Highland Thirst (6 page)

“I
fear one of ye are going to have to carry him,” she said to Colin and Fergus.

“I
can do it,” said Colin. “Fergus can help Peter. Once we are outside we can make
a litter to carry them.”

“Ah,
weel, I fear we willnae be going outside the keep for a wee while.”

“But
ye said ye were freeing us.” Colin hoisted Sir Heming over his shoulder,
faltering a little under the weight of the man before he could steady himself
again.

“I
am but ye would find yourselves back here quick enough if we try to flee o’er
land, at least right away. I couldnae get us any horses, so we would all be on
foot,” she said as she led them to Peter’s cell. “I dinnae think Hervey and his
men would e’en work up a good sweat in catching us all.”

“So
where do we go?”

“This
keep is riddled with hiding places and I have prepared one for us to hide in.”

“Which
the laird will be able to find, aye?”

“Nay.
It seems no one ever told Hervey about all of the passageways, tunnels, and
hidden chambers. I think many of them came about in my grandsire’s time.”

“Ah,
aye, me da once mentioned that, I be thinking. When the old laird decided the
easiest way to thicken the walls of Rosscurrach and add all those fireplaces
was to simply build a new wall around the old ones.” Colin frowned. “Are ye
certain the laird doesnae ken aught about them?”

Brona
nodded as they paused for Fergus to help a weak, unsteady Peter to his feet.
She noticed that Peter groggily eyed Sir Heming with both fear and wariness,
but he said nothing. Even beaten and unconscious there was something about Sir
Heming that put a person on guard, but Brona was glad no one was going to argue
any more about saving the man.

“As
sure as I can be,” Brona said as she started to lead the men to the place they
would all hide, at least until Peter and Sir Heming could run for their lives
and defend themselves. “I spent the day slipping in and out of passageways and
taking supplies to the place I chose for us to hide in for a while. There was
no sign of anyone else having used those secret passageways for many years. I
cannae think my cousin or Angus would e’er miss the chance to use passages that
would allow them to spy upon someone in near every room in the keep if they
knew about all Rosscurrach’s secrets.”

“Nay,
they would be wandering about in there all the time,” agreed Colin. “Yet, he is
the laird and should have kenned about them, aye? Why didnae your da tell the
mon about them?”

“Hervey
is the laird here only because he is the last male kinsmon in my father’s line.
My father didnae fully trust him and neither did my mother. I may have been
little more than a child when my mother and then my father died, but I do
recall that. Hervey did his best to deceive them about his true nature, but he
failed. Unfortunately, my mother also failed to convince my father that he
should choose another heir. Father felt verra strongly that the heir should be
the closest male kinsmon.”

“So
will the king be choosing the next laird then?”

“Weel,
I suppose if Hervey doesnae have a son, aye, something like that will happen.”

Colin
gave a short, harsh laugh. “Mistress, your cousin willnae be living long enough
to wed and have himself a legal son. This mon’s kinsmen will soon be sending
the laird to his grave. I but pray they dinnae send too many of the rest of us
there as weel.”

“But
how will they ken where he is or what has happened to him?”

“He
will tell them when he returns home, aye?”

Brona
looked at Sir Heming and then back at Colin. “Do ye think he will live?”

“Who
can say, but e’en if he doesnae someone will come seeking revenge. I am that sure
of it.”

“Colin,
he was kidnapped, sent to sleep with a potion in his ale. Someone took his
cousin and Hervey took him. How can anyone ken where Sir Hervey is?”

“Such
secrets will out, mistress. If this mon was kidnapped at an inn then there is
someone there who kens it. And what if this cousin ye mention gets free and
comes ahunting for the truth? Nay, mistress, I fear Rosscurrach is due a
reckoning for this.”

That
was frightening, especially since Brona could see the sense in all Colin said.
If many of the MacNachtons were like Sir Heming, she feared her people were in
for a very bloody future. She had no doubt in her mind that Sir Heming was a
strong and fierce warrior, and one with the cunning to stay alive in battle and
gain victory over his enemies. Her idiot of a cousin Hervey had certainly made
this man an implacable enemy.

When
she reached the chamber set deep beneath Rosscurrach and lit a few torches,
Colin, Fergus, and even Peter looked around in amazement. She had gathered
rough pallets for all of them and set them around the edges of the room. She
had gathered clothing, blankets, and food as well. Thor sprawled on one pallet
and Havoc on another. In one corner, she had set a number of weapons, swords,
and daggers she had taken from the armory, feeling that the men would need them
when they were finally able to flee the keep.

“Ye
brought your pets with ye?” asked Fergus as he helped Peter lie down on one of
the pallets.

“I
had to. Hervey and the others wouldnae care for them and I kenned that, once
Hervey realized I was the one to set ye all free, he would slaughter them out
of anger at me.” Brona fetched some water and rags in order to clean the wounds
on Sir Heming as best as she could.

Colin
settled Sir Heming on a pallet with surprising gentleness. “Aye, ‘tis just what
he would do. And where do ye plan to go when we can finally slip away from the
keep?”

“Ah,
weel, I havenae exactly decided on that yet.”

She
could tell by the looks the three men gave her that they thought she was being
a foolish woman, but she ignored them. Brona turned her attention to trying to
clean Sir Heming’s wounds. It might have been wise to take enough time to plan
where she would go and how she would get there, but she had felt there was
little time for anything more than getting the men out of their prisons and to
a safe place. There was also the fact that she really had nowhere to go that
Hervey did not know about and could find her. It was going to take a lot of
planning to decide what her next step would be.

“They
did him hard this time,” murmured Colin as he stared down at Sir Heming when
Brona gently removed the man’s jupon. “We heard him making some of them noises
that sound like an animal again, but we ne’er thought they near killed the mon.
And why would the laird think this mon would ken how to live forever? It looks
like he is but a breath or two away from being dead to me.”

Brona
gently set a cloth soaked in cool water over Sir Heming’s bruised and swollen
eyelids. “Aye, I fear he looks the same to me. Hervey wasnae thinking clearly
when he did this or mayhap he truly believes all those wild tales about the
MacNachtons. He could have just lost the chance to get what he is so desperate
to learn.”

“About
living forever? No one can do that.”

“Weel,
Sir Heming told me that his kin are long-lived, healthy, and strong. That may
be what has spread that foolish tale of living forever. Hervey truly does
believe it, I think. So much so that he and Angus are thinking of making a
potion to drink using this mon’s blood.”

“Ere
they dragged me away to my cell, I heard them say that the mon’s wounds were
already healing after he drank blood from me,” said Peter. “Mayhap they arenae
so mad to think such a thing.”

“I
heard them say that, too,” murmured Brona, resisting the strong urge to stroke
Sir Heming’s hair. “If doing such a thing works for Sir Heming then mayhap it
would work for someone else. I just find it all so verra hard to believe.” She
looked at Peter, who was lying on his side, wrapped tightly in a blanket, and
watching the unconscious Sir Heming. “Can ye say whether he did something to
your neck after he drank from ye?”

Peter
grimaced. “He licked me.”

“Your
wounds are closed, Peter. The slice Hervey made with his dagger is red and raw
but ‘tis closed. The mark left tells me it was a deep cut yet here ye sit.”

“Aye,
ye have the right of it. I feared the bastard meant me to bleed my life out on
the floor and there was a lot of it going there until that mon stuck his teeth
in me. When he took those teeth out of me neck, he licked me. For a moment I
feared he then wanted from me what the laird did, but, nay, he pushed me away
and returned to glaring murder at the laird.”

“I
think he licked ye to seal the wound, though how he could do that is a wonder.
Yet, ‘tis the only explanation for why ye are still alive.”

“Aye,”
agreed Colin. “Ye should have bled your life away and quickly, too, by the
looks of that knife cut.”

Brona
joined the three men in staring down at Sir Heming. To all the other reasons
she wanted the man to live, she could now add simple but deep curiosity. There
was indeed something very strange about Sir Heming MacNachton.

Four

“He
is dying, mistress.”

Brona
nearly snarled at Colin, but took a few deep, slow breaths to calm herself
instead. Colin was only speaking the hard, cold truth and he did not need to be
snapped at because of that. They had been hiding in the bowels of Rosscurrach
for two days and Sir Heming grew no better. He was so pale he would probably
blend into the linen he slept upon if not for his long black hair, and his
breathing had grown shallow, weaker, and less even. Her constant tending of his
many wounds had done nothing to help him. There was no sign of fever or
infection and, horrendous though they were, his wounds no longer bled. Yet he only
grew worse. It made no sense to her.

What
also made no sense to her was how upset she was about that. She had seen death
before. It was a part of life one could not ignore. She also did not know this
man and, if even half of the things Hervey said about the MacNachtons were
true, that was probably a blessing. Yet Brona felt a cold fear growing inside
of her, as if she was about to lose something precious. She inwardly shook her
head, deciding the situation she found herself in plus working day and night to
try to save a man’s life was making her fanciful, if not completely delirious.

“I
think he needs blood,” a swiftly recovering Peter said.

It
had to be the fact that she was watching a man die that was making her so
irritable, Brona thought, biting back the urge to snap at Peter. He, too, only
spoke the hard truth, just as Colin had. Soon after they had brought Sir Heming
into this chamber set deep beneath Rosscurrach she had begun to suspect that
her healing skills were not really what the man needed. Hervey speaking of how
the man’s wounds had healed after drinking Peter’s blood had echoed in her mind
time and time again, but she had fought to ignore it. She could no longer do
that. If she did, Sir Heming would surely die.

“Weel,
he isnae having any of mine,” Fergus muttered.

Before
Brona could respond to that the man on the bed groaned softly and then opened
his eyes. “Where am I?” he asked.

Heming
blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the beatings he had suffered had left
his eyes too swollen for him to see clearly. His first thought was that
Mistress Brona had decided to help her cousin torture him, for he could think
of no other reason for her to be in his cage. A moment later he realized he was
lying on something soft and a blanket covered him, a welcome comfort he knew
would never have been given him if he was still Hervey Kerr’s prisoner. Three
men stood a few feet away looking at him and he could see no bars, could feel
no chains weighting down his arms and legs. Then a soft hand touched his forehead
and he turned his gaze toward the woman leaning over him. He was free, he
thought, and was it not just his luck to be set free only to die.

“Ye
must tell my kinsmen what happened to me,” he said, his voice little more than
a hoarse whisper.

“Ye
may tell them yourself when ye return to them,” Brona said.

“Nay,
I willnae be seeing them again in this life.” He felt the pain of that loss,
but struggled against the urge to rage and grieve.

“Aye,
ye will, Sir Heming.” Brona took a deep breath, wanting to speak of something
she found a little horrifying with some appearance of calm. “Do ye need blood?”

For
a moment Heming could not think of how to answer her question. It was obvious
the fact that he had been driven to feed from that poor man was no secret. He hoped
the number of people who had learned about that was small. The very last thing
his clan needed now was someone who had actually seen a MacNachton drink blood
spreading the tale, adding veracity to some of the many whispers about his
clan. Unfortunately, his choices at the moment were dismal. If he tried to deny
what she already knew, claiming it as some aberration brought on by long hours
of torture, he would not get the aid he needed to survive.

And
he really needed to survive, he decided. He needed to help fight the hunters
who wished to destroy his clan. He needed to find Tearlach and warn his clan.
Heming ruefully admitted that, if there was even the smallest chance of
survival, he wanted to grasp it and hold on tight. He could deal with any consequences
of revealing a few of his clan’s secrets later, when he was strong again.