The stallion skidded to a halt at the bottom of the glen. Robert feared the worst as he leaped down into thigh-deep snow. But the sting of the icy crystals was nothing compared to the panic seizing his chest. Janet was somewhere beneath the blanket of white.
With his gloved hands he attacked the snow, scooping and sweeping it away as fast as he could. Every breath, every heartbeat counted in a race against death. Finally he spotted a swath of blue taffeta.
“Miss Janet!” he yelled, the name clipped and rushed while he rapidly clawed away the snow until he found her shoulders. Heaving, he hoisted her from the snow.
“Ow!” she squealed, falling atop him.
He grinned so wide, tears stung his damned eyes. Her cry of pain had to be the most uplifting sound he’d heard in all his days. “You’re alive.”
“My arm.” She curled forward, cradling it against her stomach, her breath coming in short gasps. “I can’t move my fingers. I-I think it is broken.”
Robert reached for her blood-soaked sleeve. “May I have a look?”
With her nod, Janet’s eyes filled with fear and pain. “What have I done?”
“’Twas nothing you did, lass. The snow gave way.” He peered beneath the blue taffeta and lace that should never be worn in the midst of a snowstorm this high in the mountains. Holy Christ. Janet’s forearm was broken, all right. The bone protruded from the flesh and needed setting for certain.
“I-is it bad?” she asked quietly, though her voice strained with the high pitch of pain.
Before he answered, Robert’s gut twisted. He mustn’t mollify his response, no matter how much he wished to. “Aye. You were right. ’Tis broke.” Rocking back on his haunches, he scratched his head while snow continued to fall atop them. “I’m no bone setter. I need to take you to a healer.”
She sucked back a gasp, blinking away tears. “Is there one nearby? Is there a village? A croft?”
There wasn’t. “Nay.”
The lass whimpered, cradling her arm tighter. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. What a dreadful mess.”
Robert had to agree; they were at the bottom of a ravine near the top of the highest mountain range in Scotland. “One thing’s for certain, we cannot linger here.”
“Dear Lord, my arm hurts to move.” Janet rocked back and forth. “My horse? Where is she?”
Robert looked back to the mare, covered with snow and debris. She tossed her head, fighting to break free. He hastened to the filly’s side and pulled away a log. As soon as the weight lifted, the horse sprang up and tried to run, but she was nearly too lame to walk.
Ballocks. “She’s faltering—favoring her left hock.” He reached for his flintlock pistol.
“No!” Janet shouted as if he were about to murder a bairn.
Grant pulled back the cock. “She’s in pain.”
“So am I, but you’re not planning to shoot me, are you?”
He watched the horse, clearly in agony, blood dripping from her nose as she hobbled nearer his steed. “Bloody hell, you’ll never be able to ride her again.”
“I don’t care. I love that mare. I trained her from a foal, and I’m not about to let you shoot her.”
Against his better judgment, he sheathed his weapon. “Very well, but she’ll have to keep pace. I’m not willing to risk our lives for a nag.”
Still cradling her arm, Janet rocked to and fro. “She’ll keep pace. I promise. She has the heart of a lion.”
Robert removed his neckcloth. “We’ll all die if we don’t find shelter soon. I need you to hold your arm close to your body. I’ll tie it in place.”
“Then where to? You said there’s nowhere close.”
“One thing at a time. First we’ll restrain your arm to keep it still.” He looked her in the eye and held out the cloth. “I’ll try not to jostle it overmuch.”
Janet tensed and hissed while he slid the makeshift sling around her wrist. “That should be the worst of it,” he said, tying the ends of the cloth at her nape.
Her shoulders shook. “This is a colossal muddle. A-and my poor mare.”
“I ken, lass.” Robert tried to sound consoling, though Miss Janet’s horse was the least of their woes, especially if the storm didn’t ease. “I need you to bear down and keep your arm still whilst I lift you onto my stallion. Can you do that for me?”
Cringing as if she wanted to cry but was forcing herself to be strong, she gave a nod. Robert stood, bent his knees, and gently pushed his hands into the snow and beneath her. “Ready?”
“Aye,” she said, but her breathing sped while he lifted her from the snow and cradled her to his chest.
“Not much farther,” he cooed, noticing a gash just below her hairline. Most likely she has bumps and bruises everywhere. As carefully as he could, Robert lifted her up to his saddle, then mounted behind. “We’ll follow the burn. ’Tis cutting a path through the snow,” he said aloud, though it was more of a thought than anything. At least the water hadn’t frozen yet. He knew two things: they were heading northeast, which was away from Fort William, and, if his bearings were sound, they were riding toward MacDonnel’s summer grazing lands. No one in their right mind would be camped up there on the first of November, especially not in the midst of a blizzard.
Moreover, the stallion was already spent from riding half the day and wouldn’t make it till dark. The lass might be putting on a brave face, but she needed tending sooner rather than later.
Robert ground his molars while they picked their way through thick forest and snow, tugging the lame mare on a lead line behind. How the hell had he ended up in this mess? After the altercation at the gathering, he and his men were safely heading home. Why had he turned around? Christ, Miss Janet would have been better off imprisoned in Fort William for a sennight or two than stranded in the snowy mountains with a broken arm.
They rode in silence for a time while Robert continued to berate himself. A few miles on, the trees opened to a mountain lea. He sat taller, a whit of his burden easing from his shoulders.
God giveth.
Fifty feet away stood a shepherd’s bothy. Hewn of stone with a crude thatched roof, it butted up against a small outcropping. “Do you see that, Miss Janet?”
She glanced up and gasped. “Is anyone living there?”
“I doubt it—the sheep and cattle have been taken to the saleyard, I’d reckon. But she’ll give us shelter for the night.” And that’s all he would say. No use adding to the poor gel’s trepidation.
Janet searched the horizon before giving a nod. Lord knew if there were any other option—any other comfort within miles—if the ground weren’t covered with three feet of snow, he would rather take her elsewhere, too.
But right now, the wee bothy might as well be a palace.
Robert wanted to cue the stallion to a canter and race to the door, but his horse was spent. Instead he dismounted and led the beast through the drifts of snow. “I’ll have a look inside afore I jostle your arm again.”
“Hurry, please.” The poor lass sounded in agony and breathless.
He didn’t expect to find much. Inside was a crude hearth made without mortar, but it had a grill plate suspended from a rope and hook. Beside the hearth sat a cast-iron pot. He found pelts of deer and cowhide piled against one wall, and a small stack of firewood. Robert guessed the two upended logs were used as stools. He spotted an ax, utensils, and some wooden dishes. Not horrible for a bothy, and it would do in a pinch.
He took a few of the furs and fashioned a pallet, then carried Miss Janet inside and rested her atop the makeshift bed. “We’ve no recourse but to weather the night here. With luck, this squall will pass. ’Tis still early in the season. I doubt the snow will last.”
“I can only imagine what my father will say about this.”
He rolled a rabbit pelt and slid it under her head. “If he’s smart, he’ll be grateful you’re alive.”
She pursed her lips and glanced away.
“I’ll set to starting a fire.” Robert used a bit of flax tow from his sporran. He struck his dirk to flint. Sparks ignited the wooly ball. Carefully he added kindling, then a small stick of wood. Once sure it had taken, he used a twig and lit a crude tallow lamp. “I’d best tend the horses,” he said, excusing himself.
Outside, he loosely hobbled the stallion’s rear legs so he could use his front to dig through the snow and find the mountain grass. The mare wouldn’t wander. He preferred to focus on small tasks than think of the brutal chore ahead. Bile churned in Robert’s gut as he looked to the bothy’s door. If only there were another way. But putting it off was no option.
Using his dirk, he cut two green branches from a tree, ensuring they were both about the same width and length. Then he cut one more—this one a bit smaller and shorter.
Gulping, Robert stared at the rickety wooden door for a moment before he entered.
Janet glanced up from her pallet, perspiration beading her forehead. “Is there more of that dried meat?”
“Aye, and I’ll fetch it in a moment.” He doubted she’d have much of an appetite after. Not looking her way, he pulled his spare shirt out of his satchel and tore it into strips for bandages. Then, steeling his nerves, he faced the lass and presented his flask. “We’ve put off setting your arm long enough. You’d best have a few sips of this.”
As she sat up, her face was ashen, even in the amber firelight. “Must you? It is not hurting quite as much now.”
Robert’s lips thinned. “Can you move your fingers?”
Her jaw twitched as she glanced downward with a look of determination, but those fingers didn’t budge. “Och. I cannot even feel them.”
“Then it must be done,” he said gruffly, hoping she wouldn’t cry. Good God, he could handle screaming and shouting, but weeping would tear his heart to shreds.
Defiance filled her gaze as she leaned away from him. “B-but mayhap tomorrow we’ll find a healer.”
“I will say this once.” Robert shifted the flask under her nose. “If you ever want to use that arm again, you’d best drink.”
She took the whisky and tossed back the tiniest of sips, then gagged and coughed as if he’d given her poison. “’Tis awful.”
“The first sip burns the most. Again.” He made her take a total of five tots before he kneeled and rolled up her sleeve. “Now lie flat.”
Her lips quivered as she did as he asked.
He examined the arm, his stomach turning over. By the swelling, it was clear where the bone had been displaced. He had seen a man’s shinbone set before—the poor bastard bucked harder than a bull in the castrating pen. But at least Robert had witnessed the surgery. That had to count for something. He held out the smallest of the three sticks. “Bite down on this.”
“Dear Lord, have mercy.” Taking the twig between her teeth, she closed her eyes and released a shaky breath.
Before he started, he put one of the bandages in his teeth, wishing he had another pair of hands. “Steel yourself, Miss Janet.”
Her face contorted, but she managed to nod.
He placed one of the splints on her arm and pushed hard and fast until the bone slipped into place.
Shrieking, Janet kicked, her head thrashing.
Robert bore down, holding her arm steady. He worked as fast as he could, wrapping the bandage around, then grabbing the second splint and applying it to the underside of her arm. He bound it tightly until he used all the bandages he’d made. Then he tied them off and tested the splint’s soundness. Thank the stars, she wouldn’t be moving that arm for days.
Pursing his lips, he made himself look at her face. A sheen of sweat moistened her forehead. She took one glance at him and gasped while her eyes rolled back.
“The worst is over,” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “Ye are the bravest lass I’ve ever seen.” Without another thought, he bent down and kissed her forehead.