Sands, Lynsay - Highland Treasure

“Ye’ve bruising on yer face,” he said finally when not one of them looked up at him. Tom and Simon were crouching on either side of their lady, both eyeing her with concern as she stared down at the hands she held clenched in her lap. Regaining her composure was his guess, or waiting for pain to end. He’d seen it often enough with the wounded. The utter stillness, almost not breathing, as they waited for their agony to ease.

Rory guessed that the worst of it had finally passed when she sighed and seemed to sag a bit where she sat. After a moment, she raised her head, peered at him through the filmy veil and said wryly, “I have bruises everywhere. But there is naught you can do about bruising, is there? Besides, ’tis not your healing I need, my lord, but your escort and your sword arm if there is trouble.”

Rory blinked at the words. He wasn’t used to being needed for anything other than his healing abilities. In fact, he could not recall ever having someone require something else from him, especially not a strong sword arm. It wasn’t that he was not good in a battle. These last few years his brothers had insisted on his training with them in the practice field. Considering all the trouble his clan had encountered of late, he’d seen the wisdom of the suggestion and had set himself to the task. The activity had increased his bulk and he was now nearly as good as Aulay with the sword. He was just not used to anyone having a need of that new skill. It left him feeling a little taken aback, and yet he felt his chest puff up a bit at the same time. She needed his escort and protection.

“Right,” he muttered aloud with a nod, then shifted uncertainly on his feet, before adding, “Ye’re probably hungry. I’ll fetch ye an oatcake to—”

“We have food,” she interrupted, and then turned toward Tom and instructed, “Fetch the sack with the chicken and cheese. We shall share it with the Buchanans.”

There was more than chicken and cheese in Lady Elysande’s sack. It held two roast chickens, cheese, bread and apples. Enough for all of them to eat well for the one meal at least. There was even a little left over when they finished and remounted.

Rory watched with a frown as the English soldiers argued briefly with their lady about how to go about getting her in the saddle before she finally gave in to the necessity of allowing them to lift her onto it. He wanted to offer to have her ride with him, but suspected she wouldn’t appreciate the offer, so held his tongue.

“Will she be all right?” Alick asked softly beside him as they waited for the two English soldiers to mount up and follow their mistress to them.

Rory shook his head, not sure of the answer himself. If her back had been abused as badly as her face had appeared to be in the glimpse he’d got, riding could not be comfortable.

“We’ll go slowly,” he decided, but Elysande heard him as she approached on her mount and shook her head.

“Nay. Do not slow for me. I want to reach Sinclair as quickly as possible,” she said firmly.

Rory scowled slightly, thinking that would be a mistake, but didn’t voice his concern. Shifting his gaze to Conn, he shrugged and said, “Ye heard her.”

Nodding, Conn took the lead out of the small clearing. Inan immediately followed, but this time Rory had the lass and her men fall in next so that he and Alick rode behind with Fearghas and Donnghail. He wanted to keep an eye on Elysande to judge for himself how she fared. If she showed signs of having trouble keeping up the grueling pace, he would signal Conn to slow. Or take her on his horse whether she liked it or not. Although, Rory supposed, sitting leaning back against him would not be comfortable for her either if her back was paining her.

He contemplated that problem over the next two hours as they galloped through the early afternoon. It had been cold when they left Monmouth, but was growing colder still as the day drew on. It was quite frigid by midafternoon when Lady de Valance began to sway in her saddle again. Rory whistled to signal for Conn to stop and urged his horse up past the English soldiers to reach the mare’s side.

“Ye’re wearying,” he said without preamble when Elysande drew her mount to a halt and turned to peer at him.

“I am fine,” she assured him, sitting up a little straighter. “There is no need to stop for the night so early. I will manage.”

“Ye’re no’ fine,” Rory argued. “Ye’ve done well, but ye’re beginning to struggle and I’d rather no’ have to sew up a head wound, or bury ye do ye break yer neck falling from yer horse.”

He couldn’t see her expression, but the way one hand clenched around the cloak she was holding closed and the other on her reins told him she wasn’t pleased. “I do not wish to stop so early. I want to get as far from—”

“I was no’ suggesting stopping,” he interrupted, and when she stilled and tilted her head, Rory said, “Ye can ride with me.”

He watched the veil billow slightly as she heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Riding with you at my back would be more painful than riding alone.”

“Aye. I thought it might,” he admitted. “But what if ye rode at my back? Would that pain ye too?”

She seemed to still at that, and he could sense the uncertainty rolling off her. “At your back?”

“Aye, behind me with yer arms around me waist. Ye could lean on me back, and we can tie yer hands together to keep ye in place should ye fall asleep.”

A moment of silence passed and then she said, “Aye.”

Rory nodded and leaned to the side to retrieve the small length of rope he kept with the medicinals in a sack that hung from his saddle. By the time he straightened with the rope in hand, her soldiers had dismounted and moved up to help her from her horse to his. Rory waited and watched, ready to offer assistance if it was needed, but unwilling to touch her without permission.

From his position he was able to see that Elysande had been sitting astride her mare rather than sidesaddle. He’d suspected as much, but the thick, voluminous fur-lined cloak had draped down either side of the horse, hiding her well enough to make him unsure. Now, as her cloak flapped open, he saw that aside from her unconventional choice in riding position, she also wore unconventional clothes. Lady de Valance had men’s breeks under her gown, the skirts of which had been hitched up to allow her to sit astride the animal. The knowledge made him think of his sister, Saidh, who had absolutely no qualms about wearing men’s clothing when she wanted to. It made him wonder about this woman’s character. Was she bold and daring like Saidh? Or had it only been necessity that had made her don the breeks?

Rory didn’t know. Hell, he didn’t know anything about her except her name and that she was the half-English cousin of Campbell Sinclair. He hadn’t asked his questions of her while they ate their meal as he’d intended. Her posture had been so exhausted and stiff as they’d sat on a fallen tree partaking of the food her men had presented that he’d left her to cope with her pains and consume her meal, which she had managed to do with the veil on. She’d simply slipped the food under the cloth and up to her mouth. But he really needed to ask some of those questions swarming around inside his head soon. How had she come by the bruising she admitted to? Why was she traveling with only two men rather than a large contingent? Why was she going to Sinclair at all?

Rory was distracted from his thoughts when Lady de Valance was finally settled on the saddle behind him and he felt her arms slide around his waist. He glanced down at her hands in her fur gloves. Despite the fact that her chest brushed his back, her hands barely met, the tips of her mitts merely reaching each other. Hoping that was because she was petite and not a sign that he’d gained weight during his stay in England, Rory tied one end of the rope to one wrist over the gloves and then tied the other to her second wrist, leaving a little slack so it didn’t pull on her while they rode.