The Guardian Page 23

  Graham nodded. “Ye tucked your blade back in place, aye?”

  Mercy patted the space between her breasts, the weight of the dagger and its carved haft giving her a sense of security. “It is. And I promise when I’m washing, I’ll keep it close at hand on the bank.”

  “Dinna be gone overlong.” Graham stepped over the roots of the tree and took to higher ground. While scanning the woods, he motioned in the general direction of the water. “When ye’ve finished, go to camp and seek your rest.” He looked back at her and grinned. “I’ll try to control m’self and no’ wake ye when I join ye on our pallet.”

  Longing washed across her all over again, forcing her to pull her dress away from the sweaty stickiness of her flesh. She lifted her pantalettes to her knees and cast a teasing glance back at Graham as she made her way down the slope. “I’m a very light sleeper. You are most welcome to join me in my dreams.”

  Graham rewarded her with a quiet chuckle as he moved off deeper into the woods, climbing the low ridge surrounding the area.

  Mercy glanced around. Good. Alexander, Duncan, and Crestshire were so quiet they had to be sleeping. She hiked her skirts even higher, reveling in the air kissing across her thighs as she made her way down the embankment to the water.

  A wall of limestone rose at one end of the pool. Bubbling water reflected the moonlight, tumbled down the layers of rocks, and emptied into the small, circular pool that narrowed on the other end and wandered off into the woods. A perfect place for bathing.

  Mercy shucked off her clothes. No wonder she’d grown so warm. She should have had her seamstress fashion a set of pantalettes without so many layers of petticoats attached. Modesty and the possibility of nearby danger bade her keep on her chemise that only reached her mid-thigh.

  Mercy eased into the cold water. Goosebumps rippled across her skin, and her nipples tightened as she moved forward until waist deep. She splashed the water across her arms and shoulders, then submerged to her chin. She dove downward, swimming across the pool, reveling in the peaceful silence under the water. The serenity of the moment filled her, strengthened her for whatever lay ahead.

  Kicking her way to the deepest part, she dipped her head back, and worked her fingernails across her scalp. A bit of the rose-scented soap Catriona had shared would have been nice, but Mercy was still grateful for the cooling embrace of the spring. She swam back to the spot where she’d disrobed and climbed out onto the moss-covered bank. As she reclined, she indulged herself with a brief moment of staring up at the stars and the bright waxing moon.

  A long yawn beset her. Time to move before weariness overpowered her. Forcing herself up, she shook out her clothes and donned them, wishing there had been time at least to rinse out her pantalettes and for them to dry. But she couldn’t risk it.

  As she tucked the dagger back in place, a rustling sound from the far side of the pool caught her attention. She froze. She barely breathed as she scanned the area, praying the noise had simply been some foraging creature or even Graham patrolling the area.

  The rustling grew louder. Mercy took shelter behind a boulder, crouching low and peering around it, afraid to call out for Graham or anyone from the camp. What if it were just an animal? It didn’t sound too loud. Whatever it was had to be small. And it was on the other side of the waterfall. She shouldn’t disturb the others from their much-needed rest.

  Her breath caught in her throat as Janie stumbled out from behind the bushes, bathed in the blue-white light of the moon. The girl crawled to the pool’s edge and scooped up handfuls of water, first to drink, then to splash across her face. One arm clutched tight to her side. Every move she made caused a twisted grimace. Mercy could tell that Janie’s lip was swollen, even split. It looked to have once been bloody. She’d been beaten.

  Mercy held fast, fighting against the urge to rush from her hiding place and help. What if the kidnappers were still about? What if they waited in the woods while Janie tended to her wounds? There was little danger of the girl running. Janie moved as though the slightest twitch pained her. Guilt filled Mercy. They had misjudged Janie again. Abandoned her. Left her to be treated with cruelty.

  Janie wilted to one side, almost rolling into the water, one hand submerged in the edge of the pool.

  She had to go to her. Mercy scanned the area one last time. There had been no other movement. Mercy ran to the narrow end of the spring and leapt across it. Hurrying to the maid, she knelt at the girl’s side and hovered over her.

  “Janie?” She held a hand in front of Janie’s parted lips and nose, praying to feel the girl’s breath across her fingers.

  A strong, calloused hand slammed across her mouth. Raging panic shot through her as an arm snaked around her waist and yanked her upward. Mercy flailed against her captor, ripped the dagger from between her breasts, and stabbed upward. The blade made hard contact but glanced away. She had to have hit bone.

  A horrific yowl confirmed she’d done some damage but apparently not enough. The man’s hold on her tightened as another figure appeared, grabbed her wrist, and twisted the knife away. Janie came into view, pressing her face close to Mercy’s and gifting her with a chilling smile right before she spit on her. “Whore,” she said in a growling tone filled with hatred. “Just like your mother.”

  Janie pranced around in front of her as the two men wrangled her toward a group of waiting horses—one of them with a rider. Janie shook a club-like object in Mercy’s face. “You’re goin’ to get yours now, m’lady. I been waiting a long time for this.” She struck the side of Mercy’s head with such force, sounds grew distorted. Just as her sight cleared, Janie struck her again.

  “Enough!” One of the men cuffed Janie away. “Ye can torment her in a bit. His lordship is waiting with the horses.”

  His lordship? Her father? Mercy screamed loud and long, praying her muffled shrieks would be heard. The hand across her mouth tightened and the arm around her middle clamped upward, cutting off her air. “Ye keep it up, and we’ll gut your husband like a felled deer. We’re all over these woods. Ye just didna ken it because we didna wish it.” The knife pricked her skin again. “Remain silent, and we willna kill him ’til we lay siege on Tor Ruadh. That can be your last gift to him. The peace of dying with his brothers.”

  An enraged roar shook the trees.

  “Mercy!”

  Graham. Her beloved husband. Mercy flailed and fought her attacker as he dragged her closer to the horses. She could not allow him to get her on a horse. With one well-placed, backward kick, she managed to trip him. They both went down, the heavy brute landing hard on top of her. She didn’t care. Elbows flying, she fought and clawed, the chance of escaping charging her with the will to fight.

  “Graham! Here!” she screamed.

  The man caught hold of her ankle, yanked her back down, then rose above her. Burying one hand in her tangled mass of wet hair, he jerked her along on the ground beside him, stumbling across the rugged terrain.

  Mercy caught hold of his leg and bit hard. She clamped down until she tasted blood. The man howled, then knocked her away. Mercy twisted around and bit him again.

  The man clubbed her in the face, then whipped her around by her hair whilst trying to kick her forward. He backhanded her again just as Graham, Alexander, and Duncan burst through the trees. She prayed they had truly burst through the trees. The strikes to her head had scattered her senses. Her vision blurred in and out of focus, grew dark, then lightened again. All sounds were muffled, and she couldn’t make out words. She lost her hold of the man’s leg and landed hard at the base of a tree.

  Gunshots. More shouts. Horses screaming. All she knew was the safety of the tree. She held on to it for dear life. The rough bark scraped against her cheek as she clamped her arms around it and hugged hard.

  Someone pulled her hair hard enough to make her cry out. Cursing in a high-pitched voice sliced through the fog of her miserable confusion. It had to be Janie. A hand took hold of the back of her head, yanked her he
ad back, then slammed her face into the tree. Janie attacked her as though possessed by demons.

  Gunfire split the air again. Close. Then a body fell across her and didn’t move. It wasn’t as heavy as the man’s had been. A warm wetness seeped into her clothing and trickled down her sides and back. The weight on her didn’t move. Whoever it was, was dead.

  Mercy prayed it wasn’t someone she loved. She couldn’t look. It wouldn’t do any good to open her eyes, anyway. Every time she did, all she saw were nauseating swirls of darkness and light.

  Then, gentle hands touched and tugged at her. She pulled in a deep breath. Someone had taken the body off her. Now she could breathe so much easier, but she had to keep a tight hold on the tree. Just in case…

  Fingers pried at her hands, at her arms. “No!” She held on tighter, dragging herself closer to the tree.

  Someone spoke close to her face. She couldn’t make out what they said. She couldn’t even tell if it was a voice she knew. But it sounded calm. She recognized the feel of the voice. The intent behind the tone.

  Suddenly, shouting surrounded her again.

  Someone pulled her upward.

  A new voice hit her like a punch in her stomach. Her father’s voice. She’d recognize that dreaded voice no matter her condition. A horrendous sense of loss hit her. If her father stood above her, then Graham had to be gone.

  Gunfire exploded close by. Acrid smoke filled her nostrils. She hit the ground, but the pain in her heart far outweighed the thudding in her head.

  Sobbing overcame her. Graham must be dead. Her greatest fear had come to fruition.

  “Please, God, take me, too,” she cried out, going limp as she gave herself to the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Graham held Mercy close and brushed a kiss to her bruised, bleeding forehead, then lowered her to the pallet. Her head rolled to one side, and her arms splayed across the blankets. Graham eased an arm under her shoulders and lifted as Marsden slid an additional folded blanket beneath her head. Tucking her arms in close to her sides, Graham knelt beside her.

  Shame and gut-wrenching guilt twisted so hard within him, he yearned to roar out his remorse. How could he have been so careless? How could he have been such a fool? How could he have let this happen to her? He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. Hot tears stung his eyes as he rocked in place beside her.

  If Mercy died, it would be no one’s fault but his own.

  “With your permission?” Marsden paused, speaking in the hushed tones used by those in the presence of the dying.

  Graham forced open his eyes and lifted his head. Marsden stood beside him with a pot of water in one hand and a cloth in the other.

  “We should clean her wounds and apply cool cloths to reduce the swelling above her eyes.” Marsden held up the items. “I shall tend your lady whilst your brother wraps your shoulder. Yes?”

  “Nay.” Graham took the items from Marsden, set them beside the pallet, and dipped the cloth in the cool water. With the gentlest of touches, he dabbed the linen across the angry scrapes across Mercy’s forehead, temple, and jawline. That damned Janie had done a great deal of damage. He felt no remorse at all for killing the bitch for all the pain she’d caused his beloved.

  “Well then,” Marsden said with a nod. “I shall leave you to it. But when you are done, you must let Alexander or Duncan bind your shoulder. The bleeding must be staunched until a healer can remove the bullet.”

  Graham still had use of his left arm, so the bullet hadn’t damaged any bone. Nor had it exited his body. The shot had burrowed into his chest, close to his shoulder. Painful but nowhere near bad enough to put him down. The pair of Campbells and Edsbury had soon discovered the error of their aim and the consequences such a mistake incurred. All were dead, Edsbury by Graham’s own hands.

  “I willna leave my wife’s side.” ’Twas as simple as that. The rest of the group could do whatever they damned well pleased.

  “Brother.” Alexander paused until Graham looked up. “I ride to Tor Ruadh to increase the guard and prepare for attack. I’ll send back a wagon with additional men to guard ye on your journey and Gretna with supplies for Mercy. I doubt old Elena can make the trip—especially not all the way to London.”

  Graham pulled in a deep breath and looked back down at Mercy. “She liked Gretna. Mentioned her more than once.”

  Crouching beside him, Alexander took hold of Graham’s uninjured shoulder and squeezed. “Dinna speak as though she’s already gone. As long as she breathes, there is hope.” He clenched Graham’s shoulder tighter. “Ye must hie yourself to His Majesty, Graham. For the sake of your wife, yourself, and our clan. ’Tis most urgent that ye seek the king’s mercy or else ye’ll hang for killing the duke.”

  “I willna leave her side, brother.” Graham wet the cloth again and wiped down Mercy’s scraped and scratched arms, her bruised knuckles, her torn and bloody fingernails. “Besides—think ye truly that King William will listen to a Scot?”

  “We shall stand at your side and testify to what happened here this night,” Crestshire said.

  “You have two of the king’s finest willing to testify on your behalf,” Marsden added. “We will not stand idle whilst you and your lady are in need.”

  Duncan moved to Graham’s injured side, strips of cloth clutched in one hand. With a grim look, he motioned toward Mercy. “If we get both of ye well enough to travel, I believe your wife will be the key in settling this. From all she said, her father was the bastard behind this plot. Ye and Marsden both said the king seemed truly fond of her. Do ye think he’d approve of the way her father treated her?”

  Graham pushed him away as Duncan moved to cut away his bloody tunic and tend to his shoulder. “Leave me. All of ye. I canna reason about anything other than her right now.” His foolish choices had cost his wife dearly.

  “Hold him, Alexander,” Duncan said.

  Alexander sprang into action and twisted Graham’s good arm behind his back, holding him in a firm but brotherly headlock. “We willna listen to mumblings of misplaced guilt. Tonight was no’ your fault, ye stubborn arse.”

  Graham arched against Alexander’s hold, renewed rage pounding through him. “I’ll whip your arse! Let me go! Give my wife the respect she deserves.”

  Shifting Graham around, Alexander faced him toward Mercy’s still form. “She’s no’ dead! Stop mourning her and concentrate on saving what ye have left. Ye rid her of her bastard-of-a-father, now all that’s left to do is convince the king to leave us in peace.”

  Duncan ripped away the sleeve of Graham’s tunic and poured a splash of whisky into his wound.

  Searing pain burned through his shoulder. “Damn ye, Duncan!”

  Alexander released him and stepped back. “I’ll leave ye to bandage him.” He paused, stared down at Mercy’s still form, then crossed himself, his lips moving in silent prayer. Lifting his head, he gave a curt nod to Crestshire, then to Marsden. “Help Duncan guard him, aye? I willna contemplate a world without my brother in it.”

  “Take this wee squirrel wi’ ye afore he strangles me with these damn bandages!” Graham shoved Duncan back and attempted to return to ministering to Mercy’s wounds.

  Duncan laughed and yanked him back. “Now, there’s my brother full of piss.” He snugged a length of torn linen even tighter around Graham’s shoulder and chest. “Use that anger to fight for your lady, brother.”

  A faint moan interrupted them, and Mercy stirred, scowling as she lifted shaking hands to her head.

  All else ceased to exist for Graham. “Oh, dear love, thank God for bringing ye back.” He wet the cloth again and pressed it to her face.

  She batted his hands away as she rolled to her side and clutched her head in her hands. A sobbing moan rose from her. Cradling her head, she rolled back and forth, wrestling with her pain.

  “Can ye hear me, love? Mercy, can ye hear me?” Graham leaned close, keeping his voice low, forcing
himself not to touch her. “Ye’re safe, lass.”

  Mercy didn’t respond, just continued the pitiful moaning and thrashing that tore at Graham’s heart.

  Stab wounds, he understood. Broken bones. Gunshot wounds. He’d had them all and knew well enough about their stages of healing. But Mercy had taken more than one severe blow to the head and had been unresponsive until now. And this responsiveness was more like that of a blinded, wounded animal fighting its last before it died. A sense of helplessness overtook him. He stared up at his brothers and friends. “What can we do to help her?”

  Captain Marsden gave a sad shake of his head. “Keep her as comfortable as possible and pray.”

  “Mayhap, Gretna will ken a better way to help her. I’ll prepare her with a description of Mercy’s injuries,” Alexander said. “I’ll get her here, and more protection, as fast as possible.”

  Graham reached up and clasped Alexander’s forearm. “God be with ye, brother. Race the wind, I beg ye.”

  Alexander squeezed his arm in return, then strode to his horse, mounted, and galloped away.

  “Marsden, stand guard. I shall circle about and search the woods to see if any others remain.” Crestshire nodded to Marsden, then looked to Duncan. “Between the three of us, we can rotate until reinforcements arrive.”

  Duncan nodded, picked up one of the larger water skins, and held it aloft. “I’ll fill it with the spring water straight off the falls. It should be coldest. She can rest her head on it, aye? Cooler and softer than the blanket.”

  “Ye always were the most cunning of our brood.” Graham wrung out the cloth and eased it across Mercy’s hands still clutching at her temples. As soon as the coolness of the cloth touched the backs of her fingers, she snatched hold of it and clamped it tight across her eyes.