The agony from that hit flared up again, and she cried out in pain. Her limbs were thrashing, and her back was arching off the bed, but a firm and gentle hand held her down as a soft rumbling voice soothed her, “Calm ye lass, calm ye, nae one is here to hurt ye. Yer safe. Listen to me, yer safe, sweetling, yer safe.”
It must be an angel…and I must be dead.
Peeling her eyes apart, Mary flinched and jerked her head away from the sunlight. The bright rays were fiercely piercing her tender eyes. The room became dim and she tried again to look. A man with a square face, deep soulful grey eyes and thick brown hair around his ears hovered over her. He was handsome, so handsome that she knew he could not be one of the living. He had to be a spirit.
“I’m sorry, Saint Peter, forgive me,” she sobbed. “I am sorry I ran away. Please forgive me.”
The man’s eyes went wide then chuckled a warm sound that was comforting. “I’m flattered that ye ken I’m a saint, lass, but I assure ye, I am far from one. Yer nae dead either, just hurt. Yer head suffered a banging that I am sure is givin’ ye a bloody headache.”
She placed her palm over her head and felt a bandage over the tenderness of her temple. The man took her hand away, “Touching it won’t help. Ye need to let it heal. And can ye tell me why an English lass like ye is all the way in Scotland?”
She winced, pressed a hand to her forehead, and groaned in pain, “Please make this stop.”
“Help her, please,” the man said and in moments the touch of a pewter cup was at her lips. By instinct, she opened her lips to drink. The taste of the liquid was sweet but acidic like a bitter apple. She took a few sips before her chest began to burn, and she turned away with a grimace. With her head pounding and her body weak, Mary sank to the bed with her hand and placed her hand over her eyes. She then heard the man ask.
“What is that yer giving her?”
“A weak infusion of mandragora root to calm the pain, Young Lenichton,” an older woman said. “We make it every day as our sentries, hunters, and soldiers do get injured. We always have it on hand in case we need to amputate or take something from the body.”
Mary breathed in deeply as the pain began to ebb and flow. Her brows knitted tightly when the pain suddenly ricocheted through her head from the back to the front. She twisted so hard that she fell off the bed, “Ah!”
Warm arms were around her instantly. She opened her eyes. She saw that she was being held a foot away from the ground. “Dinnae hurt yerself, lass. Yer here to heal nae to harm yerself e’ en more.”
Mary felt her stomach lurch in a strange emotion as his breath was in her ear. She grabbed on to him as he put her back on the bed. She closed her eyes as the pain truly began to dull. She was exhausted but managed to ask, “Who are you?”
“Leith Balloch, lass, son of the Laird of Lenichton,” he said as she began to drift off into sleep, “yer rescuer.”
* * *
Now feeling less pain, Mary slipped her eyes open in the darkness. Reaching up, Mary pressed her hand to her temple and though it was still tender, her head was not pounding like a drum.
She slipped on her side and reflected on the day before. If she had slept the day through that was. She had no sense of time. What she did know was that she had left her parents in the middle of the night and had ridden three-and-a-half days to get to the borderlands.
The last thing she remembered was looking at the map and…oh God! The map!. . .she nearly launched off the bed. She had to have the map; without it, she was lost. She felt cold inside at the reality that she had left her family behind her and had come to a land she did not know.
Her accident had thrown her into the company of a man that had her heart thumping. Mister Balloch was the most handsome man she had ever met and his voice was so deep and melodic.
However, to be accurate, I have not met many men in my life.
She sighed and forced her heart to calm. Maybe her rescuer could take her to Tina’s aunt if she had lost the map. There were not many things in her sack anyway, and the few coins she had were still sewn into her cloak. She rested her head on the pillow and gazed to a nearby window. The moon was waning, now only a thin sickle in the sky.
Could he take me to Tina’s home…or could he find me a home somewhere?
Mary’s eyes lowered as she remembered the color of Mister Balloch’s eyes. She had never seen someone with that shade of color before. They look like silver…
She wondered where she was and how she could persuade her rescuer to help her and began to drift back to sleep. Her body was so tired and slipped into unconsciousness easily. A slight brush to her head had her waking up. A healing woman, with her head capped in blue, drew her hand back instantly.
“Sorry,” Mary said thickly, “I did not mean to scare you.”
“Nay worries, Miss,” she replied. “I’m Isla, and I’m here to check yer wound. Yer lucky, Miss, there was nae much damage to yer temple or broken bone, only enough contact to make ye go unconscious. Are ye feeling any pain now?”
“Just a little throbbing,” Mary said, “Not as bad as yesterday…it was yesterday, wasn’t it?”
“Aye,” Isla replied, “Ye dinnae sleep through the day, Miss. May I check yer head now?”
Mary twisted
