Perhaps he was dead and this was heaven.
Or hell.
He tried to raise his hands to his throbbing head and found them bound.
Then he recalled the attack. He saw the MacLeods fall, had gotten Gillian away . . . What then? He looked around him. Besides Gillian, there were three men in the clearing, and one more lying on the ground, writhing and crying out in Gaelic. One more man was sprawled on ground next to him, his throat gone.
Gillian was stirring something over the fire, and the light made her silk gown shine. He saw stripes painted on her cheeks and chin and remembered the paint the Cree, Mohawk, and Iroquois wore. Gillian also had a dark bruise that covered the side of her face from cheek to chin, and he felt rage rise at that. They’d hurt her, and he didn’t know how badly, what they’d done. He’d kill them all. He tested the bonds that held him, but the cloth bit into his flesh and held tight. The effort made his head ache. Was hein any shape to fight? He drew deep breaths, tried to clear his mind and vision.
He was going to need his strength and the element of surprise to save Gillian and get them both out of this alive.
* * *
The wounded man cried out, and Duncan held his hand, whispered to him, ran his big hand over his friend’s forehead. The lad’s face was pale, his eyes sunken, his lips already blue. Gillian could see the tracks of tears on Duncan’s cheeks in the firelight and how his throat worked with grief.
“My sister is a healer,” she said softly.
Duncan looked up, his eyes wide on hers, hopeful.
“Can ye help him?” he asked. “He’s my brother.”
“I have eleven sisters,” she said, coming closer. She looked at the wounded lad. He was young, perhaps fifteen. Her heart contracted.
“He’s never reived or stolen anything afore today. Never told a lie, or said an unkind word to anyone,” Duncan said. “He wants to wed, needs money to buy a wee farm.”
She knelt, peeled away the blood-soaked cloth that covered Hugh’s belly, and swallowed. Hugh would never marry or own a farm. He would not rise from this spot. She opened her mouth to tell his brother that, but Duncan grabbed her arm in a fierce grip, his eyes bright with tears. “Save him—Save him, and I’ll give ye a quick end before Rabbie can rape ye,” he said. He drew his blood-caked finger across his throat. “I’ll give ye mercy. Just—save him.”
Gillian swallowed hard and nodded. She could feel the dirk in her sleeve. “We’ll clean the wound, bind it,” she said. “I need—” She racked her brain, trying to remember the plants the healer at Glen Iolair used for wounds. “I need—hyssop, mugwort, and nettle,” she said. “Do you know them by sight?”
“Rabbie does,” Duncan said, looking so hopeful that guilt squeezed Gillian’s chest. She tried to remember Keir and Callum and Tam, to feel ruthless and vengeful, but life was precious. She thought of the lass this dying lad wanted to marry. Someone loved him.
Duncan jerked his head at Rabbie. “Hyssop, mugwort, and nettle.”
“Why should I fetch them?” Rabbie asked.
Duncan crossed and lifted him by the collar. Hugh’s blood smeared Rabbie’s shirt. “Because I’m tellin’ ye to, Rabbie Bain. Ye were the one who convinced Hugh to come.” Rabbie shook him off and strode into the wood.
Gillian cleaned the wound as best she could with plain water. She tore more cloth—one of her shifts—and bandaged the young man gently. She rolled a gown and placed it under his head as a pillow. His brother didn’t object.
She glanced at John from under her lashes and felt shock rush through her. He was watching her. She bit back a cry of relief and concentrated on Hugh.
The boy’s eyes were open too, mere glittering slits, his gaze fixed on her. “Sorcha?”
“His lass,” his brother muttered.
Gillian took the lad’s bloody hand in hers. “Aye, I’m here.”
“I have the coin at last, Sorcha. I did terrible things for it, but—” He coughed and blood spilled over his lips. “I love ye, sweeting,” he murmured, and his eyes drifted shut.
Duncan looked at Gillian, and she saw that he knew there’d be no saving the lad, felt fear of what he’d do to her now, and to John. Hugh squeezed her hand, and she murmured softly, and stroked his brow with her other hand. Duncan watched as his brother gasped, shuddered, drew another labored breath, before raising his eyes to her again.
“Your man is awake,” Duncan whispered, taking his brother’s hand from her. He looked at her fiercely and jerked his head. “Go. I’ll not stop ye, or him. Don’t wait until Rabbie gets back. I’m grateful for your kindness, mistress. I saw the dirk in your sleeve. Ye could have cut Hugh’s throat, taken revenge, and ye’d be within your right.” He jerked his head. “Get ye gone.” He called out to Alan, who sat by the fire. “Alan, come here, Hugh wants to tell ye something.”
“Thank you,” Gillian whispered. She rose as Alan took her place beside the boy. She drew the dirk and hurried across to John. She crouched, sawing through the bonds at his wrists. “Hurry,” John murmured.
Alan was still beside the boy, and Rabbie hadn’t returned.
“Can you ride?” she asked John in a whisper.
