“Tis comin’ from the village,” Bryce said, urging his mount toward the sound.
“Lucas, Craig, come with us,” Duncan ordered. “The rest set up camp ahead, we will meet ye there.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Help me, please!” a bairn’s voice called. Duncan spurred his horse ahead of Bryce’s. His fear for the bairn trumping their self-preservation. They galloped through a wide path, which led out to a small brook. On the side, was a house, and most of its contents were thrown outside, destroyed beyond recognition.
A tiny lad stood at the end of the path, squatting down with his hands over his ears. His little body quivered with the strength of every scream. Careful not to push Jo down, he jumped to the ground and helped her. He hastened to reach the lad, arriving before Bryce and the others.
Before he could speak, the lad spotted their shadows and his face was thin with fear.
“We want tae help,” Duncan said with a soft tone. “Dinnae be afraid.” Hearing his accent and noting his attire, the lad’s fear was assuaged. Jo kept her distance from them, with a troubledexpression. “What is yer name?” he asked, tugging the lad to his feet.
His tiny hands kept pulling his shirt up his shoulder, to prevent the large clothing from slipping off. “Archie,” he said. “Tis me grandpa. He’s wounded.”
“Does he live there?” Duncan pointed at the ruined house. The lad shook his head with emphasis. There were scratches, some still bleeding on his arms. Like he’d been struck, till he fell. Duncan’s lips flattened. He had his suspicions, but he still asked.
“Where? Did ye see who did it?”
“Three English men, they- they took our food an’ beat grandpa. Grandma asked me to find help. Please come with me,” he begged, accent thickening.
Bryce and Duncan met eyes, each darkening with anger. Craig frowned, “were they wounded?”
The lad bobbed his head. “One was bleeding from his arm.” Craig gave the other men meaningful glances, reminding them of the three that had attacked him earlier. “Please, let me take ye tae our farm.”
“Bryce, take him. Show us the way.”
When he moved, Jo blocked his way and raised her tied hands, “I willnae run,” she said. Duncan glowered at her. Then again,she’d slept on her own and hadn’t attempted to. Without mentioning that he knew she could, with that sword strapped to her leg.
“One move, I’ll keep ye tied up, even at home.”
“Fast, we’re losin’ them,” she urged, shaking her arms at him.
Duncan worked on the knots then tossed the rope into his sac. She got on the horse and he, behind her. They rode toward the lad’s farm. Through the lonely, stony path, her body remained tense. He wondered if she was plotting her escape or if she was simply worried for the lad’s grandfather. He suspected the latter and found himself softening toward her.
Since their duel, she’d shut him out, only answering when she was spoken to. At night, she was plagued with nightmares, kicking off the mantle as soon as it was around her. She kept mutteringpapa.
Duncan woke with her scream. He cradled her in his arms, “’Tis only a nightmare. Ye’re safe… ye’re safe.”
Grace had continued to shiver in his arms. Half-awake and terrified, she had not pushed away his hands stroking her head. When her eyelids had started to close, he had whispered, “hellish these nightmares. I had them fer Jaime. Ye will be fine in the mornin’ ’.”
Duncan had spent almost the whole night thinking about Jo’s story. Like this little lad, had the English really harmed her family too? Soon, they came upon two houses. One seemed to be a barn or store house. Once the lad’s feet hit the ground, he ran to an old woman who stood by the door. She caught his thin form and he buried his head on her bosom.
“Oh Archie, I am proud o’ ye. Ye found help.” She waved withered hands at them, “please come. Come inside.”
Jo alighted on her own, and Duncan followed her into the dark room. Bryce made a sound that Duncan echoed. It reeked inside. Furniture was overturned, some burned to char. A brown splash was illuminated by the light hung on the wall. The smell came from the floor and the old man lying on the bed.
“Keep watch outside, ye an’ Craig. I’ll handle this.” Both men were happy to oblige.
His wrinkled face was tight with pain. Feverish and sweaty, he shivered under the pile of blankets. One at a time, he opened his bleary eyes and gazed unseeingly at them. The old woman tugged at a corner of the blanket, revealing a wounded arm. The gash was left by the swipe of the sword, possibly because the older man had raised it to protect someone.
Duncan knelt by the bed and inspected the injury. After a while, he released a breath. It would not fester. He’d seen and experienced his own fair share of wounds. He was familiar with the process of healing them. They weren’t with much, so he requested for a wet cloth, whisky and a patch.
“Whisky?”
“Or any alcohol,” Duncan corrected.
“Ah, we have that. Kept it hidden from those animals. Archie be a dear and bring them a wet clot and a patch.”
