstones and suddenly the man crouched beside her.
“Which one do ye need to lift?” the man asked in that voice she found far too attractive.
“These two,” she replied as she pointed out the ones she wished to pull up.
Iain lifted the stones and frowned at the square of oilcloth beneath them. He watched as she lifted it out, set it down, and carefully unwrapped a metal box. She pulled a gold chain out from beneath the neck of her gown, unclasped it, and removed a small key. When she unlocked the box she briefly touched the papers inside to test if they were dry. Immediately after that she locked the box again and returned the key to the chain.
“These are important?” he asked as he helped her stand up, noting how she paled and touched her left leg.
“Yes, very important. They matter to Neddy.”
He frowned as he followed her out. Her accent had changed again and he wondered just how long she had been in the country. For a moment she had sounded very proper, very high-toned. It was an accent that reminded him all too much of Lady Vera. A chill entered his blood as he suddenly had all too clear a picture of the woman who had driven them from their home. Iain was about to bluntly ask her what place she held within English society when the boy ran over to her.
“My box!” He reached for it and then just patted the top. “Boo? Want Boo.”
“What is a Boo?” Iain did not really wish to return to the burned home.
