The Hellion and the Highlander (2 page)

Two had come, both swarthy and strong, with swords drawn. They hadn’t even examined Ian other than to glance at him through the bars before they’d opened the door and ordered Kade and Will to bring him out. Kade had taken Ian’s feet and Will his arms, and they had carted him out of the cell, but as they were passing the guard, Kade had dropped Ian’s feet and tackled the guard nearest him.

It was surprise alone that had won the day. He’d managed to get the man’s sword and keys and tossed the keys to Will to free the others. He’d then taken on the now-unarmed guard and his armed compatriot alone until the others were free to aid him. He still found it hard to believe he’d survived those moments uninjured. But he had, and they had all escaped unscathed.

“And the monastery in Tunis?” Will prodded. “You recall the three months we spent there while Ian recovered from his illness, I healed from my sword wound, and we all recuperated and regained our weight and strength?”

Kade grimaced. While they’d escaped the cells unscathed, they hadn’t been so lucky afterward. They were stealing horses on which to flee when Will had been run through by a guard who took them by surprise. Once the guard had been taken care of, Will had tried to be brave and steadfast, clutching the wound in his side and telling them to go on without him, but Kade had ignored that and taken the time to bind the wound the best he
could. It had been bad, and Kade had feared losing yet another friend to Baibar’s cruelty.

Once they’d reached the safety of the monastery in Tunis, the monks had tended Ian and Will. Ian had recovered from his illness within a couple of days, but it had taken two weeks for Will to recuperate. Once he was up and about, they had spent another two and a half months regaining their strength and working to earn the money for food, clothes, and horses to make the long journey home. It had taken them more than two months to make their way north to France. They’d hired a boat there to carry them across the Channel to England, he recalled.

“But you do not recall the boat crossing from France to England?” Will asked, reminding him of his earlier confusion.

“I remember,” he managed, wincing as the words tore at his throat. The boat they’d hired had seemed sturdy and the day fine when they’d cast off, but a storm had whipped up halfway across, and waves taller than the ship had surrounded them. Kade was no coward, but even he had trembled before the powerful walls of water that had tossed the ship about. When they finally saw shore ahead, he suspected he was not the only one to breathe a sigh of relief that it was nearly over. But Mother Nature had not been finished with them yet and, as the captain tried to steer into the harbor, the ship was caught by a wave and dashed against the rocks. Kade had a vague recollection of the screams of men and pan
icked whinny of horses, then a blinding pain in his head.

“The men?” he asked, doing his throat more damage.

“Stop trying to talk,” Will said with exasperation, then sighed. “We lost Gordon and Parlan.”

Kade closed his eyes as loss slid over him. Two more men to add to the others lost to the madness of Edward’s Crusade. Of the thirty warriors he’d been captured with, only Domnall, Ian, and Angus remained. And Will, he acknowledged. Edward had ordered that the Englishman accompany them on the late-night sojourn to check on the whereabouts of Baibar’s men. That order had cost the Englishman more than three years of his life, and while Kade was sorry for his friend’s sake, he was grateful for his own. Their friendship had helped him stay sane during their trials.

“But Ian, Angus, and Domnall made it to shore,” Will went on firmly. “And I pulled your sorry hide there when I found you facedown in the water. The horses did better,” he added dryly. “We only lost one and managed to collect the others as they swam to shore.”

Kade grunted. He’d rather have lost all the horses than one more man.

“I took you up on my mount, and we rode straight here to Mortagne. You have been unconscious nearly two weeks now, and—”

“Two—?” Kade began with disbelief.

“Aye, two weeks,” Will interrupted, and shook
his head. “I do not know why. You had a bump, but it was not even an open wound. Averill says head wounds are like that though. A small bump can kill a man, while another will survive his skull being cracked open.” He shrugged. “She would know, I suppose. Averill was trained in healing by our mother and has aided in tending the ill and injured here since a child. She has fretted over you like a mother hen these two weeks, dribbling broth down your throat several times a day in an effort to keep you from starving to death. She has also been talking to you nonstop. Averill assured me that it would keep your soul tied to your body, so you did not wander to heaven and not return.” Will grinned as he added, “Your ears must be ringing from her nonstop chatter. You probably regained consciousness just to shut her up.”

Kade shook his head at the words. He had no recollection of anything since the boat broke apart. Though he must have heard her with some part of his mind, for he found himself missing her dulcet tones. As if called by his thoughts, he heard the door open and the patter of feminine footsteps.

“Here we are.” That gay voice was accompanied by a gust of the spicy floral scent he’d noted earlier as Averill bustled back in. Her arrival seemed to brighten the room, her cheer helping to wash away some of the bitter memories that had been occupying his thoughts. Blinking the rest of them away, Kade watched her dark, little figure hurry forward, leading what appeared to be at least two maids,
possibly three, all carrying items he couldn’t make out. He strained in an effort to see better, but the women remained smudgy blurs in his vision, refusing to come into focus.

Kade scowled with frustration and tried to raise his hands to rub at his eyes. They felt gritty, as if he had something in them, though he suspected they were just parched, as was the rest of his body. His head felt stuffed with cotton, his mouth so arid he could not even work up any saliva to oil his throat, and his skin everywhere felt dry and stretched tight, like leather being cured. Still, it was his eyes that troubled him the most at the moment. However, the hands he was trying to lift to rub at the two irritating orbs merely flopped where they lay. He did not even have the strength to raise them. Kade gave it up with a small sigh. He had never felt so weak and helpless in his life, and he wasn’t enjoying the experience.

“Here, Will, help me sit him up to drink,” Averill ordered.

Kade grimaced as the Englishman slid an arm beneath his back and lifted him halfway upright. He knew he couldn’t manage on his own, so didn’t protest, but merely waited as Averill leaned down to press the drink to his lips. The liquid, sweet and cool, the finest honey mead he’d ever tasted, poured into his mouth. He would have gulped it down in two swallows, but Averill only gave him a sip, then waited while he swallowed it before tipping the mug up again.

“More,” he gasped impatiently, when she did that a third time.

“Nay. You have had little or nothing to eat or drink for weeks. ’Tis best to go slowly at first.”

Forcing back his impatience, Kade suffered her slow and sensible approach, and by the time the chalice was empty, had begun to think she had the right of it. While he still thirsted and yearned for more, his belly was churning in a threatening manner.

“How is your stomach?” Averill asked as she set the mug aside.

Kade grimaced for answer as Will eased him back to lie in the bed.

“We shall wait on the broth then, I think,” she decided. “Do you think you can stay awake long enough for Mabs to help you clean up? Or do you wish to sleep now and wait until the next time you wake up?”

Kade opened his mouth to assure her that he wasn’t at all tired. After all, he’d just woken up, but the words were drowned out by a sudden yawn that made a mockery of what he’d wanted to say.

“Perhaps tomorrow morning then,” Averill said gently, as if he’d spoken, and he blinked his eyes sleepily as she tugged the linens and furs up more closely around him. “Sleep. You shall feel better in the morning.”

“Should he be tired already?” Will asked, as Kade felt his eyes begin to droop closed. “He only just awoke.”

“He will probably stay awake a little longer next time, but he shall tire easily for a while. I am surprised he stayed awake long enough to drink all the mead.” Averill’s voice was soft and soothing to Kade’s ears, lulling him into a state of half slumber. He didn’t really want to sleep, but his mind and body appeared to have other ideas, and the soft murmur of their voices wasn’t enough to keep him awake.

Averill woke to the sun streaming through the window and a smile on her face. At first, she wasn’t sure why she was so happy. She’d had little enough to smile about since her father had taken it into his head to find her a husband. Most mornings of late she’d awakened feeling nothing but glum resignation about the day ahead, one she expected to be tainted by the poison of rejection as the latest possible suitor turned his nose up at the prospect of marrying her and rode off to find prettier pastures. Not that there had been that many men so far, Averill admitted to herself. There had been only three, but it felt more like thirty when their reactions were so hurtful. She never knew when the next would arrive, so woke up most days dreading that this would be the day.

However, Averill was feeling none of her usual dread this morning. In fact, happiness and good cheer were filling her as she took in the dust motes dancing in the beam of light pouring through the open shutters of her window. She took a moment to ponder that fact, wondering what had filled her dreams to leave her waking so happy, but then recalled that Kade had awakened last night.

Eager to see how he fared this morning, Averill sat up swiftly and thrust the linens and furs aside to leap out of bed. She scurried to one of the two chests against the wall, threw it open, and quickly began digging around for a fresh chemise. This was normally something her maid did for her and, were she to wait patiently, Bess would do it for her today as well, but she simply couldn’t wait. Averill had spent two weeks nursing her brother’s friend, Kade Stewart. Will had claimed the man had been unconscious when he’d pulled him out of the water, and had remained so, not even stirring during the ride home to Mortagne. He had been sweat-soaked and hot with fever but still as death when they’d arrived; but even after the fever had broken on the second day, he hadn’t stirred, and Averill had grown increasingly concerned. She had seen cases before where ill or injured persons fell into a deep sleep and simply never woke up. They had merely wasted away in their beds as their loved ones stood by helplessly.

While Averill had assured Will that would not happen here, now that Kade was awake, she could
admit, at least to herself, that she’d feared that might very well be the outcome this time. Still, she had done her best to prevent that from happening: feeding him dribbles of broth several times a day to keep him from expiring from thirst or hunger, helping to wash and turn him every other day so that he would not develop skin irritations that might fester, and talking to him constantly so that he knew he wasn’t alone.

She had no idea if her efforts had helped or if it simply wasn’t his time yet to go, but Kade was alive and had awakened, and Averill felt she could take at least a little credit for that happy outcome. Now, she wanted to check on her patient and be sure he hadn’t slipped back into that unnatural sleep again.

“Oh! You’re up.”

Averill straightened as her maid, Bess, stepped into the room. The woman was older by twenty years and had pale brown hair streaked with grey and a slender figure. She carried a basin of water and a small strip of cloth, Averill noted, but ignored them, and said, “Aye. Help me dress. I would check on Kade.”

“Kade is it?” Bess asked as she set the basin of water on the second chest and moved toward Averill.

Averill felt herself flush at the maid’s dry tone. It reminded her that she had no right to be so familiar with the Scottish lord, but after two weeks of telling him everything and anything she could
think of as he’d lain sleeping and healing in the bed, Averill felt as if she knew the man. Well, because of that plus all the stories Will had told her about him in the evenings when he’d joined her in her constant vigil. Her brother had told her many tales about their capture and imprisonment as the two of them had sat at Kade’s bedside, and it was obvious that Will had forged a strong friendship with the Scot. It was also obvious that he thought highly of the man…as did Averill, herself, after all she’d learned about him.

She could only admire and appreciate the way Kade had helped keep Will’s spirits up during their enslavement. The Scot was also the only reason her brother was now free, for Kade alone had planned and carried out their desperate escape. He had also dragged her brother to the monks when he was injured, saving Will’s life again. Aye, Kade Stewart was a fine and honorable man, a good friend to her brother.

Averill was drawn away from her thoughts when Bess suddenly tugged the chemise out of her hand and tossed it aside. “What—?”

“Ye shall wash up as you do every morning, then ye can dress and go about yer day. Yer Scot can wait,” Bess said firmly as she steered her toward the basin and cloth on the chest.

“He’s not
my
Scot,” Averill said, aware that heat had flushed her cheeks at the words. However, knowing from experience that Bess wasn’t one to argue with, she didn’t bother trying. She snatched
up the clean bit of linen the maid had brought, dipped it in the water, and quickly began to wash herself.

Satisfied, Bess moved back to collect the chemise she’d taken from her, then searched for a gown suitable for the day ahead.

Averill ignored her as she rushed through her washing.

Bess was there waiting when she finished and helped her dress, her actions so slow Averill was hard-pressed not to natter at her to hurry. When the last lacing was done, she released a gusty sigh of relief and immediately made a run for the door.

“Yer hair,” Bess barked, bringing her to a halt.

Sighing impatiently, Averill turned back and allowed the woman to fuss with her hair, thinking it all a terrible bother. She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited.

“There,” Bess said at last. “You can go down and break your fast now.”

“I am going to look in on Kade,” Averill said as she moved to the door.

“You may as well break your fast first,” Bess said firmly. “Your brother and the three Scots are with him. They’ll not welcome your presence at the moment.”

“He’s awake then?” Averill asked, pausing with her hand on the door to glance back.

“Aye. The lad woke up again at the break of dawn, and Mabs tended to him. He’s been watered and fed and had a wash.”

“What did Mabs feed him?” Averill asked worriedly.

“Broth, just as you instructed,” Bess assured her, and added wryly, “though she says he was wanting something solid in his belly and made a fuss about it.”

“His stomach will probably not accept solid food yet,” Averill said with a frown.

“That’s what Mabs told him. The man didn’t believe her until the broth and mead tried to crawl back up his throat. He settled down then and stopped asking for proper food.”

Averill nodded, not at all surprised to hear this. She had managed to get some fluids down Kade’s throat since his arrival, but it was difficult to feed an unconscious man. After weeks with little more than a few mouthfuls of liquid, even a mug of broth or mead would weigh heavy on his stomach.

“So,” Bess said, drawing her attention again, “take yourself down and break your fast while he finishes talking to his men. Then you can check on him.”

“Aye.” Averill sighed and opened the door.

She really wanted to see for herself that he was awake and well but knew Bess was right, and her presence wouldn’t be welcomed. Doubtless, Kade had instructions for his men, messages to send to his kin to let them know he was alive and well, and so on. Will had told her that Kade had a sister named Merry as well as two brothers and a father, and she had no doubt they would all be fretting
about his well-being. She had certainly been fretting about Will after hearing not a word from him in the more than three years since he’d ridden off to join Edward’s Crusade, and had been overjoyed when he’d ridden into Mortagne’s bailey two weeks ago.

The great hall was cluttered with people coming and going when Averill descended the stairs. The tables were almost full with people breaking their fast, servants were rushing around with food and drink, and the air was abuzz with conversation.

Averill settled in her seat next to her father, offering him a smile and quiet “Good morn” as a servant rushed forward to present her with mead and some bread and cheese.

“Good morn, girl,” her father greeted cheerfully. “I hear the Scot’s awake and well.”

“Aye.” Averill smiled faintly as she nodded. It had been late when Kade had finally awakened last night, and most had been abed or headed that way when she’d found a maid to take the news below to her brother. Presumably, her father had been one of those already retired.

“Fixed him up right and nursed him through it. You are a good girl, Averill. A man would be lucky to have you to wife,” he said, then frowned. “I do not understand these foolish young men today. Any would be lucky to have you, and yet they turn from you as if you are plague-ridden.”

Averill sighed at the bewilderment in his voice. He really did not understand, and she felt his dis
appointment keenly. She cleared her throat, and said quietly, “I have red hair, Father. Many believe that is the sign of the Devil, or of a fiery temper, or promiscuity, or—”

“Bah!” Lord Mortagne interrupted impatiently. “Foolish superstitions. Your mother had your same coloring and was ever a sweet and dutiful wife. She never even looked at another man, and she certainly was not evil or tempestuous or any of that other nonsense.”

“And then there is the mark on my cheek,” Averill forged on, determined to make him see what others saw. “Some believe it the mark of the Devil as well.”

“’Tis a tiny birthmark,” he protested in disgust. “No bigger than a pea. ’Tis hardly even noticeable.”

Averill did not argue with him but merely pointed out her final flaw, at least the only other flaw she dared admit to him. “I stammer when nervous so that I sound a fool, and I am always nervous when I meet these men you would wish me to marry.”

“Aye, there is that,” he agreed on a sigh, apparently having no argument to counter that point, then pointed out with vexation, “but you do not stammer around family and friends.”

“Nay,” she agreed. “I am not nervous or self-conscious around them.”

“Then mayhap if you thought of these men as friends rather than suitors…” His voice faded as
he saw her doubtful expression, but he gathered himself, and suggested, “Then perhaps we could make you more relaxed ere they arrived, so that you would not stammer.”

“How?”

Her father considered the question briefly, his hand reaching unconsciously for his drink. He lifted it, but then suddenly paused and stared at the watered-down ale he favored. His eyes widened, eyebrows rising on his wrinkled forehead, then he gasped with certainty, “Through drink!”

“Drink?” She echoed the word with amazement.

“Aye. Drink always makes the men more talkative and gay. Why should it not work on you?”

“Oh, Father,” she began with horror, but the idea had taken hold, and he would brook no argument. She did not even think he had heard her protest as he hurriedly continued speaking.

“We shall try it the very next time. I shall consider whom to approach next, then we shall have you drink down a glass or two of our best whiskey the moment he arrives, before he can meet you, then—” He stood suddenly. “I must go check that list Nathans sent me of the men who have lost or never been matched up with a betrothed and choose the best of the lot to try it on. Oh, this is a brilliant idea. I only wish I had thought of it before.”

Averill stared after her father in horror as he hurried away to search out the letter from his friend Nathans. His excitement seemed about equal to her
own dismay. This was the very worst idea he had ever had. Have her drink to soothe her nerves ere facing one of those snooty men? Stone-cold sober she was hard-pressed not to strike out at them when they treated her so shabbily on sight. With her inhibitions lessened by drink, she was likely to give in to the temper she took such great pains to hide and do something of that very sort.

Averill let the bit of bread she’d picked up drop back to the table. She had no idea if all redheads had tempers as superstition claimed, but certainly she and her mother had. However, Averill’s mother, Margaret, had had it pounded into her from the cradle never to let that temper reign, and she had managed to keep a stern leash on it all the days of her life. Even her husband, Averill’s father, was ignorant of Lady Margaret’s temper. Lady Mortagne had also remonstrated with Averill from a very young age that she must do the same…and she had. Like her mother, Averill was always in control of her temper. Even when the last suitor had sneered to her face that he would never marry a redheaded she-devil with the mark of Satan on her face and lacking the brains God gave most, Averill had controlled her temper. She had not spat in his face and run her claws down his cheek as she’d wished. She’d bit her tongue, literally, smiled sweetly, and went straight up to her room. There, she’d forced herself to lie down and stare at the ceiling until the desire to howl and throw things had passed, and she’d regained control of herself.

However, alcohol could very well steal that control from her and reveal to one and all that she did indeed have the temper redheads were reputed to have, and that while she behaved as she should and presented a sweet disposition to the world, she often wanted to kick people in the shins and run away…at least for a while.

Averill grimaced as the thought made her recall the one time she’d lost her temper—the day she’d kicked the captain of the guard in the shin because he wouldn’t take her to her brother, then had quite literally run away. That was the one time her temper had been displayed. It was then her mother had started her campaign to make Averill control her temper.

She bit her lip and glanced toward the stairs to the upper hall, suddenly wondering just how much of that tale Kade had been awake to hear. She’d thought him sleeping or never would have told it, but then he’d asked his question…At the time she’d been so startled and happy to know he had come out of his unnatural sleep that she hadn’t even considered that he had heard the tale of her youthful temper tantrum. She fretted over it briefly but then pushed the worry away. All at Mortagne knew about that incident and thought nothing of it. Only her mother had recognized it as a show of the terrible temper her daughter carried, and she had promptly set out to be sure Averill gained and kept control of it.