Wee Andy a rest.
When accosted on the wall walk by the intruders, the poor fellow had taken a blow to the ribs that left him badly bruised despite his generous padding of fat. Riding in such a state must be painful, indeed, and no just reward for the man’s valorous deeds. Rob felt he could stand a short rest himself.
Surely his new wife would not be foolish enough to risk returning to Craigmuir alone, but he meant to keep close watch on her. He knew she had hated leaving her father immediately on his death, and Rob greatly sympathized. However, the old man had the right of it. Mairi must be well away before the laird’s successor arrived.
That cousin of hers must have been extremely impatient to have both Craigmuir and the lady to mount such a vicious attack. He would have been laird eventually anyway. Mairi’s impending marriage must have led him to the act. Rob had formed an instant dislike of Ranald MacInness when introduced to him, and had not been at all surprised to hear he was behind the deed.
It greatly disturbed Rob to leave Mairi’s home and people under such leadership, but there was naught he could do with only one nearly disabled man at his side and the very law of the Highlands against him.
Craigmuir, he could not hold safe from the new laird at present, but the woman, his wife, he would protect until his last breath. He would not risk having her widowed and wed to a kinsman who placed no value on the lives of his future tenants and clan. Later, once Rob had Mairi secured at Baincroft, he could return with more men and set matters to rights for them.
Telling her this would serve no purpose at present, however. She was not ready to hear it. In her need for immediate action against her cousin for his treachery, she would not welcome the necessary delay.
He dismounted and reached up to assist her down. She allowed it, glaring at him balefully as he set her on her feet.
“Untie me, ye fiend!” she ordered, presenting her hands to him.
Rob did so in a perfunctory manner and stepped back, gesturing toward the water. “Drink and wash.”
He watched her regard her sleeves—the ends still covered with the dried blood of her father—and saw the effort it took for her to quell a surge of grief. How he would love to hold her again, comfort her, gentle her anger and explain more fully why he had dragged her away so swiftly.
She would not thank him for it, he decided with a shrug and turned away to lead his mount to the edge of the swiftly flowing stream they would shortly need to cross.
“Do you hurt?” he asked as he joined his friend and lay a hand on his shoulder. Lank blond hair, darkened with sweat, clung to Wee Andy’s forehead just beneath his tight-fitting leather helm. His face always looked ruddy, but pain had paled him.
“Nay.” Andy shook his head, but the tightened lips and furrowed brow told the truth of it. Rob had tightly bound the injured ribs for him, but he knew that did little to prevent the pain of jostling in the saddle.
He recalled the times he had suffered the same after tourneys himself. Regretfully he made the signs to say they must ride again soon. They will follow, he added.
Andy nodded, glanced at Lady Mairi to show he understood why, and knelt carefully at the water’s edge to scoop up a drink.
Rob also looked at his wife who was leaning over the bank to dip and scrub fitfully at the sleeves of her gown. Her face and the golden hair around it were wet where she had washed away her tears.
Aye, her anger did serve better to overcome her sorrow than his attentions would, so he would continue to let her be. He turned his regard to satisfying his own thirst and that of his horse.
Suddenly, Andy grabbed his arm and pointed. Rob leaped to his feet, his first thought of attack. Then, following Andy’s frantic gesture, he spied the billow of fabric and one small boot kick out of the water.
With a roar, Rob jumped in. The strong icy current dragged unmercifully at his legs as he lunged to grasp a handful of her gown. And missed.
Throwing himself full-length into the stream, he recalled too late the weight of his mail. He sank like a stone, then struggled to the surface and kicked with all his might toward the rapidly moving tangle of skirts and flailing limbs.
At last! He wrapped his fist in the folds of her gown and dragged her along toward the far edge of the burn. Undecided whether to curse or pray, he did both.
Crawling out of the water himself was no mean feat, but he managed and quickly turned to haul his burden ashore. Flipping her onto her stomach, he lifted her at the waist, hoping to empty some of the water that must be filling her.
Thank the Good Lord, he immediately felt the racking of her cough. Rob collapsed beside her, his head on one arm, near done in himself. Next to him, she shuddered as if thoroughly chilled. Though the late summer sun shone mercifully and warmed the day, the water had been damned cold.
With a heartfelt sigh of relief that she still lived, he pulled Mairi into his arms, holding his own breath, carefully feeling the expansion of her ribs to assure himself that her breathing was returning to normal.
She said something, for he felt the rapid movement of her lips against his cheek. Whatever it was, he figured it was just as well he did not understand it. It might possibly be thanks for his saving her from death by drowning, but more likely it was curses, blasting him for his bringing her to this stream in the first place.
In answer to either, Rob simply held her closer and pressed his lips to her temple. She did not fight him or squirm away, so he hoped for the best.
He turned his head enough to see how far they had drifted downstream. Not the leagues it had seemed, apparently. Even from here, he could see Wee Andy cautiously making his way across to join them. He had their mounts in tow, water splashing against their withers, threatening to sweep the sturdy beasts off their feet.
Mairi pushed away from him and sat up, raking her hair out of her face. Deftly ignoring him, she struggled to stand and began wringing out the folds of heavy, sodden cloth. Her lips worked rapidly, her teeth gritted together, as if she grumbled to herself. Rob wisely hid his smile.
“Andy comes,” he said. “You can change.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands and shaking them at the sky, her temper more evident than ever. “He speaks! Answer me, MacBain, do ye ever utter more than three words in a row?”
“Not very often,” he replied in three words just to vex her.
He probably should have rewarded her instead. At last she had said something that he fully understood. Difficult not to, since she flung the words at him one by one, like rocks.
Rob felt satisfied he had gotten the meaning she intended. Sarcasm was not that hard to recognize, since he often employed it himself.
She huffed with frustration, rolled her lovely blue eyes, and went back to wringing out her garments, muttering again.
He smiled to himself, glad she was holding up this well after her fright. If he were honest, he felt a bit shaken himself. However, making more of the accident and coddling her any longer only would have upset her more.
Again she took refuge in her anger, and he did not mind bearing the brunt of it. He began to see a pattern in Mairi’s behavior. She would never admit to fear, but masked it immediately.
