Two hours later, her suffering is reduced and my girl is on my lap, weeping soundlessly. “I’m sorry,” she gasps out, “I hate it.”
“The pain?” I run my hand over her glossy hair, pushing it back from her forehead.
“All of it,” she hiccups softly. “Being so fecking weak. Fragile.”
I want to kiss her, tell her how strong she is, how beautiful. She’d likely try to stab me for that. “I’m reminding ye about how ye got this way.”
“Fecking Krasniqi brothers,” she snarls beforegroaning again. “Fecking car bomb.”
“Ye saved your cousins. Ian and Lorna, she was only three, aye?” She’s still rigid in my arms. “Ye carried the bairns away as fast as ye could and then threw your body over them to protect them.”
“That chunk of stone from the building,” she whispers, “hit me right in the back, fractured my spine.”
“Would ye have changed anything?”
“A’course not.” Cat rubs her face against my shoulder. “It’s been seven years and I just... Every time I’m feeling good and thinking maybe it’s going away, it’s healing, and then… The red comes back.”
Tightening my arms slightly, I rock her, hearing her breathing settle into something even. “And your cousins are alive. Say it.”
“Ian and Lorna are alive,” she whispers, finally drifting off to sleep. Covering her with my jacket, I rest my head against the tree and watch the night sky dance and spiral towards dawn.
***
Bawbag - Scottish slang for asshole
Bairn - Scottish slang for a child.
Chapter Twelve
In which there’s the fight we’ve all been waiting for.
Catriona…
Lucas insists on stopping repeatedly the next day for breaks.
“I’m fine,” I insist, “we’re never getting out of these mountains if ye dinnae stop trying to baby me.”
“Your face is pale and your gait is unsteady,” he says evenly. “If ye have another series of spasms, it’s going to take even longer, aye?”
There’s something about him being right that makes me hate him. I grit my teeth and keep climbing.
If this dinnae feel like some kind of death march, I’d really enjoy being here. The Atlas Mountains are strange and beautiful. In the far distance, there’s a series of vivid green terraced fields where the farmers cut into the mountain to create farming plots. They stand out against the white rocks and below, there’s a lake, a cerulean color I’ve not seen before.
“Where’s our next stop?” I dinnae argue when Lucas calls for another break. He’s eyeing the gathering clouds with a frown.
“There’s a series of castles along the Atlas Mountains,” he says, offering me a drink of water. “They were used in the 15th and 16th centuries to defend against the Ottoman Empire and the Portuguese. There was a well-defined trade route that the invaders used, the fortified castles were used to turn them back at every point.”
A streak of lightning blazes across the sky, followed by thunder loud enough to feel in my bones.
“Most of them are still standing.” He pulls his huge backpack on, watching me. “We’re not far from one of them. We can take shelter, make a fire. I’m thinking we dinnae have much time to beat this storm. I can carry ye, if ye let me.”
“Along with the backpack that weighs as much as I do?” I scoff. “I can do this, Lucas. I’m gonna need an extra pain pill tonight, but I’ll keep up.”
He’s torn, I can tell. The desire to wrap me in cotton wool and treat me like I’m a wee fragile thing is warring with his urgency to get us to the castle. Giving a sharp nod, he takes off again.
After another hour of scrambling around boulders, I can see the castle. It’s made of goldenstone, and the two towers are crumbling.
“How far are we?”
