Heart of Stone by Rebecca Ruger

Chapter Four

Of course, she couldnot sleep then and was forced to wonder if pride might actually be the death of her. As so often happened, hindsight suggested so many other options for what she might have done or might have said. Ah, but it would all be for naught. The man was unflinching in his steely-eyed hatred for her, was cruel and heartless, she already decided—what good would railing at him do? Julianna staunchly refused to attribute any kinder attribute to him for his attempt to share his plaid. She twisted and turned, tormented by cold and fear and a growing hatred for Calum MacKinnon. He had no trouble sleeping, she couldn’t help but notice, which only served to intensify her dislike of him.

A shock of noise disturbed her internal grumbling that Julianna rolled her head around before making herself completely still to listen. Was someone else shivering and suffering in the cold night? It certainly sounded like fretful and uneven breathing. More curious now and not imbued with any concern that the noise had come from anyone or anything outside of this circle of sleeping men, Julianna sat up. She scanned her gaze over the lumps of tartan clad men around the long-gone fire. One in particular, she thought it might be the younger lad, Peadar, was trembling violently. As she watched, hardly able to believe a man of his size could be disturbed by the cold, she realized he was moaning incoherently as well. It didn’t take her long to decide he might be feverish from his injury, though she had no way of knowing as she understood so little about these kinds of things.

Still, he appeared to be suffering that she knew something needed to be done. Biting her lip, she brought her gaze back to Calum MacKinnon. He slept peacefully, though she thought she detected yet a furrow in his brow, which had her supposing this was indeed a permanent and fixed feature. Leaning toward him, she sent one hand forward to wake him. She pulled back several times before she might have nudged him, so afraid he would wake and kill her for the surprise, or simply for waking him.

Swallowing thickly, gathering courage, she did finally touch her fingers to his shoulders, giving a slow shake. She gave only slight and swift attention to how solid and warm he was. He didn’t move that she applied more pressure, trying to move him. He barely budged that Julianna frowned and, with greater determination, shook his shoulder, her fingers actually gripping the flesh beneath the plaid and tunic.

He roused much as she’d suspected—or feared—sitting bolt upright and turning toward her, his knife impossibly produced with so much speed and menace, raised to her face.

But as quickly as he rose, he settled, seeing that it was only Julianna, grimacing at his overdone reaction.

“I think your man is unwell,” she said when he lifted both brows at her, quite obviously perturbed by her rousing him.

His scowl increased in reaction to her words as his eyes followed where she pointed to the shaking man.

“Peadar, is it not?” She asked. “I wonder if his wound might be infected. His mumbling and shaking are suspiciously feverish.”

“Shite,” he groused and got quickly to his feet, forcing Julianna to follow as she was yet tethered to him.

They approached the man, with Calum going onto his haunches, gently rolling Peadar over onto his back. When he did nothing else, only stared at the lad and called his name in a whispered hiss, Julianna rolled her eyes and knelt as well, setting her hand onto the lad’s brow.

She winced and lifted her gaze to Calum, giving him a sorrowful nod. Peadar was burning up, his brow at once flaming hot and dotted with perspiration.

Calum stood and pivoted, striding over to where Finn and Artur lie, giving them a light kick with his boot. Julianna remained as the rope would allow, within two feet of Calum as he stood over his men.

The oldest two in the group roused with about as much aggression as Calum had—a soldier’s life, Julianna had to assume—both sitting up abruptly and reaching for their weapons.

“Peadar’s ill,” Julianna said when Calum only inclined his head toward the sick lad.

This roused them fully, both men hopping to their feet. Finn struggled a bit with his plaid, which he’d apparently wrapped fully around himself.

Calum moved again, wanting to return to Peadar’s side, which once again yanked Julianna toward him.

“Goddamn it,” he cursed, and stopped for a moment to unknot the rope that bound them together. “Dinna run off while—”

“I would not do that while he’s ill,” she announced irritably, irked that he would even imagine she might.

The hard look he returned said that he didn’t believe her, but he finished with the rope at his wrist and attacked the one at Julianna’s, tossing the short piece near his own bed when it was done.

“Tepid water, we’ll need,” Finn was saying, having assumed a position near Peadar, while Artur stood over him, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth turned down with his concern.

“Strip him down?” Calum wondered.

“Aye,” Finn answered, “but we’ll keep the plaid between him and the hard ground.”

Julianna cleared her throat. “I saw angelica growing in the fen we rode through.”

Three sets of eyes turned and regarded her with mixed confusion.

“Angelica? The hairy-stalked plant with the purple-tipped white flower?” When their expressions did not change, Julianna shrugged. “Sorry, I just remember my mam gathering the roots and leaves to treat fevers.”

Still no reply and then they all turned away from her, to attend Peadar.

While they relieved the lad of some of his clothes and Artur dug in his saddlebags for a square of cloth, Julianna wondered what she might do to be helpful. She was happy to be up and about, as already she was warmer than she had been upon the cold, hard ground. She decided she might stoke the old fire, as she couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t be needed in the near future, even if only for the light it would shed.

When she began to stalk around the perimeter of the camp about this task, Calum lifted his gaze from Peadar and said starkly, “I asked you no’ to go anywhere.”

“I am but gathering kindling and peat for the fire,” she returned through gritted teeth, raising her hands to show him what little she’d collected already. She didn’t know what his response was to that as she’d returned to her task, shaking her head at how unpleasant he really was.

Over the next hour, in which time Tomag and Booth had woken as well, the men kept a vigil around Peadar, bathing his forehead and chest in cool water which Artur had fetched, and looking at but making no decisions about the state of his actual wound.

Julianna kept her distance, happy to warm herself by the fire she’d brought back to life, though not without difficulty. But she could not maintain it, her aloofness, certainly not after listening to them argue for the last ten minutes about the hole in Peadar’s shoulder, and what, if anything, should be done about it.

With a bit of a huff, she finally left the tiny blaze and went to peek over Finn’s shoulder as he set the refreshed cloth once again to Peadar’s forehead. The arrow that pierced Peadar’s arm had not gone all the way through that it was unseen now, his naked arm lying at his side. Julianna made a face for how red-tinted all of his bare chest and face were.

“May I see the wound?” She asked.

More suspicious gazes were aimed her way.

“If it is infected, he’ll no survive unless it’s cleaned properly,” she said, and then clarified, “or treated properly.”

Finn left the cloth on Peadar’s brow and put his hands underneath to lift all of Peadar away from the ground.

Julianna went to her knees again, getting very close to the ground to inspect the tiny hole at the back of his upper arm. She was no healer but even she recognized that the angry redness surrounding the area was not a good thing.

Sitting straight, she met Finn’s gaze. “I don’t know much about these things, but that is definitely infected. Are we close enough to any town that honey might be found? I think that might be helpful.”

Finn nodded while Tomag said, “Uddingston is but half an hour back.”

“No’ likely to find any awake at this hour,” Artur said, “that you might procure honey.”

Julianna shrugged. “It’s nearly dawn. Might find some people about already, at least by the time you get there. I would suggest even asking if there’s a healer nearby, bring her out to Peadar.”

When no one responded to this, Julianna furthered, “In all probability, you men have seen more of this”—she waved an anxious hand toward Peadar’s inert form— “than I. You must know that cloths to his forehead alone will not save him.”

“Aye, she’s right,” Calum finally decided, his cool green eyes leaving Julianna to rest again on the lad.

“You want a healer or the honey?” Tomag then asked of Julianna.

“Ideally, both,” she supposed.

Tomag nodded and slapped at Booth’s arm. “Let’s go. Unless you’re unwell also?”

“I’m fine,” Booth said with a shrug. “But if we catch us a healer, I’ll have her look at my leg.”

And off they went.

Julianna returned to a spot near the fire, not imagining she might be of any further assistance, not sure they would appreciate any further desire of hers to help.

It was much longer than an hour before Tomag and Booth returned, the length of time explained by what followed them. An ancient woman rode an old nag, both the lady and her palfrey looking to have seen more years than any person Julianna had ever known.

The healer, as Julianna had to assume she was, slid from her mount with neither assistance nor grace, but did land firmly on the ground, giving the nag a gentle pat.

Tomag announced awkwardly, “This is Yana.”

Finn, Artur, and Calum shuffled out of her way as she neared Peadar. From the distance of a dozen feet or so away, Julianna watched her work, amazed that she so easily went to her surely creaking knees and with nary a grimace. The hag labored quietly and efficiently over the lad, only speaking when she needed assistance to turn Peadar onto his side. She addressed the wound, pouring some amber liquid over the hole before wiping at the red skin with the same cloth Finn had used to cool Peadar’s brow. She applied a poultice, taken with her fingers from a tiny gray crock, from a worn and scraggly leather bag. Linen strips were wrapped around his arm and shoulder and he was again laid onto his back.

Going down was obviously easier than getting up. When the woman had finished her ministrations, she lifted a hand in the air, to which no one responded until Julianna rolled her eyes and said to the MacKinnons, “Mayhap one of you would like to help the lady to her feet?”

Calum moved, rather jerking forward to extend his hand to take the hag’s. Julianna thought there was about him a bit of embarrassment that he’d needed to be instructed on the simple courtesy. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought a stain of red colored his cheeks.

Ah, so he was capable of emotions other than the constant hostility.

But having spoken now brought the healer’s attention to Julianna. She squinted her already skinny eyes at Julianna while she dug blindly in that leather bag.

“Ye dinna belong here, lass,” remarked the healer.

“I...I do not,” Julianna answered with a wee smirk for the boldness of this woman, to call this out in front of them.

The woman said nothing else but let her gaze rest with some meaningfulness upon Julianna before giving a slight nod and turning toward the men. She handed a tiny hemp pouch to Finn. “Stir that in boiled water, let it steep. The lad should have this every hour, if ye can rouse him enough.”

Finn traded with Yana, pressing a few coins into her hand as he took the pouch from her.

“Ye have our thanks, ma’am, for what ye’ve done.”

Yana only harrumphed, though not with any great callousness.

Julianna watched her leave, was pleased that this time Tomag had the presence of mind to give some aid to the old woman as she gained the saddle of her nag. As they’d brought her here, so Tomag and Booth rode with her on her return journey.

Julianna pulled her attention away from those departing figures and found Calum’s gaze sitting heavily upon her. He’d taken a seat on the ground, to her left, and was watching her with an icy, contemplative stare.

Fairly frustrated with his incessant attempts to scare her with the menace of his sulking glares, Julianna decided that her best course of action was to ignore him.

***

HE COULDN’T FIGUREher out.

He wanted to attribute no virtue at all to her, but it was hard to ignore the fact that she needn’t have woken him to alert him of Peadar’s illness. She might well have rolled over and feigned sleep and closed her ears to the lad’s rough breathing. One less MacKinnon to plague her.

But she did not. Certainly, she’d risked her own life by rousing him, and he did suffer a small pang of guilt for drawing his blade on her again. She might have screamed her distress to the hag, who had so easily surmised that something was not quite right with Julianna’s presence among these MacKinnons. Thankfully, he had removed the binds from her hands that the healer wasn’t able to draw conclusions without a word. And yet, the healer had asked, more or less, if aught was amiss, and Julianna hadn’t responded with any distress. True, her answer to the hag had been given in an aggrieved tone, but that was all.

Calum didn’t understand her. And for all his great scrutiny of her, he had no more answers save that she was entirely too easy on the eyes and possibly that she truly didn’t want to see anyone die.

Tomag and Booth returned, and a vigil was kept over Peadar, with the closest watcher announcing at varying intervals any changes in his status.

Calum had thought that rain would come today, the dawn sky being so heavy with thick, gray clouds. But they’d moved quickly toward the east, over the loch and hills in the distance. The wind that took the clouds away often screeched and moaned through the trees in which they’d made their camp that it wasn’t until they were nearly set upon that it was discovered that a party approached.

Calum jumped to his feet, drawing his sword at the same time Artur did. Finn and Tomag and Booth followed, forming a circle, their backs to the fire, Finn standing over Peadar.

They saw nothing at first, heard only a lone snort of a horse to alert them that they were not alone. Keeping his eyes on the trees, Calum reached for Julianna, urging her to stand. He forced her behind him, closer to the little fire she’d made.

“Stay close,” he ordered her in a low voice. “Say nothing.”

“They’re surrounding us,” she whispered at his back, breathless with this new anxiety. “You cannot fight them—”

“Hush. We’ll no’ fight, no’ if we can help it.”

They showed themselves, the riders. Calum barely moved, though he let his gaze shift around, counting. Shite, fifteen of them, that he could see. The party surrounded Calum and his group, much as the MacKinnons circled the campfire.

One man came forward, tall upon a great big red destrier. He was a person of means, his steed well equipped and his clothing not common, but of finer fabric, though he wore no plaid. He was nearer to Finn’s age, but showed not the same effects, his hair more brown than gray, his skin smoother.

Calum immediately noticed that his gaze fell on Julianna, that he did not give too much consideration to any of the MacKinnons with their swords drawn and miens fierce.

“Got some word,” the man said, unaffected by the posturing, “that there might be a woman out this way, in need of recovery.”

Bluidy hell. This was not going to end well. Julianna had only to cry out and the fight was on.

“She needs nothing from any stranger,” Calum said evenly. Still holding Julianna’s hand from when he pushed her behind him, he squeezed her fingers.

“Aye, but I’ll be needing to hear that from the lass in question,” returned the man, arching a brow at Calum.

She moved. Calum tensed his fingers yet more, but she was not to be deterred. She stepped to his side.

“You’ve been advised that I am in distress?” She asked the man, her tone filled with astonishment.

“I have, lass,” said the man. “Not accustomed to seeing a lone woman amid a group such as this, so I’ll be asking you plainly, are you here of your own volition? Willingly?”

“Well, not willingly,” she answered, turning Calum’s stomach. “But there’s nothing to be done about that. Mayhap it was Yana, the lovely woman who helped our dear Peadar, who suggested I might be in need of help?”

Our dear Peadar? Calum had all he could do to keep the bewilderment from his expression and his gaze from her.

“It was,” the man answered.

“’Tis all my fault,” Julianna said, with so much lightness that Calum didn’t recognize her voice. “I was indeed upset earlier when Yana arrived.” She stepped forward and touched Calum’s forearm, pressing downward that his sword was lowered. “My husband here has mistreated me horrifically.” Calum heard Finn’s sharp intake of breath, but Julianna carried on airily. “But never mind my petulance. It was silly of me to be so distraught just because my husband didn’t buy me the cloak I coveted in the market at Leith. But, sir, if only you’d seen it, you’d have understood my torment. It was, after all, made of the most sumptuous silk. It was green, with these wee rosettes of gold sewn into—"

“Then you aren’t here, held against your will?” And now the man appeared as annoyed as he did perplexed.

“Against my will?” She gasped and slapped her hand onto her chest in mock surprise. And then giggled for effect. “Oh, dear no. Sir, I’m quite happy to be here, so close to my husband that I can let him know, hourly if it pleases me, how pretty was that cloak, and how miserable his life is going to be if he doesn’t loosen those purse strings to accommodate my wishes.”

This elicited rowdy laughter and guffaws from all the men surrounding Julianna and the MacKinnons.

Finn was the first to get past his shock and play along. “Aye, laugh now, sirs. All good times until your own bride be nagging you.”

“I ken that,” someone called out.

“I am Julianna MacKinnon, sir,” she called out to the man who had done all the talking so far. “This is my husband, Calum MacKinnon, of the Nairn MacKinnons.”

And with that, calamity averted, the men dismounted. Hands were shook and names were given.

The man who obviously controlled this bunch approached Calum, who sheathed his sword.

“Gavin Spence, sir,” he introduced himself. And while Julianna skittered away to sit near Peadar, the man said, “You have my hearty condolences, sir.”

Calum rolled his eyes, giving his best impression of a harried husband. “Aye, she’s a handful.”

“Bonny for sure,” the man said, “but it comes with so much to offset that, aye?”

“Ah, then you already ken,” Calum said, giving a good chuckle while he shook his head, in some feigned commiseration with this stranger.

“They look like that, and so often as sweet, you can almost forgive them anything. But take it from me, lad, I’ve been down this same road on numerous occasions over several decades. Ye can either be right, or ye can be happy. But ye canna be both.”

“Sound advice, I should think,” Calum responded. “I’ll have to adjust my thinking in the future.”

“Aye, but isn’t life so much easier when they’re smiling at you?” He slapped Calum on the shoulder then. “But aye, she’s still giving you the evil eye. You’re done for a while, lad. Get her the bluidy cloak. Make your life easier.” Gavin Spence recognized Calum’s plaid. “MacKinnon, aye?”

Calum nodded, stating his name again, still befuddled by what Julianna had done.

“I ken your father, I believe. Charles, was it?”

“Aye, and how did you ken him?” His father had been gone for nearly twelve years.

“He came down when old Kirkcaldy was auctioning off his daughters to the highest bidder. Met him there.”

Calum grinned. “I remember him telling me about that. Didn’t go as planned, did it?”

Gavin Spence made a face. “No’ for him, but I made out all right. Got myself the bonniest one—though as I’ve said, she’s still a work in progress.”

“My father told me that men only think they are riding high, but always and ever, it’s at the mercy of whatever his wife would allow.”

Spence wagged a finger at Calum, smiling himself now. “Aye, but only the really smart husbands ken that, lad. Your da’ married the Gordon lass, did he not?”

“He did.”

“He was a good man, your da’. Easy, fair, wore his honor like chainmail. He happily adored your mam, dinna care who ken it or saw it.”

This came as no surprise to Calum. His parents’ marriage had been good and strong, but he was pleased that others, outside of Caerhayes, had seen this as well.

They stayed but a quarter hour before Gavin Spence mounted his fine steed and led his party away, calling last to Calum that they would be welcome inside Uddingston, if they had a need.

Calum gave one last wave and turned, as all his men did, their gazes befuddled by so many questions, toward Julianna. Still seated at Peadar’s side, she must have felt their attention that she finally turned her face over her shoulder.

“What?” She asked.

“What?” Finn repeated, and then with greater volume and more astonishment, “What? Lass, you could have...why did you no’ speak up?”

Her cheeks pinkened and she appeared extremely uncomfortable with their heightened awareness of her. “I did speak up,” she reminded them, turning her face again, presenting the back of her head to them.

Booth persisted. “But you could have betrayed us.” His tone exposed a bewilderment similar to Finn’s.

Her shoulders lifted and fell in a careless shrug, but she gave no more insight into her reasons for not alerting Gavin Spence of her situation.

The men had more to say, but it was shared between themselves, Artur expressing his own opinion on what might have been. “Would’ve seen us in worse straits than our dear Peadar, that’s for sure.”

Calum stood with his hands on his hips, trying to make sense of it himself. His gaze never left her, stayed on her slim form as she applied the cooled cloth once more to Peadar’s warm skin. She must have sensed his ongoing regard, that even as she leaned over the lad, she turned her face again over her shoulder. She met his stormy gaze without flinching.

“Stop staring at me like I’m some unfathomable creature without a heart,” she said, this sullen tone so very different from that wispy one she’d used with Spence. “Any person in their right mind would have done the same, made sure it did not escalate to battle.” Softly then, “I cannot have another person die because of me.”