Page 33 of Glasgow Rogue

Annie stood at the small porthole of the captain’s cabin and stared out at the dark water.

A sliver of new moon barely cast light on the sea, causing the swells to look like giant, black monsters undulating toward her to crash with the pounding force of cannon against the hull.

The first hour they’d been in open water, she had been sure the boat was going to splinter apart, even though the quartermaster had assured her the ship had crossed the Atlantic in much worse conditions.

There wasn’t even a storm forecast this night.

There might not be a storm brewing on the water, but there was one raging in her heart.

Annie leaned her forehead against the cool brass fitting and closed her eyes.

Niall was lying at death’s door because of her.

He had saved her from falling into the hands of an angry mob and gotten stabbed in the process.

He hadn’t had adequate medical care because he refused to stop too close to Glasgow.

He’d insisted they keep moving, all the while aggravating the injury and causing it to become worse.

He hadn’t let on how much pain he was in.

Or had she just been too stupid to see?

Annie opened her eyes again to look into the never-ending black night.

The captain had said they should reach the end of the loch by midmorning and then it was just a few miles to Ian MacLeod’s.

Captain Vance had assured her that he’d transported the MacLeods before and that Ian kept a carriage at the coaching inn by the small dock since it was often quicker to travel to Loch Linnhe and catch a boat than to go through Loch Shiel.

She just hoped the carriage wouldn’t become a funeral coach.

Niall emitted a low moan and Annie spun around.

His eyes remained closed, which meant he was probably still in the semi-coma he’d been in since the sailors carried him down.

Reaching for the washcloth lying in a basin of water, she wrung it out and sat on the edge of the narrow cot.

Even sitting on the side opposite his infected leg, she could feel the fever heat radiate from him.

Annie dabbed his forehead and cheeks with the cool cloth, then dipped it in the basin again and wiped his throat and chest where his tunic lay open.

The shirt was drenched with sweat and clung to his skin, revealing the powerfully-muscled chest and arms. She hoped that strength would get him through the night.

He wouldn’t be in this condition if it hadn’t been for her.

Annie put the washcloth back in the basin and picked up Niall’s hand.

It felt as hot as though he’d been holding it over an open fire.

She intertwined her fingers with his. “Ye are a willful man, Niall MacDonald. Now use that will to stay alive.” She felt a teardrop run down her cheek.

“Will ye stay alive? Please?” Another tear rolled down. “Please? Please stay alive.”

Niall didn’t open his eyes and he didn’t answer. Annie was about to reach for the cloth again when she felt a slight squeeze on her fingers. It was so feeble, she wondered if she’d imagined it. Then it came again, light as a cat’s paw.

Annie squeezed back. “Niall? Can ye hear me?” When there was no response, she sighed.

She had hoped he’d heard her, but the movement might have been involuntary.

People tossed and turned in their sleep, after all.

But then…maybe the fragile pressure to her fingers hadn’t been involuntary.

Maybe Niall had heard her. Maybe if she kept talking, she could hold that link.

Let her strength flow through that connection.

Maybe, just maybe, she could keep him alive.

She settled on the bed, holding Niall’s hand in both of hers. “Ye said I was a stubborn lass, Niall MacDonald. Verra well. Now I will show ye just how stubborn I can be. Ye cannae die. Do ye hear me? Ye cannae die.”

Niall’s fingers moved ever so slightly and Annie began talking.

She talked throughout the night, telling him of all the things he had to live for, asking questions about his family even though she knew he would not answer, and eventually, near dawn, even telling Niall of her childhood, stopping only when she reached the part about Broderick.

Having exhausted conversation, but encouraged by the occasional twitch of Niall’s hand in hers, she began to sing.

Off-key and flat, no doubt, but she didn’t care.

Her voice grew hoarse over the next hours, the sound more like a croaking frog, but still she continued, but that didn’t matter if her voice could keep Niall in the world of the living. Please, Lord. He cannae die!

****

Annie startled when she heard the cabin door open.

She blinked her eyes open to find herself looking up at the quartermaster looming in the entrance.

She tilted her head, rubbing it against something hard, and realized she had fallen asleep slumped over Niall.

Annie sat up quickly. She wasn’t supposed to fall asleep!

Her gaze flew to Niall. Dear Lord… She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Niall’s chest rise and fall.

“He still breathes,” the quartermaster said as he stepped inside. “Perhaps the infection hasn’t spread throughout his body, then.”

“Is it morning?” Annie croaked, her voice scratchy and barely audible.

“Aye.” The quartermaster moved to Niall’s other side and lifted the blanket to unwrap the bandage on his leg. “Hmmm.”

The man’s face was as impassive as a faro player’s. The grogginess left Annie’s mind as her senses kicked in. She tried to peer over the sheet, but it was held too high. “What does that mean?”

“It means he is not worse.”

Annie placed her hand on Niall’s forehead. “But his fever still burns.”

“I didn’t say he was better.”

“Doona talk in riddles,” Annie said. “Speak plainly.”

The quartermaster arched a brow. “I thought I was. It is a good sign that your husband has held his own overnight.”

Annie didn’t correct his assumption that she was Niall’s wife.

When they’d boarded the boat yesterday her cap had flown off and her hair had tumbled down.

No one seemed particularly surprised that she was a woman wearing breeches, but then this was a working ship.

And Niall had acted very protective. Her breathing hitched.

Niall had always acted protective with her, but she hadn’t appreciated it.

“How long before we dock?”

“Less than a half hour. I came down to see if we would be needing…” He stopped. “Well, I will let the captain know to send someone for the MacLeod carriage.”

Annie looked at Niall and then up. “Should we try to wake him?”

“Better not to agitate him. If he wakes, the pain will be bad and I gave him all the laudanum we had last night.” The quartermaster secured the bandage and dropped the blanket. “I will send some men down once the carriage gets here.”

Annie picked up Niall’s plaid after the man left and shook out the long length.

She knew how it was supposed to look since she’d seen Niall wear it a dozen times, but how did he get everything to fall into neat pleats around his hips and have material left over for a sash?

She folded and unfolded it several times, trying to figure it out before she gave up and went to the saddlebag to pull out the stained and torn breeches that Niall had worn when he’d gotten stabbed. At least she knew how they fit.

Annie pulled back the blanket and felt her breath hitch again at the redness and swelling.

The wound itself was covered with the bandage, but she could imagine it only looked worse.

Carefully, trying not to disturb Niall, she slipped his feet through and tugged the breeches slowly upward.

Lifting his hips to slide the pants under him was difficult since his body was dead weight, but she managed it.

Then she hesitated. The codpiece needed lacing, but did she dare touch him there?

Annie paused for a moment more, then shook her head.

She was being silly. Niall was not conscious and would never know.

Pushing his tunic out of the way, she started threading the laces through the eyelets.

She was halfway through when she felt his manhood stir.

Her gaze flew to his face. Niall’s eyes remained closed and nothing had changed in his expression.

His breathing remained even, yet… She felt it move again and quickly dropped her hands.

Apparently that part of a man worked independently of his brain.

Annie tugged Niall’s tunic down. The breeches would have to remain half-laced.

By the time the ship docked and two sailors came down to carry Niall up on deck, she’d managed to get his boots on and wrapped his plaid around him in a shawl-like fashion. At least the wool would keep him from getting chilled, something he didn’t need with the fever he was running.

Captain Vance met her as she came up the companionway. “I’ve informed the driver to take you straight to MacLeod,” he said, “and I dispatched my boatswain to ride to Glenfinnan for a physician.”

“Thank ye.”

The captain nodded. “God’s speed.”

“Aye. God’s speed,” Annie said.

They were going to need it.

****

The carriage that awaited them was not much bigger than a curricle, although it did have four wheels and two horses.

The benches, while well-padded and upholstered in soft leather, were too short for Niall’s length, so the sailors placed him on the floor.

Annie put the saddlebag under his head for a pillow and bent his knees so he would fit.

He mumbled something and Annie thought she saw his eyelids move before he went still again.

She wondered why anyone would choose to keep such a small carriage for transport.

It seemed even smaller when Captain Vance hitched their two horses behind it.

Her unspoken question was answered a short time later as they left the shoreline and started to climb.

She looked out the window to see only sky.

Leaning forward she looked down and then quickly jerked back, pulling the drape closed.

Merciful heavens! They were on a road that was only a narrow ledge with a sheer drop to what looked like a ravine far below.

The sight—short as it was—gave a whole new meaning to the term high lands.

The horses continued to climb, the wheels of the carriage now catching on ruts and protruding rocks and causing it to tilt dangerously.

Annie slid down to the floor beside Niall and propped his leg over her lap.

He opened his eyes briefly, not focused, before he closed them again.

That he was beginning to wake gave her some hope.

She prayed his fight to stay alive wouldn’t be lost to a carriage tumbling off a mountainside.

Every lurch—of what now seemed to be an oversize vehicle for the road—brought Annie’s heart into her mouth.

The carriage finally rolled to a stop, although the driver did not jump down.

Annie’s heart jumped again. Had they actually arrived at Ian’s or was there a rockslide ahead and they weren’t able to turn around in such a tight space? Why wasn’t the driver doing something?

Annie eased herself back onto the seat and slowly pushed the drape aside from the window.

They had arrived at someplace, but she wasn’t sure where.

The carriage waited in front of a tall, stone curtain wall while a massive iron-grated gate was being raised.

A portcullis? Annie leaned her head outside the window and gasped.

Inside the courtyard stood a medieval castle, complete with merlons and embrasures along its roof.

A guard appeared on the curtain wall and waved them through.

As the carriage rolled toward the four-storied keep, its massive double oak doors opened and a large, broad-shouldered man in a tartan appeared on the steps, looking every inch a barbarian warlord with his long, ebony hair and eyes nearly the same color.

One hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

His face could have been chiseled out of the granite hills they’d just climbed.

What in the world had she and Niall gotten themselves into?