My Wild Highlander (39 page)

More pistol shots exploded, swords clanged
around them, shouts echoed. A battle. Her hearing was distorted,
muffled. She tried to see what was happening, but Lachlan's hair
curtained her face.

Mère de Dieu, please let him be well.

She screamed through the gag, but the sound
emerged as a pathetic groan. Lachlan's body was a dead weight upon
her. She prayed with all her might, since that was all she could
do.

A moment later, Lachlan rolled off her and
she inhaled great gulps of cold air into her burning lungs. But no,
someone had rolled him and now dragged her by an ankle.
Girard!
The bastard. She tilted her head to look at Lachlan
again. He simply lay on the ground, eyes closed, the warriors
slashing with swords over him. Blood soaked his light hair. Was he
shot in the head?

Mère de Dieu. Please, no!

She had to help Lachlan. Her bound hands lay
beneath her hips and back, being raked over the cobblestones. The
rope loosened. She yanked hard and tried to make her small hands
even narrower so she might pull one through the ropes. Girard
dragged her into the stables and closed the door against the
chaotic noise outside.

Her fingers ached and burned, scraped
horribly and near frozen but she didn't care. One hand slid
free.

Girard attempted to yank her to her feet, not
so easy one-armed, and he was no longer a strong man.

"Get up!" he demanded in French.

Pretending to pass out, she collapsed forward
into a crouch. She slipped a hand beneath her skirts and drew the
dagger from her calf.

When he pulled at her arm again, she rose and
stabbed the blade upwards into his gut with far more force than the
last time she'd attempted this move on him. Though her aching hands
shook, she shoved the blade deeper.

"Aaahhch!" He staggered away from her, yanked
his doublet open, and stared down at his belly where blood bloomed
over his white shirt. "You bitch!" He surged toward her.

She scrambled to her feet and backed into the
corner of a stall, straw beneath her feet.

The big portal to the stables opened.
"Angelique!"

Lachlan?
Through the crack, she saw
him, his hair bloody, but could only emit a moaning sound behind
the gag.
Watch for Girard!

She yanked at the tightly tied trip of
material, unable to slip it from her mouth.

"You bastard. Where is Angelique?"

A shot exploded, deafening. Lachlan's arm
jerked and a red stain appeared. He rushed Girard, sword in hand.
Blades clashed. She eased forward, trembling hands clutching her
dagger grip, slick with Girard's blood. Lachlan made two strikes,
one against Girard's sword, flinging it aside, and the next to
Girard's throat. Blood spurted from the wound and he fell,
clutching his neck. His eyes, full of hatred, sought out Angelique.
He had looked at her thus before, in France. But this time he would
never open his eyes again.

Lachlan turned, his wild gaze finding her.
"Are you well?" He rushed to her, took the dagger from her stiff
hands and cut off the gag.

She locked her arms around him. "
Oui.
But you are badly hurt." She pulled back and observed his bloody
hair and shirt. "You were shot in the head?"

"Just a graze I think."

Blood soaked his torn shirtsleeve and dripped
from his fingers like wine.

"Girard shot you in the arm.
Mère de
Dieu
, you are losing a lot of blood!"

"Aye, but I shall live." His face looked far
too pale.

"We must get you to a physician."

"Gwyneth is a healer." His voice sounded raw
and breathy. He blinked his eyes hard and, with his good arm,
caught at the stall door. "God's bones." He sank toward the floor
and closed his eyes.

Panic clutched at her throat. "Lachlan!" She
dropped beside him and ripped his sleeve. Heavens, such a hole
blown in his upper arm and him a free bleeder. She found the
discarded gag and tied it above the wound. She had heard this would
slow bleeding.

The outside door thumped. Kormad, bloody and
evil-eyed rushed toward her.

Her dagger lay by Lachlan's limp hand. She
seized the weapon and drew back.

"Aha," Kormad howled. "I shall kill you if
'tis the last thing—"

She flung the dagger. It stabbed into the
target—Kormad's throat. He went down, clawing at the knife, pulling
it out, but blood poured from the wound.

He growled, crawling toward her a few feet,
then he sank into the straw.

Shaking, she snatched Lachlan's sword, intent
on protecting her husband with her life. Kormad didn't move. She
examined Lachlan again. His breath was warm against her hand, and
the bleeding less. "
Mère de Dieu
, help me."

Men rushed into the stables. Her heart
slammed into her throat. Not more Drummagans.

"Where's Lachlan?" Alasdair asked, bloody
sword in hand, his clothing spattered red from the skirmish.

"
Grâce à Dieu
. Here! He needs help. He
has lost a lot of blood."

"See to them," he told the MacGraths
following him and motioned to the two dead men on the floor. He
knelt by Angelique and held his hand before Lachlan's nose.

"Fergus, help me with him." The two large,
dark-haired men lifted Lachlan and carried him across the windy
barmkin littered with bodies and into the great hall. She followed,
in a fog, not trusting her trembling legs but she remained
upright.

"Gwyneth!" Alasdair called.

"Oh, dear heavens." She rushed forward,
glancing at Angelique. "You are well?"

"Oui."

The men lay Lachlan before the fireplace on
the floor. Gwyneth ordered the servants about like a small army of
her own. They already had boiling water, herbs and whisky
nearby.

All Angelique could do was pray and wipe at
her own tears, her hands and clothing covered in blood.

"I'll need to remove the lead ball, then
we'll have to cauterize the wound," Gwyneth said.

"Aye, let's do it," Alasdair said.

"Are you hurt, Ange?" Camille suddenly stood
before her, touching her face.

She shook her head, her whole body starting
to tremble.

"Come, I will help you clean up," Camille
urged.

She shook her head again. She could not take
her eyes off her husband. His pale, still face.
Wake up,
Lachlan!

Unable to hold herself upright any longer,
she sank to her knees. Kneeling by her, Camille clutched her in a
fierce embrace and murmured comforting words in French.

When Gwyneth removed the lead ball, blood
again ran from Lachlan's wound.

"No, he cannot lose more blood! He is a
free-bleeder," Angelique cried.

"Help her upstairs," Alasdair murmured to
someone.

"No! I must be with him."

"Shh. We shall clean you up." Camille and two
other women forced her toward the stairs. When she resisted,
someone lifted her, a dark MacGrath warrior, and carried her up the
steps to her bedchamber—no, Lachlan's bedchamber. The man lowered
her into a chair before the hearth and left. Camille talked fast to
everyone. The servants brought a basin of water.

Camille knelt beside her. "Heavens! Look at
your hands, Angelique."

They were scraped, raw and bloody. "It
matters not." No, nothing mattered if Lachlan did not open his
eyes.

Camille washed her hands in warm water and
soap that scalded like lye against her skin. She ground her teeth
but said nothing. It was but a small punishment for the stupidity
of letting herself be captured and used to draw Lachlan out.

While another woman wrapped bandages around
Angelique's hands, Camille stroked a wet cloth over Angelique's
face. Her hot tears streaked down the cool, damp skin of her
cheeks.

"Shh. He will be well, Angelique. They know
what they are doing."

"He must live," she whispered. "Pray,
Camille."

"Yes, we shall pray."

"I cannot lose him."

I love him and I did not tell him yet.

***

The next day Angelique sat alone by Lachlan's
bedside. She stared at his ashen face, her eyes scratchy from lack
of sleep and the salty tears. The bleeding had stopped yesterday
once they'd cauterized the wound. He had not even awakened during
that horrible pain. Gwyneth had redressed his wounds this morn and
done all she could for him.

Angelique moved to the side of the bed and
sat by his hip. She touched his face, willing him to open his eyes.
Their golden whisky color and his teasing expression she yearned to
see above all else. His beard stubble had grown scratchy during the
night. She relished even this small sign that he lived. His breath
puffed softly against her hand.

"Stay with me," she whispered in French. "I
am sorry for not believing in you. I was wrong about you. You are
the best of men, honorable, faithful and noble."

He remained unmoving.

"
Je t'aime.
I love you."

Still no response.

"Do you hear me? Wake up." She jiggled his
good hand as she squeezed it.
Mère de Dieu
, how could she
fall in love with him, only to lose him in the next instant? How
could fate be so cruel? She pressed his hand against her face and
burst into tears. Great wracking sobs. What was wrong with her? She
never cried like this. All the pain in her life had gathered behind
her eyes and in her throat, almost choking her.

"Dear heavens, what's happened?" Gwyneth bent
over Lachlan to examine him.

Though Angelique wanted to stop crying, she
couldn't. She dropped to her knees by the bed and tried to pray
silently despite her tears.

Sweet Mother Mary, I love him. Do not take
him from me, I beg of you. I have done much to be sorry for in my
life. But I pray you, let him live.

The talking around her became louder, but she
did not want to face them.

"Ange." Camille hugged her and helped her to
her feet. "Did you see? Lachlan grimaced."

Angelique swiped the tears from her eyes. In
the blur, it seemed his lips moved.

"He's trying to say something," Gwyneth
said.

Alasdair moved forward. "Aye, brother?"

"Angel," Lachlan whispered in a raspy dry
voice.

She could not breathe for fear she imagined
it.

"Angelique," he murmured, this word clear.
His head moved, and his eyes opened a crack.

"Je suis ici."
Her throat closed as
she took his hand and pressed it to her lips. She feared he would
say something to her and die. "You must get well."

"Aye."

"We must get him to drink some herbal tea,"
Gwyneth said.

Alasdair lifted him into a sitting
position.

Lachlan groaned.

Gwyneth pressed a cup to his lips.
"Drink."

Lachlan took a sip, then grimaced. "You
trying…kill me?"

Gwyneth smiled with tears in her eyes. "'Tis
an herb to help rebuild your blood. You lost so much."

After a few sips he turned his head aside.
"Enough," he rasped. They let him lie back.

"Are you in much pain?" Alasdair asked.

"Could use…whisky." He inhaled a deep breath
and opened his eyes, his gaze traveling over those around his bed.
"Don't look so worried. I'm not that easy to kill."

His gaze stopped on Angelique and he reached
for her hand again. She savored the warmth of his skin on hers.

He is alive. He will live.
A sparkling
rush of relief and gratitude filled her, fresh tears pricking her
eyes. Tears of happiness.

"Why don't we let him rest a while?" Gwyneth
suggested. "I'll be back in a short time with broth."

Rebbie, Dirk and several MacGrath men filed
out of the room, leaving Angelique alone with Lachlan. She leaned
forward and kissed his cool forehead.

"What was that for?" he whispered.

"Because I love you and you must live and
stay with me."

"Och. Angelique." He observed her a long
moment, strong emotion and a smile in his eyes. "I love you, too,
lass."

His image blurred and her eyes burned. "Do
you mean it, truly?" she whispered. "Or is this just…?" She could
not force the rest of the words beyond her constricted throat.

"Aye, I mean it. I've never said those words
to another woman. I didn't ken what they meant until I tangled with
you, my wee hellcat. Besides, I told you I would never lie to you."
He observed her in a serious manner. "I haven't been a good husband
to you because I didn't protect you and your inheritance, but I
promise to from now on."

"How can you say this?" She frowned. "You
almost died because of me, to save my life. I can never repay you
for your heroic deeds."

"You blather on too much. I told you I would
kill Girard, and I did. He hurt you. Anyone who hurts you shall
suffer, I vow. What of Kormad?"

"Dead." She could not quite bring herself to
admit she'd done the deed. "Along with several traitors of our
clan. Bryson and a few others live. The constable is going over the
evidence and testimonies." Rebbie had found her diamond pendant on
Girard's body and returned it to her, but Lachlan was her only
treasure now.

"I'm sorry I questioned your honor and
fidelity. I know you have been true to me," she whispered.

A grin quirked his lips. "Indeed, I
have."

"I believe you."

"You are the only woman I can see now. I am
blind to all others, and it has been this way since I met you. I
don't understand it, but there 'tis. Come, lie here with me." He
gently tugged her closer to him.

"No, you are not well. We cannot…"

"Shh." Though it seemed to take a great deal
of effort, he lifted his good arm and stroked his fingertips over
her face and into her hair. "Did you say you love me?" His eyes
fierce and golden, he observed her closely.

"Yes, I love you."

"How much?"

"More than I've ever loved anyone. More than
the amount of water in all the oceans. More than the number of
stars in the sky."