Untamed Hearts (A Highland Hearts Novella) (Entangled Edge) (4 page)

The last question hissed through Dory’s clenched teeth. She only called him by his full name when she was about to lose her temper. He exhaled long. She was trying to fit in with these people, her new crew, so to speak. And his jests to spark fire in those deep green eyes weren’t helping.

“Aye, quite right, Pandora Wyatt Brody. Though, I’d also say you miss wearing britches and climbing the rigging, now that you’re living in polite society.”

“I don’t mind if ye wear britches,” Ewan said and kissed the side of Dory’s neck. That brought the color and smile back to her face.

Will grinned. “Now if he starts making you climb his rigging—”

“Will Wyatt!” she yelled, and he laughed outright. Caden chuckled, and several of the ladies tittered. Jonet’s face even relaxed, though the smile was still missing. Charissa started to squirm on his shoulders, and he lowered her to the fresh rushes where she ran with sticky hands toward Stephen.

Bruce called from across the room and motioned for Will to come back for another song. “Seems I have another rhythm to set.” The two comely girls who’d flirted with him before giggled and rocked up onto their toes. He nodded to the small group, his gaze touching on Jonet’s lovely form. Before he turned away, he caught her eye.

“The green of your costume brings out the emerald in your eyes. Reminds me of the deepest seas under a pure blue sky.” Before she could speak or curse or flash him another frown, he pivoted on his heel and headed back to the hearth. Not a one said anything behind him. A grin curved his lips as he felt the heat of stares on his back. He always liked to leave a group speechless.

…

The morning had flown by with the wedding preparation, the ceremony, and the feasting. Ewan’s bride seemed a bit overwhelmed by the quick plans, but once Meg had set the request before Jonet, Jonet had hopped right to organizing the event. She loved to coordinate celebrations. Father Daughtry was planning to leave as soon as Meg’s bairn was born and blessed, so there had been no time to delay in formalizing the union as Meg’s time could come any day. Ewan and Dory had already declared themselves wed before God weeks before. So the priest had been swayed to waive the banns after he talked with her and Ann about not having entered a previous betrothal with Ewan. Neither of them had, much to Ann’s disappointment.

Jonet sat in the shade of the soon-to-be new orphans’ home and looked out over the moor spread across to the forests surrounding three sides of Druim. The four children currently in her care were being watched at the celebration by Ann, so she could take some time to herself.

Jonet breathed deeply and let her gaze stray to the place her table had been set at the May Day festival. Where the huge, handsome, and hedonistic pirate had completely scattered her reason with his inappropriate kiss. Her finger strayed across her bottom lip. She could almost remember the press of his mouth against hers.
Och
, it had been too long since she’d been given a good kiss. Actually, she’d never been given one that made her so hot inside she thought she might catch the wild gorse on fire under her feet.

And then that comment about her eyes just an hour ago. She glanced down at the green dress. Did her eyes really look like the deepest of seas under a blue sky? She’d never seen the sea. Her heart thumped, and she felt her face grow warm, remembering the way he’d looked at her before he’d swaggered off to rejoin the musicians. Heat and promise had mixed with a look of determination.

“Don’t fall for him,” Dory had warned her as Will took his place behind the drum again. “Though his heart is golden, I’ve never seen him faithful to one woman.”

Jonet frowned as she plucked a wild flower and shredded its petals. She’d guessed as much, but hearing it confirmed made her stomach hurt.

“Here she is!” Charissa’s red-gold curls bobbed as she ran breathless around the corner to plop down next to Jonet. “What are you looking at?”

Jonet smiled down at her, though her gaze watched the edge of the building. “Just looking out at the grass waving in the wind. Sometimes I catch sight of a pair of wolves that keep watch over Druim.”

“Wolves?” The girl snuggled closer to Jonet.

“They are nice wolves. Umm…was someone looking for me?”

“You disappeared.” The familiar timbre kicked at her heart, sending it flopping. “Alone and without a blade,” Will added as he walked around the corner.

“How do ye know I don’t have a blade?” she asked. Her breath stuttered in her throat as he dropped his gaze to run her length.

“Unless you have one strapped under those skirts, you don’t have a blade.”

“Jonet says there are nice wolves that sometimes play on the moor,” Charissa chimed in, oblivious to the tension.

“Wolves don’t play,” Will said without taking his eyes off Jonet. “They are wild like sharks, little one.” He glanced out at the moor. “Another reason you need to learn to throw a blade.”

“Stephen says I’m not old enough,” Charissa pouted, leaping up to grab Will’s legs.

“Not you,” he smiled down at her and rubbed her back. “Not yet anyway. I meant m’lady Jonet.”

Jonet stared at the little girl, clearly adored by the stealing, smirking, kissing pirate.

“Oh, do teach her!” Charissa said, tipping her head so far back to see Will’s face that she would have fallen if he hadn’t held her.

Will looked back to her, an indulgent smile curving his lips. He raised his eyebrows in question.

Jonet pushed up and dusted her skirt. “I don’t have a knife to practice with.”

Before she’d even finished shaking her head, Will flipped his wrist, and a blade whirred through the distance to
thwak
, point first, into the frame of the door by her shoulder. She jumped but managed to hold onto her gasp. Charissa giggled.

“’Tis for you,” Will said.

“I won’t take yer weapon,” Jonet said and looked at the sleek, black handle protruding from the wood. The small dagger was a
sghian dubh
, a deadly little blade that could be secreted away on a body to be retrieved quickly when needed.

“’Tis not mine. I bought it in the village for you.”

She looked back at him. “I don’t take gifts from…strangers.”

“Are we strangers?” He grinned wickedly.
Och
, just a simple teasing look and the man loosed lava in her face. He shrugged. “Plus, I’d like to see the gold I
stole
from a slave-trading ship used to protect the helpless.”

There was that helpless word again. He said it with enough smirk that she knew he was trying to infuriate her. “Very well then, I will let ye teach me to throw the
sghian dubh
if ye help put a new roof on the orphans’ home.”

“Skeean dew?”

“Aye, the little dagger.” Jonet gestured toward the black handle in the door frame.

Will rubbed his chin where a small beard grew. He kept it trimmed short, but it gave him a villainous look. He hauled Charissa up into his arms and walked around the structure as if seeing how much work would be involved. Jonet snorted and backed up to look at the roof, hands on her hips.

“Well?” she asked.

He held up a hand for her to wait as he continued his inspection, as if he truly was calculating how much effort he would have to trade. She shook her head with a broad grin. The man was infuriating, but he could surely make people smile despite their opinion of him.

He rounded the corner. His gaze connected with her, and she forgot to breathe. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t move. Such intensity sent a chill along her arms, yet she felt flushed at the same time. “Aye,” he said low. “It’s a deal, Jonet Montgomery. I will put a new roof over your lovely head, and in return, you’ll allow me to teach you to save your lovely head.”

Jonet swallowed and nodded, breaking the spell.

“Is that a wolf?” Charissa gasped and pointed. Will pivoted, and Jonet stepped out to look past the house.

“No,” Will said, “it’s a horse carrying a man.”

Jonet held her hand to her eyes against the slanting sun. “Riding like the devil was chasing him,” she murmured.

“
Na laoich
!” a man yelled from the direction of the watchtower along Druim Castle’s surrounding wall. “A Davidson!”

“Davidson?” Jonet murmured.

“Who are the Davidsons?” he asked.

“The last leader, Gilbert Davidson, helped Rowland Boswell try to destroy us. The bastard nearly killed Meg before Caden killed him. Their clan has been trying to select a new chief since last autumn.”

“So ’tis probably not a friendly visit,” Will said, a lethal tone sharpening his usually teasing voice.

“I couldn’t say.”

“Will, what are ye doing out here?” Ewan said as he and Dory came around the corner. Ewan’s gaze fell on the blade sticking in the door frame.

Good Lord.
Jonet tensed. She hadn’t yet had time to talk with Ewan about the orphans’ home.

“Do you know you have a Davidson riding toward Druim like hell’s hounds were slobbering on his heels?” Will asked. He passed Charissa off to Margery, who’d come with them.

“Ewan,” Jonet started and paused. “I meant to talk with ye before, but with the wedding—”

“Why is there a
sghian dubh
piercing my mother’s old home?” Ewan asked low. Dory wrapped her hands around his arm. She must know of Ewan’s past, about the night, when he was a boy, that his own father murdered Ewan’s mother, the night Ewan had thrown a black-handled blade to strike his father dead. The house had been abandoned ever since, no one wanting to risk the bad blood spilled within.

Jonet felt Will beside her as if he were facing off against Ewan. Which was ridiculous since Ewan was a trusted friend, though he did have murder in his face at the moment.

“Caden gave me permission to use it to house the orphaned children. So many come to Druim now that people have heard about Meg. I can’t keep them all in my cottage.”

“Evil dwells in there,” Ewan said.

Jonet shook her head. “The evil is gone, Ewan. It is just a sad, old house that needs some love and the innocence of happy children to bring it back to life.”

The sound of running men filtered between the other dwellings up the street. “Now’s not the time to discuss this,” Will said, his voice as firm as Ewan’s face. Will walked over and yanked the black-handled blade from the wood and resheathed it. He looked to Jonet. “I’ll hold it until I teach you not to slice your fingers off.”

“The
sghian dubh
is yers?” Ewan looked pointedly at Jonet.

“Ewan,” Dory said and pulled his arm. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

The rider had reached the edge of the village and slowed. The four of them, and Margery holding Charissa, ran to the rear of the assembled Druim warriors. Stephen shuffled up, too. Jonet noticed he had raspberry tart smeared around his lips.

“Ho there, Davidson!” Hugh, the one-handed leader of Druim’s tower guard called as Caden stepped up to the horse. The man practically lay across the frothing steed.

“What is this about?” Caden asked and held the horse’s bridle.

The Davidson pushed up in the saddle. His face looked pale, grayish-green. “I’ve come to warn you,” he said and swallowed. His gaze slid over all of them but stilled when it fell on the children standing with them. Remorse flicked across his face, and he coughed into his fist.

“Tell us, man!” Hugh urged.

He nodded and looked to Caden, The Macbain. “They are coming.”

Chapter Four

“Who’s coming?” Caden asked.

“All of them,” the Davidson panted. “We couldn’t stop them. There’s too many.” His eyes shifted to Meg as she waddled down the lane with Ann holding her arm.

“What are they saying?” Will asked near Jonet’s ear, his breath a feather against her sensitive skin. She quickly translated for him.

“Who are coming?” Will asked loudly.

“The sick,” the Davidson answered in English, and a chill ran down Jonet’s spine from her nape all the way to her ankles.

“Sick?” Meg asked. “Who’s sick?”

The man continued in English. “Most of our clan. The mothers,” he paused to breathe, “they are bringing all the children and most of the rest. Some of us tried to stop them. They will infect all of you. But they won’t listen.”

Meg looked at Caden. “If it was my babe, I’d find a healer, too.”

Charissa sobbed beside Jonet, and Margery shushed her, but Stephen pulled her into his arms. “Will we kill them?” Charissa asked softly. Stephen looked to Jonet beside him, his face clearly showing that he worried about the same atrocity. She blinked at the horror of the idea.

“Captain O’Neil,” Stephen said, “whose ship we were on. If someone showed they were sick, he’d have them thrown overboard so the crew wouldn’t be infected.” The boy shrugged. “The only thing he was ever afraid of was sickness.”

Jonet’s stomach twisted at the tortured look in the little girl’s face. The boy’s, too, though he tried to look stern and strong. She shook her head. “Nay, we will help the sick, not hurt them.” Jonet felt a warm body step up behind her, supporting her. Without looking, she knew it was Will–aye, a pirate, but a good pirate compared to this O’Neil monster.

“They come to be healed,” the Davidson continued.

“I will help them,” Meg said.

“How many are there?” Caden asked, his stance strong as if he faced a battle.

“A hundred perhaps.”

Caden turned to Meg. “Ye can’t heal that many, not even some, not with the bairn in ye.”

“I can help,” Dory said. “I can heal like Meg.”

“There’s too many,” Ewan said.

“I’ll help the worst ones first, and the youngest,” Dory said.

“And we can ease their discomfort,” Jonet piped up. “Fiona has herbs. We can lay them out in the orphans’ home.”

“We need to get the healthy children out of here,” Will said. “Where can they go?”

“I’m taking Meg to Munro Castle,” Caden said. Meg opened her mouth as if to protest, but then her hands went to her large belly, and she nodded, lips tight. “They will take in all of us if needed. I’ll send Rachel back to help. She has the gift as well.”

Will glanced around at the standing warriors. No one was moving. “When will they get here?”

“They left just before me,” the Davidson said. He coughed, the wheezing changing his pale skin to a flushed red. Several of the warriors backed away from him. Caden went to Meg. “But they are moving mostly in wagons or walking.”

Ann’s hands held her cheeks. “Walking? Poor people.”

“Then we need to get going,” Will said. “Now.” He slapped his hands together as if he were standing on a deck, ready to lead his crew into battle.

“Aye,” Caden yelled. “Hugh, sound the battle alarm to get people into the castle or their own homes. Gavin and Kieven, hitch all the wagons we have and ready the horses with the lads in the stable.” The men began to run off as Caden took the lead, issuing orders to pack up the entire village.

Will grabbed Jonet’s hand. “Stephen, we’ll load up our wagon, too. Make sure we don’t lose Charissa in the mix.”

Jonet snatched her hand back. “I can’t leave. I have to stay to help.”

Will turned to her. “You have to keep the children calm, take care of them at the Munro’s. You are their mother.” He looked intently in her eyes. “Don’t abandon them.”

“I…” Her lips squeezed together as she considered the truth of his words and finally nodded.

He grinned then, a look of relief marking his face, and continued to pull her through the busy streets. “Good, else I’d have to carry you over my shoulder.”

She huffed at his threat. “I have to get the children’s things from my cottage,” she said and pulled him to follow her along a winding road. Margery ran behind them, and she caught the girl’s hand. Margery’s fingers wound tightly with hers.
Och
, the girl was scared. “It will be all right,” Jonet promised. “And Dory will heal ye if ye get sick.” Margery nodded and followed her into the small cottage as the warning bell rang out.

Jonet pointed to a stack of wool blankets folded by several beds. She looked at Will. “Take them to the orphans’ home. Ewan can lay the ill out in there as a start. Best to keep the sickness contained if possible.”

Will grabbed the pile and held still while Jonet hefted a few more on top. “Go to the castle with Margery when you’re done,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”

She nodded and turned away to throw clothes of all sizes into a wooden trunk.

“Jonet,” Will said, and the serious glint to his voice made her turn. “Don’t be late.”

…

Just as Will left the orphans’ home, the warning bell tolled again. He jogged back into the center of the village where families were loading up on mules and horses or heading toward the castle bailey to find space on a wagon. As he looked out at the moor, he saw the first few riders breaching out of the forest. Almost at once a bunched-up group of wagons followed with several men walking, carrying what looked like children. Women surrounded the enclave. They moved slow but steadily toward Druim.

Several ladies screamed when they saw the line of Davidsons. “Calm now,” Will said and grabbed up two children as their mother wrapped a baby in a cloth to tie it around her chest. “To the castle. We’ll find you a wagon.” The woman babbled in Gaelic, her voice edged with panic as she glanced back over her shoulder at the advancing mob.

“Donald!” Will yelled to the warrior he knew. “Tell her to follow me to the bailey.” Donald rattled off some Gaelic and grabbed the woman’s sack and they all walked briskly forward. Donald called in Gaelic as they moved, even picked up one boy to carry under his arm.

“Everybody out!” Will called for those who could understand him. He looked at Donald. “Do you have enough wagons for all these people?”

Donald shook his head. “We’ll load up the young and old, and the others will walk.”

“How far is it to Munro Castle?”

“Half a day on horse.”

“Then a full on foot,” Will said and glanced at the descending sun. “’Twill be a long night.”

As they coursed with the flood of people into the bailey, Will glanced around, his height giving him an advantage. No raven curls. He frowned and continued to look as he set the youngsters into a wagon with their mama and her baby. The woman threw an arm around his neck and squeezed.

“She gives ye her blessing,” Donald said and set the lad he carried in the wagon.

“Will!” Dory called as she ran to him. “Get Margery, Stephen, and Charissa to the Munros. Searc is a Munro. Remember him?”

Ewan was close by her side, his face grim. Will focused on him. “She’ll heal until she’s dead. You know that.”

“I will not,” Dory said.

He bent to her ear. “We all need you. He needs you. Don’t kill yourself saving these people.”

Will looked to Ewan. The man loved his sister, there was no doubt. He’d keep her as safe as he could. “She’ll try to help just one more and—”

“I’ll carry her out of here before I let that happen,” Ewan said and handed the reins of the horse they’d ridden from the coast to Will.

“Don’t let her learn their names.” He kissed Dory’s head. “Which direction should I head?” he asked Ewan.

“West, stay along the edge of the three mountains.”

Will turned. Stephen had the two ponies at the head of their wagon. It was nearly full with children. Who knew Druim held so many wee ones? Stephen waved, his face pinched. Will made his way through the crowd with the nervous horse.

He nodded to Stephen to guide the wagon toward the exit. “Move slowly but keep moving,” Will called and led them out of the gates under the pointy portcullis. Ewan would be wise to lower it once the Druim villagers were out. Desperation made even noble people dangerous, and it sounded like the Davidsons were not friends of Clan Macbain.

Will led the horse by the long, leather reins. The wagons had begun to move out of the bailey behind them. Donald road up next to him on a horse. “Where’s Jonet?”

Will frowned up at the Druim warrior. “Late.” He turned to yell at Stephen. “Follow Donald out of here.”

“Charissa?” Stephen said, his eyes wide at the chaos swamping the narrow street.

“I’ll get her and Margery. You go.”

If anyone thought he looked silly running while towing a trotting horse instead of riding it, no one paid him any attention. The panicked pitch of people on the move melded with the rumble of wagons behind him. As he rounded the corner, following the pebbled road, the moor came into view. “God’s bloody teeth,” he swore. The Davidsons were approaching the village line. They moved in small groups around each wagon. Faces, drawn and sickly pale, stared ahead, full of desperate determination. This could become lethal quickly. How long had they walked? Sick, frantic, exhausted. Women carrying bundles, children sitting and lying with eyes shut in wagons, men shuffling along, their grip on the wagons as if the lumbering conveyance was holding them from collapsing on the ground. A few horses came alone with riders draped over their necks.

Will had stopped in the street, staring. Donald came behind him, muttering guttural words in his language. Will didn’t need the translation to know he was also shocked at the spectacle and the clash that was about to occur.

“Has Caden taken Meg?” Will asked.

“Aye,” Donald said.

“Lead the Druim wagons down another route out of here. No one should come any closer to them,” Will said. “And Ewan should close the gate. Dory can’t handle all this.”

Donald rode back the other way, yelling to several other Druim warriors. “Come on,” Will yelled at the horse and started running again toward Jonet’s cottage.
Blast!
Which one was hers? He backtracked once in the haphazard little streets. What if she’d gone to the orphans’ home?

He could hear the Druim guards yelling warnings to the advancing Davidsons. Weak but hard voices yelled back. Suddenly, Charissa’s worry about the Druim warriors shooting the sick didn’t sound like a frightened child’s nightmare any longer.

“Jonet!” Will yelled as he ran. “Jonet, woman, where are you?” He ran down another side street and paused. There was movement in a house ahead. He ran up to see Charissa jumping up and down as Margery and Jonet threw blankets and pots out into the street.

“What in bloody swiving hell are you doing?” he yelled and grabbed up Charissa. “They are coming. We need to go now!”

“I don’t want the illness in my cottage,” Jonet said, huffing. She wiped an arm across her damp forehead. “They can use these.” She tugged her door shut and slid an iron nail through a latch. It wouldn’t deter anyone, but this wasn’t the time to argue.

“Get on the horse,” Will said. Jonet set her foot in his hands and swung up onto the tall steed. He lifted Margery behind her and Charissa to sit in front of her. The devil’s good luck, there was no room for him.

More yelling in Gaelic came from behind him, toward the center of the village. Charissa covered her ears and buried her face in Jonet’s chest. Will took off running, pulling the horse behind him, away from the center. He glanced at the sun setting in the west, a perfect guide. He could see a moor up ahead and jogged forward, his other arm pumping at his side.

“Lady Meg!” someone yelled. “Stop! We need yer help!”

A wagon came forward from the moor, nearly blocking their path. “Out of the way!” Will yelled. “This is
not
Lady Meg!”

He didn’t slow but dodged the Davidson wagon. Margery screamed as desperate hands reached out toward them. The horse whinnied and kicked up speed. By the devil, he couldn’t outrun a horse. He flipped the reins up to Jonet and moved aside so the horse could leap into a run. He ran after them as Jonet spurred the horse forward.

Those on the Davidson wagon turned back to moving into the town. There was little fight left in them, and their hopes still lay on finding help at Druim castle. All along the western edge of Druim, wagons of healthy villagers broke onto the moor. The warriors guided those walking, pulling anyone needing help onto their horses’ backs. Will slowed to a jog. Blimey, he’d never seen anything like that in all his wanderings.

He caught sight of Jonet’s black head. She’d slowed and turned around, riding back toward him. He shook his head as she pulled up next to him. “You should keep riding.”

Jonet looked over Charissa’s head back toward Druim. “They aren’t going to follow us. They want help, not to infect others.”

“Where’s Stephen?” Margery asked, and Charissa poked her face up.

“He’s safe.” Will rubbed the little girl’s leg where it hung over the horse’s neck. “Driving our wagon with about twenty little ones on board.” Will pulled the reins to get the horse moving with him again.

“We can make room,” Jonet said.

He shook his head. “I prefer to have two feet solidly under me, and the horse has a long way to go. He’d do better without my weight.” They walked across the large, uneven moor and then along a slightly made path through the forest running along the base of the mountains. A few men, with at least one extra person each, rode ahead to help prepare Munro Castle for the influx of Macbains. The sun set, leaving the haphazard caravan in shadows. The moon rose, but thickening clouds raced past it, plunging them in and out of nearly complete darkness. Charissa slept, as did Margery, her head against Jonet’s straight back. Whenever he looked up at Jonet, she met his gaze.