My Brave Highlander(77)

He struggled up the pathway, agonizingly placing one foot in front of the other. Once at the top, the splitting ache in his head increased to near unbearable. Must have been the exertion of the climb. The wind pounded against him strongly, the temperature like ice. It plastered his wet trews to his legs. Surely they would freeze solid in a matter of minutes. Though he could hardly feel his legs, he moved forward, felt himself falling and all went black.





Chapter Sixteen





Isobel couldn't sleep after Dirk and his men had gone to find McMurdo. Who knew what the murdering highwayman would do? She lurked in a dark nook beneath a stairwell. What if Dirk never returned? Nay, she couldn't think of that. He meant too much to her to even contemplate something terrible happening to him.

At one point, Haldane and Maighread had come rushing back from outside and up the stairs, arguing in low tones. She only heard a word here or there and it made no sense. Apparently, they knew the men were onto them.

Praying Dirk would return safely, she waited. A long while later, loud voices of several men echoed from the great hall.

Isobel rushed from her hiding place. When she arrived in the dimly lit hall, she froze at the scene before her. Two men helped Dirk shuffle across the floor, one under each arm. His eyes were closed more than open. The side of his face and his hair were bloody.

She hurried toward them. "What's happened? He's bleeding terribly, and he's drenched."

"The highwayman kicked me off the boat as we were crossing through the cave," Aiden said, his thin body shivering and his teeth chattering as he stood before the fireplace. "Dirk jumped in and saved my life, then the bastard grabbed an oar and hit Dirk on the head."

Bastard was right. She'd like to take that oar to McMurdo's head. Dirk looked terrible, his skin pale and his lips a faint blue.

"He's freezing! Let's get him out of those wet clothes and he'll warm up," she said.

"I'm fine," Dirk growled between clenched teeth, his body starting to shiver and shake. "I'll… my chamber."

He staggered toward the steps. Clearly he was more injured than he would admit.

"Bring some hot water and whisky," she directed one of the male servants who had been sleeping in the hall. "Where is the healer?" His wound would need cleaning and a healing balm applied.

"I'll fetch her," Aiden said.

"Your clothes are wet too, Aiden."

"Aye. I'll change," he called as he trotted away.

Dirk moved under his own power slowly up the narrow turnpike stair. Two of his clansmen followed and Isobel brought up the rear. How long had he been out in the freezing wind, drenched as he was? He was sure to catch an ague. Once in his chamber, he fell onto his bed.

"Help me get him out of those icy wet clothes," she said to the two men.

"Wool is warmer when it's wet," Keegan said.

"Well then, why are his lips turning blue?"

The man frowned.

"Stoke the fire. I'll do this." She removed Dirk's mantle then the layers of wool tartan frozen in icicles. His linen shirt stuck to his skin. Saints! She untied his trews and yanked at them. Erskine helped her turn him over and slip the clothing from his back.

"Leave me be," Dirk grumbled.

"Nay. Do you want to die?" she asked.

She threw a dry wool blanket over him and tugged his trews off.

"What happened?" asked a shrunken ancient woman from the doorway.

"Are you the healer?" Isobel asked.

"Aye. I'm Nannag."

"Thank goodness you're here. Someone hit him on the head with a wooden oar. He's bleeding badly and near frozen."

Once all Dirk's wet clothes were piled in a heap on the floor, she covered him with another woolen blanket.

The two men left and the healer examined the gash on Dirk's forehead. "It has stopped bleeding. We'll wash the blood away and see if the wound needs stitching. I'll fetch the necessary herbs for a tea." She disappeared out the door.

Dirk's skin retained the unhealthy bluish pallor and powerful shivers racked his body. He needed warmth immediately and the heat from the small fireplace would not reach the bed for a long while.

Isobel unclasped her belt and lowered her arisaid to the floor. Removing everything excerpt her thin linen smock, she crawled beneath the blankets and lay on top of him. Heavens, his whole body was like a solid block of ice.

He sucked in a sharp breath and his cold hands clasped her waist, giving her a chill. He mumbled words Isobel couldn't decipher. His breath smelled of whisky. Perhaps one of the men had given him some to help warm his veins.

"Shh. Just rest. I'll get you warm again." She kissed his neck, thankful he had returned to her. His skin was so cold she worried he might have frostbite.