Tangled Hearts (25 page)

The angel closed her eyes and warmth flooded him. His breath hitched in his chest as the heat burned. Fire erupted, fire and burning as the arrow left his body. More heat. He tried to blink open but his lids felt stuck. The convoluted garble of sounds began to coalesce into words.

“What is she doing?”

“’Tis unholy.”

“Her hands look blue!”

Ewan shook away the unnatural sleep and opened his eyes. Dory swayed over him, crimson covering her hands and bodice. Someone gasped. “He lives! Holy Lord, she raised the dead!”

“Act as if you’re dead,” Caden’s order came close to Ewan’s ear in Gaelic.

Ewan’s heart slammed in his chest as Dory slumped across him, but he closed his eyes.

“Stay still,” Caden ordered, and Dory’s weight was lifted from him. “A gurney!” Caden yelled. “My countryman’s been shot and his wife has swooned. Make way!”

“My father and Donald are after the shooter.” Searc’s voice huffed like he’d been running. “Is he… ?”

“Near death,” Caden finished in English. He switched to Gaelic and lowered his voice. “Sometimes it’s wiser to remain still than leap into battle.”

“But I saw her do magic over him,” someone insisted off to the left. “Her hands, they turned blue over the wound. Check for the hole.”

Ewan felt a blanket rest over his chest.

“Fool,” Caden said. “I saw nothing of that. A trick of the sun, perhaps. He is injured. Let us get him to a surgeon. I have his wife.”

Several hands pushed and rolled Ewan onto a stretcher as he concentrated on being deadweight despite his impulse to leap up and carry Dory to safety. He wanted to hold her against him, reassure her he was whole thanks to her, support her while she recovered. And tell her once again that he loved her, this time in English so she could understand him. But they were being watched, judged, and her best chance for survival and escape was for him to remain shot through.

Who the bloody hell had shot him? One of O’Neil’s crewmates? Someone assigned by Henry himself? James Wellington? The possibilities were many, but right now none of that mattered. Only seeing Dory out of there safely mattered.

Pebbles crunched underfoot as several men carried his weight.

“This way,” Caden called from up ahead.

“Hold there,” came another authoritative voice and the men slowed. Bloody hell! Cromwell.

“I must get my countryman to the surgeon,” Caden said, his low voice a warning flag. “This way,” he insisted.

“I wish to see the wound,” Cromwell said.

“There is no time,” Searc said.

More footfalls thumped around him.

“Blast, is he dead?” It sounded like Gavin’s voice. How many Highlanders were there with Caden?

“His chest is rising.” That was definitely Donald.

“Enough,” Caden ordered in Gaelic.

“Lower him and open his shirt,” Cromwell ordered and immediately the men lowered Ewan to the ground. Bloody hell!

“Are ye trying to kill him, man?” Caden growled. “We need to get him away. He’s been shot!”

“I am not just a man,” Cromwell said slowly, viciously. “I hold the power of the king and I demand to see this man’s chest. Now.”

Caden swore loud in Gaelic and Ewan felt his sword placed alongside his arm. It was a silent signal to be ready, but he had no idea what exactly would be waiting for him once he opened his eyes.

Ewan groaned and squeezed his eyes, blinking.

“He wakes!” one of the carriers called out.

“What… what happened?” Ewan asked as he took in the faces of Englishmen, guards actually, surrounding him. Caden had stepped back, still holding Dory against his chest. He had to get her out of there.

“You were shot straight through,” the man beside a frowning Cromwell answered.

Ewan met Caden’s gaze. “
Siuthadaibh
,” he said. “Searc knows where to go,” he finished in Gaelic and glanced at the lad who had already started fading into the crowd. He nodded to Ewan. Good lad. He’d make sure Caden knew how to get Dory to Captain Bart. Ewan had given Searc the address where her father and Will were staying while in the stables before the tournament.

“Check his chest,” Cromwell said and a man drew the blanket off Ewan. The breeze felt cold with the blood-soaked shirt clinging to his body. A frayed hole sat in the center over Ewan’s heart. Och, it had been a mortal wound. Dory really had brought him back from the edge of death. She’d risked everything in front of everyone to save him. He wouldn’t let her pay for it with her own life.

“
Siuthadaibh
,” Ewan urged them to leave again and pretended to double over in pain. His hand reached under the blanket bunched at his side for his sword. The firm, rounded pommel fit into his palm. He slid his hand down to the grip, the hilt a perfect, familiar weight. He waited. Caden met his gaze and gave him a brief nod before blending away into the surrounding throng as Ewan groaned again.

“Show your chest,” Cromwell demanded.

Bloody hell! Ewan knew, even without looking beneath his shirt, that his chest was whole. Dory would be blamed and he’d be arrested, all because he was still breathing.

Cromwell nodded to two guards who moved forward to grab Ewan’s arms. Before the guard could reach him, Ewan rose, his sword pulling free of the blanket. The crowd jumped back, gasping at the tell-tale blood soaking his shirt. Aye, he should be dead or at least completely unconscious and waiting for God’s angels—or the Devil—to take him away. But there he stood, his arm strong, his heart wild with the obvious danger.

“Get back!” he ordered and the crowd widened, encircling him. Unfortunately the guards were listening to Cromwell’s orders instead of his and stepped forward.

“Move aside!” A Scottish brogue beat from behind the rabble and Alec charged into the middle.

“Bloody hell, Alec,” Ewan cursed in Gaelic. “Get out of here. They’re out for blood.”

Before he could answer, Searc plowed his way inward as well, his own sword overhead. Screams mixed with cheers as the commoners flocked to watch the battle that had bled off the tournament field.

“Searc wouldn’t leave you,” Alec said, his back against Ewan’s. “And I’ll be dead before I leave my son.”

“Dory?” Ewan asked and surprised a too-close guard by nicking his shoulder. The man retreated, grabbing his arm where it bloodied his shirt.

“On Gaoth with Caden to the address you told me,” Searc said in Gaelic. “Donald and Gavin follow.”

“You should be, too,” Ewan said as the lad shuffled behind him, but the tightness of his stomach relaxed at the thought of Dory escaping.

“Find the woman,” Cromwell called out as if he’d just realized she was no longer in the vicinity.

Too late, Ewan thought and his jaw unclenched. Finally able to slough off his worry over her, he could now concentrate on the situation spiraling into a tangled mess before him. All that was left to do was get the hell out of there.

Ewan’s gaze took in the eight guards surrounding them, a strategy forming with the details of his foes. Two overweight and already huffing for breath. One with a nicked shoulder who’d switched his sword to his non-dominant hand. Three with hesitant thrusts. One yelling for more help. And one before him that looked like the only one trained with a weapon.

“As soon as you can, get away from here,” Ewan ordered in Gaelic. “Alec, even if you have to carry him away. I won’t be responsible for the death of Rachel’s boy.”

Searc cursed loudly, but Alec answered. “Aye, until then, we have your back.”

More guards ran forward, pushing their way through the loose crowd. It would soon become impossible to get the two Munros out of the mess. The guard before him lunged and Ewan met his thrust with his blade, moving to let the man’s own force throw him off balance. But he spun instead, ready to strike behind him and Ewan jumped back. Alec and Searc fended off attacks on each side. So as not to hit one another, the guards stood ready but only one guard attacked each man at a time.

Ewan concentrated on the English guard before him who was a strong swordsman. Spit marked the guard’s lips as he grunted under Ewan’s return assault. He blocked out the crowd, the heckling and urging. He blocked out the continued rush of guards and the realization that there were just too many. He blocked it all out and focused on each thrust, each turn, each step in combat, so familiar from a lifetime of training he could do it blind. The twang of steel slicing against steel and grunts from the men were muted as blood rushed through Ewan’s ears. Sweat cooled his body in the breeze as he turned and slashed, no longer holding back. This Englishman was out for his death. All because he hadn’t died on the field.

A glance showed a second guard about to attack Alec from behind. The Munro chief would have to turn or be run through. Ewan ducked and pivoted, ready with a heartbeat’s time to help. But before he could reach the second guard at Alec’s back, Searc cut a vicious path through his guard and grabbed the man about to kill his father. A flash of light caught Ewan’s attention at the same time the talented guard he was fighting turned back to attack him, and Ewan pivoted on his boot heel with a midsection slash of his own. The guard doubled over Ewan’s sword at the same time the man behind him, the one Searc had grabbed, gave a gurgled scream as if his throat had been slit.

Ewan yanked his sword free. Damn, blood streaked it. English blood! There was no going back now.

“
Siuthadaibh
!” Ewan yelled to Alec and Searc as he severed the arm of another guard who’d jumped over his fallen comrade. “Get out of here!”

Ewan managed to glance over his shoulder for a quick instant to where four guards lay in a path as Alec dragged his son through the throng. The crowd backed up as if a plague victim was being carried through, their eyes wide as their gazes followed the two, but they didn’t try to stop them.

“Grab him!” Cromwell yelled and four guards lunged for Ewan at once. He brought the pommel of his great sword down on one guard’s head and the man fell with a grunt, but before he could turn to defend his back a couple of large bodies slammed him to the ground. His breath knocked from him at the force of two heavily clad guards, Ewan stilled, his blood pounding until the pain in his chest forced an inhale.

Someone kicked at his sword hand until it was numb enough for someone to wretch it from his grasp. Och, a Highlander without his sword. The contest was over. He let his body sag as they dragged him up, and he couldn’t help the small grin playing along his lips. After all, he’d just won. Dory and his countrymen had escaped.

…

Dory felt the rolling gate under her and fought to open her eyes. Where was she? Her cheek rested against a hard chest, yet the smell… not Ewan. She pushed away.

“Whoa, lass.” Ewan’s friend, Caden, steadied her while shops seemed to flash by. Dory gasped softly as the clopping sound of hooves registered. She was on a horse, a huge horse. Gaoth!

“Where’s Ewan?” Her voice only came out as a hoarse whisper.

Caden didn’t answer but tried to pull her back into the circle of his chest and arms. She kept rigid there but knew better than to pitch forward with her dizziness.

“Caden, where is he? What happened? Did I…?”

“Aye lass, ye saved him.”

Dory released her breath. “Then he’s alive.”

Caden didn’t say anything and she turned her face up to the Highlander’s grim face. “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me he’s alive.”

Caden didn’t glance down, but kept his gaze moving among the side streets. The sour smell of stale ale and human waste hung in the air as they flew through it. “Caden?”

“When we left him, he was alive. I do not know now.”

“We left him?” she yelled.

“His only concern was for your safe escape.”

“Bloody swiving hell! Turn around!” she screamed and felt the world spin again. Her fingers clutched the saddle.

“Hold yer tongue,” he said near her ear. “He has his sword and a warrior’s training.”

“The devil,” she seethed. “We need to go back.” She glanced around Caden’s arm to where two other Highlanders rode, one holding a wide-eyed Margery before him. She raised her hand to Dory.

Dory couldn’t do anything but stare back. Ewan could be dead! The weakness that had enveloped her at having healed such a deadly wound had taken her physical strength, but it was the fear that nearly took her breath from her. She forced an inhale and exhale to combat the stars sparking in her periphery. She leaned into Caden, letting him keep her on the horse.

They rode for several more minutes while Dory repeated Caden’s words over and over again in her mind. He has his sword and a warrior’s training.

“Searc?” she asked. “His father?”

“I saw them running toward Ewan,” Caden added and glanced over his shoulder but apparently didn’t see them. “They are aiding him.”

Dory’s stomach unclenched somewhat. He wasn’t alone then. He had help, and he’d find them soon.

Caden stopped before a slightly tilted three-story building. “Yer father should be here,” he said and tipped his head at a fancy sign that read “Lady Nell’s Parlor.”

She groaned inward. Leave it to her father to hide out in a brothel.

“Let’s get ye inside,” Caden said, signaling to his men with a few Gaelic words. “Then I’ll go back to find Ewan and the Munros.”

Margery gave her a strong hug and clasped her hands. They marched slowly up the steps, Dory still drained, but recovering quicker now.

“I thought never to go into one of these places,” Margery whispered.

“Hiding out within doesn’t mean you’re staying here.” Dory squeezed her hand, though her mind played over Caden’s words. He’ll be all right. Alec and Searc would aid him.

“Hello?” A scantily clad woman stepped out from a dark, velvet-draped parlor. A slight frown crossed her features as she took in Dory and Margery, but she hid it behind an appreciative look as she eyed the Scotsmen. “Can I help you brawny lords?”

Several other women stepped up, some wearing rouge on their lips, others with their bosoms half out. None of them looked clean, nor fed enough. That was one thing about Adela. She demanded cleanliness and kept her girls properly plump.