Blake had fallen silent for several moments when she made her move. In the end, she had no great plan to trick him; she merely counted on the advantage of surprise and launched herself toward his feet. As she had feared, Blake suspected at once what she was about and tried to shift them out of her reach, but she was quick and threw herself across his lower legs, pinning them to the ground with her weight as she reached for them.
She had Blake laughing and thrashing within seconds, but as usual that was all he allowed before grabbing her around the waist and rolling with her, having the presence of mind to move them both away from the fire. Seonaid put up a good fight, but there was no getting around the fact that Blake was stronger and soon had her pinned to the ground, both of them breathless and laughing.
"You, my dear wife, are an evil witch," he informed her, his body flat on hers and his hands holding her wrists pinned above her head.
Seonaid feigned outrage at the insult but found it more amusing than anything else. He always called her horrid names after a tickling session and she took it as her due.
"I think you need a good seeing to," he added, and Seonaid felt a slow smile stretch her lips. She did so love his seeing tos, she thought. Then movement drew her attention and she glanced to the side, stiffening at the sight of several men coming out of the woods toward them.
Aware of the sudden tension in her body, Blake followed her gaze and stilled. In the next moment both of them were moving. They were on their feet with swords in hand in a heartbeat, and instinctively putting their backs to each other as they faced the men now surrounding them.
English, a dozen in all, Seonaid noted, and suspected they must be Greenweld's men. If so, telling them that Greenweld was dead might be enough to stop whatever they had planned. Unfortunately, Seonaid never got the chance to test this theory. Even as she was thinking it, two of the men moved toward her, swords swinging. The clang of metal at her back told her that Blake too had been engaged; then she was kept too busy fending off the attackers on her side to concern herself with anything else.
Seonaid tried to remember Blake's advice and not simply fend off the blows coming her way, but it was difficult to be more aggressive with so many coming at her. She had never had to contend with so many opponents at once. She had never been in a battle where she was so outnumbered and knew she did not have the skill, or the strength, to keep them from killing her, were that their intent. But it obviously wasn't, she realized after several moments had passed. The three men attacking her seemed to be more concerned with keeping her busy than anything else--which convinced her they must be Greenweld's men. They would have been ordered to kill Blake but not to harm her. Allistair had wanted to marry her, after all.
She was well aware that the men Blake was facing would not be fighting as lightly. He was the one they were to kill. Concern for her husband distracted her, and she found herself paying more attention to the battle taking place at her back than the one she was involved in. She was listening to the sounds and trying to glance over her shoulder to see how it was going for Blake when she tripped on something; a good-sized rock perhaps, or the root of a tree. Whatever it was, it put her off balance as she raised her sword to fend off another blow, and Seonaid cried out as she stumbled back and crashed into Blake, taking him by surprise and setting him off balance too.
It was then she heard what she had been listening for during the last few minutes: a surprised grunt from Blake as he stiffened against her. She turned to look, then glanced down in horror at the blade at her hip. It had either been driven through Blake's side or she had knocked him into it, but it protruded out of his back, his blood staining it.
Seonaid released a battle shriek of pure fury and, ignoring the men facing her, moved around Blake and slammed her own sword into his attacker just as he finished drawing his blade out of her husband.
Another battle cry echoed in the silence that suddenly descended on the clearing, and Seonaid glanced around in time to see Little George and Aeldra on their horses, driving them into the center of the men. Obviously, they had returned to see what was going on and had immediately gone for the mounts. Seonaid could have kissed them both. Instead, she grabbed Blake under the arm to help keep him upright when he swayed, and urged him toward the animals.
Aeldra released the reins of their mounts the moment she saw that Seonaid was grabbing for them, then joined Little George in hacking at Greenweld's men with both her sword and the hooves of her horse as she made the animal rear and paw at the earth before them. The sudden appearance of the couple, and the distraction they offered, gave Seonaid the chance she needed to help Blake onto his mount, then climb up behind him. Wrapping her arms around him, she caught the reins of both his horse and her own, then shouted at Aeldra and Little George before putting her heels to the mount they were on to send it charging out of the clearing.
Seonaid set the beast at a dead run and kept it up for several minutes before she became aware that Blake was leaning into her more and more with every passing moment. She had one arm around him to grasp the reins of his stallion, and was holding the reins of her own horse with the other to drag the beast along behind them. Seonaid suspected she would soon need both hands to hold Blake and control the mount they rode.
A glance around showed that Aeldra and Little George had followed and were hard on her heels. She only managed a quick look, but it did not appear as if either of them had sustained injury. Relieved, she shouted at her husband's first, who immediately rode up beside her. Seonaid tossed him the reins to her horse.
"Blake was hurt!" she shouted, once he had a firm grip on the reins.
"Aye, I know," he shouted back, and there was worry on the giant man's face as he eyed his lord.
"How bad is he bleeding?" she asked, unable to see for herself.
His grim expression was answer enough, and Seonaid almost slowed her mount. As if reading her thoughts, Little George yelled, "They are following us! And not far behind!"
Seonaid cursed. This was bad news. "We need to get him somewhere safe so we can stop and tend him!"
"We are close to Eberhardt." It was Blake who spoke those words, turning slightly to do so. The wince of pain on his face suggested turning was not a comfortable action for him at the moment.
"What did he say?" Little George yelled to be heard over the pounding hooves of the horses.
Seonaid wasn't surprised he hadn't heard. Blake's words had been faint enough that she had barely caught them. "He said we are close to Eberhardt," she called. "Are we headin' in the right direction? How close are we?"
"By my guess we are less than an hour's ride out," Aeldra's husband announced, then added, "and, aye, we are heading the right way."
Seonaid hesitated, then asked Blake, "Do ye think ye can make it that far?"
He gave a brief nod rather than try to turn again, and Seonaid frowned. She wished she could see his wound for herself; she didn't know whether to believe him or put his answer down to male pride and stubbornness. Men could be so foolish that way.
"Here!"
Seonaid glanced to her other side to find that Aeldra had ridden up to join them and was now holding out a strip of cloth she had ripped from her own plaid.
"He's bleedin' badly," she said as Seonaid released Blake long enough to snatch up the cloth. "Bind him up or he willna make it far at all."
Seonaid nodded, then hesitated. She could hardly hold the reins, help steady Blake, and wrap the cloth around his waist as well. Little George solved the problem by taking the reins of their mount as well, as the riderless horse and leading both animals while she quickly and clumsily managed to get the cloth around her husband. She tied the cloth as tightly as she could, wincing at but not giving into, Blake's grunt of pain. She knew she was hurting him, but they had to slow down the bleeding if he was going to survive. Seonaid had caught a quick glance at the back of his doublet as she worked and the glimpse at the amount of blood he was losing had lodged a cold ball of fear in her chest. The
knowledge that he would be losing just as much from the front had left her feeling sick.
"We have to move faster!" she yelled as she reclaimed the reins from Little George and urged the mount to ride as quickly as it was capable of moving. It was a dangerous thing to do. Riding at night was risky in itself--there was always the danger of not seeing some obstacle in the dark, or of the horse stumbling or setting its foot down wrong. But it was a risk they had to take. After waiting so long for him to come claim her, Seonaid would be damned if Blake was going to make her a widow now by bleeding to death in her arms.
Seonaid set a grueling pace, and one that might have left their pursuers behind had Blake's stallion been able to sustain it. But, forced to carry their combined weight, the horse began to slow after a time. Little George and Aeldra slowed their own mounts to keep pace, but Seonaid soon wished they hadn't. While Blake was slumping more and more against her until she was wholly holding him upright and could not glance around, the increasing frequency with which Aeldra began looking over her shoulder to the trail behind them told Seonaid that their pursuers were slowly catching up. When she began to actually hear the drumming of their pursuers' horses, she began to think they would not make it. Then the inky black of night in the woods suddenly gave way to moonlight as they broke out of the trees and onto the wide expanse of cleared land that surrounded the castle they were approaching.
Seonaid almost released a sob of relief at the sight of the castle ahead. Instead, she put her heel to Blake's mount, urging the beast to one last burst of speed, grateful when the animal responded.
They were halfway between the woods and the castle walls when Seonaid judged by the fading sound of hoofbeats behind them that their pursuers had begun to rein in and give up the chase. Still, her concern for Blake didn't allow her to slow down. She kept the animal at a full gallop until she was forced to slow to a stop by the fact that Eberhardt was closed up tight for the night, its bridge up and gates closed.
Stopping at the edge of the moat, Seonaid glanced back toward the woods in time to see the last of their pursuers disappearing as Little George yelled up at the wall, identifying who they were and shouting that Sherwell was injured. Fortunately, whoever was on watch that night recognized the name and let the drawbridge down at once. Still, it seemed to take forever.
The moment the way was clear, she urged Blake's mount forward, trotting across the bridge, into the bailey, and straight up to the stairs to the keep before stopping. The moment she did, Blake began to slide sideways in her arms. Seonaid was straining to keep him from tumbling to the ground when the keep doors slammed open and a man almost as large as Little George came charging down them. Long dark hair flowing wild around his head and dressed only in a pair of black braies, the man had obviously been roused from his bed.
For all that, he seemed wide awake, and he rushed straight to where she sat holding Blake. Assessing the situation at once, he raised a hand to brace Blake, then ordered, "Let him go."
Seonaid followed the order without hesitation. The moment she did, Blake dropped sideways off the saddle, but the newcomer was there to catch him and ease him to the ground.
Seonaid quickly scrambled off the horse and knelt at Blake's side just as his eyes slowly opened. His gaze slid from her to the man on his other side, and he managed a weak smile.
"Amaury." His voice was barely above a whisper, and they both had to lean closer to hear. "Thought we would visit on the way home. Should introduce my wife," he added, and Seonaid frowned at the slur to his voice. "Wife, Amaury. Amaury, wife."
They glanced at each other, and Seonaid was not surprised to note the concern on the other man's face. She knew her own expression mirrored it.
"Blake!"
Seonaid glanced over Amaury's wide shoulders to see a short, curvaceous blonde rushing down the stairs toward them.
"What has happened?" she cried with alarm as she reached them and eyed Blake's bloodstained doublet. Then, before anyone could answer, she turned toward the servants gathering at the open keep door and roared, "Maude!"
"Aye, my lady?" A plain-faced servant started down the stairs at once.
"I shall need my medicinals!"
"Aye, my lady." The servant turned in midstep and flew back up into the keep.
Seonaid's gaze dropped to the man kneeling across from her, who grinned slightly.
"My wife, Emmalene," he explained.
"Ah. She ... er ... has a fine set of lungs for such a small woman," Seonaid commented, then winced as Lady Emmalene proved her words true with another bellow.
"Sebert!"
"Aye, my lady?" A male servant started down the stairs, only to turn and rush back up them when Lady Emmalene said, "Bandages!"
"Tell them to bring everything to the room Blake occupied on his last visit," Amaury ordered, slipping his arms under Blake and standing as he lifted him.
Seonaid scrambled to her feet and rushed along at the man's side as he carried her husband inside.
Chapter Fifteen
Seonaid watched as Amaury laid her husband on the bed; then she immediately moved forward, intending to remove Blake's tunic and doublet. But his friend started on it before she could. Telling herself that he was stronger and so would be quicker about it, Seonaid waited impatiently as the clothing was stripped away and Blake was eased onto his uninjured side.
Her mouth tightened when she got her first glimpse of the wound. It was an angry, jagged hole in the front that was echoed in the back. It looked ghastly.
"Here, m'lady." The servant Emmalene had sent for her medicinals rushed into the room, followed closely by the fellow who had been sent for bandages.
Emmalene accepted their offerings, then turned toward the bed.
"We'll need uisegebeatha," Seonaid said, then used the English word to prevent any confusion. "Whiskey. We'll need it to clean the wound."
Emmalene sent for the whiskey, then hesitated briefly before offering the medicinals and bandages to her.
As Blake's wife, Seonaid supposed it was her place to tend her husband, but she almost wished it wasn't; her stomach was roiling and she feared making a mistake. Considering this weak behavior, she straightened her shoulders and stepped forward to tend the task.
Seonaid had mended hundreds of wounds over the years, from small cuts that needed no more than a splash of whiskey and a bandage to major injuries like the one her husband sported. She could do this.
Seonaid sorted through the salves and other items Maude had brought in search of a needle and thread. Once she found them, she set to attempting to thread the needle, but much to her frustration, her hands--her very arms--were trembling so badly she could not manage the task.
"Emmalene, mayhap you should tend to stitching Blake up," Amaury suggested, apparently noting the problem. "Seonaid's muscles are worn from holding him in the saddle for so long, and her hands will tremble until they have had rest."
"Shall I?" Emmalene asked.
Seonaid handed over the thread and needle with relief. While her arms were weary from holding her husband, it was not entirely the source of her shaking. She was anxious and afraid for Blake. The injury was a deadly one, and she feared the ride here had been too long, allowing him to lose too much blood. He might not survive.
When the whiskey arrived, Seonaid poured it liberally over, and into, the wound, front and back. Blake did not even stir at the action. Had he been awake, he would have screamed in agony, for while the liquor cleaned a wound well enough, it was not called the fire of life for nothing.
Seonaid handed the whiskey back to Maude, then glanced past her, her attention drawn by a soft sob. There was a buxom blond servant standing by the door, crying softly. Seonaid eyed her for a moment, then asked her hostess, "Who is that?"
Emmalene turned to glance at the girl, then frowned and ordered, "Maude, you stay. The rest of the servants are to wait in the hall in case we need anything."
Once the other servants--including the teary blonde--had left, Em
malene turned back and set to stitching up Blake. She had neglected to answer Seonaid's question, but she let it go for now.
Once Emmalene had finished sewing up the wound, both front and back, Seonaid helped her spread a salve over the injury on both sides, then bandage him up.
"There," Emmalene said as they finished and both straightened.
"Will he live?" Amaury asked as he, Little George, and Aeldra moved closer to the bed.
Anxious to hear the answer, Seonaid waited for the other woman to speak. Seonaid herself felt his chances were poor, but they at least had some cause for hope. He'd lost a lot of blood and she'd almost feared he might die before they could stop the bleeding and stitch him up. But the fact that he had survived this far suggested to her that his chances were a little better than they had been on arriving. Every moment that passed with him still breathing made his chances better, but she feared she might be fooling herself and wanted to hear what Lady Emmalene had to say.
"He has lost a lot of blood," Emmalene said, her brow knitted with worry as she peered down at Blake's pale face. "But if he does not take a fever, he may survive."
Seonaid let her breath out on a whoosh. The possibility of infection hadn't even occurred to her. She would have to watch over him through the night. If Blake didn't show signs of fever by morning, he probably wouldn't have one.
"We will know better by morning," Lady Emmalene said, her thoughts obviously running along the same lines as Seonaid's.
Amaury gave an abrupt nod, then glanced to Seonaid, Aeldra, and Little George. "Have you eaten?"