She leaned over him on her knees and slapped at his cheeks. “Duncan! Duncan!”
Good God!Sitting back on her heels, she pressed a fist to her forehead. He had just saved her from those awful men.
She was alive andstillin possession of her virtue because of him. What had she done?
An owl hooted in the treetops, and she looked up at the moonlit sky. She had no idea how to help him. They were in the middle of nowhere.
Then she heard a noise from beyond the glade—a cow lowing in the night. Perhaps there was a herd, and if there was a herd, there might be a drover, or even a crofter’s cottage with a barn and a family with food and clean water and supplies.…
Rising to her feet, she looked down at Duncan unconscious on the ground, glanced briefly at his horse nibbling on the grass, then darted off in a run toward the sound she had heard and prayed it was not another troop of drunken English soldiers.
Chapter Eight
A faint, flickering glowilluminated a window. It drew her out of the trees and across a field to asmallcottage, built of rough stone and thatched with hay. A ribbon of smoke trailed upward from the chimney to the clear, starry sky, and she heard again the sound of a cow lowing somewhere in the darkness.
Hoisting her skirts up to her knees, Amelia dashed across the uneven ground, then reached the door and rapped hard upon it. She’d already decided what she was going to say, for she had no idea what to expect from these Highlanders, or what manner of household she had chanced upon.
The wooden door creaked open, and she found herself looking down at a frail, elderly man in a kilt. He leaned over a rough-hewn wooden cane, and his snow-white hair flew fantastical y outward inalldirections, as if he hadn’t combed it in a decade. His saggy skin was creased with deep grooves that looked as ancient as the bark on a two-hundred-year-old oak.
Amelia’s hopes sank. She thought she might be greeted by an able-bodied young crofter, who would hurry to the glade with her and perhaps even carry Duncan to shelter.
“My apologies for disturbing you at this hour,” she said,
“but I am in need of assistance. My…” She paused, then started again. “Myhusbandis injured in the forest.” She turned and pointed.
The door opened morefully, and a young barefoot woman stepped into view. She wore a plain white shift. Her flaxen hairfellin loose curls upon her shoulders, and she held a baby in her arms.
“She’s English,” the old man said in a scratchy, suspicious voice.
Then, to Amelia’s incalculable relief, a younger, more stalwart Scotsman appeared in the doorway. He was fair in coloring and wore a loose nightshirt. “Injured, you say?
Whereabouts?”
“In the glade not far from here,” she answered. “I can take you there, if youwillhelp us.” She decided it would be prudent to offer some additional information: “My husband is Scottish.”
The young man nodded. “No matter, lass. I’llhitch up the wagon.” He turned to his wife. “Put the kettle on the fire and fetch some blankets.”
He disappeared for a moment, then came back wearing a kilt, which he fastened over his shoulder while hefollowedAmelia outside. She was uncomfortably aware of Duncan’s shield bouncing lightly at her back.
A short time later, they wererollingthrough the woods on a rickety wagon with a squeaky axle, behind a stout white pony who plodded along too slowly for Amelia’s current state of anxiety.
“It’s just through there.” She pointed toward the moonlit glade, then hopped down from the seat while they werestillmoving. She ran ahead and found Duncan exactly where she’d left him.
“Here!” shecalledout. “We’re over here!”
Please, God, let him be alive.
Dropping to her knees, she touched his cheek. His skin wasstillwarm, and a strong pulse throbbed at his neck.
The wagon creaked to a halt, and the Scotsman hopped down. “What happened to him?”
Amelia paused, searching for a plausible explanation while the pony jangled the harness. “Hefelloff his horse and hit his head.”
The Highlander glanced briefly at Turner, nibbling quietly on the sweet green grass, then leaned forward on a knee. He glanced also at Duncan’s axe and claymore, then proceeded to examine his scalp. “It’s a deep gash, to be sure, but at least he didn’t split hisskullwide open. Help me get him onto the wagon bed.”
With a great deal of combined effort, they managed to lift Duncan and set him on a bed of hay in the back. Amelia climbed in with him and held his head on her lap for the short return journey to the cottage.
They reached the croft and slowed to a halt in front of the door. The young man lifted Duncan over his shoulder and carried him inside. A fire blazed in the hearth. The crofter’s wife was now dressed in plain brown homespun.
