“Nay…” The word was a hoarse whisper, barely making it past his dry lips.
He climbed into the carriage, his movements far less steady than they had been just moments ago. His knees felt weak as he crouched before her, and he hesitated, his hand hovering for a moment because he did not know where to touch her.
He swallowed again, steadying himself before calling her name.
“Marian.” His voice was softer this time, as though speaking loudly might break her more than she already was.
I cannae lose ye, Mairi. Please.
Her chestnut-brown hair was now a darker shade, matted against her temple and coated in blood. His fingers brushed some of it from her face, revealing the strip of cloth that had been tied around her mouth to keep her from shouting.
His hands clenched into fists.
The cloth had been torn from her sleeves, and her shoulders were exposed, revealing bruises from where she had been held roughly.
I’ll kill the bastard.
He muttered a curse as he undid the knot behind her head, supporting her weight gently with one arm.
I’ll wring his neck with me own hands.
He pulled out his dirk and cut through the twine around her hands with gentle urgency. The rough material had bitten into her skin, leaving angry red marks that made his stomach twist. Her fingers were pale and cold from lack of proper circulation, the same as her feet.
He moved faster, cutting through the bindings at her ankles next. The rough hemp had rubbed her skin raw in places, and he could see where she’d struggled against them.
Ye put up a good fight, me stubborn Sassenach.
A bitter smile spread across his face as he reached for her face, feeling her cold skin. Her soft breath tickled his fingers, so faintly that he would have missed it if he had not been feeling for it like his life depended on it.
His breath caught.
She’s alive.
His hand moved to her forehead, wiping beads of cold sweat that had formed during her struggle. He slid one arm carefully behind her shoulders, lifting her just enough to pull her away from the side of the carriage and close to his chest.
“Mairi,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Do ye hear me? Stay with me.”
Marian’s eyes fluttered slightly. “Lachlan.” Her lips moved as she mouthed his name, though her voice was a silent whisper he hardly heard.
Relief hit him like a blow, and he instinctively held her tighter.
“Aye, lass,” he murmured, letting out a shaky breath. His thumb carefully brushed across her cheek, wiping some of the blood and sweat. “I am here. I’ve got ye.”
He stared at her face as her eyelids fluttered again, struggling to focus as she came back to. She winced slightly, and he released her, his sharp gaze moving over her body as he assessed her for more injuries.
Her hand pressed against her side, and she opened her eyes, fully conscious now.
“Lachlan,” she whispered tearfully. “You came for me.”
Lachlan’s chest tightened so hard it hurt. “Of course, I came,” he rasped. “Did ye think I wouldnae come?”
A tear slid down her cheek, cutting a clean path through the dirt and blood. “No,” she croaked with a small smile, despite herself. “But I… I did not want to trouble you. You were?—”
“Ye were wrong. Ye could never trouble me, Marian, even if ye tried.”
The blood at her temple had begun to dry, but the wound beneath still wept. He could feel her body shaking against him. A tremor that spoke of shock, exhaustion, and pain, all tangled together.
She needed rest.
