Page 12 of Rekindled (The MacTavish Heirs #5)

In which agony comes in colors.

Catriona…

It hits without warning.

I’m not bending or twisting, or trying to pick something up, the usual offenses. The agony just hits me like a sledgehammer and I crumple to the ground, flimsy as tissue paper.

“What’s wrong?”

Lucas is on me in seconds, running his hands over my spine, probably feeling the spasms tearing through me.

I can feel the dirt and rocks against my cheek and it’s the only thing grounding me in this reality.

The rest of me is screaming silently, begging to be somewhere else, out of this fragile fecking body that betrays me.

“Ye haven’t had any medication, have ye?” He sounds angry. My back is on fire, the burn tearing up my spine. I’m sobbing silently, gritting my teeth to hold back my screams.

“Mmm- no,” I gasp. “Not going to tell my kidnapper- ah, god!” I’ve only thrown up from the pain a couple of times, but my stomach is surging up my throat and I can’t hold it back, groaning in humiliation as he holds my hair back and wipes my mouth like I’m a wee fecking bairn.

“I’ve got ye, shhh… brave lass.” His thumbs push into the pressure points by my L1 and L2 on my spine and the agony recedes just enough to let me breathe, panting and desperate for air.

“Let’s get ye settled. Cold helps, aye? I’m going to put ye in the stream.

” He scoops me up in his arms while I twist and arch, trying to get away from the fire consuming me from the inside out.

The sudden shock of cold makes me curl up like a potato bug, and he sets me on his lap, working his fingers along my spine. “So brave. Ye never scream, do ye? Just fighting it. I got ye. Try to take some deep breaths. Dr. Tennant says it helps unlock the muscles, remember? Breathe now, brave lass.”

Pain comes in colors.

From the yellow, the twist and ache in my back, to orange, simmering along my spine that I can barely function through, then the bloody red of a full-blown series of spasms where I can’t think or move without wanting to howl like a wounded animal.

Then, there’s blue. Aqua blue cold seeping into my skin, my muscles, down to my core. The icy stream flows through me, pushing back the red. Just a little. The burn is still there, lingering like a demon called up from the Underworld, but it’s retreated a bit.

I tuck my face into the little space where his neck meets his shoulder and try to pull in some air. He smells like the forest, and old leather, like always. I could never forget his scent. He rubs my back, murmuring soothing nonsense until I can take a deep breath without choking it back out again.

“Your teeth are chattering, I have to get ye out of the water,” he finally says, sounding regretful like freezing his arse off in a frosty mountain spring forever would be grand.

“Oh- oh- okay,” I manage.

“I’ve got ye.” He stands up, as if holding me is no hindrance.

I can feel his biceps coil as his grip tightens and he brings me under some trees, the ground soft from years of fallen pine needles.

“We’re far enough from the last town to chance a fire,” he says, rooting through his backpack. “Let’s get ye in some dry clothes.”

The only clothes available are his, and I canna uncurl from my crab-like position, so he has to help dress me.

He does, expressionless, and I’m grateful for it.

I canna stand pity. This is humiliating enough.

I know I must look ridiculous in his black jeans and a shirt.

They smell like him, though, and it’s comforting.

“The next town is about six kilometers away,” he says, consulting his Garmin. “I’m getting ye settled and I’ll run in when it gets dark.”

Looking up at the sky, I can see the sun lingering just above the horizon. “Look, ye canna do that.” At least I don’t sound like I’m holding back a scream anymore. “It’s too dangerous. Ye know Dubois owns every little town from here to Marrakech. I’ll be fine. Let me just catch my breath.”

“We both know that the spasms won’t be stopping without your meds.

” He adds a couple of sticks to the tiny fire.

“I fecking hate leaving ye alone, but I can break into a pharmacy and be back in the time it would take to carry ye there.” His big hands are gently rubbing my back.

“The only thing I have with me is ibuprofen, it’s safe to give ye four, no more.

” He hands me the pills and holds the water bottle for me.

Twilight is spreading through the forest as Lucas straps on one of his guns and a knife. “Here’s the Mossburg.” He crouches in front of me, handing me the gun. The solid weight of it is reassuring. “Can ye feel the ibuprofen working?”

“A little,” I say. “It’ll be enough.”

His warm hand cups the back of my head. “I’ll be back as fast as possible, aye? Stay quiet, shoot anything that moves.” He kisses the top of my head and pulls away. I dinnae know who’s more shocked by that kiss, him, or me.

Before I can say anything, he disappears into the forest like smoke.

Lucas…

I’m gonna pay for that.

I dinnae know what possessed me to kiss her, but the feel of her again, her sweet smell of lavender and the almond lotion she loves so much.

It's been three years since I held her in my arms and every goddamned day since, I remember her curves, the dips and valleys of her little waist and hips, the smooth swell of her perfect breasts.

Torturing myself.

The air is cool, so I’m not breaking much of a sweat, the six kilometers takes less time than I expected.

Good. I need to get back to Cat before she suffers any more than she has.

So many of these little towns in the Atlas Mountains are laid out the same way as the last, forest giving way to farmland, then little homes clustering closer together, and then the main streets.

Outdoor food markets, a few clothing and grocery stores.

The pharmacy is usually not as well protected as it would be in a bigger city, though a guard nodding off with his hand on his rifle is not unusual. It’s pitch-black tonight, which covers me as I circle the building. No guards.

It’s stucco and stone, sturdy-looking with a wooden door braced with steel bars. They’re not elaborate enough to have a complicated alarm system, which is a pity. I have an app that can unscramble almost any electronic lock.

I’m gonna have to pick this one the old-fashioned way.

Surprisingly, old locks are often harder to pick. There’s less give, the metal rusted and stubborn. It takes about five minutes, having to step back into the shadows as a young couple passes by, their eyes only for each other.

Would Catriona and I have looked at each other if we’d met at their age? No forbidden connection. Maybe meeting at a pub and hitting it off...

Stop.

Forcing myself away from dangerous thoughts, I get to work to with my little pick until the locks release and I’m inside.

I’m thinking I should be grateful that the bawbag who kidnapped Cat brought her to a country where I speak the language. The tidy rows of bottles are lined up along the shelves behind the pharmacist’s counter, not as many options as I’d like, I’ll take what I can get.

“Muscle relaxants…” I barely whisper, shining my penlight over the labels.

“Good. Diazepam. No w for the anticonvulsants…” These are harder to find, though not surprising.

Squinting at the third bottle on the top shelf, I nod in relief.

“Got the Gabapentin. Now for the corticosteroids and back to Cat.” The only thing I can find is Methylprednisolone, not my first or even fourth choice, but it’ll do the job.

Ten precious minutes wasted as the coffee house down the street closes, sending everyone out onto the streets. Slipping past the last two men, elderly and robustly singing an old folk song, I’m back into the forest.

It’s more intense now, the insistent nudge at the base of my spine pushing me to hurry.

She’s alone. In pain. Run faster.

I’m near the campsite when I realize the fire’s out. Shite.

Circling behind it, I search the grounds. No intruders. And no Cat. Bursting from the trees in a move that I know is colossally stupid in case someone is lying in wait, I hear a smothered, wee screech.

“Ye scared the hell out of me!” It’s an angry little whisper from behind the tree to my left. There’s a hollow in the ground there and Cat’s huddled under some branches.

“Sorry, lass.” Helping her up, I ask, “Why were ye hiding? Did ye hear something?”

“Helicopter.” She’s gritting her teeth and it comes out a wee bit garbled. “Put out the fire and hid under the branches. I dinnae know if they had thermal imaging.”

“Clever thing,” I say approvingly, carrying her back to the log in our sleeping area. “Did they hover over or do any sweeps?”

“No.” I can see the tendons in her neck tighten and know there’s another series of spasms on the way. “They continued on. Looked like a normal grid pattern sear- Ah, god!”

Yanking the pill bottles out of my backpack, I lift her head. “It’s bad, I know. Let’s start with the Diazepam and the Gabapentin, aye?” I get the meds into her mouth and hold the water bottle for her.

Two hours later, her suffering is reduced and my girl is on my lap, weeping soundlessly. “I’m sorry,” she gasps out, “I hate it.”

“The pain?” I run my hand over her glossy hair, pushing it back from her forehead.

“All of it,” she hiccups softly. “Being so fecking weak. Fragile.”

I want to kiss her, tell her how strong she is, how beautiful. She’d likely try to stab me for that. “I’m reminding ye about how ye got this way.”

“Fecking Krasniqi brothers,” she snarls before groaning again. “Fecking car bomb.”

“Ye saved your cousins. Ian and Lorna, she was only three, aye?” She’s still rigid in my arms. “Ye carried the bairns away as fast as ye could and then threw your body over them to protect them.”

“That chunk of stone from the building,” she whispers, “hit me right in the back, fractured my spine.”

“Would ye have changed anything?”

“A’course not.” Cat rubs her face against my shoulder. “It’s been seven years and I just... Every time I’m feeling good and thinking maybe it’s going away, it’s healing, and then… The red comes back.”

Tightening my arms slightly, I rock her, hearing her breathing settle into something even. “And your cousins are alive. Say it.”

“Ian and Lorna are alive,” she whispers, finally drifting off to sleep. Covering her with my jacket, I rest my head against the tree and watch the night sky dance and spiral towards dawn.

***

Bawbag - Scottish slang for asshole

Bairn - Scottish slang for a child.