Their camp that night was far different from the one the night before.

Derek rested against a fallen log, his head and shoulders propped up against it while his body stretched out in front of him.

Margery took pains to ensure his warmth and comfort, placing a saddle over the log and beneath his head to give him something more forgiving than rough bark to sleep on.

Hugh’s men built a fire, and Broc tended to the horses while Hugh examined Derek’s side.

“It seems as though the bleeding has stopped,” Hugh announced as he changed the linen dressing. “You’ll have to be careful of how you sleep tonight, make sure you don’t roll or stretch for fear of opening it.”

Derek nodded, and Margery noticed with relief how much better his color was than earlier. She took this as a good sign.

It had been a long afternoon, stretching into early evening before any of them wanted to give up for the night. They knew that the closer they got to Duncan land, the bette, the sooner Derek could be properly tended to.

Night would not be denied once it fell and travel became too dangerous. Especially with the presence of wild animals prowling the woods, perhaps able to pick up the scent of Derek’s blood.

Margery’s stomach turned at the thought of the blood they’d shed back in the clearing, of MacBride’s body lying where it had fallen. Of what the animals might be doing to him at that very moment.

She scrambled away from her place at Derek’s side, managing to make it a safe distance away from him before the contents of her stomach released themselves.

Now that they were resting for the evening and no longer going through the difficulties of travel, she had the time to reflect on what they’d done.

The men were kind enough to leave her alone, and to pretend they hadn’t overheard her retching once she returned to the fire. Broc merely offered her a flask so she might drink.

Later, after they’d eaten and some of the men had already stretched out for the night around the fire, she sat at Derek’s side.

“How do you feel?” she whispered, wishing to avoid waking those who were already sleeping.

“I don’t know that I could win in a footrace at the moment, lass, but I’ve been much worse.” His eyes traveled over her face, his forehead creasing as he frowned. “When I thought I might lose you, for one.”

“You could never lose me.”

“You know what I mean.” One of his hands closed over hers, his thumb running over the ridge of her knuckles. “I learned something today, too. I never knew what true fear felt like until this day.”

“Oh, Derek…”

“I mean it,” he insisted. “Even in the army, I never knew what it was to be truly afraid. I could handle myself. On stormy seas, standing at the wheel of my ship, navigating through the whitecaps, half-blind from lightning flashing on all sides, I never felt fear. Anger, perhaps, at nature for thinking it could get the best of me. But never fear.”

She listened quietly.

“Not like today,” he concluded with a sigh. “I don’t know how other men live with that sort of fear in their hearts. It nearly crushed mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, lass, that I love you so. That I would’ve gladly given my life for yours.” His eyes glowed nearly green in the light from the fire, and they burned into her very soul.

“I would never ask you to do any such thing.”

“You wouldn’t have to ask.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, staying on his good side, and he wound an arm around her. “You were very brave.”

“As were you. A wildcat, in fact.”

“I was?”

“You still don’t remember. Aye, it’s for the best. Perhaps you never will. Sometimes, when we’re overcome the way you were, we never quite remember what we did. There are battles I don’t remember,” he admitted.

“Even now?”

“Even now. I know I survived. I know I came out of them covered in the blood of other men. But I don’t quite remember how it came about.”

“I don’t want to remember.”

“Then, I hope you don’t.”

They fell silent for a while, both watching the fire and the men who fell asleep around it one by one. The sky was clear, the stars shining brighter than they ever had. Perhaps it was her happiness that made them appear that way, or the relief of knowing they were safe and Derek would survive his wound.

She did remember seeing MacBride bury the dirk in his side. That was the last clear memory she possessed. Perhaps that was enough to send her into a frenzy.

“I need you to know something, Margery.” He rarely called her by her proper name while they spoke casually, so she knew this was important.

“What is it?” she breathed.

He sighed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “If we could’ve gotten out of there without my killing him, I would’ve preferred it that way. I never go into a fight looking to kill the other man. Even when he’s done something as terrible as MacBride did. But there was no other way. He forced it on himself, if anything.”

“He would’ve killed you. He tried to.”

“Aye, that he did. If he’d managed to strike higher, he might have done just that.”

“Don’t say such things.”

“Even though it’s true?” he asked, and his question hung unanswered over them. She refused to entertain such a thought.

Even though it was true.

She was certain she’d never fall asleep, in spite of the fatigue which seemed to live in her very bones. She had never pushed herself as hard as she’d been pushed over the course of their travels into the Highlands.

While fleeing to Silloth, she hadn’t been in the possession of a mare and a gelding who didn’t enjoy being led through the woods, for one.

At least the scenery was beautiful, staggeringly so. She’d never imagined such beauty: the majesty of the snow-capped mountain peaks as they’d approached the Grampians, the golden light which seemed to pour itself over those very peaks and the woods which surrounded them in the late afternoon. The fresh, thrilling scent of pine and the sight of deer as they dashed in and out of sight, enjoying the early spring with its soft breezes.

Beautiful or not, she was exhausted, and the warmth and strength of the man beside her soothed her into deep sleep before long.