Page 55 of Claimed Highland Brides

CONFRONTATION

They arrived at Glendale as the sun was setting. Fiona was expecting there to be some fanfare. At the very least, someone should have stopped them at the border. But they rode in with no hindrance and her heart dropped with every mile that they covered. Why was Hunter not expecting any attack? Was he that sure that her uncle would simply take his behavior lying down?

Fiona did not want to think about why that might be. She was too worried about Daividh. They spotted a shepherd by the side of the road, leaning on his staff and chewing tobacco. Uncle Donnchadh came to a stop beside him.

“Hail fellow. We’re new tae yer lands. Can ye help us find the manor hoose?”

The man spat a fat black blob onto the ground before looking over them, seemingly unimpressed with their show of weaponry.

“I can do tha’. But the man ye’re looking fer isnae there.”

“How d’ye ken who we’re looking for?”

The man looked over them again. “He is dressed in yer colors. I ‘spect ye’re too late. But ye can cut him doon anyways.”

Fiona screamed as the meaning of his words penetrated her mind. “Noo!” She doubled over her horse, who started at the sound that came out of her mouth. Her uncle put out a hand and closed it over her wrist.

“We shallnae despair just yet. And at the very least, if’n we cannae save him, then we shall avenge him.”

Fiona concentrated on her breathing. She could not think of Daividh dead.

Not yet. God please, not yet.

She prayed silently as they rode, not paying attention to the direction, trusting that the others knew where they were going. They rode into a clearing and she looked up. At first, her eyes could not understand what she was seeing. She blinked a few times, her eyes falling on his hair, falling over his face in chestnut waves, blending so well with the tree bark that for a moment she thought he was a tree nymph, having grown out of the branches like an omen. But now she saw it was a man, tied with brown rope, his flesh flecked with dirt as if he’d been rolling around in it.

She let out a gasp, flying off her horse without care about whether it had stopped moving or not. She ran to the figure, ignoring her uncle’s shouted warning. Skidding to a stop in front of him, she hesitated to touch Daividh. He was so still; clearly, he had not heard them approach.

Simon walked around her, sgian dubh in hand, and began to saw at the ropes. She could see tears trailing down his face and her heart quailed.

“Noo,” she whispered. “He’s no dead. He cannae be dead!”

Simon just continued to saw the binds until he got Daividh’s hands free. His hands dropped bonelessly and his body slumped down. Fiona leaped forward and caught him so that he would not hurt himself further. She was close to him, holding him up, hands around his waist, her body flush against his. She was close enough to hear the small exhalation of breath as his binds loosened.

“He’s no dead! He’s no dead!” She was screaming in excitement and did not care a fig what anyone thought.

Simon was looking at her with red bleak eyes, shaking his head as if he did not believe it. “We mun’ accept tha’ we were too late,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the last word.

“No. No. Help me, Simon. Help me to carry him. I swear t’ye, he is alive!”

Simon came forward, eyes still skeptical, and took some of Daividh’s weight.

“Ye see?” Fiona said softly. “Ye see, he’s still warm. He still lives.”

They laid him down on the grass gently, and Simon leaned over his mouth, trying to feel the warmth of breath. There was nothing.

He shook his head.

Fiona did not care. She had heard him!

Her uncle squatted down to her, staring compassionately into her eyes. “Fiona, sometimes dead bodies make soun—” he began to say.

“No! He is alive!” Fiona snapped, looking away from him. She lay down on the grass next to Daividh as tears rolled down her face. She rubbed at his chest, staring bleakly at him. “We just have to get him to a healer.”

The fortune-teller’s words reverberated in her head like a claxon call.

Did I make the wrong choice? Have I lost him, forever?

Leaning over him, uncaring of her somber audience, she pressed her lips against his, breathing into his mouth. She was startled when the body beneath her wheezed and Daividh began to cough, weakly. Scrambling up to her knees she stared intently down at him. “Daividh?” Putting her hand over his mouth, she felt his breath. The warmth of air on her knuckles had her almost weak with relief. If she was not already on her knees she might have fallen down.