Beloved Stranger (11 page)

She had hoped he would not be able to come. She never would have gone to him had she known the Scot would worsen, that fever made him unaware of words coming from his mouth. He had quieted through the night, and the shivering was gone, though his breath was still raspy and frightening.

Audra had wakened early, and Kimbra had given her porridge and milk. She tried to get some milk down the Scot’s throat as well, but he had gagged it up. He hadn’t entirely gained consciousness, though he had muttered several times during the night.

Audra curtseyed prettily to the Charlton, and his severe face broke into the smallest of smiles.

The Charlton entered the cottage and immediately went to the man on the floor and regarded him for several seconds. “A Howard, you say.”

“It is what he said,” she lied, hoping God would forgive her the untruth. It was, after all, to save a man’s life.

“He said nothing more? Not which Howard family?”

“Nay.”

“He appears next to death.”

“He became worse last night.”

“I will send for my physician.”

“He will merely bleed him,” Kimbra replied. “He has lost enough blood.”

“Ye are willing to look after him?”

“Aye.”

“Why?” he asked bluntly, even suspiciously.

“I think Will would want me to take care of someone wounded. I would hope that someone would have cared for him had he required it.”

The Charlton frowned at that, then returned his gaze to the wounded man.

The Scot mumbled something that she believed might be French.

The Charlton’s frown deepened.“’Tis not English.”

“He said he has fought against the French in Europe. Mayhap . . .”

Charlton used a foot to stir the Scot. The Scot groaned but did not open his eyes.

“He probably will not live through another day,” the Charlton said. “If he does, we will move him to the tower. I would not like your reputation darkened for helping an English soldier. It could destroy your chances of a good marriage. Even with the cottage as a dowry.”

But she only agreed. “Aye.”

He started for the door, then turned back. “The bay leaves? Do ye have more?”

“They helped, then?”

“Aye.”

“Send someone over, and I will have some ready.”

“Ye are doing well here, on your own?”

“We have a cow for milk, and I have my garden. I trade my herbs for what I need.”

“Ye still need a husband. Ye and Audra are alone here. The Armstrongs have been raiding isolated farms and cottages.”

“I have Bear. And you know I can use a dagger.”

“’Tis not enough. Ye need protection. I will send someone here to help you.”

She hesitated. The last thing she wanted was someone to spy on her, and yet she thought he meant it as a kind offer. But until the Scot was lucid enough—if he became lucid enough—to realize what he was saying, she had to take care of him alone.

“Audra is helping me. I will call if I need help.”

He looked from her to the Scot and back again. “If he lives, I will send a messenger to the Howard family. Mayhap there will be a reward. It will be yours.”

She said nothing. She couldn’t say anything. Pray God, the Scot would be gone before an answer came.

She watched as he disappeared down the path, then returned inside.

She made a new poultice of aloe for the burn, hoping it would relieve the pain when he woke. And he
would
wake. She was determined about that.

Audra helped as much as she could, handing her cloths and taking used ones to a big pot where they would be boiled and used again to draw heat from the wounds.

He woke again as evening came. Once she knew he would survive the night, her anger grew. He’d nearly killed himself.

She tried to contain it when he opened his eyes. They fastened on her, and he grimaced. “You do not give up, do you, Mistress?”

“And you do not stop being foolish,” she retorted.

His eyes fluttered for a moment as he reacted to her anger.

“I am . . . sorry. I thought I was stronger—”

“So you decided to take a walk, fell, and lay in the bog and rain for God knows how long. If not for Bear you would be dead now.”

“I tried to send him back.”

“He has more sense than you. He knew you could not go far. You have no sense in your head, and not just from the blow on it.”

He tried to move, lifted himself slightly, then fell back down, a grimace crossing his face.

“You lost even more blood and tore open the wound that was about to heal. I had to burn it to stop the bleeding.”

“You should . . . have left me.”

“Bear did not think so. He would have stayed out there with you and broke Audra’s heart.”

“I . . . did not want to put you in danger.”

“And now there is even more,” she said, unwilling to forgive him after the night and day of such intense worry. “You were getting better. Now you will have to stay in England longer.”

His eyes met hers. They were bloodshot. Full of pain. She knew that despite the salve she’d mixed, his leg must feel like white hot coals packed inside. She put her palm to his head. He was still feverish but not as much as earlier. Her herbs were working their magic. But why had they not done the same for Will?

“My apologies,” he said, a contrite expression on his face. “’Twas not what I intended.”

Her fury faded away. She had no doubt he had left to save her trouble and danger. His intentions had been good, even as the result had almost been disastrous.

“You will not try it again?”

“Not without telling you first,” he promised.

She frowned. It was not the promise she wanted, but she suspected it was the only one she would get. He may not know who he was, but ’twas clear he was more used to giving orders than taking them. He was gentry, or royalty, or noble. That was clear.

“I will get a potion for the pain.”

“You have done enough.”

“There is no sense in suffering more than you must.”

“Do you . . . ever take any rest?”

“Not when men do foolish things.”

He looked contrite. “I will try to keep any further foolishness to a minimum,” he said solemnly.

She sighed heavily. “You do not want to use such words,” she reminded him. “You are a borderer now. You would not use fancy words.”

“Are they fancy?”

“Aye,” she said, then realized he was teasing her.

He was obviously better.

Still, she persisted. “You must remember. And you cannot stay here long. The Charlton wants to take you to the peel tower, and then they may well learn you be a Scot if you do not watch your speech. Without a name for ransom, they will kill you. They showed no mercy to those wounded on Flodden Field.”

He tried to move again, and the effort showed on his face.

“Stay where you are.”

Audra entered then, and she could say no more. “Audra, take an oatcake to Bear as a reward for finding Mr. Howard last night.”

Audra smiled shyly at the Scot. “I am glad he found you.”

“He did not let me out his sight,” the Scot said wryly.

“He knows I like you,” Audra said.

The Scot gave her a crooked smile. “That must be . . . why.”

It was obvious even those words required as much strength as he had.

“Go,” Kimbra told her daughter.

Audra glanced at the Scot and appeared reluctant, though ordinarily she would have been delighted at the prospect of playing with Bear.

The Scot nodded, and Audra headed toward the table, found an oatcake, and went out the door, Bear at her heels.

Kimbra felt a momentary resentment that her daughter obeyed the stranger more readily than she did her own mother, but then she was angry already. She had spent too much effort for the Scot to throw it all away.

She said nothing more as she found the chamber pot and started to help the Scot as she had her husband. A man’s body was a man’s body and nothing to be shy about. But the Scot refused to help.

“I will do it myself.”

“And do more harm?”

“I swear not.”

She gave him a look that she hoped told him what she thought of that promise.

But his gaze—so blue—held hers, and she knew he would not relent.

“I will be outside the door,” she surrendered.

She went out, but stayed at the door, ready to reenter at the first groan and cry, or bump, or crash. There was none.

She allowed her attention to wander over to Audra and Bear who were chasing each other, or Bear was pretending to chase. She couldn’t imagine Bear leaving the cottage and following the stranger. The beast must have thought the Scot was important to them.

He was not important at all. There would be no ransom or reward. How could you collect one for someone who didn’t know who he was? And she was certainly in no position to discover his identity on her own.

Yet there was something about the Scot that had made her care far more than she should. She knew that when she searched for him last night. She’d been frantic, far more than she should have been for someone she’d known only a short time.

She did not wish to explore her other reactions to him. The way her heart fluttered around him. The warmth that crept through her when she touched him. The odd sensation in her heart when he smiled.

Enough daydreaming
. She knocked, then went inside. He was lying back down, his breath coming more rapidly and his face white with strain, but the pot was in a new spot.

She moved it away and sat next to him, taking up the cloth and wiping the moisture from his face. Then she made a potion that should ease him into sleep. She lifted his head as he drank it willingly enough.

As she put the cup down, he raised his hand. It brushed her arm, and she felt as if she’d been touched herself by that white-hot dagger. Heat coursed through her body. She jerked away and stood.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to offend—”

She knew her face must be red with shame. “You did nothing. It is just no man has touched me since Will died.”

“How long . . . ?”

“He died two years ago.”

“You’ve lived alone these years?” His voice was surprised.

“Is that unusual where you come from?”

A look of puzzlement passed over his face. She had hoped that an unexpected question might stir a memory.

“Yes . . . no . . . I . . . God’s tooth but I cannot—”

“Are you from Edinburgh?” she asked.

He shook his head in obvious frustration.

She wished she knew more about Scotland, but all she knew was what came from the minstrels who played songs for a roof overhead and a meal. The tales were of wild Highlanders and rape and pillage.

Yet this man appeared in no way wild. Still he was a warrior, or he would not have been at the side of a king.

“You need rest,” she said. “And I have work to do. The Charlton wishes some herbs.”

“You are a healer then?”

“I just know herbs,” she said, “as my mother did.”

His eyes studied her face. “You are a most unusual woman,” he said.

“Nay, I am just trying to take care of my daughter.”

“Then you would not have brought me here.”

“I wanted a ransom,” she defended herself.

“You knew that was unlikely when you came for me last night.”

“It was not good manners to leave that way,” she said primly.

“Now that is a fearsomely strange reason to haul someone back. But I apologize, Mistress Kimbra.”

“I do not want your apology. I want you to get well.”

“Why?”

“So you can leave, and my daughter and I can have our cottage back.”

“After all your efforts, I will try to do my best.”

His slow smile made her heart pound faster. She forced herself to rise. “I have chores to do.”

She went out and called for Audra. She knew she should have milked the cow earlier but she’d been too tired. Bess would be heavy and sore, and rightfully short-tempered over the neglect. There were several chickens to feed as well. She eyed one as the possible source of soup for the Scot, but they had become pets, and she and Audra depended on the eggs for barter.

While Kimbra saw to Bess, Audra fed and watered Magnus. Together they scattered seed for the hens and one rooster, then gathered several eggs.

The Scot was sleeping when they returned to the cottage, and she breathed deeply in relief. She still felt heat where he had touched her so briefly. It was only, she told herself, because she had been without a man since Will died. And while his lovemaking had often been fast, leaving her wanting something more, she had grown used to his arms, to his warm presence beside her.

But he had not stirred the wild feelings that the Scot did. She felt traitorous to Will’s memory, especially since this man was a Scot, an enemy to Will’s family and to England.

He did not look like an enemy. She couldn’t rid herself of the fact he had almost died to prevent harm coming to her and Audra.

Her heart was becoming far more involved than she’d thought possible.

And that, she knew, was far more dangerous than his physical presence in her home.

K
IMBRA woke to a shout.

Audra, who was sleeping next to her, did not move.

 
It took her a moment for everything to come flooding back. She and Audra were back on the pallet. They had moved the Scot back into the other room. He’d protested, but she’d argued it was safer. People came to her for herbs. Until he knew more about the borderers, he should keep out of sight.

The shout still rang in her ears, but there was not another one. She rose and went to the door. The fire was still burning from the several logs she’d added just a few hours earlier.