Rowan's Lady (37 page)

She fell again not far from the outer wall. The
men continued to shout, but her heart was pounding too loudly to hear them
clearly. She was tiring, far too quickly. Her arms and legs felt as though they
were chained to large boulders. And the more she struggled against the snow the
heavier they became.

There seemed to be a direct correlation between
her weighted limbs and the heaviness of her heart. She had nowhere to run to,
no place to seek refuge, nowhere to hide. With those glaring facts staring her
in the face, she did the only thing she could think of. She plopped down on her
rump, hung her head in shame and cried.

If she froze to death, she’d have no one to blame
but herself. ’Twasn’t Rowan’s fault she was sitting in the cold snow. ’Twasn’t
Rowan’s fault she was nearly five and twenty and never kissed.

Many times over the years, she had been
complimented on her good sense. Her good sense seemed to fly out the window
each time she was near Rowan Graham. He could not help it if he was a perfect
specimen of God’s good work. He could not help the fact that he had been
blessed with a magnificent form, perfect teeth, or a gorgeous smile that always
made her stomach flutter whenever he cast one her way.

Large tears left icy trails down her red cheeks.
Her shoulders shook as she sobbed without restraint. She was freezing, cold,
and filled with anguish and there was no one to blame but her own ridiculous
pride.

The men behind her continued to shout,
indecipherable words that were lost in the winter air. She could hear Rowan’s
deep voice shouting something, but her pride kept her from looking back just
yet. He could wait a few moments more.

Her fingers and toes began to sting from all the
snow. Recognizing it would serve no purpose to remain seated in the snow for
she could cry just as easily within the warm confines of the castle, she took a
deep breath and made the decision to quit acting like an inglorious fool and
head back to the keep. Rowan would undoubtedly be furious with her and she
couldn’t rightly blame him. Governesses were probably hard to come by.

She started to roll sideways when she heard
something as it flew past her ear. “I’m no’ dead yet yet blasted buzzards,” she
muttered. They were probably circling her thinking she’d soon be dead. The
thought of buzzards feasting away on her dead corpse gave her a burst of
energy. She rolled to her hands and knees and pushed herself up.

“That’s odd,” she said out loud as she looked at
the curtain wall. It seemed Rowan had called every one of his men to the wall.
They were waving their arms and shouting. “What in the world?” she whispered.

It took only another short moment for it to become
clear that something was wrong. Whatever it was, instinct told her not to
tarry, to run as fast as she could back to the keep.

As she raced back to the keep, she noticed archers
taking positions along the wall. Were they going to shoot her? Seriously
doubting that Rowan would order her shot for deserting her position as a
governess, she tried to pick up speed. They weren’t aiming at her, but
something behind her.

Her first thought was mayhap they had seen a pack
of wolves encircling her to make a meal out of her. Not wanting to be any
animal’s dinner, she ignored the stinging sensation in her feet and legs and
did her best to pick up speed. Mayhap the wolves were going to take the same
route in as she had planned on taking out. Little did it matter! She had to get
back inside the walls of the keep.

She bunched her heavy wet skirts and cloak in her
fists, not caring if the men on the wall could see her bare legs. She would
have torn off every stitch of clothing she wore if it meant she could run
faster and get away from the wolves!

The image of wolves and buzzards fighting over her
dead body propelled her forward. Thinking she’d climb the small mountain of
snow and re-enter the keep the same way she had left it, she headed in that
direction.

Someone on top of the wall called out for her to
head to the gate.
Thank God!
She thought as she ran through the deep
snow. She’d not have to try to scale the wall with a pack of wolves on her
heals.

She veered left and could hear Rowan’s men
shouting words of encouragement and barking out orders. Chastising her
ignorance and ill-conceived notion of running away, she did her best to keep
moving toward the gate. She had not realized how far away from the keep she had
been able to get until she had to race back to it.

The gate soon appeared in her line of vision and
relief began to build in her belly. Whatever punishment Rowan planned to
inflict, she’d gladly accept it if she could make it through the large wooden
gate without wolves tearing at her skin.

Just as the gate began to swing open, she felt
another bird whoosh past her ear. It caught her off guard, which in turn caused
her to lose her balance and stumble again. Taking no time to try and figure out
why birds were flying around her, she picked herself up and moved forward.

The gate had not opened completely, just enough
for her to slip through,
if
she made it that far unscathed. It wasn’t
until the third
bird
flew past her ear that she finally realized it was
in fact not a bird, but an arrow.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she felt the
arrow pierce her cloak from behind, tearing through the thick wool, before
landing a foot in front of her. The sudden awareness that it was not a pack of
wolves chasing her but someone hell bent on piercing her skin with an arrow
made her blood run cold. The sound of arrows as they flew overhead was both
terrifying and a relief. Hopefully Rowan’s archers were much better with their
aim than the fool behind her.

She was almost to the open gate, mayhap only
twenty or thirty feet left before she could squeeze through to safety. She
peered through the opening and saw Rowan coming toward her. He was mounted on a
large grey, his broadsword drawn, a look of utter fury and bloodlust painted on
his face.

She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his
fury was not directed toward her, but at whomever it was that was shooting
arrows at her.

Rowan was racing across the snow-covered courtyard
to save her! Why she had that particular thought at that particular moment
proved the depths of her insanity.
I am an eejit!
She thought as she
gave her shoulders a mental shake. She had to make it through the gate.

Rowan headed toward her, the grey struggling
through the heavy snow. He let out a blood-curdling yell as he kicked at the
grey’s sides, urging the horse forward.

She was almost to the gate when the last arrow
from the bastard behind her found its mark. Tearing through her cloak, then
through skin, it pierced her upper left shoulder. Stunned, she gasped, unable
to cry out. The pain was so immense, so unbearable that she could not utter a
word or a sound.

The world began to spin as her vision blurred and
dimmed. She fell to her knees and looked down. The arrow had pierced clean
through. She could see its tip quite clearly, dripping with blood and bits of
flesh.

The last thing she remembered before the world went
dark was thinking what a bloody fool she was.

There were only three times in Rowan Graham’s life that
he could recall feeling this afraid and this furious at once. The first was
when Kate had succumbed to the Black Death and then again when he had learned
Lily had been taken.

The third occurrence happened when he saw the
attacker’s arrow had pierced Arline’s back.

Had he not been chasing the angry redhead through
the deep snow, he would have heard his men shout the warning cry the first
time. As it was, he had not heard it until Arline began to climb over the first
wall. Had he continued to chase after her, to climb over the wall, chances were
great that the arrows that came flying in from south too would have felled him.

There was no time to contemplate a plan of action.
Rowan called out for someone to bring him a horse -- and to forget saddling it
-- and for the children to get back inside the keep.

His men on the wall had seen the riders as they
approached. Later, Rowan had learned that his men at first had thought that it
was either Daniel or Frederick returning from the mission they had left on yester
morn. Once they saw that the riders did not carry Clan Graham colors draped
from their saddles, they instinctively called out that riders were approaching.
Still, they thought it possible the five mounted men might be travelers only
seeking shelter from the harsh winter weather.

Rowan had missed that first call for he’d been
trudging through the blasted snow, pursuing a tetched redheaded woman who had
gradually taken possession of his heart. The possession of his heart turned
into all out control of his good and common sense.

When the men on the wall saw one of the men
retrieve a bow from his back, they gave the warning cry of attack. That call
brought Rowan’s pursuit of the object of his ire to a complete halt and sent
him flying into defensive action.

As his men tried to gain Arline’s attention by
waving their arms and shouting their warnings of possible impending attack,
Rowan scrambled back down the large mound of snow, calling out his orders as he
made his way toward the stables.

The snow had made things quite difficult and had
slowed him down considerably. If he were slowed by the damned white stuff, then
the attackers would be having trouble as well. God willing he would be able to
get to Arline before the bastards outside could.

Men poured out of the keep to answer the battle
cry. Many had not even bothered to don cloaks or gloves. Women were ushering
the terrified children in doors.

 Red John came running as fast as he could,
holding the reins to a grey gelding. Rowan did not wait for the horse to stop
or even settle down from the excitement of having been removed from his warm
stall. Grabbing a handful of its main, Rowan pulled himself up and flung a leg
over the grey’s back. He grabbed the reins from Red John and headed toward the
gate. Someone tossed him a broadsword as he kicked the horse and pushed
forward.

His feeling of relief when the gate opened and he
saw how close Arline was to safety was short lived. He was just beginning to
pass through the gate when one of the dozen or so arrows the attackers had sent
flying finally hit its mark.

The arrow had pierced somewhere in her back. Time
came to an abrupt halt, as did the beating of his heart when he saw the tip of
the arrow come through the front of her cloak.

Time started up again, wretchedly surreal and
horrifying. Rowan could remember little else after that point. He could not
recall moving forward and only knew that he had when he reached her, slid down
from his horse and crawled to her.

Arline lay on her side, motionless, but still
breathing, as the snow darkened to a hideous shade of blood red. Chaos had
erupted all around him as men came flooding out of the gate and arrows from his
archers flew over head. Battle cries were muffled by the pounding of his heart.

 Thomas had come to his aid and was shouting at
Rowan over the din of the attack. Long moments passed before Rowan could make
any sense out of what Thomas was saying.

“I’ll take her back to the keep, Rowan!” Thomas
shouted. “Ye go get the bloody bastards!”

He did not possess the ability to think at the
moment, he could only feel. Anguish, loss, fury, pain. He wanted to direct it
all at Thomas, for had the man not repeatedly insisted that Rowan could not ask
for Arline’s hand, she’d not have an arrow jutting through her shoulder. The snow
would not have turned red with her blood this day. Instead, it would be stained
with the blood of the attackers.

Rowan blinked away the anger and frustration. He’d
deal with Thomas later. Now he had to get Arline to the keep. He could not
allow the man in whose fault this all lay touch the woman he loved.

“Get yer hands off her!” Rowan seethed through
gritted teeth as he pushed Thomas away. “Stay the bloody hell away from her!”

Thomas was by no means stupid or feeble minded. He
understood all too clearly that Rowan blamed him for Arline’s injuries. He also
understood how Rowan would come to that conclusion for he had thought the very
same. This however, was not the time to lay or take blame. It was time to act.

“Damn it, Rowan!” Thomas shouted back. “Go after
them! Ye’ll never forgive yerself if ye don’ go after the men who did this!”

Rowan regretted the fact that Thomas knew him all
too well. As they had argued, several of his men passed by on horses in fast
pursuit of the attackers. Rowan bent and tenderly kissed Arline’s cheek and
whispered a promise in her ear.

I shall avenge ye, lass, I swear it. Please, do
no’ leave me.

A moment later, he was scrambling onto the back of
the grey gelding and heading off to kill every last one of the bastards who had
done this.

Ora and Thomas had successfully removed the arrow
from Arline’s shoulder before Rowan returned to the keep. Her clothes had been
cut away and she lay semi-conscious on a trestle table in the gathering room,
covered up to her breasts with a linen sheet. She mumbled incoherently as Ora
went about cleaning the blood from the still bleeding wound.

He had arrived just in time to help with
cauterizing her wounds.

 “I think the snow helped slow the bleedin’,” Ora
told Rowan as she tended to Arline. “But it be too soon to ken how she’ll
fare.”

Ora had been the clan’s healer for more than ten
years. She had tended to every conceivable illness and battle wound. Rowan
trusted her implicitly. He could not speak just yet, his worry over Arline
paralyzing his voice. Helpless to do anything but offer her comfort, Rowan
stepped to the table and held Arline’s hand.