Page 13 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

She turned to Arran, wringing her hands. “Please, help me husband. He was fixing new reeds on the roof and it must have collapsed under him.” She pointed to the gaping hole above them that was still showering turf and splinters of timber.

Without further delay Arran turned his attention to the heavy beam. Dahlia and Jenny – for that was the older woman’s name – scurried aside, careful not to get in his way as he wrestled with the massive piece of timber. Dahlia couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with admiration for his selflessness and his strength. He’d thought nothing of putting aside his own safety to try and help the injured man.

Arran bent his back to the task over the now silent man. Inch by inch he shifted the heavy beam it so that gradually one of the man’s legs was freed. With the strain showing on his face he managed to hoist the beam a few inches into the air while the two women struggled to free Colban’s right leg. Crouching over him they slowly eased it from under the crushing weight of the log.

“We have it,” Jenny whispered, “he’s free.”

Arran straightened, drops of sweat in his eyes but with a smile of satisfaction dawning on his features.

It was at that moment a large piece of the broken roof descended, catching him in a hail of stones, timber and turf, dealing him a severe blow across his back and, at the same time, rendering him senseless.

Leaving Jenny to attend to Colban, Dahlia sprang into action, working feverishly to claw away the debris that had landed on Arran. It was long moments before he regained consciousness, moaning, clutching at his head. She leaned in, taking his hand. Letting fly with a long string of curses, with Dahlia’s help, Arran rose to a sitting position.

His shirt was torn and bloodied. “Be still,” Dahlia said. “Ye’ve a cut on yer back that will need seeing tae.”

By now there were several women and two elderly men crowding into the small space. One woman stepped forward. “I’m Elspaith,” she said, reaching a hand to place it on Dahlia’s shoulder. “We’ll take yer lad tae me cottage where I can see tae his wound.”

“Are ye a healer?”

Elspaith nodded and turned quickly to the waiting men. “Once ye’ve carried Colban tae me place, help this lad. I’ll see tae them both.”

The men were quick to carry out her orders and between them, managed to lift Colban, and with both his legs dragging they hustled him out of the cottage. It was clear he was sorely injured.

“There’s aught wrong with me,” Arran declared, still holding his head where a large egg-shape had appeared on his forehead. “We’ve a journey ahead of us. We need tae be at the castle this night.:

“Dinna talk nonsense, Mackinnon,” Dahlia hissed. “Ye’re bleeding. Ye’ll need something tae staunch the blood. Ye could never sit on a horse in this condition.”

He huffed. “If this was a battlefield, I’d nae pause tae take a breath. I’d be on me horse in the fray, bleeding or nae.”

“Ye may well be a brave warrior who cares naught fer a wound in the heat of battle, but the only fight ye’re in now is with me, and I insist yer wound is tae be dealt with afore we continue on our way. I dinnae want ye dying on me!”

“Och,” he murmured. “D’ye wish tae see me well, Lady Dahlia? I’d have thought ye’d want me dead by now so ye could mount yer horse and be gone.”

She hmphed. “I’m nae a cruel lass. I’m a MacLeod, we leave the cruelty tae yer kin.”

He winced and she was not certain whether it was her words that stung him or the pain of his injury.

The two men who had taken Colban returned. One man took Arran’s forearm in a strong grip. “Come lad, ye’ll need seeing tae. We’ll help ye tae Elspaith’s cottage.”

Arran shook his head. “I dinnae need yer help, lads.”

The second man grunted. “Aye, dinnae argue, ye’ve taken a load and ’tis clear ye’re in need of our aid.” He wove his arm under Arran’s and together, the two men hauled a wobbling Arran to his feet. He took a step and would have fallen if not for one of the men reaching to steady him. He placed a hand on the man’s arm and allowed them to lead him along a short pathway to another small cottage as Dahlia followed.

Elspaith greeted them. “Lie him there.” She pointed to a straw-covered pallet in the corner of the one-room house, adding with a nod to Dahlia, “strip him so I can attend to the wound.” She turned to a younger woman who Dahlia guessed was her helper. “Mix a poultice with yarrow leaves tae stop the bleeding and I’ll see tae the wound and his head when I’ve finished with Colban.”

With that, the healer hastened across to continue binding the groaning man’s crushed leg.

Arran shook himself free of the men assisting him. “I thank ye, lads, but I can manage with me own steam from now.” He lowered himself to a sitting position on the edge of the makeshift bed.

At once, Dahlia set about undoing the laces on his shirt.

He made a feeble protest, fumbling his fingers at the ties. But his glazed eyes told Dahlia he was far from ready to tackle the remainder of their journey.

“Hold still.” Her nimble fingers made short work of the laces. “Arms up, I need tae get this shirt off ye. It’s soaking in blood.”

With a sigh, he obediently raised his arms and she pulled off the shirt.

She allowed her gaze to linger on his bare chest for a tiny second. His body was manly and well-muscled as befitted a warrior such as Arran, but what caused Dahlia to gasp was the long scar that went from his right shoulder diagonally across his broad chest. This could only be the result of a slicing blow from a sword.

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