Sìleas hummed to herself as she washed up at the basin and dressed. How late had she slept? It was quiet downstairs, giving her hope she would find Ian alone. Her face grew warm at the thought of facing Beitris and Payton after last night. What if they had heard her through the walls?
Her limbs were so loose that her legs wobbled as she went down the stairs.
Her foot had barely touched the bottom step when Alex banged through the front door, holding his side. She blinked, unable to take in what was happening for a moment.
Good God, that was blood dripping through his fingers! As Ian and Niall helped Alex to a chair, she bolted for the kitchen to get a cloth and basin of water. By the time she returned, Ian had removed Alex’s plaid and cut his shirt open, revealing a deep red gash down Alex’s side and another on his thigh.
“Ian, ye must go for Connor and Duncan,” Alex said, speaking in short bursts between gasps for air. “They’re hurt far worse than me.”
Alex winced as Sìleas began to clean the wound on his side with the wet cloth.
“Where will I find them?” Ian said.
“We were ambushed on the path, less than a mile north of here,” Alex said. “But they’re in no shape to walk.”
“Let’s go,” Ian said to Niall. “We’ll take the horses.”
“Ian.” Alex’s voice stopped him at the door. “They left us for dead, so I don’t think they’ll be back. But keep a sharp eye, all the same.”
“How many men?” Ian asked.
“Twenty when they attacked us,” Alex said. “A few less now.”
Beitris had come into the room in the midst of this exchange and immediately set to helping Sìleas staunch the blood from Alex’s wounds.
After the door slammed behind Ian and Niall, Sìleas said, “We’ll need ye to lie down, Alex, so we can sew up that cut on your face. It looks deep.”
“There’s no need,” Alex said, but he let them help him to the floor by the fire.
“Careful now,” she said, “I think ye may have broken a rib or two.”
Sìleas built up the fire while Beitris went to get needle and thread.
“We’ll need to work fast,” Beitris said when she returned, “so we’re ready when they bring in Connor and Duncan.”
Fear hammered at Sìleas’s heart as she washed blood and dirt from the wound on Alex’s cheek. If Alex was the least hurt, what must the other two look like?
“Can ye tell me what happened?” she asked to divert him from what she was doing.
“They were looking for us.” Alex sucked in his breath as she took the first stitch to close the gash. “I’m guessing someone saw us crossing the water yesterday.”
“Was it Hugh?” she asked.
“No.” Alex winced as she drew the needle through again. “It was the MacKinnons and a few of their good friends, the MacLeods.”
Sìleas’s fingers froze. “Are ye sure? What would they be doing here, so far into MacDonald territory?”
“That’s a verra good question,” Alex said. “Your step-da Murdoc was with them. And that ugly ox Angus as well.”
Sìleas swallowed back the panic rising in her throat and forced herself to keep her hand steady as she finished up the stitches. Then she took the salve Beitris handed her and rubbed it gently over the wound.
“There ye go,” she said, wiping her hands. “Ye might have a scar, but that will just make ye more interesting to the lasses.”
They worked quickly to clean and bind his other wounds.
“Lie still,” Beitris told Alex, as she got up from her knees. “Now we’d best get clean water and blankets for the others.”
No sooner had they gathered the blankets than Ian burst through the door carrying Duncan. The huge, red-haired man’s head lolled against Ian’s arm, as if he were a sleeping child. Sìleas spread a blanket on the floor by the hearth where Alex had lain a few moments before. Ian dropped to his knees and gently laid Duncan down between them.
“I need to help Niall with Connor.” Ian met her eyes. “He’s verra bad.”
The blood from Duncan’s wounds was already soaking the flagstones of the hearth.
“God help us,” she whispered, as Beitris took Ian’s place on the other side of the moaning man.
“He’s trying to wake,” Beitris said. “ ’Tis a good sign.”
Sìleas suspected Beitris was saying that to give them hope. Taking the knife her mother-in-law had brought in from the kitchen, she began cutting away Duncan’s blood-soaked shirt. She swallowed back bile when she saw the wound beneath.
“Oh God, no,” she said, covering her mouth.
“Let me do that.” Alex hobbled over and pushed her aside. “I’ve tended wounds like this before.”
Before she could argue with Alex, Ian backed through the door with Connor. He was supporting Connor’s head and shoulders, while Niall followed carrying his legs.
Mary, Mother of God! No wonder the MacKinnons had left him for dead. If it weren’t for the straight black hair that was so like Ian’s, Sìleas would not have known this broken man was Connor.
Ian laid him on the blanket she spread for him. Using his dirk, he cut Connor’s clothes off, tossing the pieces of blood-soaked cloth into the fire as he worked. Connor was covered with so much blood, Sìleas could not tell where his wounds were. But the shallowness of his breathing frightened her more than all the blood.
Like Alex, Ian worked with a brisk efficiency that bespoke experience. She knew they had fought in France—and in the Borders before that—but the dangers they faced had never seemed real to her before.
“Can ye get the whiskey?” Alex called out to her from where he and Beitris worked over Duncan.
“There’s a good lass,” Alex said when she got it down from the shelf. “Now pour it onto a couple of cloths for us.”
She did as he said and then stoked the fire to a roaring blaze to keep the injured men warm.
“His whistle saved him,” Alex said, holding it up. The whistle, which hung about Duncan’s neck from a leather cord, was bent in the middle where it had been struck by a sword.
Duncan’s body bucked as Alex and Beitris cleaned his wounds with whiskey-soaked cloths. Though his pain made her cringe, the fight in Duncan reassured her.
Connor only shivered as Ian cleaned his wounds. Sìleas prayed hard while she handed Ian clean cloths.
“Do ye think he’ll live?” she asked Ian in a choked whisper.
“I will no let him die,” Ian said.
She helped him bind the bandages around Connor’s head and chest, and then his arms. Ach, Connor’s skin had a gray cast to it. He’d lost far too much blood.
Lord Jesus, have mercy. Connor is a good man, and the hope of our clan. Do not take him from us.
Ian tried to make a plan as he worked to stem the flow of Connor’s blood. He had to get the injured men to safety. Connor was most likely the target, but whoever had done this had meant to kill them all.
“We’ll need to hide the three of ye while ye recover,” he said over his shoulder to Alex. “It is best that the men who did this believe they succeeded in their treachery.”
“It was the MacKinnons, with a few of the MacLeods,” Alex said. “But I suspect Hugh made a devil’s agreement with them to do it, or they wouldn’t risk attacking us so far into MacDonald territory.”
“I have the same suspicion,” Ian said, as he pulled tight the last knot of the bandage around Connor’s arm. “Proving it will be another matter.”
“It would be even harder to prove if we were dead,” Alex said.
Alex caught his eye and tilted his head to the side, signaling he wanted a word outside of the others’ hearing. When Ian crouched beside him, Alex said, “Did ye notice the MacKinnons and MacLeods didn’t take time to gather their dead? Something scared them off.”
“Aye. All the more reason to get the three of ye away from here.” Ian wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “I’ll take ye by boat to Teàrlag’s cottage. She is the best healer, and ye can hide there, same as before.
“Niall, get the wagon so we can get them down to the water,” he called out to his brother, as he returned to where Connor lay.
He looked down at Connor’s battered face, and rage swept through him. Earlier, he had been so focused on staunching the blood to save Connor’s life that he had not truly seen how badly beaten he was.
“I should have killed Hugh Dubh outside the church that day,” Ian said, clenching his fists. “I swear to God, I will have his blood for this.”
His mother came to kneel beside Sìleas on the other side of Connor. Her mouth tightened as she laid her fingers against Connor’s cheek.
“Ye must get the priest before ye take him away,” she said.
“There’s no time for that,” Ian said.
“This is my dead sister’s only son,” his mother said, looking up at him, “and I’ll not have him meet his Maker with his sins upon him.”
“Connor is not dying.”
“I fear he might, son,” she said in a soft voice. “What’s more, ye will hurt what chance he has by moving him.”
Ian looked at Connor as he weighed the risks. “No, I’m taking him. I’ll not have him dragged from this house and slaughtered in the yard like an animal.”
Alex nodded his agreement. In the chaos, Ian hadn’t noticed that his father had come into the room until now.
“Ian’s right,” Payton said, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “If those men hear Connor survived and is here, they’ll come for him.”
A rush of cold air sent the flames of the hearth dancing as Niall came through the door. “I’ve got the cart just outside.”
Ian rubbed his forehead. His parents and Niall should be safe enough at home, so long as they weren’t hiding Connor here. But he didn’t like leaving Sìleas here with Murdoc in the area.
But what was he to do with her? With Hugh and the MacKinnons set on murdering Connor, taking her with them could put her in greater danger than leaving her. Besides, there was barely room for the injured men in the tiny fishing boat.
There was only one choice. “Niall, I need ye to take Sìleas up to Gòrdan’s.”
Ian looked down at Sìleas, where she knelt on the floor holding Connor’s hand like some angel. God in Heaven, he loved this woman. He went down on one knee and touched her cheek.
“It’s not safe for ye here at the house, with MacKinnons about,” he said. “They’ll not think to look for ye at Gòrdan’s, and I know he’d protect ye with his life.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“After ye take her,” he said to Niall, “find the priest and ask him to come to Teàrlag’s cottage after nightfall—tell him he must not be seen.”
That would comfort his mother, and it couldn’t hurt to have the priest praying over the men either way.
“I’ll help ye get them down to the boat before Sìl and I go,” Niall said.
“I can help with the others,” Alex said.
Ian saw the sheen of sweat on Alex’s forehead as he struggled to his feet. Alex was hurt worse than he wanted them to know.
As they rolled the cart down to the beach, the cold wind snapped the ends of the blankets that were wrapped around the injured men. Sìleas followed the cart down to the water. While he and Niall carried first Duncan and then Connor from the cart to the boat, she found a stick for Alex to lean on and helped him into the boat.
Ian looked at the three injured men, Alex slumped over and the two others lying across the small boat at the edge of the shore. God only knew how he would get them up the steep steps from the beach to Teàrlag’s cottage, but he would.
He squeezed his brother’s shoulder and turned to say good-bye to Sìleas.
“Ye are the best of men, Ian MacDonald,” she said, her voice firm and her eyes dry and clear. “If anyone can save them, ye will do it.”
She had always had such faith in him—and he needed it now.
“I’ll return as soon as I can.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Be safe, mo chroí.”