Alasdair floated in vague darkness, desperately wanting to slip back into that deep, unfeeling, painless sleep and fight against the voice urging him ever upward into increased consciousness. The more that voice compelled him to wake up, to fight, the more pain surged through his body. Yet it was that very voice that touched the deepest part of him; a voice filled with emotion. He tried to ignore the pain, to focus on that voice, trying to please it, frowning with the effort.

“Alasdair, please, wake up. Ye must wake up!”

He felt something cool placed across his brow and grunted a sigh of relief as it eased the sensation of burning enveloping his body. Coupled with the pain, the heat had grown nearly unbearable. He longed to jump into a cool stream, perhaps even the waters of the lake next to his home—

Home. Everything came back in a flash. He struggled to open his eyes, fighting through the pain throbbing in his body, trying to connect with the voice. Cool hands cradled his cheeks; delicate hands, fingers slim yet sure. Another cool cloth now blotting his cheeks and moistening his lips. He turned his face toward it, greedy and wanting more. A featherlight touch of one of those fingers over his scar, then tracing the outline of his eyebrow, soft as the wings of a butterfly.

“Open yer eyes, Alasdair.”

Finally, through a great effort, every part of his body feeling heavy and stubborn, he managed to make his eyelids move. He opened them halfway, everything was blurry, shadowy, and undulating. He blinked once, then again, small movements that nevertheless took effort. One moment he saw a bright, reddish-orange color and then grays wavering in deeper shadows. He heard the rustle of fabric and sensed someone moving just above him. He forced himself to blink again, and each time he did, his surroundings became clearer. Beitris hovered over him, her brow wrinkled, dark circles under her eyes, gently stroking his brow. She stared unblinkingly down at him, as if through sheer will she could make him do her bidding. As her sightless eyes riveted to his own, he had an instantaneous, uncanny feeling that she could see him. Maybe only in her mind’s eye, but she saw him nevertheless. Her lips curved upward in a relieved, gentle smile.

“I knew ye’d wake up.”

She hovered so close that her breath brushed against his cheek. He grew increasingly aware, biting back the pain that continually and steadily throbbed through his body in time to his heartbeat. He realized he lay in a bed, in his bedroom, at the stone house. How had he gotten here? He couldn’t remember…

“Don’t try to move around too much,” Beitris cautioned. “Ye’ll work out the stitching I gave ye. On yer side.”

Stitches? She had given him stitches? How? How could she—

“Ye took a very nasty wound on the back of yer head, and I had to sew that up too. Luckily, the blade glanced off that hard skull of yers, but it left a deep gash. Surely ye have a headache?”

“Aye, lass,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and dry.

“Would ye like some water?”

He nodded, very slowly and carefully, acknowledging the pain in his skull. Her arm snaked under the base of his head, lifting it slightly above the pillow. Her slim though strong arm gently lifted him a bit higher. He marveled that such a dainty-looking woman could be so strong. He had underestimated her. From the moment he’d heard he’d been betrothed to a blind woman, he’d underestimated her.

She reached for a wood bowl as if her fingers knew exactly where to find it. She lifted it and then ever so carefully pressed the edge against his bottom lip. Expertly, she trickled cool water into his mouth. He sipped greedily, his thirst now overwhelming, but before he had satisfied that thirst, she pulled the bowl from his lips, settled his head back on the pillow, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He is awake?”

He recognized Elspeth’s voice.

“Aye,” Beitris replied. “I just gave him some water. In a wee while, we’ll try some broth.”

He tried to speak, to warn them, to tell Elspeth to take Beitris to her cottage, away from here, away from the group of outlaws that had tried to ambush him. He tried to work his mouth to speak, but once again, the darkness pulled at the edges of consciousness, his pain weakening him, his fever burning through his body, resisting his every effort.

“Ye rest, Alasdair. Do not worry, we are watching for strangers.”

Those riders… He had gone after the men who accosted his wife and Elspeth, his rage high, his desire for retribution pounding through his veins. He had proceeded cautiously, but not cautiously enough. He had ridden an hour or two through the woods, along craggy ravines, between spires of rock looming high above as he made his way along a path that he hadn’t traveled in years. That path that would also eventually take him back to the village from the north but would keep the outlaws or whoever they were well off other well-traveled trails and out of sight.

Despite his caution, his anger and thirst for revenge had distracted him, and he had been ambushed. The moment of the attack, he realized that someone from the village had to be involved because only locals knew the canyons, the gullies, the ravines, and the open moors and marshy grounds that dotted the region.

He recalled the rush of movement from the woods, his inward curse as three men emerged from the shadows of the trees, one holding an ax, the other a short sword, and a third a bow and a nocked arrow. He remembered sliding off his horse, slapping its rump, and rushing toward the archer, felling him with the hilt of his sword as he struck it hard against his skull. That one had crumpled without a sound before Alasdair turned to the others. Unfortunately, the one with the sword rushed toward him while the one with the ax maneuvered behind him. Alasdair was unable to get into a defensive position in time. He remembered the stabbing pain of the sword thrust in his side and, almost at the same instant, the glancing blow of the ax against the back of his head as he fell. Something else had happened though, something that had prevented them from dealing the death blow, although maybe they thought he was already dead. It didn’t really matter. One moment they were there, the next they were gone.

He tried to remain conscious long enough to figure it out. Why had they left him for dead rather than taking him to seek their reward? Something… something had stopped them, but he couldn’t recall what happened next. He’d lain for hours, until sometime later, the sun lower in the sky, felt something nudging his leg only to discover that it was his horse, his muzzle nibbling at his tunic. How he got himself onto the back of his horse, he had no idea. He had no recollection of making it back to the stone house.

“Horse?” he muttered, wincing at the dry, gravelly sound of his voice.

“Elspeth hid yer horse in the woods behind the field,” Beitris said, her voice soft and gentle, soothing his worries. “Just in case anybody comes looking for ye.”

Again, Alasdair was impressed at not only the fortitude, but the intelligence of these two women. How had they found him? How had they gotten him inside? Questions that he longed to have answered but at the moment didn’t have the strength to ask. What would happen if—

“Beitris, I see riders approaching. Three of them.”

A quick rustle of fabric, followed by shifting footsteps, one set in the bedroom, the other moving out of the bedroom and into the main room of the house.

He forced his eyes open, reached for Beitris’s hand, and stopped her as she turned to leave his bedside.

“Beitris—”

“We’ll get rid of them, Alasdair. Please, don’t make a sound. They can’t know that yer here.”

The blackness had receded, and his vision cleared. A small fire burned in the stone fireplace in the corner of his room. Beitris left his bedside, arms extended as she moved toward the window, quickly groped for and closed the shutters and latched them. The room darkened, she quickly moved toward the door, closing it softly behind her. A myriad of emotions swept through him. He couldn’t put the women in danger like this. Whoever was after him wouldna likely care who was in the way. If he—

He heard the sound of horse hooves.

Elspeth’s voice came from the main room. “It’s the sheriff, and… yer father, Beitris.”

Alasdair lay helpless in his bed, a shiver taking hold of this body, likely caused by the fever. Darkness again hovered at the edges of consciousness, trying to take hold, but he fought against it and refused to succumb. The sound of horses, the clopping of their hooves as they slowed, closer to the house… He envisioned them stopping at the front of the house and dismounting. His heart pounded. The sheriff and Bruce Boyd. What did they want? Why were they here? A loud knocking on the door. His mouth grew even drier, and he cursed his inability to protect Beitris and Elspeth.

He heard voices in the main room now and strained to hear every word.

“Father! Sheriff Ramsey, come in!” Beitris said, acting the polite hostess, welcoming her father and the sheriff into her home.

She sounded overjoyed to see them.

Alasdair frowned.

“Beitris, are ye all right? What’s that bruise on yer cheek? What happened?”

Beitris offered a small laugh. “I’m still getting used to this house and the property surrounding it, Father. Can ye believe, I actually ran into the door yesterday as I was coming in from gathering eggs.”

“Is that true, Elspeth?”

“Of course it’s true,” Elspeth replied, her tone annoyed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Alasdair heard the coolness in Elspeth’s voice and gathered that she didn’t much care for Beitris’s father. Then she spoke to the sheriff.

“Sheriff, what brings ye so far from the village?”

“Elspeth, Beitris, this is Sir Rory Anderson, an English magistrate,” Sheriff Colin Ramsey explained. “He’s come looking for Alasdair.”

“Looking for Alasdair? Why?” Beitris asked.

“He’s a wanted man, Mistress Macintyre,” a thin-voiced man with a heavy English accent replied. “We know he’s been here, that you married him, and that—”

“I dinna care what ye have heard,” Beitris firmly interrupted. “He’s not here, and quite frankly, I dinna care if he ever comes back!”

“Daughter, what are ye saying?”

“He’s left, Father, gone off up into the Highlands somewhere in the northern region, likely just to get away from me. I told ye this wasn’t going to work, that he was a scoundrel, not worth trusting, but ye wouldn’t listen. Nay, ye wanted—”

“That’s enough, Beitris!” Bruce Boyd snapped.

“What do ye mean, he’s gone off to the Highlands?”

That question came from the sheriff.

Alasdair frowned. He must know that Beitris was lying, for he and Colin had seen each other only a couple of days ago.

“Just what I said,” Beitris said. “He informed me last week that he was going to the Highlands.”

“And for what?” the English magistrate asked.

Again, Beitris’s cool voice answered. “How am I supposed to know? He refused to answer my questions, told me that it was none of my business, that I was nothing but a burden to him.” She paused. “He’s none too happy with ye either, Father, for saddling him with, as he has told me numerous times, a blind, useless wife.”

Alasdair cringed at her words. She couldn’t possibly believe them. Nay, she was doing her best to convince the men that he had left, abandoning her. While it certainly wouldna do his reputation any good, it was a good plan. Another surge of admiration for her quick thinking made him smile.

“This is preposterous!” Bruce grumbled, his voice rising. “I didn’t give away this land, this house, the animals, so that he could abandon ye! If I get my hands on him, I’ll—”

“Enough,” Sheriff Ramsey said, trying to calm Bruce. “I tried to warn ye, Boyd, that Alasdair wasn’t the kind of man to settle down, to be satisfied with tending sheep and farming crops. But did ye listen?”

More grumbling before the English magistrate spoke again.

“Your husband is a wanted man, and as such, I should warn you that if you are caught harboring a fugitive from the law, you can also be charged as an accomplice.”

“How dare ye threaten my daughter,” Bruce came close to shouting. “It’s not her fault that I married her to such a scoundrel. Sheriff, let’s go. We’re done here.”

Moments later, footsteps moved from the main room, and he heard their voices outside as the men mounted, both Beitris and Elspeth now standing outside with them, close to his shuttered window.

“Daughter, perhaps ye should come back home.”

Alasdair heard the tone Bruce used making that suggestion and knew that Bruce didn’t really want his daughter back, didn’t want to be further burdened with her, but felt obligated to say it. Apparently, based on Beitris’s following comment, she didn’t either.

“Nay, Father, this is my home now, and this is where I will stay.”

“But ye can’t live here alone, so far from the village—”

“Elspeth is with me. We will get by.”

“But why would ye want to stay here? If he’s abandoned ye—”

“I will stay, Father, if for no other reason than to annoy Alasdair, if and when he ever comes back. If he wants me off of his property and out of his house, he’s going to have to physically remove me!”

“And me too!” Elspeth added.

“This is unheard of,” Bruce sputtered. “Sheriff, can’t ye do anything? Can’t they go live at Elspeth’s cottage?”

He heard the women gasp at Bruce’s comment. No doubt now. Bruce didn’t want the responsibility of providing for his daughter any longer.

“Nay,” the sheriff replied, a hint of humor in his voice. “This is between Beitris and Alasdair. Ye agreed to give her in holy matrimony to Alasdair, so ye no longer have the right to say what she does now as a married woman. That is up to Alasdair. If she wants to stay, she can stay.”

Alasdair heard the sound of one horse trotting away from the property, and imagined Bruce Boyd, red-faced with emotion, riding away from the stone house back toward the village. Moments later, the English magistrate spoke.

“Remember what I told you, Mistress Macintyre. If you see Alasdair, it would do you well to tell him to turn himself in.”

“That is yer job, sir, not mine. And given that I have not much to offer any husband, whether he be a rogue or not, I doubt he will return anytime soon.”

If Alasdair had the strength, he would’ve laughed at Beitris’s arrogance when speaking to an English magistrate. He smiled again, affection momentarily replacing his pain and worry.

A horse blew, stomped impatiently, and then cantered off, following Boyd’s.

The house grew silent until he heard Beitris and Elspeth speaking softly to one another, their voices too low for him to make out what they said.

Exhausted from fighting the lethargy sweeping through him, he finally succumbed to the darkness.

When Alasdair next woke, he frowned in confusion. He knew immediately he was not in his bed at the stone house. His heart thudded, and alarm raced through him, prompting him to stiffen. A wave of pain rolled through his body in response. Where was he? What happened? Had the English magistrate returned? Had Sheriff Colin Ramsey broken his promise and turned him in? He gazed around, blinking, trying to clear his vision. Shadows danced against rock walls… rock walls? He turned his head, saw a low fire burning nearby. He finally began to make sense of the scene. He lay on the pallet on the floor of what appeared to be a cave. How had he gotten here? Where was here?

Gathering his strength and his wits about him, he did his best to explore his environment. He moved his fingers and hand to feel beneath him. Beneath a linen bedsheet, he felt what appeared to be pine needles. Then it all made sense. The women, somehow, had taken him from the stone house and hidden him in a cave somewhere. He recalled finding a cave deep in the woods behind the fallow field behind his property. They had created a comfortable pallet of pine needles for a mattress and made a bed on top of it for him. Several blankets covering him kept his body warm, the light from the fire burning nearby creating dancing shadows inside the cave. The cave itself looked to be rather large. He’d never explored it but realized it was the size of a small room. Beside the fire, nestled in the soft, silty dirt of the cave floor, rested a steaming cooking pot. The aroma of a heavy broth or perhaps even stew prompted his stomach to rumble with hunger.

How long had he been here? Had something happened after the sheriff and the English magistrate left? If Beitris was behind this, she and Elspeth were taking a big risk to hide him. He felt humbled once again, realized that he was growing ever fonder of Beitris, while at the same time increasingly worried for her safety. He heard the rustle of movement from beyond the fire and turned toward it. From around a curve in the rock wall, he saw a figure approaching. It wasn’t the slight figure of his wife.

“Elspeth?”

“Glad to see ye’ve woken, Alasdair,” she said. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Before he could say anything, she turned and retreated from the cave, reappearing several moments later with Beitris in tow. She guided Beitris toward the bed where Alasdair lay, and she knelt down beside him, feeling for his hand. Her hand brushed softly along his chest until she found his arm, then down until she clasped his hand in hers.

“I hope we have not caused ye greater pain, Alasdair,” she said, gazing down at him.

She seemed to instinctively know exactly where his head would be. If he didn’t know she was blind, he would never have guessed.

“After the sheriff and the magistrate left, Elspeth and I thought it would be best if we hid ye, just in case they came back.”

Alasdair smiled and gently squeezed Beitris’s small, delicate hand in his own. He also looked up at Elspeth. “I am humbled by yer bravery, ladies, but I dinna want ye putting yerself in any further danger. As soon as I am healed, I will go—”

“Nay, ye will not,” Beitris said, her jaw firm, shaking her head. “Things will work themselves out. They will. I know it.”

Alasdair grinned at her quiet fierceness. “Ye will stand up against the English monarchy?”

“If I have to,” she said, nodding. “I vow that I’ll keep ye safe, Alasdair, as best I can. Elspeth will help me. Only when ye are well will we speak of this again.”

To his surprise, she shifted her position, and then very carefully and ever so gently lay down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at the familiarity, but then immediately relaxed to welcome it.

“I realize that I’m behaving very inappropriately, Alasdair, but there are things that ye should know.” She didn’t seem to mind that Elspeth, watching them, heard every word. “During the past couple of weeks, I… well, I’ve grown quite fond of ye.”

Alasdair said nothing although his heart skipped a beat. This was unexpected. Not unpleasant, but unexpected.

“I sensed something was wrong that morning, the morning Elspeth found ye in the field. I sensed it. And then, when I knelt beside ye and felt the blood on yer clothes, I… I felt an unfamiliar sense of fear, of disappointment, thinking ye might already be dead. It was at that moment that I realized that I had developed feelings for ye, and I have to admit, they were a surprise to me.”

Alasdair almost smiled. Almost. She was baring her soul, brutally honest about her feelings. For several seconds, that bothered him, but then, as with her lying down beside him, he appreciated it. So many women were not truthful about their feelings, perhaps afraid of becoming even more vulnerable than they already were. He appreciated Beitris’s honesty and knew that henceforth, he would always know where she stood in their relationship, and that pleased him.

“And now?” he asked softly.

Beitris placed a hand on his chest. “I feel yer heart beating beneath my palm. It would pain me greatly if it were to stop.”

Alasdair absorbed her words and smiled softly at the sentiment in them. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to offer her some comfort, but at the moment, he lacked the strength. But he could reciprocate. “Ye have surprised me time and again, Beitris,” he said. “And since ye have been so forthright with me, I will be honest with ye. When my father first told me of this agreement of his, between our fathers, I was angry. I dinna like having others make my choices for me. I can make my own decisions.” He paused for several moments, gaining his strength and his thoughts. He felt it hard to concentrate, what with Beitris’s hand resting on his chest, smelling the scent of her hair, her breath against his neck. “At the same time, I remembered ye from when we were young. Even then, ye surprised me with yer daring and yer determination not to let yer lack of eyesight limit ye.”

Beitris sighed. “It is very tiresome at times, not being able to see,” she admitted. “But I realized very early on that I either had to accept it or wallow in self-pity. Eventually, I decided to accept it and to try to live as normal a life as I could.”

She lifted her head, tilting her chin closer to his face. How did she see or imagine him in her vague world of shadows? At that moment, he yearned more than anything to give her the gift of sight, but he also knew that was impossible.

“I will do everything I can to be a good wife to ye, Alasdair. To not be a burden to ye. To not have ye ashamed of me.”

“Ye are no burden, Beitris, and I wouldna be ashamed of ye. I have not, and I will not. How can I? Ye have already saved my life and are now hiding me from the English. Putting yerself in danger for my sake. How could I ever be ashamed of ye?”

Alasdair couldn’t count how many times he’d been hurt or injured in his life. Now, holding Beitris’s hand, he felt overwhelmed at the risk she had taken for him. The risk that Elspeth had taken on as well due to her loyalty to Beitris. He was Beitris’s husband, and it was he who was responsible for her safety. Yet he realized that he was not invincible. He vowed that as soon as he was recovered, that he would protect this woman who, though blind, was so strong.

And if he had to, he would die doing just that.