Читать книгу Highland Lover - Hannah Howell - Страница 9

Why had she thought that getting out of the pit the Gowans had tossed her into would mean she would be warm and dry? Alana asked herself as she fought to keep pace with Gregor. She was wet, cold, and tired. Very, very tired. Dawn had come and gone hours ago, yet on they ran. Gregor allowed a few rests and a regular change from a fast pace to a slow one and then fast again. Alana knew she was an excellent runner, could go fast and endure a hard pace for a long time, but she feared she had passed her endurance miles ago.

The chill of the rain had begun to sink deep into her bones, joining forces with the well-settled chill of the prison. She ached from the cold, ached from weariness, and ached from pushing herself far beyond her strength. She wanted to lie down someplace warm and dry and stay there for a day or two, perhaps even a full sennight.

It occurred to her that she was not even sure where they were running to, but she was too tired to ask Gregor. Alana decided that as long as it was away from the Gowans, it would be good enough for now. Later she would take up the hunt for her sister again. Exhaustion had so dulled her wits and senses, she doubted she could find her sister even if she stood only feet away.

When Gregor paused to take a drink of water from his wineskin, Alana stumbled to a halt. A moment later, she felt her unsteady legs collapse beneath her. She was too exhausted to even curse as she sat down on the cold, muddy ground. Although she knew it was unwise to sit, she could not find the strength to get back up. Then she began to shiver and a soft roaring filled her ears. She looked up to see Gregor staring at her while holding out the wineskin and felt herself slowly topple onto her back.

Gregor cursed and knelt by Alana’s side. He slid his hand beneath her shoulders and lifted her partly up out of the mud. The way her head lolled against his arm, the complete limpness of her body, told him she was unconscious. When he started to brush the mud from her face, he cursed again. The skin beneath his hand was hot despite the cool rain falling on them.

“Och, poor wee lass,” he murmured. “I pushed ye too hard, didnae I.”

He picked her up and set her down beneath a tree where the ground was not quite so muddy. Using his plaid, he formed a blanket sling so that he could carry her and yet keep his hands free. It took several tries, but he finally got her settled against his chest so that her legs dangled off to his sides and would not impede his stride. Picking up their belongings, he set out to find them someplace where they could hide from the Gowans until she recovered.

Fate smiled upon him and, within an hour, he found a small stone cottage. When no one responded to his pounding upon the door, he opened it and cautiously looked around, but saw no sign of life. Although the cottage was small, it looked sturdy and its thatched roof was still intact. Gregor quickly laid claim to the abandoned shelter. He set Alana down on the floor and, pulling out the few blocks of peat he always carried with him, he started a fire. Wood or more peat would be required soon, but first he had to get Alana dry and settled near the meager fire.

Thanking God that he had had the foresight to secure two blankets in the oiled sacks he and Alana carried, Gregor turned his attention to getting Alana out of her wet clothes. He prayed she remained unconscious until he was done, for he felt certain she would object most strenuously to being undressed by a man.

He tugged off her boots and stockings and then rubbed the damp from her legs just vigorously enough to restore some warmth to her limbs. Although she was slender and her legs appeared rather long despite her lack of height, Gregor felt his conviction that she was not what she appeared to be grow a lot stronger. The legs he now rubbed dry were far too shapely to be a child’s.

When he removed her cloak and gown, he softly cursed. Her shift was as wet as her outer clothing. Gregor tugged it off her and then sat back on his heels and stared at her. She wore a delicate, more feminine style of a man’s braies, but that oddity was not what really grasped and held his attention. There were several layers of linen bandages wrapped around her chest. He had little doubt that it would not be some wound he found when he unwrapped her.

Forcibly recalling himself to the need to finish getting her warm and dry, he drew his knife and cut away the sodden bindings. Plump little breasts were revealed to his appreciative gaze, the dark rose tips hard from the chill air. His mouth actually watered with a hunger to taste those long, tempting nipples. The marks the binding had caused were an ugly scar upon her soft skin.

Gregor forced down the lust heating his blood as he prepared to remove the last of her clothing. Knowing he was about to uncover a woman’s secrets and not just infringe upon a young girl’s modesty, he was still surprised at how fiercely the sight of a fully naked Alana affected him. Her thighs were firm and slender. Her hips were gently curved and her stomach was flat and smooth. Between those beautiful thighs was a tidy little vee of brown curls that held a strong hint of red. She was perfection, he decided.

He then realized he was panting. Disgusted at how he was acting no better than a stag in rut that had just scented a doe, he quickly finished drying Alana off. Setting her down on a blanket, he dug through her belongings until he found a clean, dry shift and hastily put it on her. He then covered her from her chin to her tiny feet in the second dry blanket.

To further tamp down his lust, he looked at her hands, carefully unwinding the dirty bindings. A soft curse escaped him as he saw how badly scraped they were. Using some of the water from his wineskin, he gently bathed the scratches, careful to remove all grit and dirt. Deciding it might be best to leave her hands free of bandages, he patted them dry. He just wished her fever were as easy to tend to. There was a lot more he would need to do to keep the fever from settling in too deeply, but his knowledge of such things was scarce.

Standing up, Gregor began to more closely inspect the cottage. It took him only a few moments to decide that it had only recently been deserted. There was still some peat and wood in a box near the fireplace. The fact that the little cottage even had a fireplace was surprising, and he had to wonder what it had been used for. After building up the fire, he pulled a rough bench closer to it and draped her wet clothes over it so that they would dry. He then returned to his explorations.

The fact that the cottage had a sturdy wooden door should have alerted him to the possibility that this was no mere cottar’s hut, he realized. Opening one of the thick shutters on one of the three windows, he found glass panes, a true luxury. Although the mattress upon the bed was stuffed with straw, it was thick and clean. A poor man would have taken such a fine mattress with him. Gregor then recalled how the cottage was tucked deep within the woods with no area cleared for farming or the raising of animals. He began to think he had stumbled upon some laird’s retreat, perhaps even a place where he housed his lemans out of sight and reach of his wife. It was pure luck that the man was between lovers at the moment, Gregor mused.

He shook his head as he removed his wet clothes, rubbed himself dry, and donned some fresh dry clothes. After arranging the second bench in front of the fire, he laid his own clothes over it to dry. When he had wished for shelter for himself and Alana, he had never expected to find something this fine. The Fates were definitely smiling on them.

Stepping into the room at the back of the cottage, Gregor found himself in a small kitchen. Whoever had lived here last had left only a few things behind, but they could prove useful. He was impressed by the fact that the fireplace was actually two sided, the kitchen side being constructed more for use in cooking. Here, too, was a supply of peat and wood. As long as the Gowans did not find them, he and Alana could stay here in comfort until she regained her health and strength.

Opening the door at the back of the room, Gregor saw what had obviously been a kitchen garden, and there was a well. Not wanting to get wet again, he set a bucket just outside the door to catch the rain. What collected in it would serve well enough until the rain eased and he could go to the well without getting soaked to the skin.

Just as he began to shut the door, an animal bolted into the house and disappeared into the front room, moving too fast for him to see exactly what it was. His hand on his knife, he entered the room and stopped to stare at the creature huddled near the fire. Whoever had lived here had left behind their cat. The fact that the animal had known exactly where to go to find warmth was reason enough to believe it lived here. It was wet, dirty, and terrified, but it did not move as Gregor cautiously approached it.

It took a while, but the cat finally allowed Gregor to rub it dry, which cleaned most of the dirt off its gray fur. For a moment, he had thought that it was growling at him and that he was about to suffer a mauling for his care, but he soon realized that the rough, deep noise was not a threat; it was a purr of appreciation. He fetched the cat some water in a battered wooden bowl and cut up a little of the venison he had hoarded from his last meal in the oubliette.

“’Tis fortunate ye are that I have a liking for cats,” Gregor said as he sat down near Alana. “Ye havenae cleaned up so verra bad, either. Leaving ye to fend for yourself is a poor way to thank ye for keeping the rats out of the meal, aye?” Gregor took a drink from his wineskin. “And ’tis a sad day indeed when I am reduced to talking to a cat,” he grumbled.

The cat blinked its big yellow eyes at him.

Gregor shook his head and turned his attention back to Alana. He placed his palm against her forehead and cheeks and then frowned. She definitely had a fever, and a dangerously high one, if he judged it right. He told himself that the fear knotting his insides was born of a natural concern for a lass too young to die and one who had been a good companion as well.

He rose and walked to the bed. Deciding that until he could gather more wood, he would be unable to build the fire up high enough to heat the whole room adequately, he moved the mattress close to the fire. When he took the blanket off Alana to spread it over the mattress, he studied her for a brief moment.

“She is a bonnie, wee lass, cat,” he murmured as he settled Alana’s limp form on the mattress and tucked the other blanket around her. “Wee enough to play the child, although I dinnae ken why she couldnae trust me with the truth.”

The cat gave him such a disgusted look, Gregor suspected it was a female. “I shouldnae be surprised if I have a fever. Thinking ye ken what I am saying has to be a sign of delirium.”

Recalling one thing he had seen done for someone with a fever, Gregor fetched the bucket he had set out to catch rain. He searched out the other shift he had seen in Alana’s pack, took it out, and tore it into strips. Heartily wishing he knew more about healing, Gregor began to bathe Alana with the cool water in the hope of bringing down her fever.

“Artan?”

Startled by that unexpected voice and the sharp annoyance he felt over her calling out another man’s name, Gregor stared into Alana’s fever-glazed eyes. “Nay, ’tis Gregor.”

“When did the Gowans allow us to have a light in our pit?”

“We arenae in the pit now, lass. We escaped, remember?”

For a moment, she frowned and glanced around her. “Oh, aye. We escaped. Did we get verra far?”

“Far enough for now, and I think this will prove to be a good hiding place.”

“Ah, that is good to hear, for I am feeling verra tired.”

“Who is Artan?” Gregor heard himself ask and inwardly cursed.

“My brother. Thought ye were him for a moment. Foolishness, for he didnae e’en ken I was following him.”

“Why were ye following him?”

Even though her eyes were closed again, Gregor waited for her to speak. He sighed when, after several minutes had passed and she made no effort to say anything else, he realized there would be no answer to his question. She had apparently gone right back to sleep. Although he knew sleep was best for her, he regretted the lost chance to get some answers to the many questions he had.

When he finished washing her down, Gregor fetched himself something to eat. He ended up sharing nearly half of his meager ration of meat with the cat and decided he was much too soft of heart. After stepping outside just long enough to relieve himself, he wiped off the small amount of rain that had fallen on him and returned to Alana’s side.

He had never felt so helpless, and he hated the feeling. Fever could be a deadly thing, and he did not even know how to tell if her fever was of that ilk or just a natural reaction to being exhausted, cold, and wet. Even if he was able to find some herbs to use, he did not have any idea which ones would heal her. In his ignorance, he could easily poison her. Gregor was not even sure wiping her down with cool water and forcing her to drink whenever possible did much more than give him something to do. As he began to bathe her fever-flushed face yet again, Gregor promised himself that he would take the time to learn a little more than how to ease the bleeding of a wound until a skilled healer could be fetched.

“I think we must fetch Grandmere,” Alana said. “I dinnae feel weel.”

“I cannae fetch your grandmere, lass. I dinnae ken where she is.” When Alana became a little fretful, Gregor decided it might have been wiser to lie to her.

“Then ye must find my sister Keira. Mayhap Cousin Gillyanne or Cousin Elspeth. I truly dinnae feel weel and they will ken what to do.”

“I shall search them out. Ye rest. ’Tis what ye need most now.”

“Aye. Sleep is a good healer, but one of their potions would be good, too.”

Gregor hoped she had gone back to sleep when she grew still again. He also hoped she did not recall what he had said. If she had the wit to catch him in a lie, it would become difficult to keep her calm.

One of the names she had mentioned was familiar to him, and he frowned. His brother Ewan was married to a woman who had a sister-by-marriage named Gillyanne. It could be just a coincidence, yet he did not think the name was that common. If one considered that Alana seemed to be calling for a healer and that the Gillyanne he knew was a healer, such a coincidence became more of a possibility. And if it was the same Gillyanne, that made Alana a Murray, he mused, and scowled. What was a Murray lass doing traveling alone and disguised as a young girl?

That was a question he would not get an answer to soon, he thought as he collected his now-dry plaid. Settling himself on the mattress next to Alana, he spread the plaid over them and decided to get some rest. One thing he did know about a fever was that it often got a lot worse before it got better. There was a good chance he would find little time to sleep in the next few days.

Gregor winced and then cursed as one of Alana’s small fists connected sharply with his jaw. She was a lot stronger than she looked, he thought, as he struggled to pin her down. He had managed to get several hours of sleep before the fever madness had struck Alana. Since then he had only been able to catch an hour or so of rest now and again. After two long days and nights of that, he was both exhausted and frightened. He did not like to see anyone die, save for a few enemies he had known, but the thought of Alana dying left him feeling cold and empty in a way he did not understand. He breathed a hearty sigh of relief when she grew still, only to start cursing when she then began to weep.

“I must find Keira,” she said, her voice thick and hoarse as she cried.

“Your sister?” he asked as he slid his arm beneath her shoulders, lifted her up a little, and tried to get her to drink a little water.

“Aye, my twin. She needs me, but they wouldnae let me look for her.”

“Ah, and so ye went to hunt her down by yourself.” Gregor sat next to her, kept his arm around her shoulders, and held her close to his side.

“I can find her. I am certain of it.”

“So, there is another wee lass roaming the country, aye? One just like you?”

“Nay. Keira is beautiful and clever and sweet and has a true healer’s touch. I am just a wee brown lass.”

Gregor looked down at her in surprise, but her eyes were closed again. “Ye are a bonnie wee lass.”

“Nay, just a wee lass. Keira is the bonnie one. Everyone loved Keira, and I cannae find her.”

“Ye will, lass. Cast off this fever, get weel and strong again, and we shall go ahunting.”

She did not really answer him, only muttered something about lack-witted brothers and smelly Gowans and fell asleep again. Gregor gently settled her back under the blanket and his plaid. As he stood up and stretched, he studied her. She was pale except for the scarlet tint of the fever in her blood, her hair was a dull brown as if her illness had stolen away all hue and shine, and her full lips looked as if they had been burned by the sun. Alana was definitely not looking her best, and yet, he had no difficulty seeing the beauty of her. He had to wonder who had given her the idea she was just a “wee brown lass.” He also wondered why he wished to find the one who had convinced her she was so plain and beat them until they could see more clearly.

Shaking away that thought, Gregor gently tied her down. He needed to leave her alone for a while as he searched out some food and wood. Although finding such things as a bucket, rope, and a few wooden plates and tankards had been helpful, he had found no livestock and only a few edibles in the tiny kitchen garden. Not only did he need something to eat, but some sort of broth was needed to feed Alana. She could not continue to fight off the fever unless she got some sustenance.

If not for the dangerous illness that had befallen Alana, Gregor would have thought them blessed. The snare he had set out earlier had caught a fat rabbit, and a more thorough search of the garden had uncovered a hearty assortment of vegetables and a few herbs he recognized. Though some were not fully mature, they were more than adequate for his needs. Even better, Alana was still sleeping when he returned, which allowed him the time to prepare the food and set it in the battered pot that had been left hanging in the fireplace.

It was as he was finishing his meal that Gregor noticed something odd about Alana. Her skin appeared to glisten where the light from the fire touched it. Setting down his bowl, he quickly moved to her side and felt her forehead. She was cool and covered in sweat. Gregor was so relieved at this sign that Alana’s fever had finally broken, he nearly cheered. He stepped around the cat that was greedily licking his bowl clean and fetched water and cloths to clean the sweat from her skin.

By the time Gregor got Alana clean and settled between dry blankets, he was knotted up with lust. It both annoyed and puzzled him. Despite the opinion of his eldest brother Ewan, Gregor had never had any trouble controlling his lusts. The fact that Alana was in need of his care, that she was ill and dependent upon him, should have been enough of a tether upon his baser feelings, but that tether had consistently failed him. He had never been so easily or fiercely stirred by the sight of a woman’s body or the feel of her skin. It would be easy to blame it on the fact that he had not had a woman in weeks, but Gregor could not convince himself of that. Something about Alana set his blood afire.

And that was something he had to think hard about, he decided as he draped the shift he had just rinsed clean over the bench to dry. Since the moment he had met Alana, his doubts about the wisdom of marrying Mavis had grown. Gregor knew that the possibility that Alana really was the child she pretended to be had helped keep his feelings for her in check, but that restraint had been shattered the moment he had removed her binding.

Gregor settled himself next to Alana, grimacing when she curled up next to him. When they had shared a bed before, she had been clothed and he had thought she might be the child she claimed to be. Now, she was naked and he was well aware of every soft, womanly curve of her body. Feverishly, achingly aware. It was a hunger that seemed to possess every part of him, and not just his heedless groin.

In the past, he would simply have seduced her, fed his lusts, and walked away. That was not a game he could play with Alana, and not simply because she might well be a Murray, a wellborn lass with a vast army of kinsmen behind her, ready and willing to avenge any insult to her. Alana meant something to him, although he was not exactly sure what or how deep that feeling went. The unsettling feeling that if he made love to Alana, he would not be able to walk away also prompted him to be cautious.

He had some hard decisions to make, but he was too exhausted to make them now. Later, when his wits were sharp again and he was not feeling so needy. A few facts were needed as well, he mused as he closed his eyes. Facts such as exactly who she was, why she was wandering about alone, what had happened to her sister, and if she already belonged to someone. The thought that Alana might already belong to some other man chilled Gregor, and he hurriedly pushed that thought from his mind. Aye, he thought, there were decisions to make, and as soon as Alana was awake and clear-eyed, he would get the answers he needed to make them.