Sands, Lynsay - Highland Treasure

“Is that all right? It’s no’ too tight?” he asked once he was done.

“Nay. ’Tis fine,” she assured him quietly.

“Sleep if ye wish,” Rory suggested. “I’ll ensure ye stay in the saddle.” When Elysande didn’t respond and remained stiff and upright behind him, he glanced around to be sure someone had the reins of her mare. Seeing that the soldier named Tom had taken on that chore, he whistled to Conn to let him know they were ready, then urged his horse to follow when Conn, Inan and Alick headed out before him.

They rode like that until near dark. At first, Lady de Valance remained stiff and upright behind him, but gradually she began to relax and lean into him. When she finally slumped against his back, he knew she’d either fainted or fallen asleep. Either way, it was for the best. She was right—there was no healing for bruises except the passage of time, and sleep could only help with it.

Elysande didn’t wake up right away when Rory finally called a halt to their journey. Not even when he untied the rope around her wrists. It wasn’t until her men had lifted her from his saddle and had her halfway to the ground that she woke and then it was with an agonized cry that she quickly cut off. She remained stoically silent after that as they set her down, but he suspected the movement was causing her great pain and wished he could see her face to know just how much. He also wished he could examine the bruises to see how much damage she’d suffered, but suspected that wasn’t likely to happen. The woman was covered from head to toe and her complete refusal of his help earlier made it obvious she would not willingly reveal her injuries to him. That being the case there was little he could do except perhaps offer her a tincture to help her sleep through the pain.

That last thought had Rory grabbing his bag of medicinals the moment he’d dismounted and opening it to see if he had the weeds needed to make such a tincture. Much to his relief he did have them. He also had the metal chalice he carried with him to mix such tinctures in. All he needed was water. His gaze slid to the river that sided one end of the clearing they’d stopped in. It was narrow, and ice was forming along the sides, but the center was bubbling with moving water. It would be cold, but would do.

Rory glanced around for Lady Elysande then. She was moving stiffly away into the woods, no doubt to find a private spot to relieve herself and manage personal issues. He’d have the tincture mixed and waiting when she returned, he decided, and walked to the river’s edge to scoop up water with the chalice. She’d be asleep within minutes after drinking the tincture he planned to make for her and that would be a good thing.

Every step Elysande took seemed to jar. Her muscles screamed at the movement and her skin would have wept if it could have. So would she, but she’d cried herself dry hours ago, grateful for the veil that hid her body’s response to her pain. Elysande wasn’t one who usually cried, but she hadn’t been able to stop and hadn’t tried. It wasn’t just the physical pain that brought the tears on. She was grieving too, and knew those tears must flow at some point. Better to let them out while she was on horseback and no one was likely to hear, than to be sobbing when she was surrounded by the men.

Elysande made herself walk a good distance from the clearing before she decided she’d gone far enough to ensure privacy while she took care of her personal needs. She then leaned her good shoulder wearily against a tree, giving herself a moment to gather strength before she bent to the effort of pushing her breeches down, hiking her skirts up and squatting to relieve herself. It was all hard work for her at this point, but pulling up her breeches and straightening was even harder and for one moment she feared she’d have to suffer the humiliation of calling for help to rise. But the idea of the pity on the men’s faces was enough to force her upright despite the screaming agony it caused.

Elysande paused again to rest, leaning her face and chest against the tree as she waited for her breathing to slow. Dear God, her life had become some sort of hell, and so quickly. She’d never suffered such pain in her life. Not like this. Feeling depression and grief pressing down on her, she shook off her thoughts for now. She couldn’t let herself weaken. She needed to remain strong. At least until she reached Sinclair.

She had no idea how long the journey was, but surely they could be there within a week at the speed they were traveling? Then she could collapse and let her aunt and cousin deal with everything while she healed. One week. Seven days. She could bear anything for seven days, Elysande assured herself. She would just take one day at a time.

Sighing, she lifted her head and straightened. She was turning to head back to the men when she heard the sound of bubbling water. On impulse, Elysande moved toward the sound until she broke out of the trees onto the edge of a fast-moving river. This was the sound she’d heard, the water rushing downstream, splashing over and around the rocks and boulders in the riverbed.

Elysande stared at it for a minute, noting the ice forming on the sides where outcroppings forestalled movement and the water was still. It would be bitter cold, she knew, but cold was supposed to be good for bruising, wasn’t it? At least her mother had always told her that it helped. Usually that was directly after an injury though, and it had been a couple days since she’d suffered hers. On the other hand, the cold might numb her pain a little.

At this point Elysande was willing to try anything, including a dip in the shallow icy river. Except that she didn’t trust herself to be able to get in and out with her body as weak and pained as it was now. But perhaps she could dip the tunic she wore into the water and then put it back on. That might help a bit, numb her back and ease the pain enough to let her fall asleep. Sleep was her only escape from it at the moment.

Aye, she’d try it, Elysande decided grimly, and reached up to undo the clasp that held her cloak together.

Rory used a small branch he’d found to again stir the tincture he’d made, and then glanced toward the spot where Elysande had disappeared into the trees. She was taking an extremely long time about her business. Long enough, in fact, that he was starting to worry. He wasn’t the only one. He’d noticed the way Tom and Simon were watching the woods and talking quietly, concerned expressions on their faces.

Alick’s arrival at his side drew his attention from the men and he glanced at his brother as he settled on the log next to him. “She’s been gone awhile.”

Rory grimaced. Alick was the least observant of his brothers. If he thought it had been a while, it had been much longer than he’d realized.

Cursing under his breath, Rory handed the full chalice to Alick, muttered, “Hold this,” and then stood. He would just go check on her and make sure she hadn’t fainted or run into difficulties of some sort, Rory told himself as he headed for the woods. He wasn’t at all surprised when the two Englishmen hurried to follow him.

None of them spoke as they moved into the trees. Rory didn’t because he was listening for any noise that might lead him to the lady. He supposed that was also why the other two men were silent. They’d gone quite a distance when Tom suddenly grabbed his arm and pointed ahead and to the left a bit.

Rory stopped to look, but didn’t at first see what had caught the soldier’s attention until movement caught his eye close to the ground. It was a lighter brown amid the dark brown tree trunks about forty feet ahead, and he watched it briefly before he recognized what he was seeing. Lady de Valance was kneeling on the cold hard ground in nothing but a pair of breeks and a light-brown tunic that was partially obscured by the long, silky black hair now flowing freely down her back.