The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (43 page)

"Sara." He breathed her name, and touched her face.

She squeezed her eyes shut and kissed his fingers as they slipped across her lips.

"Mine," he whispered.

A lone tear slipped from the corner of her eye. "Forever," she repeated and buried her face against his chest.

He stroked her hair. A thousand tender emotions scurried through him, a thousand kind thoughts.

The world was heaven. "I love you," he whispered.

She opened her eyes and smoothed her fingers across his cheek. "I know."

"Dragonheart?" he asked. "Did it tell you just as it told me when you needed me, where to find you?" But now he noticed that the dragon was gone.

"Lost." She raised her gaze to his. "Warwick tore it from my neck. It fell with him into the river."

Boden tightened his grip on her. His breath felt like gravel in his throat, but she kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his hairline until the memory faded into the pleasure of her touch.

"Mayhap there was some magic in it," she whispered. "Some magic that melded our souls. But mayhap it was just our love."

"You knew I loved you?"

She smiled. "You said so a hundred times in your delirium."

Her touch was heaven on earth. "Had I known..."

His words fell into silence. She was his, forever. "Had I known you would be mine, I would have awakened sooner."

Stroking his hair away, she kissed his brow. "You were unconscious."

Every touch of hers felt wonderful, velvet soft. Forever. The word echoed in his mind. He let his eyes fall closed. "You should have kicked me awake," he said.

She laughed, but there was a tear in the sound. Her touch was a warm balm against his face, his chest, his arm, caressing, soothing, lulling. "I could never hurt you. Never."

He sighed. "I remember a knife. In my arm, I think."

"Shh," she kissed the corner of his mouth. "Never again."

"You are mine," he murmured.

"Sleep now," she crooned.

"Can't," he said, but her fingers were doing delectable things against the small of his back.

"Well, maybe just for a bit," he said, and fell asleep like a babe in her arms.

Boden opened his eyes. Something flashed at the corner of his sight. He sat up part way and grimaced as a hundred different muscles complained.

From across the room, Margaret gasped. "You're hurt,'' she said, rushing forward a few paces before stopping. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and a stain on the sleeve of her blue gown.

A small, grubby angel who held a weasel in both hands.

Memories rushed back to Boden. Memories of hope, of happiness. "Maggie," he murmured.

"You are well?"

"You're hurt," she repeated, wide-eyed.

"Nay. I am healing quickly, and what of you?"

She chewed her lip, then glanced toward the door and back. Her eyes looked strangely bright suddenly. "Don't die," she whispered.

A lump settled in his throat. He swallowed it with an effort. "I've no intention of dying. I will wed Sara."

Her brown eyes were somber and wide. She was a tiny imp, alone in the world, and so sad that he felt his heart had been ripped in two.

"And me?" Her words were barely audible, forced out at the edge of all her bravery.

"You, Maggie mine," he said, his voice husky. "You will be our daughter."

Her mouth formed a small o, and suddenly, like a flurry of wind, she flew into his arms.

The weasel dropped to the bed, then scurried up Boden's pillow. A hundred myriad places ached as she squeezed her arms around his chest, but Boden closed his eyes and smiled at the wonderful crush of pain.

"Carefully, lass," said a voice. "Lest you break open the stitches."

Boden opened his eyes. In the doorway stood a small woman with eyes of amethyst and a sunlight smile.

"Lady Fiona," Maggie whispered, her tone awestruck as she loosened her grip a bit. "The healer."

Boden stared at Fiona. She exuded kindness and caring. So this was the woman Sara had spoken of with such reverence. This was the woman who had brought him from the brink to find love.

"You have my thanks," he said, his tone low.

"Tis I that thank you," she said, stepping forward, "for saving our Sara."

"I fear it was she who saved me."

"Nay," said Sara, stepping inside to take his hand in her own. Feelings as potent as wine coursed through him at the touch of her skin, the warmth of her gaze. "Twas ye that saved my heart, Sir Knight, and Shona that saved ye."

"Shona?"

"My cousin," Sara said, turning slightly to glance toward the door. "Shona of the Forbes. Sir Boden Blackblade."

With some difficulty, Boden forced his gaze from Sara, and there, near the door, he saw a tall woman with hair that swept down to her hips in red waves of fire.

So David had been right; Glen Creag boasted the world's most beautiful women. He heard Maggie's small gasp of admiration, but as for himself, he could not keep his gaze from the warmth of Sara's smile, the brightness of her presence.

Even so, dim memories crowded in on him—green eyes—a woman carrying a bow, many small, gentle hands lifting him, carrying him, their bright hair washing over him as one shouted orders.

Sara? Had his sweet Sara been shouting? Something about gentle—and horses?

He shook his head, trying to remember, then turning his eyes to Shona, "So twas you who felled the man who..." His voice broke, but he was past caring that he showed weakness. Surely they all knew the truth by now. "Who killed my steed?"

"Kilt yer steed?" said Shona. "Sara, surely ye've not allowed him to think his stallion be dead."

"There's been little time for talk," she said.

"Mettle..." Boden said, refusing to believe there was a catch in his voice. "He is..."

"He is alive," Shona said. "Resting until his leg heals."

Tears threatened, but that was going too far. Boden held them back with manly effort.

Shona saw his expression and smiled. "Our Sara would not allow him to die. The soldiers were wont to leave yer steed behind. But she took offense. I believe her words were, leave the horse and ye might as well leave yer heads."

He squeezed her hand.
His
Sara, soft as an angel, tough as hell.

"It was Fiona who saved him," Sara said.

God, he loved her so much it hurt.

"Come," she urged, gently tugging on his hand. "Lady Fiona says you can walk for a wee bit. Ye can see him from the window."

He eased to a sitting position. His head swam, then steadied. The floor felt cool against his feet.

He glanced down, then sat abruptly.

"Sara!" he gasped, seeing he wore nothing more than a rude loincloth. "I'm indecent."

"Oh." Her face flamed.

"Here. Wrap this around your waist," Fiona said, tugging a blanket about his body. Her voice was steady, but he wondered if there was laughter somewhere behind it as she helped him back to his feet.

Now would be a line time to faint, Boden thought, but there was little hope of that, for he was being led to the window like a sheep on a string.

"There," Sara said.

Looking out the window, Boden saw the courtyard below, and there, hanging from a timber braced between the stone wall and an oak tree, hung Mettle upon a sling. Tilly stood guard nearby, and feeding him from her hands was a taller replica of the woman named Shona.

He stared in amazement. His throat tightened. "You have my thanks again, Lady Fiona."

"Tis Flanna who nurtures him most," said the older woman, pressing up beside him.

"Flanna?"

"My mother," said Shona, "the Flame of the MacGowans. You'll be lucky if she lets you have the steed back once she becomes attached."

"I owe her a great..." Boden began, but just then his blanket began slipping downward.

He grabbed it. Pain speared through his arm, his back, his thigh.

"Here," said three women, all reaching to help him wrap the thing back around.

Gentle fingers brushed his flesh in quite intimate places, and though twas all done in the most casual way, embarrassment seared him.

"There now," said Fiona softly, but the laughter seemed closer to the surface of her voice now.

"There's no need for embarrassment." She shrugged, looking out the window with a twinkle in her eye. "I've seen all there is of you."

Saint Judas!

"And?" whispered Shona, the same diabolical gleam in her eyes.

"Quite impressive," said Fiona.

And Boden hoped for oblivion.

Boden's days passed in flashes of soft laughter and gentle kisses, introductions to an endless stream of relatives and servants, and long afternoon naps. Although Sara refused to lie with him again before the wedding, she would sit at his bedside and talk of her childhood, or sing as she fed Thomas.

On one particular afternoon, a tall, fair-haired man stepped into the infirmary. Sara glanced up, still laughing at Boden's jest.

"Roddy," she gasped, and launching from her stool, flew into the man's arms. He hugged her tightly to him and stroked the back of her head as one might do to a precious child.

"My sunshine," he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment as if he would absorb the feelings deep into his soul. Pushing her to arm's length finally, he smiled into her face. "Returned to light the Highlands."

Propped against the pillows at his back, Boden watched the exchange. The newcomer was perhaps a score of years older than himself. He wore a plain saffron tunic and a plaid of greens and browns that crossed over his chest and was pinned by a brooch in the shape of a cat's face. He was built rugged and lean, with the smile of a rogue and the confidence of a champion. It would be simple enough to be jealous of Sara's obvious affection for him, had it not been for the stark family resemblance.

"Roddy," she repeated and taking his hand, tugged him toward the bed. ' 'I wish for ye to meet my betrothed, Sir Boden Blackblade.

"Boden, this is..."

"Sara's favorite uncle," Roderic said, and reaching out, clasped the younger man's hand in his own. There was a moment of silence as they weighed each other, then, "I am told we have ye to thank for returning our wee lass to us," he said.

For a while Boden was tempted to tighten the handshake and prove himself, but the foolishness passed. ' 'Aye. She had to save my hide so many times that finally she thought twould be best if she brought me here for safekeeping."

There was a pause, and then Roderic threw back his head and laughed as he released the other's hand. "Tis not quite the tale I was told. Well met we are, Sir Blackblade." His expression sobered, becoming almost, but not quite, somber. "Ye have my thanks, sir. Sara is like a daughter to my heart."

"I feared ye might not return from France before the wedding," Sara said.

Roderic laughed again. The sound seemed as common as speech to him. "Even had I not learned of your betrothal, I couldna have left Dun Ard so long."

"No trouble there I hope," Sara said.

"Nay, na now," Roderic said and grimaced, "for Shona is here and is bound to have brought the trouble with her. It follows her like flies to a dung heap."

Sara laughed. "You've not found a suitable match for her yet?"

"Who could be suitable for my Shona, when she has her mother's spirit and my own marvelous charm." His words stopped as he turned his head toward the door. "And who might this be?"

Boden glanced sideways.

"Margaret," Sara said softly. "Come here. There is no need to fear."

The girl slunk forward, shy as a fawn with a stranger around. There was a smudge of dirt on her nose, and her grubby hand was wrapped about a bundle of pungent shrubbery that bore tiny white blossoms.

Boden watched her advance toward his bed with the bouquet hugged to her narrow chest.

"White heather," she whispered, shifting her gaze quickly to Roderic. "Lady Fiona said twill bring good luck."

Boden's heart twisted slightly. How had his world become so full? "I need no more good luck, Maggie mine," he said. "For I have you."

"So ye are Sara's lass," Roderic said, watching the child with a light in his eyes, "if not by nature, then by love." He smiled. "I remember when she was na bigger than ye. A mother hen she was even then. My Shona had entered the world na more than two months hence and was wont ta fuss sometimes during the night. There was a maid in the nursery to watch the babe, but Sara awoke first and decided the woman was not seeing to her duties near well enough. So she took the babe from her cradle." He shook his head. "In the morn when Flanna went to check the babe, the maid was sound asleep and Shona was gone. I think twas the first time I saw her mother truly frightened."

Maggie's eyes were as round as silver groats as she waited for him to continue. The silence stretched away, until, able to wait no more, she bit her lip and whispered, "Where was the babe?"

"Sara had taken her to the burn. We found them wrapped in a blanket fast asleep. She said the singing water soothed the child."

Boden shifted his gaze to Sara's angelic face, and the day passed by with tales and laughter and satin-soft kisses.

Finally, seeing Boden could no longer bear to be confined inside, Fiona allowed him to venture from the hall.

It had rained the night before and the clouds still hung low over the courtyard, but the air was fresh and Sara was at his side. Though his head felt light and his leg weak, he was not about to call a halt to their walk.

After a brief stop in the kitchens they visited Mettle. His sling had been lowered slightly so that his giant hooves just reached the ground, allowing him to bear a bit of his own immense weight. He'd learned to push off so that he could sway from side to side, and did so now, stretching his neck and his upper lip as he plucked a few select grasses from Maggie's hand.

The little girl giggled, looking no bigger than a gosling as the destrier lowered his huge, bowed nose for the girl to stroke.

"He'll be as round as a barrel if you keep feeding him," Boden chided.

Mettle tilted his ears forward at the sound of his voice and swung lazily toward him, already nuzzling him for treats. "Here then," Boden said, keeping his tone gruff as he offered him a chunk of stolen bread.