The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,36
with the cart so she willna have to walk in the ice and snow.”
“Aye, m’lady.” The girl bobbed a curtsy and hurried off.
“What in heaven’s name happened to ye?” Sorcha gently cleaned mud and ash from around Sutherland’s right eye. His brow had turned a purplish red and started swelling. It looked as though he had been hit from the front as well. She glanced up at Magnus. “Ye’re certain he was whole and well when ye saw him leading Peigi away? He looks like he’s been in a fight and lost.” The cow had never been violent before, but while afraid and protecting her young, the animal might have caused some damage. But only to his head? Wouldn’t his body have been more of a target for an enraged mother defending her young? She stole another quick glance across the length of him. He didn’t appear injured anywhere else.
“He looked well enough,” Magnus answered, but his tone worried her. “Even shouted he’d soon join me to battle the flames once he got the animals settled.”
“I would know yer fears.” She had no time for the man’s unspoken suspicions when she had enough of her own. As she soaked and wrung out a fresh cloth, she faced him. “I bid ye tell me now.”
Before Magnus could respond, Sutherland groaned and stirred, lifting a hand to the side of his head. “Feckin’ hell,” he growled without opening his eyes. He rolled to his side, briefly tried to push himself upright, then sagged back to the table with his head clutched between his hands. “Damn me straight to bloody hell, what hit me?”
“Be still with ye now.” Sorcha eased a pile of folded linens under his head. “I’ve sent for the healer. Ye’ve a gash on yer head in need of sewing, and we’ve nay had time to discover if ye’re injured anywhere else—although ye look to be whole.” She pressed a cool cloth to his temple, shushing him with a calmness that belied the storm raging within her. “Rest easy now, my brave champion, rest easy.” She found some solace in the fact he had awakened quickly and was able to see and speak. But she daren’t move for fear of stumbling from the weakening in her own knees. “After Aderyn’s looked ye over and tended yer wounds, we shall move ye to my bed, aye?”
Sutherland grunted, wincing as he walked his fingers back through his hair and felt his skull. “Where did ye find me?” He cracked open an eye and fixed it on Magnus. “Last thing I remember was leaving the larger stable after settling Sorcha’s pets in a stall.”
“Ye were face down between the burning stable and the one ye had just left. Back in the shadows against the wall. I like to never found ye when ye went missing.” Magnus bent closer, glancing around before he continued, “Ye had been dragged through the snow. Whoever bashed yer head didna think to erase the traces of their trying to leave ye somewhere hidden to die.”
“Could it be that whoever moved ye was trying to get ye farther from the fire?” Sorcha didn’t accept that possibility even as she asked it.
She wanted to believe it. But common sense labeled it wishful thinking. If someone was concerned enough about Sutherland to pull him through the snow, then why had they not run for help or at least sounded the alarm? Why had they not pulled him toward the keep rather than away? Both Sutherland and Magnus felt the same. She could tell by the looks on their faces. But who would do such a thing? And why?
As the gaggle of maids returned with more water and fresh linens, Sorcha made up her mind. Aderyn could stitch him up and slather him with her stinking poultices after he had been moved to the security of her chambers. He’d for certain be safe in her bed if she had to stand guard at the door herself. She snapped her fingers, bringing the servants to a halt. “Place a covering across my bed. We’ll be moving Master Sutherland immediately. Take these things upstairs, and I’ll need even more to wash him proper. Set a pair of kettles to heating over the fire in my chambers, aye?”
“Aye, m’lady.” The lasses scattered to carry out her commands.
“Do ye feel steady enough to walk if Magnus and I help ye?” Noting Sutherland’s sickly pallor, she tucked an empty basin in the crook of one arm. She