The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (10 page)

At the break in the path ahead of them, Seumas went east toward Mark’s manor, Fairhaven. Iseabail’s stomach growled.

Calum glanced at him and smiled. “I guess that means she is hungry.”

“I heard that.” Iseabail’s voice was weak, the infection still stealing her energy.

She would have to get stronger if she wanted to learn anything from him. Her delicate face with hooded eyes and parted lips flashed in his mind. Desire was written all over her face. She would have to be stronger for that, too.

Seumas led the horse close to the river, now a gently flowing brook again and shallow enough for a sandbar. After they had crossed it, Seumas stopped. He reached up and waited for her to lean toward him before lifting her down. Her eyes shot daggers. He should apologize.

“How are ye feeling?” he asked, hands on her waist to steady her.

“Tired.”

She did feel warm. “Yer fever may be returning. The two of ye need rest. There is a little inlet ahead where we shall be safe. Can ye walk, Iseabail?” She nodded, suppressing a yawn. “Come, I shall help ye. Perhaps dipping yer feet in the stream will cool ye.”

Lending his arm for support, he guided her the short distance to the bend in the stream where a sandy river’s edge wrapped along the cove. He left his horse to rest and drink. With one of the rough wool blankets, he made a spot for them further back on the grass.

Calum waded in, ankle deep. Iseabail held onto Seumas, balancing while she found a foothold in the stream. In his mind’s eye, she lay naked, stretched out before him as he dripped cool water onto her. His breath quickened, and he closed his eyes. Disappointment flooded him as his yearning did not reach his nether parts.

“Are ye able to stand?”

She nodded and Calum moved in closer. “I will help.”

Seumas started a small fire and went to see about getting some fresh food. He rolled up his sleeves and ducked under the trees, following the granite outcropping which protruded into the water. Lying down flat, he easily touched the sandy bottom of river, which he dug into with his fingers. He stilled himself, struggling to empty his troubled mind.

Slowly the murkiness cleared and Seumas again saw the bottom of the river. Three rainbow trout came out from under the rock he lay atop. They stayed clear of his hand at first. Not long after, they rose to nibble, closer and closer until they touched his hand, which lay motionless except for the natural ebb and flow. Seumas had decided on the fattest and would settle for nothing less. That particular fish seemed to be the most cautious, which gave proof as to why he had grown so big.

He willed the fish closer to his hand so he could grab it. Calum splashing exuberantly through the water toward him startled Seumas. The lad had to duck to avoid the overhanging branch and threw himself down beside Seumas. He jerked his hand up in surprise at Calum’s arrival, which effectively ended his fishing expedition as his prey withdrew beneath the rock. A lecture on the tip of his tongue, he turned, ready to vent his anger. The way Calum shrank back in wide-eyed fear, his lips quivering, gave Seumas pause. The boy was used to being the brunt of someone’s anger.

Seumas withheld the words and rolled over onto his back. “Aye, Calum, yer timing could have been better.” Seumas glanced up into the naked branches overhead. A few gold leaves hung stubbornly to the end of the branch, dipping precariously close to the water alongside the ledge. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, smelling the freshness in the air. Peace came over him. He rolled toward Calum, who appeared dejected. “I hoped to catch us something to eat.”

Understanding dawned on Calum’s face as he peered down at the cloudy water. “I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt you. I would love some fish.” He rubbed his stomach. “I am starving. I just wanted you to come and look at what we found in the sand.”

Seumas glanced to where Iseabail sat on the blanket with her legs modestly covered. “Can ye first see to yer sister? Be sure she does not need anything, and I will be along shortly…with something to eat.”

Calum scrambled off the rock, running through the water as he went. Seumas rolled his eyes, imagining the tremors his movements sent beneath the rock where his would-be food hid. The boy stopped in front of Iseabail, and she shook her head. Calum then threw himself beside her on the blanket and opened his hand so that they could examine his new treasures. His pet rabbit, left to fend for itself, hopped around the blanket toward the forest.

Seumas rolled back onto his stomach. This time he dug both hands slightly into the sand and waited. Fish were elusive, and it would take longer this time for them to be lulled into trusting this strange intrusion, so he mentally prepared himself to demonstrate patience. His thoughts turned toward his time in the abbey with his uncle.

He and his uncle had come in from the garden at the center of the abbey, his very favorite place. It was huge, with plenty of sun, though surrounded on all sides by the tall stone walls of the building. Trees grew beside the walls and various bushes sat at each turn along the path with well-maintained rows of every imaginable vegetable and separate raised herb beds. When he headed down the hall toward the kitchen, he passed a monk kneeling in the aisle of the little stone chapel. Seumas had noticed him earlier and been told he was praying. How long would he continue to kneel?

They took the herbs and vegetables they had gathered into the kitchen. His uncle cleaned the leeks and brushed off the delicate herbs, while Seumas sat on the wooden stool beside the fire and watched him prepare the meal. He fought against yawning as Peter started to cut off the tops of the vegetables.

The hard seat soon had Seumas fidgeting. His arse hurt, sore from sitting. He must have been irritating enough to try any saint, so Peter shooed him back into the garden to get more leeks. Though they had surely collected enough of the vegetable to make soup for the king’s army, he had gone, glad to get out of the kitchen. He enjoyed the pungent mix of smells in the garden. He skipped happily down the hall and paused as he passed the chapel. The monk continued in his prayers. Seumas shook his head and made his way outside.

He smelled the coming rain and was not surprised to see mud worms making their way along the surface of the dirt. He kneeled, his chin on the stone path, his arse in the air, to get a worm’s eye view. Turning his head, he rested his cheek against the dark earth as the worm wiggled toward him. Seumas stretched his legs behind him with no care for the dirt working its way into every crevice of his bare skin. The worm was soon joined by another, and Seumas heard a blue jay in the tree.

“Quickly,” he warned as he pushed the little worm along, “ye do not want to be eaten.”

The worm rolled up so Seumas pushed him along until he was safely hidden underneath a forsythia bush. He sat on his haunches and brushed the dirt off the side of his face. Rubbing his hands to rid them of the loose dirt, he gazed across the area from this new perspective. He imagined the garden as a lost civilization, seeing new adventures at every turn. By the time he had completed the task he had been sent on, the bell for meals rang in the Great Hall. With no time to properly wash his hands, Seumas rubbed them on his shirt as he ran to the kitchen with the leeks. The monk still kneeled in the same place.

“Brother, do ye hear? It is time to eat.” Seumas stepped into the little stone chapel. The stained glass window ahead of them showed the sunset in vivid color. “Brother?”

Someone gripped his shoulder, startling him. He turned to see his uncle, who urged him to come out. “He is in prayer, Seumas, you must not disturb him.”

“But,” Seumas voiced his concerns, “he has been in there all day, and it is time for him to eat.”

Motioning for Seumas to sit on the long, wooden bench that ran along the wall outside the chapel, his uncle spoke patiently to him. “Brother Timothy is learning obedience. He will be in that position for two more days,” Seumas’s eyes widened at such impossibility, “and that is how we learn.”

The same three fish darted past Seumas’s hand, startling him out of his reminiscence. His pulse quickened, and he willed himself to continue to take slow, deep breaths. He saw the young monk as he remembered him when he had sat beside him on the backless bench. He had counted his breaths and tried to match him breath for breath. Seumas found he could not breathe so slowly. It amazed him the brother could do so. Seumas had learned patience from this young man, who had emerged later in the week with a bright smile and a peaceful countenance. No word was ever mentioned about the hours Seumas had sat beside him, watching him, willing him to look at him. Not once had Brother Timothy broken his vigil.

The water suddenly erupted into sprays of sparkling water and flashes of skin and scales as Seumas managed to grab both fish. He jumped from his perch into the water the way Calum had and splashed his way to Iseabail and Calum.

“Ah, supper.” Calum ran to Seumas and took the fish.

Calum put the fish on a spit to cook over the fire.

Iseabail shifted uncomfortably. “I hope it is simply hunger that has me in such a noisy state.” Her stomach growled loudly. “But I am afraid I may be sick.”

She got up as quickly as her leg would allow and covered her mouth as she hobbled toward the edge of the woods. Immediately, her body emptied its meager contents.

Calum and Seumas looked at each other.

“Perhaps a wet cloth would be helpful.” Seumas walked toward where Iseabail now sat. Kneeling beside her, he rubbed her back gently as she rested her head against her knees.

“Any better, lass?”

“No, I do not feel better yet. I am afraid—” She leaned into the bushes and away from Seumas.

Calum brought a cloth drenched with river water and handed it to Seumas. She sat, and he held it to her forehead, allowing the cool water to soothe her hot face before he wiped it away.

Iseabail smiled weakly in appreciation. Her desolate look turned to one of surrender as she again leaned toward the bush. After what seemed forever, she sat back, disheveled and clearly exhausted from retching. Calum rinsed the rag and rubbed her face with it again. Seumas cradled her as he motioned for Calum to get the blanket. The boy spread it out beside them. With as little motion as possible, Seumas settled her down.

“Can ye see to the fish? We need sustenance. Those bannocks in my bag, if ye would bring one to me now, please.”

Calum did as he was bid, leaving the damp rag on Iseabail’s forehead.

“Now are ye feeling any better, lass?”

“Nay. Methinks I am going to die.”

Seumas accepted the dried biscuit Calum handed him, broke off a bit to ensure its edibility, and found it still tasty. “Here.” Breaking off another piece, he said, “Put this in yer mouth.”

He placed it on her tongue, and she blanched.

“Nay.” She turned her head away and reached to remove it. “It will make me sick.”

“Lass,” he took her hand away, “it is what yer stomach needs.”

She sighed but acquiesced then rolled away from Seumas and curled into a ball. Moaning fitfully, she rocked herself. Seumas rubbed her back. It may have been the water in the hot spring she unknowingly drank that had brought on this bout of vomiting. He hoped that was all it was.

After a few minutes, Iseabail dozed off, and Seumas sighed in relief. Sleep would help rid her of this sickness.

Calum sat beside him, holding a stick of browned fish in each hand. “What do we do with these?”

“Well, we do need to eat. Hand me one, and ye can start on the other.”

Seumas took the stick and picked off a piece of the tender fish. He nibbled for a little while then stood the stick into the ground beside the blanket. Picking up one of the bannocks, he turned to Calum, who had quickly eaten his fish, and handed him half. By Calum’s look of satisfaction, it would seem he had just eaten a king’s feast rather than a mere fish. He made quick work of the bannock as well and leaned back on his elbows, smiling contentedly.

“That was the best food I have ever eaten in my entire life.” He ran the back of his hand across his face.

“Ye had best get rest now. Yer sister is in no condition to be riding anywhere. We may need to set up camp here as well.” Seumas scanned the other side of the river for any sign of someone following them but saw nothing. Calum rolled over onto his side, tucked his rabbit into his tunic, and was quickly snoring, as had become his new habit.

Seumas quietly withdrew and started collecting wood along the river bank, making a pile of reserves after adding more fuel to his now-blazing fire. He went and kneeled beside Iseabail, who thankfully still slept. A hand to her forehead indicated no fever remained. He rubbed her back gently. She sighed in her sleep, a slight smile lifting the corner of her mouth. He brought over one of the rough blankets and tucked it in around her.

Taking a moment to watch her sleep, he was surprised to see her frown and start to struggle in the grip of a nightmare. He was debating waking her up when she started to protest something he could not quite make out.

He leaned in closer.

“No, do not…” She thrashed. “Get away. Get… No.” Her hand flew to her mouth and tears coursed down her face.

Deeply concerned at her agitation, he brushed her tears away. “Ye are fine.” He said the words soothingly, hoping to reach her dream. “Ye are safe now.”