After Grisel, she couldna lose Thomas as well. However extraordinary their first meeting, the warrior’s actions were given to protect his king.
Like magic, the clouds overhead thinned. Within the sun’s rays, the snow tossed about with mayhem moments before spiraled earthward like fairy dust.
The tang of smoke again slipped past.
On a relieved exhale, Alesone urged the horse down the steep terrain. They broke through a stand of fir, and the smell grew stronger. She dug her heels into the animal’s flanks, the thud of hooves upon snow a potent reminder of the knight’s life slipping away.
At the end of the field, a line of oak and ash arched skyward as if to bar her path. Refusing to give up, she guided her mount into the shadows, and then wove through the tree-laden maze. Without warning, the thick swath of trees fell away.
Far below, framed within a snowy blanket of white, smoke swirled from the chimney of a stone hut. It wasna the monastery, but at least it was a place where they could seek shelter.
She stilled. Was whoever lived below loyal to Bruce or Comyn? Were they kind hearted souls who would help without question? Or men who chose to live alone and wouldna appreciate her presence? With Thomas’s declining condition, little choice remained.
By whatever means necessary, whoever lived within would help them. Alesone headed down the slope.
* * *
The fire in the hearth popped with cheerful abandon as a stocky man close to her age, with thick red hair secured in a leather tie walked over. He halted at her side, a bowl of warm water in his hand. “How does he fare?”
“The same,” Alesone replied, thankful the stranger, John MacLairish, had nae only welcomed them without hesitation, but had carried Thomas inside and insisted on helping to tend to him.
He set the bowl on the table. “’Tis a nasty wound.”
“Aye.” She soaked the cloth, surprised and thankful to discover the depth of his healing skills. After wringing out the excess water, she wiped away any lingering dirt, and then threaded the needle. “He has lost a lot of blood.”
John grunted. “From the look of the damage where the arrow went through, he is fortunate he didna die.”
She smothered the rush of fear, well aware of the severity of Thomas’s condition. The next few days would determine if he lived. “He is a strong man.” And as determined and mule-headed as any she’d ever met. And loyal as well, a warrior she could trust. Unsure how to deal with the feelings Thomas inspired, she refocused on her task.
“You didna mention his name,” John said.
Unease shivered through her. She kept her hand on the needle, and out of view, wrapped her other hand around her dagger. “Thomas.”
“Is he from this area?”
Heat touched her cheeks at the reminder of how little she knew about her champion. He’d kept away from any topic that allowed her familiarity. Given the minimal time they would remain together, a situation that wouldna change.
Shame filled her at the personal details of her life that King Robert had disclosed to this stranger, the shared information more humiliating because she knew naught about Thomas. “I dinna know.”
Confusion flickered in the man’s gaze, and then he shrugged. “It matters little. I thought for a moment he looked familiar, but I could easily be mistaken. Many years have passed since I saw the man I knew, nor would I expect him to be traveling here.”
Thankful his question came from naught but curiosity, Alesone released the weapon and returned to her task. With skillful ease, she pressed together the ragged edges of the wound and began to sew.
“’Tis a fine hand you have with a needle.”
At the appreciation in her host’s voice, she glanced up. “I was taught by a remarkable woman.”
“Here, let me help.” He pressed Thomas’s skin together, and she continued to stich the gash closed. “I am sure she is proud of you.”
Her hand trembled, but she steadied herself. “She was.” After several more stitches, Alesone secured a knot, and moved to the next injury. A short while later, she stretched to ease the ache of her muscles. “That is the last wound that needs tending.” She damned the tremor, aware ’twas driven by exhaustion and worry.
Alesone made a poultice, then cleaned and replaced John’s needle and his remaining herbs.
“You are fortunate to have found my home. The storm was a nasty one.”
An understatement. “I smelled smoke from your fire. The snow had stopped by the time I reached the craig, and I was able to see your cabin.”
“Thank God you did.”
Indeed. Nor were they out of danger. Comyn’s men still searched for them.
On an unsteady breath she sat and laid her hand on his neck. However weak, the soft flutter of his pulse offered hope. “I pray he will recover.” Her hand shook as she set the basket aside.
“Steady, lass. God willing, your man will survive.”
Her man? With his firm resolve, she doubted Thomas belonged to anyone but himself. Once he’d delivered her to Avalon Castle he would depart and never think of her again. With so little time together, a part of her, however foolish, would miss him.
“You are traveling through?” John asked, breaking into her musings. At her frown, he smiled. “If you lived nearby, over the years we would have met.”
Feeling foolish, she smiled. “Of course. Excuse me, I am tired.”
Somber eyes held hers. “Aye, you would be.”
“We are headed south.” A lie. The stakes were too high to trust a stranger with the truth.
“What are you called?”
“Elyne,” she replied, refusing to risk him recognizing her name. Regardless if Robert Bruce had stormed their surrounds a fortnight prior and seized the land, those who lived in this swath of the Highlands may still remain loyal to Comyn. Nor would she chance that her father’s men had traveled through, given John her name, and bid him to alert them if he saw her.
After smearing the mix of herbs atop the sewn gashes, she wrapped them with clean strips of cloth. “We are headed toward the monastery.” Alesone glanced over. “Is it far?”
He shook his head. “From the next knoll, through the break in the trees, you can see the roof.”
A spark popped in the fire, and the red glow swirled skyward within the smoke.
John settled in a nearby chair. “I admit that I disapprove of your husband allowing you to travel in such a storm.”
Caught off guard by his comment, she turned. “He isna my husband.” At the flicker of interest in his eyes, she silently groaned. The last thing she needed was a man’s interest in her, especially a stranger.
