CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Unfortunately, as he held the door open for her and she stepped out into the courtyard, she bumped into a fellow coming in. They collided forcefully, and the man’s hat fell to the floor.
“Hey, watch where ye’re goin’, ye clumsy wench,” the man snarled at her, clearly deep in his cups. “Ye’ll pick that up fer me,” he added, jutting his unshaven, prominent chin at the hat.
Fury gripped Ewan as Annie, her hand to her head, shrank away from the man. He stepped between them. “It was an accident, ye fool. Are ye nae man enough tae pick yer hat up yersel’ and apologize tae the lady?” he growled menacingly at the fellow.
The man, clearly so drunk he took no account of the fact that Ewan towered over him, glared up malevolently from beneath unruly eyebrows. “She’s a clumsy drab. She should be more careful of where she’s a bloody goin’,” he sneered.
Ewan loomed over him., his ire rising. “Ye’ll apologize tae me wife this instant,” he said through clenched teeth, his fists flexing at his sides, “or I’ll ram that hat down yer throat until ye choke on it.”
“Hah! I’d like tae see ye try, ye great lanky poltroon. That wife of yers, she’s a naught but a drunken who?—”
He did not finish his sentence because Ewan’s fist landed square in the middle of his face. The man flew backwards several yards before landing on his back and skidding across the cobbles. He moaned horribly, clutching his nose as blood gushed from between his fingers. Disgusted, Ewan bent down and picked up the hat. He threw it at the man. “Here, ye can soak up the blood with that, ye surly bastard. Let that be a lesson tae ye.”
He turned to Annie, worried for her. “Are ye all right, Annie?” He asked solicitously. Pushing back her hood he was shocked to see how pale she was. She seemed dazed and was holding one hand pressed to her forehead. He took hold of her hand and gently removed it. When he saw the large, bloody gash beneath, which was already going back and blue as it swelled into an egg-shaped bump near her hairline, he gasped in shock.
“I bumped me head on the door,” she mumbled, her eyes tearing up and her mouth turning down. All Ewan’s protective instincts rose up inside him.
“Och, ye poor thing! I’m takin’ ye tae see a healer right away,” he declared, pulling off his neckcloth and pressing it to the wound, which was dripping blood.
“Nay, there’s nae need fer that,” she protested mildly, holding the neckcloth to the wound and wincing as she shook her head. “Let’s just go back tae the camp.”
“Dinnae argue with me,” he told her with gentle firmness. “That wound needs cleanin’ up before it gets infected, and ye could have a concussion. We’re goin’ tae find a healer this minute.”
“Ye’re makin’ a fuss over naethin’,” she murmured. “I’ll be all right in a minute or two.” But then she swayed on her feet and leaned against him, clearly more shaken than she was willing to admit. He put his arm around her to steady her and then cast around the courtyard for help.
He spotted the young groom from before loitering by the corner of the building and called him over. “Where’s the nearest healer, lad?” he asked. The boy thought for a moment and then reeled off some directions to the nearby house of a healer named Ella Moore. Ewan thanked him and said, “Now, bring me horse around in a hurry, will ye?”
The boy ran off and returned after a few minutes leading the stallion. “Good lad,” Ewan told him, giving him a silver sixpence.
The boy’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mister!” he shouted, pocketing the coin before running off to help some new arrivals. Without further ado, Ewan picked Annie up.
“What are ye doin’?” she asked, clearly taken by surprise, her arms going around his neck.
“Hold on tight,” he answered before he swung himself up into the saddle with his free arm and then settled her in front of him, between his thighs. “Are ye comfortable?” he asked her.
“Hmm, though me head’s achin’ somethin’ awful, ” she replied, her soft warm weight resting pleasantly against his chest.
“Aye, I’m nae surprised. That’s a nasty bump,” he replied, truly worried for her. He could not bear the thought of anything bad happening to her. “The quicker we get tae the healer’s house the better. She’ll give ye somethin’ tae help with the pain.”
Taking up the reins, he pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks and clicked his tongue. Ewan made sure his arms enclosed Annie on both sides, anxious she should be in no danger of falling as he set off down the lanes, following the directions the boy had given him to the house of the healer Ella Moore.
Isla nestled against Ewan’s chest, holding his neckcloth to her wound, her head splitting. Aside from the pain, she could hardly believe how badly the evening was turning out for her. The first ordeal had been having to go into the inn with him. She was well known in the outlying villages within a few miles of the castle, and the whole time they had been in there she had been terrified someone would recognize her as the sister of Laird Galbraith. She had been grateful for the smelly old cloak then and had made sure to keep the hood up all the time despite the heat inside the bar, to hide her face and particularly her hair.
It had been somewhat of a relief when they sat down and discovered the Shillings were not local. However, while they were talking to the couple, she still had not dared to let down her hood, even though the pair had looked at her strangely. But panic had set in when Joyce announced she had worked at the castle. There had been no doubt in Isla’s mind that Joyce had been about to tell Ewan of the underground tunnels below the stronghold, confirming his belief there was a secret entrance.
She had done the only thing she could think of to prevent it, causing a distraction by “accidentally” upsetting her drink all over the woman’s dress at the crucial moment. Joyce had been very annoyed with her, she knew, and had been quite sharp with her at the bar. Isla had repeatedly apologized and done her best to clean the wine stains from Joyce’s skirt. But she had taken no real notice, being preoccupied with what would happen when they returned to the table.
Ewan was not going to give up, and he was bound to ask Joyce to resume what she had been saying before the little accident that had interrupted her. In moments, Ewan would have had the confirmation he was searching for, that the underground tunnels existed. It would have been a disaster for Gregory and everyone else imprisoned in the castle! Isla could not allow it to happen. The only recourse was to feign illness and hope she could persuade him to give up their mission, at least for the time being, and leave the inn.
So, that was what she had done, and it had worked. But then the idiotic drunken man had barged into her in the doorway and caused her to injure herself. All she had wished for was to get back to the camp. Now, at Ewan’s insistence, she was on her wayto the healer’s house. Ella Moore, whom Isla had known since childhood and just happened to be one of her best friends.
As a result, fresh disaster loomed, one that threatened to expose her and have God-only-knew what dreadful consequences for Gregory and their entire clan. As they drew nearer to Ella’s cottage, cold dread settled in her belly like a lead weight. It would only take one word from Ella to reveal to Ewan who she really was. Her mind was working overtime, trying to figure out a way to warn Ella so she would not give her away.
They arrived at the cottage all too soon, and Isla was further dismayed to see light spilling out through the windows, showing that her friend was at home. Her head was throbbing as Ewan carefully lifted her down from the saddle, and she still had no idea how she was going to navigate the situation. Ewan kept his arm around her as he helped her to the door. He hammered on it, with Isla’s heart pounding to match every echoing thud. “Open up! There’s an emergency out here,” he shouted urgently.
Isla heard movement inside and prepared herself for catastrophe, hurriedly pulling her hood lower over her face and holding Ewan’s neckcloth in place over her wound—her only protection from exposure. She dared only peep out from under when the door opened, and her friend’s short, curvaceous figure appeared in the brightly lit doorway.
