Chapter Seven
Gray light filtered in the window, and I opened my eyes. My first instinct was to check on Torq. Flat on my back, I rolled onto my side. My muscles, which had stiffened in the night, screamed, and the sound escaped my mouth.
The door burst open, and Torq ran in.
“Lass! What is it?”
I looked up in surprise, having assumed he was on the floor.
“Nothing! Sorry. My back is stiff and sore. I thought you were asleep on the floor.”
“I had to attend to nature,” he said. His hair, matted with dark-brown dried blood, hung around his face. Even in the soft light, I could see the dark stitches on his face.
“Let me look at your stitches,” I said, trying to push myself to a sitting position.
Torq held out his hands and allowed me to use him to pull myself upright to a sitting position. I bit back the moans of pain.
“I think I am in less pain than ye, lassie,” he said. His eyes crinkled, but he raised a hand to his face with a grimace.
I peered at the stitches. Sloppy but still intact, I saw no spreading redness or oozing.
“Did ye sew my face?” he asked.
“I did, and not very well at that. I hope you don’t scar too badly. Here, let’s pour some more whisky on it.”
I reached for the bottle, and Torq picked it up.
“Is that why I smelled like a distillery when I awakened?” he asked. “I didna remember enjoying a dram. Ye dinna mean to waste it on my face, do ye?”
“I do. Hand me that bit of cloth.” Sanitary conditions aside, I used the same cloth and poured whisky over it before dabbing at his face.
He hissed as it burned, but said nothing. I examined the cauterized wound on his neck, which looked terribly angry and blistered, but it too didn’t show signs of infection.
“I think I need to put some whisky on your neck as well. Are you up for it?”
“Aye.”
He winced when I patted at the wound, and I winced as well.
“Do ye ken healing then?” he asked.
“Not a bit,” I said almost cheerfully. “Could you hand me that cup?”
Torq handed me the cup, and I helped myself to a cup of whisky to ease some of the pain.
“For medicinal purposes, ye ken,” I said. I drank it down, let the warmth hit my stomach and smiled broadly.
“How are things in the village today? Ann said no one else was hurt during the raid?”
“Nay, the Macaulays didna take any lives. They dinna seem intent on killing so much as harassing. I dinna ken if they are trying to run us off Dun Eistean or what their goal is. They are no half as angry as Angus Macleod. Perhaps they are probing our defenses again, which are still weak.”
I wanted to put my hands on Torq’s shoulders and kiss his forehead. I actually wanted to kiss his lips, but worried not only about certain rejection but that such a sudden movement might hurt his face.
I kept my hands to myself and stared at him.
“You have dried blood in your hair,” I said.
“Aye, I smell it. I will go down to the sea and bathe.”
“The sea?”
“Aye.”
“Can I go?”
“Auch, lass, ye are in no shape to walk. I suppose I could carry ye down.”
“Oh, no, no. You’ve lost too much blood. You need to conserve your strength.”
“I could ask a few of the lads to help if I falter. I ken ye have been trapped inside the keep long enough.”
“Really? Would they? I’d hate to impose, but I really would love to see the sea.”
“Mind ye, I was going to bathe.”
“Well, I won’t look. How about that?”
“See that ye dinna!” His eyes crinkled below the dark-red brows, and he put a protective hand to his cheek again.
“I’ll fetch some lads and let Ann ken our plans. I may be yer protector, but ye are her guest. Ye are in need of some clothing if ye are to venture out.” With a lift of an eyebrow, he looked down at the blankets covering my legs.
I said nothing as Torq left, but I did my best to quell the anticipation of seeing that tall red-haired Scot rising up from the waves. I grabbed hold of the chair seat and pulled myself up from the bed, then tried to stand upright using the chair back. I froze in an awkward forty-five degree angle while waves of pain coursed through my back.
When the first round eased, I struggled to straighten into an upright position, but I couldn’t let go of the chair long enough. I spotted Torq’s sword propped against the wall by the door. With one hand, I retucked the blanket skirt around my waist, and in a stooped posture, worked my way beyond the chair and to the table, inching my way toward the door.
Lifting each leg like a nutcracker, I finally reached the sword and caught the basket hilt. The sight of dried blood on the blade repulsed me, but I wasn’t about to stop and clean it off. Propping the sword tip into the ground, I leaned on it like a cane and straightened.
The door behind me opened, and I twisted around, sending my back into another spasm.
“Auch, lass, what are ye doing? Standing? Look at yer face. Ye’ve gone white.”
Torq dropped something onto the table and rushed up to slip an arm around my waist. With his free hand, he took the sword from me.
“This is no a crutch. It is my weapon. I will have one of the lads make ye a proper cane if ye need. Ann sent skirts for ye to wear. She wanted to come herself, but the bairns are fussing and will no be consoled by any but their mother.”
He propped the sword against the wall and nodded toward the clothing on the table, the material similar to his own muted scarlet great kilt.
“Can ye manage on yer own? I dinna ken,” he said skeptically.
“Well, the alternative is for you to help me, so I guess I can?”
“I would help ye in any way that I can, but I think dressing ye would best be done by other women. Shall I fetch one to aid ye?”
“No, I can manage. Just prop me up on the table. As always, ignore all shouts and screams. It’s just me.”
His eyes crinkled again as he helped me lean against the table.
“The lads and I will await ye wi’out.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.
I released the blanket and let it fall. With a whole lot of moaning and groaning, I managed to get the skirt over my head and let it slide down over my hips to the floor. Anne hadn’t sent a blouse, and I guessed that was fine. My T-shirt would have to do. I suspected she probably didn’t want to try to force me into a bodice at the moment, and for that I was grateful.
“Okay, I’m dressed!” I called out.
Torq returned, looked me up and down and shook his head. “Ye will need a proper blouse, but ye’ll do for now.”
“There’s no way I can bend over to get my shoes,” I said, barely hanging on to the table as it was.
“Ye’ll have no need of them. We will carry ye. Ann said to tell ye she thought it a grand idea, that the rare sunshine would do ye good. Ye were no of a mind to bathe in the sea yerself, were ye?”
“Well, not by myself, obviously. I couldn’t stand up. Next time though,” I said with a grin.
Two men stood behind him in the doorway—both tall and well-built, one with shoulder-length brown hair and beard, the other a strawberry blond with matching beard. I guessed their ages in the twenties.
They dressed similarly to Torq, their great kilts, nondescript gray vests and dingy white shirts having seen better days. Swords hung from wide belts, and each carried a pistol. I noted several random scars on their hands, suggestive of a hard life of fighting, even at their young ages.
“Mistress Dunnon, may I present Kenny and Euan? They will carry ye down to the beach.”
“Mistress, if ye please,” Kenny, the brunet, said, linking arms with Euan to form a basket chair.
With flaming cheeks, I put my hands on their shoulders and tried to lower myself into their basket with a repressed moan.
“Lass? Are ye in pain?” Torq asked. “Perhaps ye should stay here.”
“No, I want to go. It’s just...sitting hurts.” I gave both men an apologetic smile.
“Aye, I see that. Set her upright, lads. I will carry her.”
Kenny and Euan eased me to a standing position. I clung to Euan’s arm.
“No, Torq!” I protested. “You lost a lot of blood. You don’t need to be carrying me anywhere. Maybe I should just stay here. I’m really causing too much trouble.”
“Euan and Kenny will follow me. If I falter, they can take ye.”
“Aye, it is no a problem,” Kenny said.
Euan nodded agreement. They seemed an affable pair of young men, though the swords and pistols suggested they weren’t easygoing about everything.
I gave them another embarrassed smile.
Torq lifted me up into his arms, and I tried to think light, as if I weighed 90 pounds instead of my 125. I had no idea how far Torq would need to carry me, and I regretted putting him in this position. He didn’t groan under my weight, and I hoped for the best as he carried me outside the keep.
The sun shone down on Dun Eistean, and I saw it clearly for the first time. The little tidal stack truly was an island, separated from the mainland by a span of only several hundred feet. I recalled the bridge hadn’t taken long to cross. However, no bridge facilitated entry onto Dun Eistean.
Now, the original wooden gate guarded access from the mainland, flanked on both sides by six-foot stone walls that surrounded two-thirds of the island, those areas accessible by land. Peepholes had been left open at intervals on the wall. Heavily armed men wandered the perimeter and guarded the gate.
Across the expanse of emerald-green grass that covered the surface of the tabletop, I saw the crofts as they had once existed. No buried mounds these, plumes of smoke wafted into the air through the turf roofs of the stacked stone cottages. Little tartaned children played while men and women moved about attending to chores, talking, some turning to stare at us.
Torq ignored the stares from the crofts and headed away from the keep toward two smaller stone turf-topped buildings where the perimeter wall ended. From an archaeological diagram I had seen online, I recognized the buildings as the boathouses.
I looked over my shoulder back at the keep. Much taller than I had suspected, the rectangular tower appeared to be about fourteen feet tall with small windows on all visible sides.
Beyond the keep, the white-capped sea stretched out on two sides, dotted only by a few rocky outcrops. A brisk wind blew across the sea stack. To the left, beyond Torq’s shoulder, I saw the rugged coastline of the northernmost tip on the Isle of Lewis.
“What’s that crevice there?” I nodded toward a break in the round symmetry of the island, the point where the wall ended. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Aye! That is where we keep the birlinns.”
“Birlinns? The boats?”
“Aye.”
If Torq struggled to carry me, he didn’t let me know. His breathing seemed even, not labored. I examined his face while he carried me, but saw no renewed bleeding. My uneven stitches were holding up well.
Torq’s beautiful curly hair glowed under the sun. I thought his face much more handsome without the beard, despite the wound on his cheek. His square jaw and pale skin just screamed Nordic ancestry.
He smelled of sweat, dirt and copper—from the blood on his clothes, body and hair.
“Be careful with those stitches when you bathe,” I cautioned.
He looked down at me with his sapphire-blue eyes. We were so close, I could see the white flecks in them. My heart raced.
“Aye, I will. I would no wish to damage yer handiwork.” The white flecks danced. “The path to the beach is uneven. I dinna wish to cause ye further discomfort. Are ye in much pain?”
I hadn’t even thought about pain for a few minutes. The warmth of Torq’s arms and the adrenaline coursing through my body in his embrace worked as an effective pain reliever.
“No, not really. Take it easy on yourself,” I said. “I really don’t want you to overdo it.”
“It isna a problem.”
Two kilted, heavily armed Scots, who had been sitting on stone benches just outside the boathouses, rose and greeted the men in Gaelic. Kenny and Euan responded, but Torq merely nodded. I presumed the guards kept an eye on the boats and access to the island from the sea.
Torq carried me toward the crevice, which looked over the edge of a cliff toward a rocky beach way below. I didn’t know why I hadn’t realized we would have to descend a cliff face of some sort. Dun Eistean was an isolated rock sticking out of the ocean, separated from the mainland at high tides.
What had I been thinking? My fear of heights kicked into gear, and I began to pant when it looked as if Torq would step off the edge into thin air.
“What ails ye, lass?”
Torq paused, and I squeezed my eyes shut at the dizzying sight of the cliff edge.
“I’m afraid of heights,” I whispered through gritted teeth.
“Heights? Auch, lass, this is truly no place for ye then. We have naethin but heights here at Dun Eistean.”
“I know. I know.”
“Dinna fash, lass. I have hold of ye, and the path is sturdy.”
I have hold of ye.
Comforted by Torq’s self-assured words, I pried one eye open, but the sensation that we were about to plummet off the edge struck me, and I slammed my eyes shut again.
I felt, rather than saw, Torq descend as my ride became bouncier. Still, I felt very little discomfort plastered against the broad chest of a handsome Scot.
“If ye think ye can pry open yer eyes, the birlinns are to our right. We had only the one here at Dun Eistean but took the other from the Macleod.”
I lifted one eyelid to see that we passed two Viking-style wooden ships with curved bows perched on a ledge above the beach. Ropes suggested how they hauled them up and down. I presumed they must have used the high tides to launch.
“Beautiful!” I whispered, closing my eyes again.
We bounced along for a few more minutes until Torq spoke.
“Ye can open yer eyes now, lass.”
We stood on a pebbly beach at the base of the cliff. Waves rolled onto the island, propelled by the surf beyond. I looked at the roiling water and wondered about the undertow. It looked treacherous.
“What shall I do wi ye?” he asked.
“You can just set me down on the rocks.”
“Will that no hurt yer back?”
Kenny and Euan started shedding their vests and shirts but stopped at a terse Gaelic comment from Torq. Both retucked their shirts and waited, watching us.
“I don’t think so. No, I’m sure it will feel like a shiatsu massage.” I eyeballed the rounded rocks.
“I dinna ken that word,” Torq said, bending down to his knees and lowering me to the pebbles.
“No, I know.”
Avoiding a sitting position, I spread out and lay on my side, waiting for the pain to pass. As I had hoped, the sun had warmed the rocks.
“Okay! I’m good! Thank you,” I said as Torq looked at me with concern. “Go bathe. I can always close my eyes. You know I can do that well!”
Torq’s eyes crinkled. He spoke to Kenny and Euan in Gaelic, and they smiled and strode away to another end of the beach. I followed them until they disappeared behind a large boulder that jutted out into the water.
“I will join the lads just there behind the boulder. Are ye certain ye will be comfortable?”
“Yes. I just appreciate the fresh air.”
“Verra well. I will return soon.”
He turned and walked away, removing his vest and shirt while he walked. I couldn’t help but hope his kilt was next, but he too disappeared around the boulder, albeit with a last look in my direction. His broad shoulders and muscular torso made me sigh.
I lay my head down on my extended arm, oddly enjoying the massaging effect of the pebbles along the length of my right side. Every now and then, I looked up to see if I could spot an unclothed long-haired Highlander frolicking in the sea, but had no such luck.
Seagulls flew overhead, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the salty air, warmth of the sun and refreshing sea wind on my face. The rhythm of the waves lulled me into drowsiness.
“Are ye sleeping, lass?” Torq asked sometime later.
I opened heavy-lidded eyes to see him crouching beside me on one knee, shirtless, his hair wet and hanging over his face. He carried his vest, shirt and boots in one hand, but wore his kilt.
My eyes flew to the wound on his face, but I saw no bleeding.
“How are your wounds?”
“They stung a bit in the water, but it was a fair price to pay for a bath.”
Euan and Kenny appeared, both having donned their kilts as well. They walked toward us but stopped short to sit and thrust their feet into socks and boots, followed by their shirts and vests. My heart thudded at the sight of three ruggedly handsome bare-chested, wet-haired Scotsmen dressing in front of me after they had bathed, saltwater notwithstanding.
It was really too much for one woman to handle.