Page 45 of Bride takes a Scot

“Someone is near,” Anse whispered.

Anse always had good hearing. Declan hadn’t heard anyone riding nearby. His cousin twitched his fingers and indicated both he and Trevor should ride about to find out who trailed them. Declan rode toward the left and Trevor to the right. Anse took the trail back the way they had come. The forest seemed to be still and quiet. No animals or birds scurried or fluttered.

Declan kept his horse silent and at a slow pace as he rode through the dense woodland. He rounded a tree and suddenly, something hit him from the side, hard enough to knock him off his horse. He landed on the rough terrain and his head slammed onto the leaves and loam of the forest floor. When Declan realized that somethingwas actually a someone, he flailed his arms and legs to protect himself from the attacker while avoiding being trampled by his frightened horse. He swung his fisted hand at the foe until he got to his knees and was able to pull his sword from his scabbard.

Shouts came from the woods. Trevor made their war cry. Declan tried to see who it was that ambushed him, but his sight was blurred. All he could make out was the outline of a hooded figure, which stood over him with a dagger gripped in a pale hand, ready to thrust. Too near the ground to use his sword, and in a thwarting position, Declan reached to try and stop the assailant from pushing the blade into his body when he heard Anse shout. Hoofbeats thudded, shaking the ground. Declan wasn’t sure whoever approached was friend or foe; he curled into a ball and prayed he wasn’t about to be run over by a warhorse, here in the woods. Through slitted eyes he saw his attacker hasten away before the horse reached them.

The hoofbeats stopped and there was a thud as Anse jumped from his mount into view. He knelt next to him. “Are ye struck? Did he harm ye?”

Declan shook his head. “Nay, he did not get a chance and fled thanks to ye.”

His cousin held down a hand and helped him to rise. “Let us find Trevor and make haste.”

They searched for the MacKendrick soldier for a short time before they found him. Trevor sat on the ground, leaning against a tree. He huffed as if in pain and held his stomach.

Declan hurried toward him, knelt, and pulled back his tartan to see if he was injured. Blood soaked Trevor’s tunic and he lifted it enough to see the damage. The soldier had a gash on the left side of his abdomen. He winced when Declan tried to assess if the wound was deep or fatal.

“We need to get him aid,” Anse said as he paced near them.

“Did ye see who attacked ye?” Declan asked Trevor. “Was there more than one man?”

Trevor moaned and shook his head. “Did…not see…more than…one.” He closed his eyes.

“Trevor,” Declan called to him, “Keep your eyes open.”

Anse lifted the wounded man and helped him walk toward the waiting horses. “The ride home is too afar. He will succumb if we do not get him aid. Let us stop and have Lillith patch him up?”

They rode out as if the devil himself were after them. Declan worried for Trevor. His wound appeared grave, and he didn’t want his soldier to die. Within a league of riding, they approached Lillith’s cottage that sat by a copse of trees, at the far-stretched border of their land. Before they reached the worn plot of land before the entrance, Lillith stepped through the doorway.

“Good day, Laird. I was not expecting you.” Then she appeared to notice the steely regard on their faces and the slumped over man riding in front of Anse. “Oh, ye are not here for a social visit. Come, get him inside.” She turned and entered her cottage.

Declan took Trevor from his cousin’s horse and once Anse dismounted they worked together to carry him inside. The cottage was dark and there were all sorts of scents from various drying plants that hung from rope and on the walls. On a long table, many jars of medicinals lined in rows, along with pestles and the tools of Lillith’s trade. She was a renowned healer and many, even those from other clans, sought her aid when needed.

“Lay him there,” she said and pointed to a small wooden cot by the long table.

They gently lowered Trevor onto the cot. “He was struck with a dagger. The wound looks grave. I am unsure if ye can save him.”

“We shall see.” Lillith began removing Trevor’s garments with shears and grimaced. Blood covered most of his torso and soaked his garments. “It will be close, Laird. I’ll see what I can do to help him, but I am not making any promises. Await outsidefor I need to focus. I cannot have ye both peering over my shoulder. If I need ye, I will call.”

Declan tensed at her words. Apprehensively, he stepped outside and Anse followed him. If his soldier didn’t survive, Declan would be devastated. Trevor was not only a good soldier, but a close trusted comrade. They had been raised together, trained, and caroused throughout their lives. Declan wouldn’t put a voice to his thoughts. Instead, he prayed, and began to pace.

Chapter Sixteen

Isabella spent agood hour in the chapel, praying for Declan’s return. He had been gone for over a sennight when he’d told her he was only going to be away a day or two. She repeatedly asked Lorcan if he would send men out to search for him, but he dismissed her worry. Lorcan was like a shadow, never leaving her side or presence. Isabella was glad for his company, but he rarely spoke to her. Instead, he followed her like a shadow, focused on her security.

Lorcan, by the look of him, was more than capable of protecting her. He appeared similar to Slone and she’d begun to wonder if he could be his brother, for they both had the same features of face, body shape, and wavy brown hair.

At least she didn’t have to worry about the threat that Declan had insinuated about before he left. Whoever threatened her must have absconded or changed their mind. There had been no further messages—or dead rats—left for her and that relieved her.

The clan seemed docile what with the heat of summer affecting everyone. Most tended to stay inside during the hottest part of the day. For days, nary a person walked on the lane in the mid-afternoons. Isabella knocked on various cottage doors and invited the women and children to the loch. She hoped to give everyone time to speak to her since she wasn’t introduced as Declan’s wife, a slight she had hoped he would remedy, but withhim away, she took care of it herself. The clan began accepting her and the women spoke to her more frequently, giving her greetings as she passed by.

At the loch, the children played by the water. Their lighthearted banter solaced her. Noah seemed in good spirits as he played with some of the lads. He even made sounds from his mouth and ran around, displaying normal boyhood excitement. As the days passed, the women began to set up covers on the bank and some even brought their mid-day meals to share. Isabella joined Marian and Edith on their blanket to listen to the elder women speak of times gone by and reminisced about their children when they were young.

Isabella noticed Rhona sitting by herself. She decided it was a good time to talk to her and perhaps make strides in winning her friendship. She approached the lass and sat on the grass next to her. “Good day, Rhona. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

The lass shook her head. After a moment, she asked, “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Isabella asked her.