for the remains of my slip, intending to use it to stanch the flow, when he laughed.
“Nay, pay it no mind, lass. This lot isna
my
blood. Not much of it, anyway,” he added, plucking the soaked fabric gingerly away from his body.
I swallowed, feeling a bit queasy. “Oh,” I said weakly.
“Dougal and the others will be waiting by the road. Let’s go.” He took me by the arm, less as a gallant gesture than a means of forcing me to accompany him. I decided to take a chance and dug in my heels.
“No! I’m not going with you!”
He stopped, surprised at my resistance. “Yes, you are.” He didn’t seem upset by my refusal; in fact, he seemed slightly amused that I had any objection to being kidnapped again.
“And what if I won’t? Are you going to cut my throat?” I demanded, forcing the issue. He considered the alternatives and answered calmly.
“Why, no. You don’t look heavy. If ye won’t walk, I shall pick you up and sling ye over my shoulder. Do ye want me to do that?” He took a step toward me, and I hastily retreated. I hadn’t the slightest doubt he would do it, injury or no.
“No! You can’t do that; you’ll damage your shoulder again.”
His features were indistinct, but the moonlight caught the gleam of teeth as he grinned.
“Well then, since ye don’t want me to hurt myself, I suppose that means as you’re comin’ with me?” I struggled for an answer, but failed to find one in time. He took my arm again, firmly, and we set off toward the road.
Jamie kept a tight hold on my arm, hauling me upright when I stumbled over rocks and plants. He himself walked as though the stubbled heath were a paved road in broad daylight. He has cat blood, I reflected sourly, no doubt that was how he managed to sneak up on me in the darkness.
The other men were, as advertised, waiting with the horses at no great distance; apparently there had been no losses or injuries, for they were all present. Scrambling up in an undignified scuffle, I plopped down in the saddle again. My head gave Jamie’s bad shoulder an unintentional thump, and he drew in his breath with a hiss.
I tried to cover my resentment at being recaptured and my remorse at having hurt him with an air of bullying officiousness.
“Serves you right, brawling round the countryside and chasing through bushes and rocks. I told you not to move that joint; now you’ve probably got torn muscles as well as bruises.”
He seemed amused by my scolding. “Well, it wasna much of a choice. If I’d not moved my shoulder, I wouldna have ever moved anything else again. I can handle a single redcoat wi’ one hand—maybe even two of them,” he said, a bit boastfully, “but not three.”
“Besides,” he said, drawing me against his blood-encrusted shirt, “ye can fix it for me again when we get where we’re going.”
“That’s what you think,” I said coldly, squirming away from the sticky fabric. He clucked to the horse, and we set off again. The men were in ferocious good spirits after the fight, and there was a good deal of laughter and joking. My minor part in thwarting the ambush was much praised, and toasts were drunk in my honor from the flasks that several of the men carried.
I was offered some of the contents, but declined at first on grounds that I found it hard enough to stay in the saddle sober. From the men’s discussion, I gathered it had been a small patrol of some ten English soldiers, armed with muskets and sabers.
Someone passed a flask to Jamie, and I could smell the hot, burnt-smelling liquor as he drank. I wasn’t at all thirsty, but the faint scent of honey reminded me that I was starving, and had been for some time. My stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl, protesting my neglect.
“Hey, then, Jamie-lad! Hungry, are ye? Or have ye a set of bagpipes with ye?” shouted Rupert, mistaking the source of the noise.
“Hungry enough to eat a set of pipes, I reckon,” called Jamie, gallantly assuming the blame. A
“Nay, pay it no mind, lass. This lot isna
my
blood. Not much of it, anyway,” he added, plucking the soaked fabric gingerly away from his body.
I swallowed, feeling a bit queasy. “Oh,” I said weakly.
“Dougal and the others will be waiting by the road. Let’s go.” He took me by the arm, less as a gallant gesture than a means of forcing me to accompany him. I decided to take a chance and dug in my heels.
“No! I’m not going with you!”
He stopped, surprised at my resistance. “Yes, you are.” He didn’t seem upset by my refusal; in fact, he seemed slightly amused that I had any objection to being kidnapped again.
“And what if I won’t? Are you going to cut my throat?” I demanded, forcing the issue. He considered the alternatives and answered calmly.
“Why, no. You don’t look heavy. If ye won’t walk, I shall pick you up and sling ye over my shoulder. Do ye want me to do that?” He took a step toward me, and I hastily retreated. I hadn’t the slightest doubt he would do it, injury or no.
“No! You can’t do that; you’ll damage your shoulder again.”
His features were indistinct, but the moonlight caught the gleam of teeth as he grinned.
“Well then, since ye don’t want me to hurt myself, I suppose that means as you’re comin’ with me?” I struggled for an answer, but failed to find one in time. He took my arm again, firmly, and we set off toward the road.
Jamie kept a tight hold on my arm, hauling me upright when I stumbled over rocks and plants. He himself walked as though the stubbled heath were a paved road in broad daylight. He has cat blood, I reflected sourly, no doubt that was how he managed to sneak up on me in the darkness.
The other men were, as advertised, waiting with the horses at no great distance; apparently there had been no losses or injuries, for they were all present. Scrambling up in an undignified scuffle, I plopped down in the saddle again. My head gave Jamie’s bad shoulder an unintentional thump, and he drew in his breath with a hiss.
I tried to cover my resentment at being recaptured and my remorse at having hurt him with an air of bullying officiousness.
“Serves you right, brawling round the countryside and chasing through bushes and rocks. I told you not to move that joint; now you’ve probably got torn muscles as well as bruises.”
He seemed amused by my scolding. “Well, it wasna much of a choice. If I’d not moved my shoulder, I wouldna have ever moved anything else again. I can handle a single redcoat wi’ one hand—maybe even two of them,” he said, a bit boastfully, “but not three.”
“Besides,” he said, drawing me against his blood-encrusted shirt, “ye can fix it for me again when we get where we’re going.”
“That’s what you think,” I said coldly, squirming away from the sticky fabric. He clucked to the horse, and we set off again. The men were in ferocious good spirits after the fight, and there was a good deal of laughter and joking. My minor part in thwarting the ambush was much praised, and toasts were drunk in my honor from the flasks that several of the men carried.
I was offered some of the contents, but declined at first on grounds that I found it hard enough to stay in the saddle sober. From the men’s discussion, I gathered it had been a small patrol of some ten English soldiers, armed with muskets and sabers.
Someone passed a flask to Jamie, and I could smell the hot, burnt-smelling liquor as he drank. I wasn’t at all thirsty, but the faint scent of honey reminded me that I was starving, and had been for some time. My stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl, protesting my neglect.
“Hey, then, Jamie-lad! Hungry, are ye? Or have ye a set of bagpipes with ye?” shouted Rupert, mistaking the source of the noise.
“Hungry enough to eat a set of pipes, I reckon,” called Jamie, gallantly assuming the blame. A
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