Chapter Six
“The Snow Maiden left a trail of rose petals, praying her lover would open his heart.”
Holding up her hand to stop, Ailsa jumped down from her horse.
She heard Desmond shout to Alastair to halt as she rushed ahead to her father’s side. Placing a hand on his forehead, she let out a curse. His moans had only continued while they made their way toward the home of the Dragon Knight. A litter of pine boughs and branches had been lashed together for his travel. Since he continued to drift in and out, they feared he would risk falling. The wound to his head was more severe than Ailsa or Tam had thought, and they did not want to risk him riding on a horse. The journey was a demanding one as they made their way up into the Highlands.
“We must find shelter soon,” complained Tam, tucking the blanket around the injured man. “Muir is faring better, but I worry about your father.”
“I agree, but there is naught we can do. We must rely on the knowledge of the land from the Dragon Knight.”
“’Tis fortunate he came to our aid.”
“A blessing there were two men,” she corrected. Snowflakes landed on her father’s face, and Ailsa quickly brushed them away.
“Well, the one called Desmond is heading our way. He does not look pleased,” muttered Tam.
Ailsa straighten, ignoring the shards of pain in her back. “No doubt, because I keep requesting to stop.”
Turning around, she did not wait for the man to utter a complaint. “He continues to moan in his sleep. I fear if we dinnae find shelter soon, he will risk fever.”
The man dared to give her a scornful look. “The delays only hinder him. I consider it wiser to let him moan as we attempt to find a place for the night.”
She heard the sarcasm in his voice, and Ailsa fought to keep her hands clenched. “He is my father—our leader.”
“And as a leader, he would agree with me.”
Lifting her chin, she asked, “How much farther?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “That would depend on how many more times ye request to halt our journey.”
“None,” she clipped out and made her way back to her horse.
“Good.”
“Unfeeling brute. Most likely dinnae have a father.” Getting back on her horse, Ailsa found him glaring at her. “What? Is there something more amiss?”
“I was nine summers when I witnessed the beheading of my father. So, aye, I did have one.”
Stunned into silence by his declaration, Ailsa watched as he stormed past her. Letting out a sigh, she nudged her horse onward and recalled her mother’s words from several years ago.
“Ye must learn to curb your tongue, Ailsa, when your temper strikes out.”
“I wasn’t angry,” she argued, brushing the mane of her horse.
“True, but ’tis the same when ye are upset and dinnae have any patience. The harsh and bitter words tumble free and ye have no regrets.”
Ailsa tossed the brush down. “Must Father always be so demanding? Does he not wish to see me happy?”
Her mother tossed aside one of her braids and brushed her fingers across her cheek. “Aye, but he fears that unless ye make a good match, the Isle—our home will be left to an attack by the English.”
She snorted. “That’s ridiculous. We are strong, and I can rule.”
“Ye are wrong. The outside world will see this as an opportunity. They do not ken our ways, Ailsa. Listen to your father’s counsel. He will help ye choose the right husband.”
She eyed her mother skeptically. “And will ye be there to guide him as well?”
Her mother gave her a wink. “Always. For now, when the fury and distress are clawing inside ye, breathe and count to ten before ye utter one word.”
“I have once again failed at the teachings ye have bestowed on me, Mother,” she whispered.
Hours later when the gray light turned to night, Ailsa almost shouted for joy when Alastair led them to a shelter. Light snow continued to fall, and in doing so increased her worries over her father.
Quickly dismounting, she took in their surroundings as best she could. All she could see were trees. No cave. No place to withdraw from the elements. Brushing a hand over her brow, she made her way to her father. Dropping down next to him, she drew the hood of his cloak more firmly around him and brushed the snow from his wrap.
“Praise Mother Danu,” whispered Tam and squeezed her shoulder.
“For?” she asked wearily.
“The Dragon Knight and Desmond have found a place to shelter us for the night. ’Tis not a cave, but will provide some protection.”
Standing, she rubbed her hands together. “Good news. Can we make a fire?”
Before the druid could answer, Ailsa made out the embers from a blaze through the trees and smiled.
“I will wait with your father.” Tam nudged her forward. “Go and take the supplies onward.”
Nodding, Ailsa went back to her horse and gathered everything, including the items from her father’s horse. Steadily following the light, she emerged under some branches and into a clearing near the rocky incline of a hill. In the short time, the men had cleared the area of snow, scattered pine branches onto the ground, and started a fire. Though small, it suited their needs for the night. She stood rooted to the ground, until she caught Desmond’s gaze.
He pointed to his left. “We have a spot for your father in the far corner. ’Tis the best we can manage for ye and him.”
Ailsa almost spouted she had survived many harsh winters outdoors in her training, but held back. Swallowing, she replied, “I thank ye.”
Stepping forward, he asked, “May I assist ye with your burden?”
The light of the fire glimmered in his eyes, and Ailsa found herself staring into their green depths. Did not the hills of her home have the same color? “Aye,” she whispered, answering her own question and his.
He removed the heavy satchel from her shoulder and placed it on an upturned log.
Moving slowly toward him, Ailsa dumped the remaining supplies on the branches. Wincing from the effort, she pressed a hand over her back, trying to ease the pain. Even drawing in breath was becoming difficult.
Frowning, he asked, “How severe?”
She dropped her hand. “I am fine,” she lied. “Only bruising from when I was struck during the attack.”
As Desmond turned to leave, she did the unthinkable and grasped his hand. The look he gave her seared a path deep inside. “Please forgive my harsh words earlier about your father. My mother often chided me for speaking thusly.”
The smile came slowly. He lifted her hand and placed a kiss along her knuckles. “Ye were simply distressed over your father. I accept your amends.”
“I can tend to my lady,” interrupted Muir, stepping into the firelight.
Desmond immediately dropped her hand. “As it should be.”
Ailsa frowned, not understanding the meaning behind Desmond’s words. Watching the man depart, she fisted her hands on her hips. “I am not the one who needs tending, Muir.”
“Was there a reason the man was touching ye?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose and counted slowly to ten.
“Well?”
Smiling sweetly at her friend, she replied, “I dinnae answer to ye, Muir. Now, if ye would be so kind to allow me see to my father, since ye appear to have recovered from your own wounds.”
Not giving time for the man to respond, she moved around him and quickly went to help Tam. However, once she entered the trees, Desmond and Alastair had taken charge and were bringing her father forward. Lifting the branches for them, she stepped aside. Tam followed, bringing the rest of the supplies.
As the men settled him into the sheltered place, Ailsa opened her satchel. Pulling forth herbs and salves, she focused on her task. Light spilled over her father’s form, making it easy for her to inspect his head wound. There was no evidence of further swelling or bleeding. Relieved, she examined his arm. It had remained dry on the journey, and she tucked it gently under the fur wrap.
“I brought ye some warm water,” uttered Tam, handing her a mug.
“Thank ye. I am not going to give him a sleeping brew. Mostly healing herbs.” Tossing them in the mug, Ailsa swirled the contents.
“Aye, agreed. I will be greatly relieved once he wakes.”
Ailsa snickered softly. “I’d give anything to have him issue a harsh order.”
“Och, my lady.” Tam sat down beside her. “Your father has a head as thick as the stones on the Isle. I have offered prayers to Mother Danu and Brigid.”
She gazed down at her father. In all her life, she had never witnessed the man being so frail. His face drawn, and in the dim light, his reddish beard showed streaks of gray. When had he aged? She knew he had grieved over her mother’s passing, but the man surely would never divulge his feelings to her. No, her father was more inclined to toss out barbs than to share his pain.
“Help me lift him, so I may get some of this liquid in him.” Taking a cloth, Ailsa placed it under her father’s chin. When she judged Tam could raise him no further, she attempted to pass some of the liquid through his lips. After several tries, they both believed they could do no more.
Tucking him back within the furs, she handed Tam the mug. “Go fetch some food and rest. I will sit with him.”
“My lady, I must insist—”
“Nae. I will take first watch, and then wake ye in a couple hours.”
Standing, Tam shook out his cloak. “I will bring ye some food and drink. Ale?”
Ailsa grimaced. “Mix a little with water.”
Chuckling, the druid walked away.
Stretching out her legs, she winced from the pain in her back, but quickly pushed it aside. She would tend to her injury come the morning. Her father required her attention. Tam returned, bringing her some bread, dried beef, cheese, and an apple. “This is not from our supplies.”
“Courtesy from the O’Quinlan,” Tam explained.
Taking the offered items, she glanced over to where Desmond sat. He caught her gaze. Smiling at him, Ailsa nodded. He continued to stare at her, and she found herself drawn to his attention.
“Eat,” urged Tam, settling himself nearby.
She snapped her gaze away. Yet, she knew Desmond continued to watch her from afar and heat burned her face.
Taking small bites of her food, she ate in silence. Between her meal and the watered-down ale, Ailsa started to drift. Rubbing at her eyes vigorously, she then finished her food and brushed the crumbs from her cloak. Casting her gaze to Tam, she found him snoring softly.
Checking her father one last time, she stole another look across the fire. Desmond had crouched down against a log with the hood of his cloak over his head. However, Ailsa sensed the man continued to stare at her from beneath the shadows. Call it instinct, or the prickling of her skin.
Aye, Desmond O’Quinlan. Ye are a riveting man.
Watching the embers dance into the dark night sky, she lifted her head. The beauty of the stars shimmered all around them. Angling her head, she tried to find the bear, dragon, and fox. The simple movement sent stabs of pain to her lower back. Reaching for the ale skin, she drank deeply, praying it would help ease the ache.
As the night dragged on, weariness settled into her bones. She glanced toward Tam, but didn’t have the heart to wake him. Her own eyes begged to close, if only briefly. When she finally did, Ailsa sighed in relief.
****
Glorious heat invaded Ailsa’s body. She floated in a peaceful place. Soothing noises flitted by her, and she tried to make out their sound. Yet, something kept tickling her nose. The more she fought to return to her dream, the more it assaulted her.
“Oh, for the love of Lugh,” she muttered, coming fully awake.
Ailsa blinked in confusion before the past day’s events returned with a vengeance. Glancing down, she noticed the obvious source of her displeasure and pushed the fur wrap away from her face. How long she had slept was apparent by the last star blinking down at her.
Looking to the empty spot on her left, Ailsa let out a gasp. “Father,” she rasped.
Instantly, Desmond appeared by her side. “He woke during the night. With the help of Alastair, we were able to get him standing and walking about. He is faring much better.”
Her eyes blurred. “Thank all the Gods and Goddesses. Do I have ye to thank for this covering?”
“Aye.”
“I thank ye kindly, but now ’tis too warm.”
He ignored her and placed it back over her body.
She swatted at his hand. “Leave off.”
He placed a hand on her forehead. “Nae. Ye have a fever.”
“Nae. Ye jest.” Looking into his eyes, she smiled. “Has anyone ever told ye how beautiful the color of your eyes are?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Never and ye are truly with fever.”
Ailsa wagged a finger at him. “I have only had a fever once.” She closed her eyes in recollection. “I believe the age was—”
“Five summers,” stated her father, walking slowly toward her.
“Oh, Father,” she sobbed out and opened her eyes. “Ye live.”
The man grunted. “Of course. It will take more than a blow to the head and broken bones to take me from this world.”
Ailsa wanted to greet him. Pushing aside the fur, she turned to the side. Pain in her back slammed into her. “By the hounds, what is wrong?” she moaned, shoving a fist into her mouth to fight the wave of nausea.
“Where exactly on your back does it pain ye?” asked Desmond.
She answered his question by running a hand down her lower back.
Her father bent down beside her. “Were ye injured?”
“I believe Ailsa has suffered bruised or broken ribs,” stated Desmond.
Afraid to meet her father’s gaze and see disappointment, she kept her head down. “Aye. I took a blow to the middle of my back. Foolish, since I was keeping watch in front and did not anticipate the rear attack.”
He cupped her chin and lifted her head. “Nae. Ye were fiercely brave, my daughter.”
Her lip trembled. “I did not want to leave ye.”
Pinching her cheek, the MacDuff stood. “’Tis good I did want ye to go, since ye brought back help with ye and Tam.”
She gave him a weak smile. “So ye have met Desmond.”
He chuckled, the laugh sounding foreign to Ailsa. “And leave it to ye to bring us a Dragon Knight, as well. Ye will take your place on the litter.”
“Nae,” argued Desmond. “’Tis best she remain sitting.”
Giving the man a dismissive gesture, he countered, “She has a fever and most surely will fall off her horse.”
“I did not plan on having her ride alone. She will ride with me.”
Ailsa looked at the men battling for control of her condition. Never in her life had she witnessed any other tempt fate by arguing with her father’s orders. It was a most odd scene. Desmond’s face was a mask of stone, mirroring the great MacDuff.
Her father shifted his stance, holding his injured arm. “I suppose ye have knowledge of traveling with broken bones?”
“Many times,” replied Desmond.
However, her father could not be swayed. He was determined to give the last order. “She will ride with my guard, Muir.”
Desmond crossed his arms over his chest. “Nae. The man can barely manage his own needs. He still suffers from his head wound.”
“Just strap me to my horse and tether me to another,” she giggled.
Instantly, Desmond bent and scooped her into his arms. Letting out a hiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Glancing sideways at her father, she realized he looked as though the man had attempted to do her bodily harm.
“Let him help me, Father,” she pleaded, reaching out to him.
He grasped her hand. “Before we depart, I will order Tam to make ye a brew for the fever.” Turning a steely gaze to Desmond, he added, “If she worsens, I shall take your head.”
Desmond actually snorted and walked away.
Ailsa studied his handsome profile. The shadow of a beard from yesterday had appeared thicker overnight, reminding her of a pirate. And she loved the way his dark hair shimmered in the early morning light. It curled over his ears and down to his shoulders. Reaching upward, she tucked a stray lock behind one ear. His steps slowed, and he turned his head toward her.
“What?” he rasped out.
“Ye are more handsome when ye smile.”
The man frowned. “My lady, ye are with fever and should not speak thus.”
Ailsa realized a part of what he spoke was true. On the morrow, she would most likely regret the foolish words she’d uttered out loud. Nevertheless, Desmond made her feel oddly strange, and no other man had ever stirred any emotion within her.
Letting out a sigh, she turned her gaze outward. “Ye are correct, Desmond. ’Tis no more than fever talk. I shall attempt to remain silent until I have recovered.”
However, when she stole a glance at Desmond, his mouth twitched in humor.