Page 7 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

“Ye’re wearying,” he said without preamble when Elysande drew her mount to a halt and turned to peer at him.

“I am fine,” she assured him, sitting up a little straighter. “There is no need to stop for the night so early. I will manage.”

“Ye’re no’ fine,” Rory argued. “Ye’ve done well, but ye’re beginning to struggle and I’d rather no’ have to sew up a head wound, or bury ye do ye break yer neck falling from yer horse.”

He couldn’t see her expression, but the way one hand clenched around the cloak she was holding closed and the other on her reins told him she wasn’t pleased. “I do not wish to stop so early. I want to get as far from—”

“I was no’ suggesting stopping,” he interrupted, and when she stilled and tilted her head, Rory said, “Ye can ride with me.”

He watched the veil billow slightly as she heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Riding with you at my back would be more painful than riding alone.”

“Aye. I thought it might,” he admitted. “But what if ye rode at my back? Would that pain ye too?”

She seemed to still at that, and he could sense the uncertainty rolling off her. “At your back?”

“Aye, behind me with yer arms around me waist. Ye could lean on me back, and we can tie yer hands together to keep ye in place should ye fall asleep.”

A moment of silence passed and then she said, “Aye.”

Rory nodded and leaned to the side to retrieve the small length of rope he kept with the medicinals in a sack that hung from his saddle. By the time he straightened with the rope in hand, her soldiers had dismounted and moved up to help her from her horse to his. Rory waited and watched, ready to offer assistance if it was needed, but unwilling to touch her without permission.

From his position he was able to see that Elysande had been sitting astride her mare rather than sidesaddle. He’d suspected as much, but the thick, voluminous fur-lined cloak had draped down either side of the horse, hiding her well enough to make him unsure. Now, as her cloak flapped open, he saw that aside from her unconventional choice in riding position, she also wore unconventional clothes. Lady de Valance had men’s breeks under her gown, the skirts of which had been hitched up to allow her to sit astride the animal. The knowledge made him think of his sister, Saidh, who had absolutely no qualms about wearing men’s clothing when she wanted to. It made him wonder about this woman’s character. Was she bold and daring like Saidh? Or had it only been necessity that had made her don the breeks?

Rory didn’t know. Hell, he didn’t know anything about her except her name and that she was the half-English cousin of Campbell Sinclair. He hadn’t asked his questions of her while they ate their meal as he’d intended. Her posture had been so exhausted and stiff as they’d sat on a fallen tree partaking of the food her men had presented that he’d left her to cope with her pains and consume her meal, which she had managed to do with the veil on. She’d simply slipped the food under the cloth and up to her mouth. But he really needed to ask some of those questions swarming around inside his head soon. How had she come by the bruising she admitted to? Why was she traveling with only two men rather than a large contingent? Why was she going to Sinclair at all?

Rory was distracted from his thoughts when Lady de Valance was finally settled on the saddle behind him and he felt her arms slide around his waist. He glanced down at her hands in her fur gloves. Despite the fact that her chest brushed his back, her hands barely met, the tips of her mitts merely reaching each other. Hoping that was because she was petite and not a sign that he’d gained weight during his stay in England, Rory tied one end of the rope to one wrist over the gloves and then tied the other to her second wrist, leaving a little slack so it didn’t pull on her while they rode.

“Is that all right? It’s no’ too tight?” he asked once he was done.

“Nay. ’Tis fine,” she assured him quietly.

“Sleep if ye wish,” Rory suggested. “I’ll ensure ye stay in the saddle.” When Elysande didn’t respond and remained stiff and upright behind him, he glanced around to be sure someone had the reins of her mare. Seeing that the soldier named Tom had taken on that chore, he whistled to Conn to let him know they were ready, then urged his horse to follow when Conn, Inan and Alick headed out before him.

They rode like that until near dark. At first, Lady de Valance remained stiff and upright behind him, but gradually she began to relax and lean into him. When she finally slumped against his back, he knew she’d either fainted or fallen asleep. Either way, it was for the best. She was right—there was no healing for bruises except the passage of time, and sleep could only help with it.

Elysande didn’t wake up right away when Rory finally called a halt to their journey. Not even when he untied the rope around her wrists. It wasn’t until her men had lifted her from his saddle and had her halfway to the ground that she woke and then it was with an agonized cry that she quickly cut off. She remained stoically silent after that as they set her down, but he suspected the movement was causing her great pain and wished he could see her face to know just how much. He also wished he could examine the bruises to see how much damage she’d suffered, but suspected that wasn’t likely to happen. The woman was covered from head to toe and her complete refusal of his help earlier made it obvious she would not willingly reveal her injuries to him. That being the case there was little he could do except perhaps offer her a tincture to help her sleep through the pain.

That last thought had Rory grabbing his bag of medicinals the moment he’d dismounted and opening it to see if he had the weeds needed to make such a tincture. Much to his relief he did have them. He also had the metal chalice he carried with him to mix such tinctures in. All he needed was water. His gaze slid to the river that sided one end of the clearing they’d stopped in. It was narrow, and ice was forming along the sides, but the center was bubbling with moving water. It would be cold, but would do.

Rory glanced around for Lady Elysande then. She was moving stiffly away into the woods, no doubt to find a private spot to relieve herself and manage personal issues. He’d have the tincture mixed and waiting when she returned, he decided, and walked to the river’s edge to scoop up water with the chalice. She’d be asleep within minutes after drinking the tincture he planned to make for her and that would be a good thing.

Every step Elysande took seemed to jar. Her muscles screamed at the movement and her skin would have wept if it could have. So would she, but she’d cried herself dry hours ago, grateful for the veil that hid her body’s response to her pain. Elysande wasn’t one who usually cried, but she hadn’t been able to stop and hadn’t tried. It wasn’t just the physical pain that brought the tears on. She was grieving too, and knew those tears must flow at some point. Better to let them out while she was on horseback and no one was likely to hear, than to be sobbing when she was surrounded by the men.

Elysande made herself walk a good distance from the clearing before she decided she’d gone far enough to ensure privacy while she took care of her personal needs. She then leaned her good shoulder wearily against a tree, giving herself a moment to gather strength before she bent to the effort of pushing her breeches down, hiking her skirts up and squatting to relieve herself. It was all hard work for her at this point, but pulling up her breeches and straightening was even harder and for one moment she feared she’d have to suffer the humiliation of calling for help to rise. But the idea of the pity on the men’s faces was enough to force her upright despite the screaming agony it caused.

Elysande paused again to rest, leaning her face and chest against the tree as she waited for her breathing to slow. Dear God, her life had become some sort of hell, and so quickly. She’d never suffered such pain in her life. Not like this. Feeling depression and grief pressing down on her, she shook off her thoughts for now. She couldn’t let herself weaken. She needed to remain strong. At least until she reached Sinclair.

She had no idea how long the journey was, but surely they could be there within a week at the speed they were traveling? Then she could collapse and let her aunt and cousin deal with everything while she healed. One week. Seven days. She could bear anything for seven days, Elysande assured herself. She would just take one day at a time.

Sighing, she lifted her head and straightened. She was turning to head back to the men when she heard the sound of bubbling water. On impulse, Elysande moved toward the sound until she broke out of the trees onto the edge of a fast-moving river. This was the sound she’d heard, the water rushing downstream, splashing over and around the rocks and boulders in the riverbed.

Elysande stared at it for a minute, noting the ice forming on the sides where outcroppings forestalled movement and the water was still. It would be bitter cold, she knew, but cold was supposed to be good for bruising, wasn’t it? At least her mother had always told her that it helped. Usually that was directly after an injury though, and it had been a couple days since she’d suffered hers. On the other hand, the cold might numb her pain a little.

At this point Elysande was willing to try anything, including a dip in the shallow icy river. Except that she didn’t trust herself to be able to get in and out with her body as weak and pained as it was now. But perhaps she could dip the tunic she wore into the water and then put it back on. That might help a bit, numb her back and ease the pain enough to let her fall asleep. Sleep was her only escape from it at the moment.

Aye, she’d try it, Elysande decided grimly, and reached up to undo the clasp that held her cloak together.

Rory used a small branch he’d found to again stir the tincture he’d made, and then glanced toward the spot where Elysande had disappeared into the trees. She was taking an extremely long time about her business. Long enough, in fact, that he was starting to worry. He wasn’t the only one. He’d noticed the way Tom and Simon were watching the woods and talking quietly, concerned expressions on their faces.

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