Page 53 of A Promise of Love
I t was a sad and dispirited pair they looked, Alisdair thought .
Malcolm rode into Tynan’s courtyard, Molly plodding docilely beside him.
Judith sat atop her sway backed mare, exhausted and more than a little concerned about the crusty Scot at her side.
The journey to Inverness would have been too much to expect of him, wounded as he was.
Twice, he’d swayed on the saddle and would have fallen if she hadn’t held onto his waist. They'd been on the watch for the rest of Bennett's patrol, but Malcolm reasoned they were no doubt passed out on the side of the road by now. The retracing of their journey seemed to take forever, too slow for the state of Malcolm’s wounds .
Even so, the old Scot made use of the time .
"Lass, doubt me all you wish, but don't doubt the MacLeod. Who are you afraid of, lass? Him, or yersel'?" When she’d looked at him in puzzlement. "It's no' an easy thing ta love a Scot," he said, by way of explanation .
“You’ve wished me gone for weeks, Malcolm. Why do you argue with me to stay , now ?"
"I'm thinkin' he could do worse," he muttered, which was the greatest compliment he'd ever given any woman, had the daft lass the sense to know it.
She'd refused to back down, although he'd given her nothing but sour looks for weeks.
She'd refused to become conciliatory, had matched him look for look, the way a good Scot would do.
He had heard her story at Meggie's bedside, seen her real grief at Sophie's passing.
And when she had unerringly and without hesitation thrust the dagger into the horse's rump, he had almost kissed her feet.
She was more Scot than English, and of course she was a worthy mate for his laird .
Now, if he could only convince the two of them .
"You do not know, Malcolm," she said somberly. "I am not what you think I am ."
"Because ye were marrit ta a cruel mon, Judith? Who used ye in foul ways ?
I'm no' so hurt I canna remember." She bowed her head and stared at the neck of her long- suffering mare .
"Give the lad a chance, Judith." It was a statement he had made more than once on the dark road .
Outside Tynan’s gates, he’d tried once more. "Ye don't need to go, lass," he said finally, "now that the bastard's dead." He gripped his lips tight against the pain of his wound. He did not want her to turn her back on Tynan. "You canna do this to him, lass. He needs a wife ."
“Inverness is that way,” Alisdair greeted them, pointing to the west .
“Aye, lad, and don’t we know it ."
The emotion Alisdair felt at Judith’s return was immediately supplanted by concern, as he saw the makeshift bandage wreathed around Malcolm’s head. He bounded down the steps and peered into his old friend's face. Blood matted the bandage and the front of his shirt .
“Judith?” His eyes scanned her figure, but there was no sign of injury .
“I’m fine, Alisdair. Malcolm is the one needing tending.
” For a flash of moments, Judith allowed herself a fantasy.
She was returning from a necessary journey and Alisdair awaited her.
His frown was for the days apart, for their blessed end.
His arms were reaching out to hug her, not to scoop Malcolm from the saddle.
His radiant anger was for the presence of others.
Blessed welcome, a promise of a warmer greeting, later .
Alisdair had no time to frame the question before Malcolm turned on him .
“It’s an English wound, MacLeod, I’m lucky the brainless bastard dinna cut off my nose. I’m sure he was aimin’ for my heart ."
“How did it happen?” Alisdair unwound the bandage, inspected the wound. The old man’s slight moan was not the only sign of his pain. He began a series of voluble curses which grew in volume as they entered the bronze doors, Judith following behind .
"You left here intact and returned without an ear. I'd congratulate you on your sleight of hand, but I’d rather know what happened .”
"I’ll tell ye for a spot of brandy, lad," Malcolm said wearily, the pain filled journey having taken its toll .
“The brandy would be better served to bathe your wound, Malcolm .”
“Aye, but it’ll better serve my stomach ."
He swore as Alisdair helped him onto the kitchen table, eyeing the beams above his head with distaste.
He knew their shape well. Judith had shamed him into climbing a ladder and ridding them of their festoons of webs.
Now, she simply stood beside the table, holding Malcolm’s bonnet and the bloody strip of dress she’d used to bind his wound .
“‘Twas the English patrol, lad, come upon us near to Inverness .”
Alisdair shot a look at Judith. She didn’t look at him, merely kept her gaze riveted on Malcolm. There were words that needed saying, but not now, not when Malcolm so urgently needed medical attention .
"Ye’ll do fine with only one ear, you stubborn old fool," Alisdair said as he wiped away the crusted blood from the side of Malcolm’s head .
"Aye, The better ta ignore ye,” Malcolm grumbled .
It was a good thing his old friend wasn't a lady's man, Alisdair thought, as he stitched what he could. The remainder of Squire Cuthbertson’s brandy was used, not to bathe the wound, but to soothe the victim.
Still, it was not a pleasant procedure, and Malcolm made sure his displeasure was well known.
Alisdair had not realized how voluble his old friend could be, and in how many languages .
When he finished, Alisdair surveyed his handiwork. Like a war weary mongrel, Malcolm would win no prizes for beauty. The other wound took less time to suture, the saber having gone clean through Malcolm’s shoulder, missing any vital organs .
Only then was Malcolm established in Ian's bed - it crossed Alisdair’s mind that it had almost as many visitors recently as when Ian was alive and had a penchant for sneaking his lady loves in and out beneath their parent's noses .
“Are you going to tell me what happened, or will I have to drag it from you word by word?" The question was asked with a nonchalance Alisdair was far from feeling .
“I’m thinkin’ that’s a question ye need to ask of yer wife, MacLeod.” Malcolm’s statement was softened by the liberal amount of brandy he’d imbibed. The alcohol, the feeling of warmth and the softness of the bed upon which he lay induced in him a feeling of mellow comfort .
He did not see the stricken look Judith sent him, or the swift study his laird made of his wife .