Page 12 of The Highlander's Dangerous Bride

That convinced him, and he stood up. “Thank ye,” he shouted to her then turned and rushed back to find more of the shipwrecked passengers. After about half an hour or so, they could find no more bodies, alive or dead, and those they found, they laid out on the sand. More help came from the village, and slowly, the living were separated from the dead and ferried slowly to the inn.

When Arne got back to Maeve, he was relieved to see the old woman still with her, and that she was alive. He thanked the old lady again for her kindness and then picked Maeve up in his arms. She weighed hardly more than Thorsten and was as cold as a block of ice. Confused, he stood for a few moments, looking around, wondering what to do.

They were too far from the castle for him to take her there. He looked up towards the lights of the inn and the dark shapes moving slowly towards it through the sheet of rain and darkness—the survivors. He knew he had to get Maeve out of the rain and cold soon, and though he knew the inn must be filling up rapidly, he decided he should take her there anyway. Even if he could not get a separate room for Maeve by herself, then he could take her into his at a pinch.

He only had a single bed, so it would mean he would have to sleep on the floor. It was a minor inconvenience in the circumstances. Nevertheless, he had mixed feelings about being in such close proximity to her. On the one hand, he was overwhelmingly excited to see her again, on the other, resentful of what she had done to him and Thorsten.

But what choice did he have? He felt he could not just leave her to the uncertain care of strangers.Besides that, he thought as he slogged towards the inn after the others, shaking the rain from his face,if and when she wakes up, I have plenty of questions I need answering.

Inside the inn he found a chaotic scene, with the shivering survivors being given brandy, hot tea, and blankets to warm them up. The noise was almost deafening, with so many people clamoring for attention. He decided he would take Maeve straight up to his room and settle her in the bed. Then, he would come back down, get some tea and whisky and blankets and see if he could find a healer to come and treat her.

He had to fight his way through the crush to the stairs at the back of the main room. On the way, his attention was drawn to a poignant scene involving a young couple who, judging by their appearance, had just been pulled from the wreck and narrowly avoided death. Both stood drenched and shivering with cold in the midst of the crowd, and they were embracing each other tightly, water pooling on the floor by their feet.

As he passed, Arne noticed that they were holding between them a small boy who looked to be about five or six. The child was clinging to them tearfully, his small body shaking violently, his clothes dripping, and his dark hair plastered to his pale face.

With Maeve clasped to his chest protectively, he mounted the stairs and hurried up to his chamber. He laid her gently down on the bed, made sure she was breathing regularly and then turned to light a candle before going back down to the main room for help and supplies. But just as he lit the candle, filling the room with a dim orange glow, Maeve suddenly shuddered and began to cough violently, making him start.

Water spewed from her mouth as she convulsed, her body wracked with explosive coughing as her lungs tried to rid themselves of the suffocating liquid. In between bouts of coughing, she gasped, struggling to pull in air. Alarmed for her, he quickly put his arm under her back and moved her forward a little, so he had room enough to pound on it with the heel of his hand as hard as he dared, each blow expelling more water from between her lips.

“Maeve, ye’re safe, ye’re gonnae be all right,” he said, his heart clenching painfully in his chest, strangely elated to see she was awake and, therefore, alive. “Can ye hear me?”

She heaved in great gulping breaths, her entire body shuddering, and he tried to hold her, to steady her with his arms. For a moment or two he was terrified she was having some sort of fit and was about to expire in his arms. But after a few minutes, thankfully, she seemed to finally be able to breathe once more, inhaling and exhaling deeply and more regularly. He was beyond relieved, believing the water was out of her lungs at last.

Her mane of hair was clinging to her face, itself slick with rain, and now with regurgitated seawater. He pushed it aside. His touch seemed to spark a reaction, for with what looked like an immense effort, she turned to look at him.

In the flickering light of the candle, her eyes were naught but dark pools. He thought he saw the glint of tears in them but dismissed the thought since she was drenched with water anyway.

“Maeve, can ye hear me?” Arne asked again, holding her closer and willing her to speak, his warring emotions more tumultuous than the storm raging outside. He was certain she was aware of him then, for she clutched at his arm weakly and mouthed something. But though he bent to her lips to hear what she was trying to say, he could not make it out. Her voice was not even a whisper. He realized the seawater she had swallowed and then thrown up had stolen it away for the time being.

She tried to speak again, and again, he bent to listen, straining to hear, waves of excitement rushing through him. But nothing came, and then suddenly her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell back limply against his arm, losing consciousness again.

“Damn!” he exclaimed, worried as well as disappointed. He slipped his arm from beneath her back and laid her head gently down on the pillow. He waited a few moments, looking down at her anxiously, to make sure she was breathing peacefully. It was at that moment he realized she was not wearing a cloak or gown of any sort, and whatever she had been wearing on her feet had gone. In fact, she was dressed only in her stays, petticoat, and shift.

Could the sea have torn off her outer clothing, he wondered, frowning in puzzlement as he pulled the coverlet over her. Then it occurred to him that she could have seen what was coming and had prepared for it as best she could by discarding anything she was wearing heavy enough to drag her under. Whatever her faults, he knew Maeve to be both brave and determined. It seemed likely to him that that was what had happened, and he could not help the flicker of admiration he felt for her then.

As he left the room and went downstairs to go and find supplies and get medical help, he asked himself what had driven her to make such a desperate effort to survive when all must have seemed so hopeless.

He had to wait nearly an hour for the healer to find time to get around to helping Maeve. Finally, he showed her up to his room.

“She’s fainted,” the healer, whose name was Meg, explained as she bent over Maeve’s insensible form outstretched on Arne’s bed. “Bring me more light, lad,” she commanded with a wave of her hand.

Arne scrambled to find extra candles, finally locating a handful of them in a box on the mantel. He lit all of them and stuck them about the room, brightening the atmosphere considerably. “That’s better,” Meg told him, still inspecting Maeve.

Feeling helpless, Arne returned to the bed and hovered over them both, watching the healer as she lifted Maeve’s eyelids one by one and peered into her eyes, then laid her head against her chest for a few minutes before straightening up.

Meg was a strange figure to behold, though several of the locals downstairs had assured him she was extraordinarily gifted. She was the size of a child, a wisp of a woman, with white hair as fine as cobwebs. She was clad in an oversized garment of rusty black, and she carried a battered leather medicine bag with string for a handle, which she had placed by the hearth. She spoke in a strange, high-pitched voice like a little girl’s.

But odd though Meg undoubtedly appeared, there was something innately calm about her and the way she looked at Arne with her large blue eyes reassured him.

“She’s gonnae be all right then?” he asked, finding himself eager to hear it was so.

Meg nodded, revealing uncannily strong white teeth. “Och, she’s young and

strong. Aye, she’ll be fine, lad. But she’ll need plenty of lookin’ after and rest before she’s back on her feet properly. It’ll be a few days yet. I’ll give her a strengthening draught tae help her get some peaceful sleep. ’Tis the most healin’ thing fer her now.”

She turned her strangely old yet unlined face up to his. “Well, lad, seein’ as ye’re here, ye might as well make yersel’ useful. Ye can get these wet things off her and get her warm. Have ye any spare blankets up here?”

“I dinnae ken, but I’ll look fer some,” he said, flustered by her request to remove Maeve’s clothes.

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