“It is a toy he loves. A little dog his mother made for him. She made it with a very soft material and it is bright blue.” She stroked Neddy’s hair. “I fear it is lost, my sweet boy. The fire . . .”
“Nay,” said Robbie and he grabbed up one of the loaded sacks still waiting to be put in the wagons. “We have been collecting up anything useful and Duncan said this bag held things for the babe we thought we were hunting for.”
Her leg throbbing so badly she just wanted to sit down and cry, Emily stepped over to look into the large sack. It was filled with kitchen goods, some books, Neddy’s clothes, and a little stuffed dog set on top of a pile of small sweaters. All of it smelled strongly of smoke though nothing appeared badly damaged. She sniffed the small toy and was pleased that it carried only a slight scent of smoke. As soon as she could, she would wash away even that.
“Oh, look, Neddy. These kind men found Boo for you.” She took the toy and handed it to Neddy, pleased by how the toy eased some of the worry and fear from his face.
“My Boo.” Neddy smiled, then hugged the toy and frowned up at Emily. “Mama?”
“No, sweet boy. Mama is gone and your papa is gone too. I am so sorry.” She kissed his cheek. “Emily will care for you, my love.” When she straightened up she felt close to swooning but fought the feeling.
“Emmy stay?” Neddy asked in a small broken voice.
“Yes, love. I will stay.”
“Stay here?” He looked toward the burned cabin with wide eyes, his small body tense with fear of her answer.
“Nay, lad,” Iain said. “Ye are coming with us.”
The boy nodded but the woman frowned. Iain thought they had settled the matter but realized they had not actually discussed it. There was nothing here for her. She could not fix the damage done to the house and they had marked the grave. He was about to point that all out to her when he noticed that she had grown far too pale again.
“Mama? Papa?” the boy asked, his bottom lip trembling.
“Ye can come back to visit the place where they rest when ye need to,” Iain said, and noticed how Emily’s eyes filled with tears. “We have to go now. It will be dark soon and I would like to be closer to the safety of my own lands when the sun sets. Nay sure how far away the men who did this have gone,” he added softly, and watched the woman nod.
Iain edged closer to the woman as they moved for he had noticed how heavy her steps were, as if each one required the utmost effort. Her slim figure swayed a little and he knew she was close to collapsing in another swoon. They had just reached the side of the wagon his brothers had cleared for her and the boy when she gave a sigh and started to crumble. He swept her up into his arms, a little annoyed by how good she felt there.
Duncan and Matthew quickly cleared a little more space in the back of the wagon, tossing a few blankets down to better cushion the area. Iain set her down and then helped Neddy to climb in. The boy still clung to his toy and Iain picked up the box Emily had dropped when she had collapsed. He handed it to the boy and then mounted his horse and signaled everyone to start moving.
He studied all they had added to their freight but any joy over the gain of a couple of sturdy plow horses, a pair of cows, chickens, and bags of fruits and vegetables was buried deep beneath the pity for two people so brutally murdered. There were also several bags of clothes and assorted household goods plus a small plowshare. He had learned long ago that if you did not take what the dead left behind someone else would, but still had to wrestle with his conscience when he did. He soothed that troubled part of him by knowing that, when Emily and Neddy had a safe place to go, he would give them what they wanted from these gains and a fair market value for the rest.
By the time it was too dark to continue, Iain was at ease over the matter. He and his brothers set up camp, tended to the horses, and Duncan started to cook them some food. Iain took Emily from the wagon and noticed that the skirts under his hands were damp. He was thinking an extra blanket would be wise when he set her down on the rough pallet Matthew had made for her, but, as he pulled his hands away from her he realized it was not water soaking her skirts. His hand was covered in blood.
“Damnation!” he snapped. “She had another wound and it hasnae ceased to bleed.”
Matthew crouched beside him. “Where?”
Iain yanked up one side of her skirts, fighting not to be distracted by her legs. Using his knife, he slowly cut open the leg of her drawers and cursed again when he found the hole made by a bullet just above the top of her stockings. Fighting not to expose any more of her, he turned her onto her side but could find no exit hole for the bullet.
“Do ye ken how to remove a bullet?” he asked Matthew.
“Nay,” said Matthew, and a glance at his other two brothers brought sad shakes of their heads.
“Then best we bind this as well as we can and get home as fast as we can.”
“Aye, Mrs. O’Neal will ken what needs to be done.” Matthew hurried away to get something to bandage her wound.
Iain stared down at the pale, unconscious woman and prayed Matthew was right in his utter faith in the indomitable Mrs. O’Neal. Hate the English as he did, he really did not want to bury this one.
Chapter Three
Another moan came from the back of the wagon as they entered through the gates of the stockade surrounding their home and Iain winced. They had tried to keep the wagon as steady as they could but the trail to his place was a rough one in places. He glanced back at the still unconscious woman and sighed. She was feverish now and he thought that was a bad sign.
Neddy sat beside her looking heart-wrenchingly sad and clutching her hand. Iain had run out of comforting things to say to the boy.
Bringing the wagon to a halt, Iain leapt down from the seat and moved to pick Emily out of the back. He doubted he drove the wagon any better than Matthew or Duncan did but he had insisted and he was still not fully sure why he had. There had been a hard need inside him to be in complete control of her care and he had given in to it. Robbie got the boy out of the wagon and they all headed to the door of their house. Just as he paused to figure out how to get the door open and Robbie stepped up beside him to do it, Mrs. O’Neal flung it open.
A short, sturdy woman, Mrs. O’Neal was inching into her matronly years fighting all the way. There were only a few lines on her face so he suspected she was winning the battle. A widow with three children, she had come to them to cook and clean in exchange for a place for her and her children to stay and be safe. Soon she and her children had moved into the small cabin he and his brothers had built for her. Now, Iain thought, she was as important to their home as the thick stockade walls.
