“And we will be on no man’s leash. ”
Chapter 5
In her dream, Lily was sunbathing at Baker Beach back home. She was on her stomach, resting her face to one side in the sand. It was one of those rare San Francisco days where the sun was beating down. Her body was warm, languorous, and she felt as one with the rhythmic ebbing and flowing of the waves, which she felt echo through her body. Her left cheek was hot and slightly damp where it rested on the packed sand. She shifted slightly, enjoying the sensual feeling of the earth cradling her body. The warmth intensified, though, and little by little Lily ’s mind rose to that place between waking and sleeping. She became gradually aware that she wasn’t on the beach. The warm sand cradling her face became sharp gravel digging into her cheek. She began to realize that the heat didn’t emanate from the ground—it was her body that was hot, and getting hotter. Slowly, all the sensations of fever washed over her. She became aware of specific pains in odd places—her right knee, the side of her neck, her eyelids. The fever became more uncomfortable as her body seemed to consume all the heat from the ground, which now felt painfully cold against the hot ache of her limbs.
How odd, Lily thought, to be hit by a fever like this, so out of the blue. There had been a tremor of some sort—maybe she had fallen and hit her head. That thought got her eyelids fluttering. If she had a head injury, she needed help immediately; falling asleep could be disastrous.
The entire morning came back in total clarity. The maze, that mysterious stone carving. She must’ve been thrown through some break in the shrubbery, for there was sunlight all around her instead of that hideous plant. That would explain the numerous scrapes that she felt stinging the side of her cheek. She shuddered at the memory of those drab leaves and black fruit that in retrospect seemed nothing short of malevolent. As painful as her fall was, she was relieved to be free of the labyrinth. She hadn’t realized till then just how terrified she had been, how trapped and lost she had felt. It was hard not to let her imagination get the better of her and she shrugged off notions of evil spirits toying with her.
Lily lay there for a moment taking a physical inventory. As acute as her fever was, it had been hard to feel anything but chills and heat gripping her body. Now she became aware of excruciating pain in her right shoulder, which she assumed must have been what had broken her fall. She wriggled fingers and toes. Nothing seemed permanently damaged, but her body was on fire, and the chills wracking her told Lily that her fever hadn ’t stopped rising.
She tuned back into the ground beneath her. She remembered her dream, lying on the warm sand, feeling the pulse of the waves drumming the beach around her. She opened her eyes with a start. She could feel something—a distant rumbling in the earth beneath her. She could almost hear the pounding as she felt it reverberate through her body, growing in its intensity with each passing second. She worried that the earth was sounding another coming tremor, so she gritted her teeth and pushed herself to her knees. If an earthquake was to hit again, she was determined to keep her eyes open this time.
Lily gasped as pain shot through her torso, and looked in horror at her right arm lying limp at her side. If she had a dislocated shoulder, which seemed the obvious explanation, she would need to muster all of her strength and find help immediately before she went into shock. Clutching her useless arm to her side, she slowly rose to her feet and turned around and around to get her bearings. Lily thought it odd that she could no longer see those mean leaves and branches of the plant in the maze. Instead, she was standing in the shadow of a sheer granite face that reached ten feet above her head. The Scottish landscape was so uneven, Lily thought perhaps the maze was precipitously situated on the edge of one of the many Scottish hills and the force of the tremor had tossed her like a rag doll over the edge. That would account for the dislocated shoulder and the myriad aches that wracked her body, though it did nothing to explain her suddenly high fever.
She froze. The thundering sound she had heard was getting closer. Lily focused and thought she could hear a man ’s voice. Horses, it was men on horses.
Ewen shot his uncle an aggravated look. “Och, I thought this day could get no darker. ” He kicked Ares into a gallop just as the figure in the distance rose and began to stumble forward.
Though wearing some sort of breeches, the person was unmistakably female. She was tall and slight, except for her full bosom that any red-blooded man could spy clearly in such a scandalously tight blouse. Her hair was its own wonder, with thick white-blonde ringlets flying loose in the breeze. Ewen wondered what kind of woman would have the gall to trespass on Cameron lands.
They were upon her in seconds. She didn ’t even have the chance to jump out of the way. Time suddenly seemed to stop. Lily had always believed that when her moment came, she would see her life flash before her eyes. Instead, absurd and highly detailed thoughts flitted through her mind. I’m just like a deer in headlights, she thought. She smirked. Hairy men in skirts. I’m going to be trampled by a troop of mad, hairy, dirty Scotsmen in skirts. The impact knocked her back into unconsciousness.
Ares reached her just as she was crumpling to the ground. The laird didn’t need to slow much in order to gather the lass up into his saddle, featherlight as she was. Then they had lost a bit of time, forced as he ’d been to slip her arm back into its socket. No good would have come from letting an injury like that go untended. They couldn’t risk the perilous amount of blood that would surely pool at her shoulder; as it was, he felt ill at ease not binding the arm immediately, but that would have to wait till their return home when they had more time and a decent healer besides. Sorting out her injury without removing the peculiar blouse she wore had been an aggravation, but he wouldn’t have his men eyeing this woman. He had no idea where she came from and he surely didn’t trust her, but something about this lass lying still in his arms compelled his protection. He reminded himself to remain on guard: a morning spent with General Monk didn’t dispose one to think kindly of strangers. As far as he was concerned, his people were at war, and he had to be skeptical of every person who set foot on Cameron land.
Ewen studied her. He had never before seen a woman in breeches. Robert rode up alongside, blatantly studying the mysterious woman’s figure, so clearly outlined in her tight garb. “What peculiar garments. ” Robert leaned in to eye her legs more closely and continued, “These fabrics represent a type certainly not to be procured in these Highlands. Though the idiosyncratic cut certainly does highlight her…feminine aspects … eh, rather, the more …feminine manifestations of her person …” Ewen shot him a stern look, and Robert hastily finished, “I would not have reckoned on a lass in breeches, but she looks right bonny. ” Ewen looked down and couldn’t help noticing for himself. The lass did indeed have a fine shape to her legs. But it wasn ’t her legs that drew his attention.
She had the most exquisite face he had ever laid eyes on. It wasn ’t that she was the comeliest lass he had ever seen, for she wasn’t. Her complexion was flushed and spoke of time spent under the sun. The wind had made a spectacular tangle of her hair making her appear like some demon baobhan sith lass caught unawares. Her features weren’t what one would deem fine. The mouth was full, with a slightly crooked front tooth that made the bottom lip appear uneven. Ewen imagined it only appeared thus because she was so still; he mused that this was the type of lass whose face wasn’t often such a mask of serenity, for the set of those same features in the moments before she fainted was all raw defiance. Defiance and a hint of humor that Ewen, incredulous, thought he ’d spied playing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes had challenged the clansmen, stance claiming that she would not go down without a fight. Not what the laird typically encountered from the females who ingratiated themselves into his circle. And yet, those same features held him spellboun d. Ewen wanted to run his fingers through that wind -whipped mane and pull her to him, claiming that indelicate mouth with his own. His head was suddenly mad with images of those full lips and that crooked tooth sucking and biting with a passion that would surely rival his own. He would run his hands over the coarse fabric of her breeches and wrap her legs about his body. Seize those breasts, straining so against the buttons of her shirt, in his hands, his mouth. And perhaps finally find in this braw and peculiar lass his match.
“Lochiel! ”
“Aye, ” Ewen’s voice came out a low growl, “hold your tongue. You ’ve no need to shout, you coarse lout. ”
“That he does when you’re off daydreaming. The lad near bust a gut trying to get your attention. ”
“That so, uncle? Well then, Robbie, you’ll forgive me, I was putting my mind to other matters. ”
“Och, Ewen, your mind …your mind was on that lassie you ’ve perched on your lap. ” Donald’s eyes twinkled scandalously. “And that ’s assuming you’ve blood left in that head of yours, and it’s not all traveled south of your sporran. ”
“Enough, old man. ” Ewen’s voice held an uncharacteristic threat that silenced the younger man but only seemed to further amuse his uncle. “If you ’ve the breath to chatter on like a fishwife, then you’re not riding hard enough.”
The laird pulled Lily closer and kicked Ares into a canter, forcing the party to ride back to the keep in silence.
Lily’s eyes fluttered open. Her mind struggled to make sense of where she was and what had happened. The feve r had abated, disappearing as quickly as it had hit. It had barreled violently through her, leaving only a hot, parched throat in its wake. Try as she might, she couldn’t hold on to one thought for long. It was as if her head was filled with static. She deliberately blinked her eyes tightly shut then open again, attempting to focus.
She tried to remember what happened. She must have fallen. Then, were there really horses? Lily carefully began to make small movements. Her ribs were sore but she could breathe without discomfort. And, despite a pounding headache, she could move her head without trouble. A dull throb radiated out from her shoulder. Someone had clearly set it for her; the ache was nothing compared to the screeching pain that had been there when it was out of its socket. Otherwise, nothing seemed to be broken, and she just had to be thankful that help had stumbled upon her when it had. Thankful and wary too, about the situation in which she now found herself. The riders who had come upon her hadn’t looked like your average Highland villagers.
She looked around. She appeared to be in the home of some local family. And it was more than a farmer ’s family at that, judging from the size of her room. The walls were composed of large, rough- hewn gray stones. The room itself was kept surprisingly warm by a small but steadily burning fire in an otherwise sizable hearth along the far wall. She craned her neck to take in a large tapestry hanging over the bed. Fine needlework outlined what looked like the depiction of a hunting party. Women in long dresses and small pillbox caps sitting sidesaddle, bows and arrows cocked. Men in tights with swords drawn. Hounds dotted across the countryside. Lily found it to be a charmingly odd image and one she imagined was hundreds of years old. A large, antique tapestry in mint condition—no farmer’s family indeed.
She carefully shifted onto her side, turning her back to the enormous slab of dark oak that constituted the bedroom door. Facing the light full on was a shock at first, but as her eyes adjusted she could see that the entire wall was made up of a series of large windows, each pointed at the top and comprised of hundreds of tiny panes of glass. The center window featured a prominent stained glass rosette that depicted what looked like a family’s coat of arms.
Lily shut her eyes and let the weak sunlight play on her face. If she concentrated, she could almost imagine the feeling of warmth on her skin. She began to feel drowsy again. Her breathing took on the languorous rhythm of near sleep. She inhaled deeply; the smells around her had an almost hypnotic effect. There was a strong note of lavender fighting to overcome an inescapable mustiness that pervaded the room. Something about it relaxed Lily, reminding her of the cloying old-woman scents that had always enveloped and reassured her when visiting her grandmother’s house. She found herself humming a quiet tune: “Upon Letterfinlay soil he did land, Claiming he came from a future grand. A MacMartin lad who knew no fear, Clan Cameron took and held him dear …” She smiled drowsily. Of course, Gram’s song had sprung into her head unbidden. She was in her Gram’s domain now.
She really should get up and thank whomever it was who’d helped her and get on her way, but Lily couldn’t fight the exhaustion that weighed her down, making her mind fuzzy and her body once again nearly incapable of movement. She pulled the covers up over her shoulders and shuddered as she realized in her half sleep that the blanket was no blanket at all but a large fur of some kind.
Lily thought she heard a door creak open somewhere on the edge of her hearing—the sound seemed far in the distance, as if at the end of a tunnel, though she knew it must be her own door opening. Fighting now to keep her eyes open, she used her remaining energy to turn and see who was there. All she glimpsed was a blur of red and green tartan and long black hair as a man who filled the doorway turned to go. Just like the song, she mused. Hazy impressions fought to resolve themselves into thoughts. “In red and green plaid, And charming to behold…” She couldn’t figure out if she was comforted or unnerved by the connections that were being made somewhere in the back of her muzzy brain. Stretching out her legs, her last thought before slipping off to sleep was, why couldn ’t such a well-to-do family afford a less scratchy, lumpy bed?
Ewen was not please d with the arrival of the mysterious woman. Two winters past, Gormshuil had warned that another stranger would come. At the time, he did not believe the old witch. And yet, seeing this woman stumbling, lost on Lochaber soil, Gormshuil’s words resonated in his memory.