The Highlander's Heart (20 page)

Campbell rode hard back to Innis Chonnel. He could not risk spending a night alone with Isabelle. He knew what he would do. He knew what he had almost done. She was no help at all, the little vixen. She had wanted all he had given her, and more. It was true she wanted to be released from her husband, but that didn’t make her any less married. Or him any less betrothed. He needed to get her back to Innis Chonnel and put her into Mairi’s care. If anyone could chill ardor into ice, it was his sister.

Finding Isabelle again made his life complicated at a time when it was bloody well tangled enough as it was. He had shared too much when he thought it was farewell forever. How could he go back to being acquaintances now? He tried to block her from his mind. But how could he with her arms wrapped around his chest and her thighs pressed against his? She should have stayed in the convent, not come back to bedevil him with her bright eyes, smooth skin, and silky, black hair. It was too maddening for words!

Campbell chose a challenging route home, overland, high in the hills. The terrain was rocky and there were treacherous bogs that could swallow a horse whole. No road went through these parts, only the smallest trail, but Campbell found it and raced along as fast as he dared. The benefits to this route were to arrive home before dark and, more importantly, use the risk of certain death to keep his mind focused on the trail ahead, not the lady clinging behind. By midday he had descended north of Loch Fyne. The terrain became less steep and dangerous and soon he met the main road to Innis Chonnel.

Two miles from home, the faint sound of singing floated through the trees. He rode forward cautiously, and found the minstrel he had met in Glasgow, walking down the road before him, playing his lyre and singing a jaunty tune.

“Why it’s Jacques le Chanteur!” exclaimed Isabelle behind him.

The minstrel stopped playing and turned to face them. He was dressed in a yellow tunic, red surcoat, and bright blue trews. A dark brown, tattered traveling cloak and red cap protected him from the elements, and on his back was slung a leather bag and his lyre. Campbell dismounted and Jacques swept him a polished bow.

“Greetings to you, my lord, my lady,” said the minstrel in a smooth, French accent. “This is indeed a pleasant surprise to meet you on the road.”

“You are well met,” said Campbell. “What brings you to the Highlands?”

“Your kind invitation to Innis Chonnel has tempted me to brave the journey.”

“Ye are indeed most welcome. My sisters especially will be well pleased if I return home with a minstrel.”

Jacques gave him a wide smile. “I shall do everything I can to please your family, my lord.”

Campbell nodded but wondered what the minstrel meant by pleasing his family. He had heard rumors of philandering musicians, and he would tolerate none of that nonsense in his household.

“Indeed, it will be delightful to have a musician of your talent to play for us,” said Isabelle. Her eyes shone at the minstrel in a manner that displeased Campbell.

Campbell helped Isabelle off the horse, standing between her and Jacques. She hardly gave him a glance before walking around him to be near the traveling musician. They exchanged a warm greeting and the minstrel gave her another one of his courtly bows and dazzling smiles.

Campbell was beginning to take a dislike to the itinerant minstrel. The musician was a poor-looking character, scrawny and ill-favored. Isabelle laughed. Campbell’s mouth tightened into a thin line. Apparently Isabelle found him pleasing enough.

“Such a delightful surprise to see you here. I am all anticipation to hear you play,” said Isabelle with animation.

“Come now,” said Campbell, walking between them. “We are not far from Innis Chonnel. If we step lively, we should make it to the castle by the evening meal.”

“Ah, for that I am grateful,” said Jacques. “My stomach has been complaining this age that I have not fed it as well as it would have liked.”

“Ah, you poor dear. Let us make haste to the castle and see you tended to,” said Isabelle with warmth in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

Campbell ground his teeth and wondered how fast he could get rid of the minstrel.

***

Isabelle was thrilled to have met Jacques on the road. He had been her rescuer in the Glasgow inn and was a pleasant, charming fellow, unlike her taciturn, brooding Highlander. The minstrel was a tall, lanky lad, with trim black hair and bright blue eyes. A smile often played on his lips as if he was laughing at some secret joke, yet his eyes were kind and his manners pleasing.

The minstrel’s countenance was well favored, though in truth she preferred Campbell’s more rugged features, especially when he smiled. A glance at Campbell told her she would not be seeing an elusive smile any time soon. He was brooding silently again over goodness knows what. Jacques, however, was charming and talkative, a welcome change.

Isabelle chatted with the minstrel as they walked along, straining to see around Campbell, who walked like a brick wall between them. The company of the minstrel had done nothing to lift Campbell’s mood, and instead he looked even more irritable than before, if such a thing was possible. She swore she even heard his teeth grind. What was wrong with this man?

They walked on at a fast clip set by Campbell. Several times, Isabelle found she needed to run a few steps to catch up. She considered asking him to ease the pace, but remembering the minstrel’s hunger, she silenced her complaint and trotted along. On a hill above them were the remains of an old motte and bailey castle, probably several hundred years old. It had obviously been abandoned for many years; the original stone wall had fallen down and many of its stones had been pilfered for other building projects. Part of a wall of the inner ward stood attached to a partially crumbled tower.

“Campbell!” called a young voice across the wind. “Hey, David, look at me!”

Rabbie was perched high on the tower wall. Isabelle gasped.

“Rabbie!” shouted Campbell, his eyes wide. “Get down from there. Now!” He sprinted up the hill to the remains of the castle, Isabelle and Jacques following behind.

“There’s Lady Tynsdale. Did ye take my boat? I canna find it, so I thought I’d go looking for ye to ask. Do ye have my boat?”

“Yes, yes, Rabbie,” Isabelle answered. “Just come down carefully, and I’ll show you where.”

Rabbie seemed oblivious to the danger he was in. “I told myself if I climbed the tower, maybe I would see where the boat was at. And I did and I found ye!” Rabbie’s delight was evident.

Campbell ran into the tower and Isabelle hoped he could make it to Rabbie before something terrible happened.

“Please, Rabbie, climb down,” cried Isabelle, straining her neck to look up to him. He was quite high.

Rabbie smiled. “I’ll come down now, dinna worrit yerself.” The lad scrambled over some of the castle wall, then turned and began to lower himself down on the other side of the wall inside the tower.

Suddenly the rock wall crumbled under the weight and Rabbie pitched forward with several large pieces of the rock wall.

Isabelle screamed.

The minstrel rushed forward and collapsed to the ground as Rabbie and debris fell on top of him.

“Rabbie! Jacques!” Isabelle rushed forward and began pulling away rocks and debris. The minstrel stirred and slowly sat up. He was bleeding from his lip and held a limp Rabbie in his arms.

“Rabbie?” said Isabelle softly. Rabbie did not move. For once he was quiet and still. Blood ran from a cut on the back of his head, onto Jacques’s arm, and dripped to the ground.

The minstrel laid him gently on the ground, his eyes wide. Isabelle’s chest was heavy. It was hard to breathe, hard to swallow.

“Rabbie?” It was Campbell, kneeling beside them. He spoke words of an unknown language, but Isabelle knew it to be a desperate prayer.

“I’ll get Mairi, she is a healer.” Campbell put a hand on Isabelle’s shoulder, his green eyes blazing with intensity. “Watch over him. Dinna leave him.”

Isabelle put her hand over his. “I will care for him. Go, bring Mairi.”

Campbell ran to his horse and was gone, nothing but dust in his wake. Isabelle hoped Mairi was not only a healer but a miracle worker. The wound was bad. Very bad.

The pool of blood under Rabbie’s head was growing. Isabelle hiked up her gown and tore off a strip of her linen chemise. She folded it into a compress and held it against the cut to try to stop the flow of blood. The compress was soon soaked in blood so she ripped a larger piece. The blood slowed its rate but continued to flow. Isabelle knew it must be stopped.

The minstrel sat beside her, gray-faced and grim. “Hold this to the wound,” said Isabelle. “I am going to try to find a plant I know of that may help stop the bleeding.”

The minstrel nodded and took her place holding the compress to Rabbie’s head.

Isabelle ran down the hill and toward a grove of trees. She searched the forest floor for a particular plant her nurse had shown her. She did not even know if it grew in the Highlands, or where to begin to look. It was hopeless. Remembering the words of Mother Enid, Isabelle said a silent prayer that she could quickly find this plant. She was not sure she believed all of what Mother Enid had said, but she could use all the help she could get.

Isabelle took three more steps and found it. She stared at it for a moment, unbelieving. Had God actually answered her prayer? She grabbed what she needed of the little, green-leafed plant and breathed a word of thanks in case something divine had led her to where she needed to be.

Isabelle struggled back up the steep hill to the ruined castle. When she reached the top, the minstrel kneeled over the child’s body and made the sign of the cross. Isabelle froze, icy fingers of fear running down her back. The minstrel was softly chanting in Latin.

Despite her limited knowledge of Latin, this chant was familiar to her. Last rites.

“Is he…?” asked Isabelle.

The minstrel started at the sound of her voice and turned to face her. “No, he lives still, but barely.”

Isabelle found two flat rocks and pounded the leaves between them. She added whiskey from a flask the minstrel carried and created a paste. It was not how she had been shown to make it, but it was all she had and it would have to do. She ripped more from her chemise and made another compress, this time adding the paste. She held it firmly to the child’s head and prayed again. Perhaps if God answered her prayer before, he would answer this one too. Isabelle had told Mother Enid that she did not believe in prayer or that God cared enough to save people. Never before had she wished more fervently to be proven wrong.

Isabelle knelt by Rabbie and kept the bandage to his head. The boy was limp and white. She prayed he would wake, but he remained deathly still. Jacques sat on the other side of Rabbie, his eyes closed. He was either praying or taking a nap. Isabelle preferred to think he was praying since her prayers did not appear to have made much effect.

Why would such a terrible thing happen to such a sweet little boy? He was looking for his boat. The boat she stole. Guilt punched her in the stomach. Rabbie would never have climbed the crumbling tower if she had not run away with his toy. It was all her fault.

Below her she heard horses and a shout. Campbell had returned. Isabelle kept her eyes on the still form of Rabbie. She could not look at Campbell. What must he think of her now?

“Rabbie!” It was Mairi.

Isabelle gave way to Mairi who knelt beside Rabbie. She felt him over, making a quick assessment of his injuries. The minstrel stood and backed out of the way, his head bowed, the cut on his lip beginning to swell.

“What is this?” Mairi asked, pointing to the compress, which itself was soaked in blood, yet Isabelle was pleased to see that the wound had stopped bleeding.

“I made a paste with this.” Isabelle showed her the plant she used. Mairi’s eyes bore into her like nails, her lips a thin, tight line. Isabelle held her breath. Would Mairi find fault with her ministrations?

Mairi nodded, “Verra good. There is no’ much more I can do. Let us bring him to Innis Chonnel, but verra careful now. I wonder what that boy was thinking climbing this crumbling heap.”

Isabelle glanced at Campbell, but he said nothing. He directed the minstrel to help him gather wood to make a stretcher. More of Campbell’s brothers arrived, Dain driving a cart with Hamish, Gill, and Finn. They quickly wove together a stretcher, and under Mairi’s careful direction, moved him gently to the stretcher and onto the cart. The family gathered around the cart and held him still as Dain slowly drove down the road. The minstrel ran ahead, kicking away rocks or anything that might jar the cart. Isabelle followed along behind.

They entered the gates of Innis Chonnel a bedraggled little troupe. Not wanting to take him up the stairs to the living quarters, Mairi directed a small storeroom be emptied and a bed be brought down for him. The brothers jumped to her commands, happy to be given a task they could do.

Isabelle held the compress to Rabbie’s head as his siblings prepared his room. Isabelle willed him to wake, but he did not. She walked with him as they slowly moved him into the makeshift sickroom. The news of his fall spread fast and they were soon joined by the sisters and many other family members. The room began to shrink in size and Isabelle struggled for breath in the stiflingly hot room.