Chapter Four
Emily carefully opened her eyes. She knew she had been asleep for quite a while but had little sense of how long that while was. Brushing her fingers over her eyes she found no crustiness that often formed after a long sleep. She wondered if someone had bathed her face for she was certain her sleep had been a long one. The various aches and stiffness in her body told her she had been lying in the same position for quite a long time.
Pushing herself up so that she was propped up against the headboard, Emily hissed as pain tore through her arm. Once it began to ease, she began to remember what had happened to her. Her sister was dead, as was her husband. Their cottage had been badly burned. Tears flooded her eyes and Emily brushed them aside as she looked around the room.
Fear crept in slowly as she realized she recognized nothing. Looking down at herself she found she was wearing her shift but little else. Who had undressed her? The walls were white, there were two windows framed with light yellow curtains she had never seen. On the floor were rag rugs she did not recognize. The bed was a bit high, wide enough to hold two people, and made of thick, sturdy wood.
She was breathing too quickly. Emily knew her fear was rapidly increasing and she fought to calm herself as she looked for signs of danger. Panic would cloud her thoughts and she needed them clear now. There was no one guarding her and Emily decided to take that as a good sign. If the enemy had taken her, she doubted they would have had her wounds tended to so well and they certainly would not have left her on her own. She stared at the painting on the wall opposite the foot of the bed and felt calm begin to smother her agitation. It was a picture of home, or someplace similar. Just looking at the small stone cottage with its high thatched roof put her more at ease.
Sitting up a little straighter she realized it was a painting of a place somewhere in Scotland. She had traveled there once with her mother and father and recognized what the Scots called a glen. Memory returned in a rush and she could almost hear that deep Scottish brogue telling her they would be safe. There was a man who had helped her but there was no sign of him. Listening closely, she could not even hear that voice.
And where was Neddy, she thought with a surge of sharp panic she could not hold back. “Neddy? Neddy!” she yelled as she struggled to get out of bed. “Neddy, where are you? Neddy!”
A few moments later she heard someone coming quickly up the stairs and braced herself. Although she prayed it was Neddy, she knew it could be whoever had brought her here and she would need to keep her wits about her. The pound of footsteps was far too loud and heavy to be those of a small child. Neddy’s life depended on her being careful about who she trusted with the truth. Saving her life and treating her well could simply be a more subtle way of getting her to tell them what they wanted to know or leave Neddy unguarded.
* * *
Iain watched Neddy carefully as they worked to weed the kitchen garden. He had planned to fix fences but the boy would not leave his side. Deciding Neddy was too young to be wandering the fields with him, he chose to do the simpler chore of weeding the garden. He had pointed out what needed to be pulled in the pathways between the plants and away from the crops and the boy dutifully stuck to them. Iain kept a close watch though.
Suddenly Neddy leapt to his feet and looked at the house. “Em!”
The boy was already running toward the house before Iain heard what the boy had. Emily was awake and calling for the child. He grabbed the box the child always kept close and caught up with Neddy, hooked his arm around the child’s waist, and helped him up the stairs. He had not considered how fearful she would be to wake and not see the child. They entered Emily’s room and Neddy wiggled free to run over to the bed. Before Iain could catch him again, Neddy climbed on the bed and into Emily’s arms. Iain stood by the side of the bed and saw her quickly hidden grimace of pain. He could not be certain which wound the boy had jarred, however.
“My box!” The boy suddenly cried and looked around. “I lost it.”
“Nay.” Iain held the box he had scooped up as they had rushed away from the garden. “I brought it.”
Neddy grabbed it and held it close. “Mine!”
“Rude, Neddy,” Emily said, and tried not to grimace over how dry her throat was. “Say thank you kindly.”
“Thank you kindly, Iain,” he repeated carefully, then opened the box and took out Boo. “Do you want Boo, Em?”
Emily stared at the box. It should not be unlocked. She reached up to touch her neck and realized the chain holding the key was gone. When she looked at Iain, he pointed to the table beside her and she saw the chain and key lying on the table. Trying not to wince she reached out to pick it up. Then she looked at Iain but he just smiled. Next she looked at Neddy, who avoided her gaze, patting his Boo.
“Neddy? Why is the box open?” she asked softly. “The papers need to be locked up.”
“Why?” Neddy frowned at her then held Boo up in front of him and stared at her.
“Because they are yours and very important. Those who are not family should not be looking at them. They are private papers.”
Neddy smiled. “I know. He cannot read. So, you teach him, too.”
Emily noticed the faint hint of color in the man’s cheeks and realized he was embarrassed. She was not sure why he should be as she was well aware of the fact that many of those not born to privilege could not read and not every parent felt it worth the loss of an extra pair of hands to work to send their child to the schools that were now set up. At best those people learned what words they felt were important like poison or danger and felt that would do well enough. Nor could such people afford the books to read so the skill was of little practical use in their eyes. She had taught the tenants’ children back home on the estate and knew that few of their parents had felt it was really necessary.
“If he wishes it, I can do so.” She glanced at Iain. “Might I have some water, please? My mouth is horribly dry.” She lightly rubbed her throat. “How long was I asleep?”
“Three days,” Iain replied as he made use of the glass and pitcher on the bedside table and poured her some water. “We got some food into ye a few times. Mrs. O’Neal tended to your wounds and said they were healing nicely.” He handed her the glass of water.
Taking a sip, Emily nearly moaned in pleasure as the water washed away the dryness in her mouth and throat. It was not cold but it was not too warm, either. She drank it down as slowly as her raging thirst would allow. Once done she attempted to turn enough to place the glass back on the table only to have her wounded arm loudly protest and she gasped.
Iain took the glass from her and set it down. He watched her as she took slow, deep breaths to banish the worst of the pain and the color returned to her face. She sagged back against the pillows he had quickly plumped up at her back. Then a worried Neddy gave her his Boo.
Although she was startled at how weary and weak she felt, Emily tried to look sternly at Neddy. “You should lock the box, love. The papers are then safe from dirt or water.”
“And prying eyes?” Iain asked as he picked up the key and locked the box before holding the chain out to her so that she could slip it back on.
Emily took the chain and quickly realized she would not be able to put it back on. Her left arm simply could not be moved in a way that would allow it. She sighed and looked at Iain.
Tired and sore though she was, it annoyed her that she could not ignore how good the man looked. His hair was in need of a cut but suited him, the mahogany waves with touches of red brushing his broad shoulders. His deep green eyes were rimmed with surprisingly lush lashes. There was a faint bump in his long straight nose that hinted that it might have been broken once. When she looked at his mouth she was shocked by a tiny tug of strong attraction for it was not something she had ever felt before. He had a slightly wide mouth with a full lower lip. Emily decided he was a man she had best avoid as much as possible while she healed.
“I fear I cannot put this back on,” she said. “It requires the full use of two arms.”
He stood up, made certain the key was secured on the chain and, as carefully as he was able, put it on over her head. To his relief it fell perfectly. The last thing he wanted to have to do was adjust it. That could cause him to have to get very close to her and, perhaps, even touch her skin. Just seeing her bare shoulders and arms was already straining his control. Iain decided he needed to get down to the Trading Post soon for he had been far too long without a woman.
“What is so important about those papers?” he asked as he tugged a small chair over to the bed and sat down.
Emily wished her head did not ache as she rubbed her forehead and tried to decide just how much she should tell him. “There is proof of his birth and papers to prove he has a claim to some property back in England as well as proof that the cabin and land here also now belong to him. Then there is a will which names me his legal guardian.”
Iain believed she was telling the truth but also omitting a lot of things from the explanation. The fact that the boy needed a fancy proof of birth and papers to prove a claim to property told him more than she realized. They were gentry. He just did not know how high they sat at the table. The thought stirred old angers and he decided he needed to get away from her before he lashed out at her with an anger she did not deserve.
“I will tell Mrs. O’Neal that ye are awake,” he said as he stood up. “She will want to look at your wounds,” he added as he walked to the door, “and I suspicion there are things ye may wish her help with.”
A blush stung Emily’s cheeks as she watched him leave. Then she noticed how Neddy watched the man. It was clear the boy had a budding attachment for the man. It might be kind to try to gently put an end to that but she could not do it. David had loved his son but protecting his small family and the fight to keep them fed and housed had used up most of his time and often consumed all of his thoughts. He had had little to give his son aside from the occasional pat on the head as he hurried from one chore to another.
“Do you want to go with him, love?” she asked the boy as she lightly stroked his hair.
“We were working. I pulleded weeds.”
The boy looked so proud of himself she could not help but smile. “Well, go on then. See if he still needs your help.” She looked at the sturdy woman who had just appeared in the doorway. “I believe I will be busy with other things for a time.”
Neddy moved to kiss her cheek and put his hand on her wounded leg. Emily bit the inside of her cheek to stop from voicing a moan of pain, which she suspected could quickly turn into a scream. Mrs. O’Neal grabbed the child around the waist and lifted him off. She then patted the boy on the back, set him on his feet, and gently nudged him on his way. The moment Neddy was gone, Emily sank back against the pillows and fought the urge to cry.
“Ah, poor lass. Is it passing?” Mrs. O’Neal asked as she got a cool wet rag and bathed Emily’s face. “Take deep breaths. Good,” she said when Emily did so. “Passing now? Pain easing?”
“Yes. It just throbs a bit.”
She opened her eyes and studied the woman standing by the bed. Mrs. O’Neal had a pleasant face and a white cap that vainly struggled to contain thick curly brown hair. As the woman set down a bowl she had brought up, Emily noticed she had hands well worn by hard work but they were strong. Emily also saw that Mrs. O’Neal’s arms, which had looked as sturdy as the rest of her, actually rippled subtly with muscle that moved beneath the skin and the plain brown gown the woman wore. Mrs. O’Neal was a woman who worked hard.
“You are probably a bit hungry,” the woman said. “Twice you roused enough for me to get some soup into you though I am thinking you don’t recall it.”
“No, I cannot, but I thank you for it.”
“I mean to have a quick look at your wounds now. The one on your arm was not as serious as the one in your leg. They showed no signs of festering but it may be best to keep a close watch for a while yet.”
Emily nodded but could not stop herself from tensing as the woman undid the bandage on her arm. She looked at it along with Mrs. O’Neal, although she could not see it as well. Just as she began to feel a little queasy over the sight of the stitches on her skin, Mrs. O’Neal lightly touched the wound area and Emily closed her eyes as she winced.
“Still painful?”
“Just a little. I think it was mostly seeing you touch it that made me wince.”
“It is looking very good. I think we will leave off the bandage tomorrow,” she decided as she put the bandage back on. “You do not move much when you sleep so it should be fine.”
“I sleep like the dead.”
“You know?”
“My mother and sister complained about it as they always felt compelled to see if I was still breathing. At least I do not snore, I think. I am sure they would have told me if I did.”
“Never heard any from you and believe me, I have heard every type and tune of snoring in this house.” Mrs. O’Neal began to take off the bandage on her leg. “My eldest boy is the same. Spent many an hour setting by his bed trying to see if he was still breathing.” She sent Emily a smile as she got a cloth to gently bathe the wound. “Once I got accustomed, I thought it was sweet. He was, in that way, like a babe or a kitten, a puppy. Awake one moment then sleeping like the dead in the next. This looks like it is healing well, too.”
“Will we leave the bandage off it tomorrow as well?”
“I think not. It looks good, only a little redness from the boy bumping it. But that bullet tore a hole through your leg and it’s best to give it more time under the cover of a good bandage. It was a much deeper wound. Takes longer to close up firm and all. Needs to heal deep down inside. You will have a scar, I fear.”
Emily tried to shrug but a pain in her left arm curbed that gesture. “It does not matter.”
“Well, I have something I can try on the one on your arm that might lessen the mark left. Don’t think anything can stop the leg wound from leaving a scar but we cantry. Might make it fainter,” she said as she bandaged the wound again.
“It would be nice if the one on my arm is not too stark but it truly does not matter. I am alive and so is Neddy. My sister”—Emily fought the urge to cry—“and poor David are not.”
Mrs. O’Neal sighed and shook her head. “I am sorry. This land is beautiful round here but it is also dangerous. It took my Tommy, too. Lazy scum who didn’t want to work for money decided he should hand over what he had just gotten for our apple harvest. Stubborn man wouldn’t give it over so they killed him.”
“A hard loss. My deepest sympathy for your loss and pain. So, you came here then?”
“We ran here fast as we could because now I was a single woman, a widow with three children and easy prey, and he let us in. So we settled on what we could do for him, on pay, and then the lads built us a small cabin. That was a gift we didn’t expect. I was happy enough to be behind these walls. Saw them as we fled into the hills and thought it a good place to be. There is a chance of safety here, I thought. Been here six years this winter.”
Emily nodded and watched Mrs. O’Neal uncover a tray of food. “I do not think I have ever seen a house with a stockade fence round it. Not in all my travel to get here.” She pressed her hand to her stomach, afraid it was about to loudly announce how empty it was.
“Iain was insistent. The lad had suffered and wanted his brothers to be safe. It took a lot of work.” Mrs. O’Neal put the tray of food on Emily’s lap, careful to avoid the bandaged area around her leg. “Something more solid and filling for you this time. Want me to cut that meat?”
Since Emily had already discovered that movement hurt her arm, she nodded. “If you would, please, I would be most grateful. It all looks so good.”
“Hope it tastes the same. Been a long time since I prepared something for a lady.”
Quickly looking at the woman as she tried to hide the alarm she felt, Emily decided Mrs. O’Neal did not know anything. She had used the word lady as no more than a simple form of address. So Emily pushed aside her concerns and enjoyed her meal. She also learned a lot about the running of the place she had been brought to as Mrs. O’Neal entertained her with tales of the brothers.
“How many MacEnroy brothers are there?” she finally asked, wiping her face and hands with the damp cloth Mrs. O’Neal gave her.
“Seven.” Mrs. O’Neal shook her head as she collected the tray and set it on the table by the bed. “Everyone of them a handsome strapping lad. Their parents must have been so proud.”
“Do you know how their parents died?”
“Their father and mother were bringing them all west. There was really nothing for them back east. Then their small wagon train was attacked. Both died in the battle.” Mrs. O’Neal shook her head. “That fool boy Iain still blames himself for not helping, thinks he might have saved them if he had joined the fight but his folk had told him to watch his brothers and watch over their money.”
“That was a very important job. Can he not see that?”
“He is a man, child. All he sees is that he ran from the battle.” She picked up the tray now loaded with the plates as well as the bowl of water and rags she had brought up. “I will wander back in an hour or so to see if you are in need of any help.”
Emily mumbled a thank-you but her thoughts were already on the MacEnroys and the place they had brought her to. The MacEnroy brothers must have been very young when they had found this place yet they had built themselves a home. They had been given skills for, rough as it was, the house they had built looked strong and was sealed tightly from what little she was able to see. And they had to be blessed with sharp wits to avoid being cheated on the price of things they had needed to begin. David and she had taken care to learn the prices of things so that he and Annabel did not lose all their money.
Settling into the pillows, Emily sighed. She had to confess, if only to herself, that she had found Iain MacEnroy a true pleasure to look at. He had apparently not found her so as he had been stiff and cold. No, she thought and frowned. He had grown cold right after she had said what the papers they protected were. That made no sense to her for surely everyone had some sort of paper to prove ownership of land if nothing else.
The man had certainly not leapt at Neddy’s offer to have her teach him to read despite his obvious curiosity about the papers. It could be simple manly pride. He might not have wished her to know that he lacked that skill. She had faced that problem with some of the tenants at home. When she was back to her full strength she would see to that.
Closing her eyes, she tried taking slow, deep breaths to ease the last of the pain tending her wounds had caused. She was still heartsick over the deaths of her sister and David, the long sleep she had taken not easing it much at all. They had not deserved it, were only trying to keep their child safe. The moment the men had demanded they hand over the child, they all knew it was not some random attack.
What Emily did not understand was how their enemy had discovered where they were and how he had then gotten men to come hunting them. She had to wonder if Annabel had been writing to someone back home, giving them just enough information to point to a trail for their enemy to follow. David could have also written to someone in his family, she supposed, but he had claimed, loudly, that he was done with all of them.
It was a puzzle she was determined to solve, if only because the answer could serve to keep her and Neddy safe. The need to sleep meant she would have to do her thinking later. Fear for her nephew tried to push aside the sleep creeping over her, but she told herself the MacEnroys were watching out for the boy. That knowledge proved enough to allow the need to sleep to win over her fear.
* * *
A hand shook her by the shoulder and Emily scowled. Then she opened her eyes and stared into the deep green ones of Iain MacEnroy. That was enough to push aside the last dregs of sleep. Before she could speak he nudged Neddy forward. Iain stepped away and she felt a pang of disappointment before fixing all of her attention on Neddy.
“Hello, love. What have you been doing?” she asked as he pulled off his shoes and climbed up on the bed to sit on her right, uninjured side.
“Working. Pulleded more weeds.” He gently took his Boo from her arms and held it close. “Iain showed me.”
“Ah, so now you know what weeds look like.”
“Some. I pulleded the things between rows. Hard work.”
“I suspect it is. Where are you sleeping now, Neddy?”
“Here.” He looked around. “My bed is gone.”
“It is over there in the corner, laddie,” said Iain.
Even as she wondered why he was standing across the room now and staring out the window, she glanced in the direction he pointed. There was what looked to be a folded cot, blankets, and a pillow tucked neatly in the corner. Neddy was sharing her room. The knowledge eased her mind. Emily turned to say something like that to Iain and found him staring out the window again.
Deciding he was intent on ignoring her, she talked with Neddy. It took her only a moment to realize Neddy was at ease, that she knew she did not need to fret about his care. The way the boy talked of Iain told her the man was skilled with small boys and she had to wonder again just how old he and his brothers had been when they had lost their parents.
A few moments later she found herself hoping Mrs. O’Neal would soon come. The last thing she wanted to have to do was ask the silent man by the window if he could fetch the woman and, worse, have to explain why she needed her. As if she had heard that thought, Mrs. O’Neal appeared and shooed Iain and Neddy out of the room. Iain left without a word or even a glance. Emily had only a moment to wonder why the man who had been so kind and helpful now seemed cold, before all of her thoughts were taken up by the humiliating business of having to be helped in the use of the chamber pot.