Highland Burn: Guardians of Scotland Book 1 Read online

  Gently, Abigale wrapped her hand around the arrowhead and maneuvered it out of his chest, causing James to jerk with such force that his arm slipped free and threatened to hit Abigale. Rory strained to gain control again. “Sorry…my lady," he grunted. “’Tis like trying to hold down a hogget during a shearing.”

  As the blood rushed over her hands, Abigale didn’t have much time to think. She needed to seal up her husband’s wound, but which plan of action should she take? If she used a hot poker, the pain alone could kill him, or she could place her faith in healing herbs. One wrong move and she could become a widow.

  Alice rushed in with a wooden bowl. “My lady.” She offered the paste to Abigale. The healing herbs would have to work, for she didn’t know how much more pain her husband could endure. Quickly, she began to smear the purple concoction around and inside the wound. “This will help stop the bleeding and dull his pain. We are going to need to lift him. I need to wrap a pressure bandage around his chest,” Abigale instructed.

  Abigale kept the rags snug against the wound while the men lifted James to a sitting position. James’s head fell back and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Sweet Jesus, it was going to take a miracle to save this man.

  “Effie, hold pressure here.” Abigale took Effie’s hands and placed them firmly on the wound. “Alice, help me wrap his chest.”

  After they wrapped the laird’s chest, they laid him back down on the bed. Abigale stood over James. He was pale and his breathing was slow but steady. Sending a prayer up to heaven, she prayed that her healing skills would help her husband and bring him back to her. She couldn’t lose him, not now…not ever.

  Abigale’s nerves lay bare. Raw emotions threatened to take over. She must not fall apart now. Abigale Bruce, ye must calm down. Taking a deep breath, she walked over and grabbed the washbasin. Trying desperately to keep calm, she began to wash the bloodstains from his body. If the blood loss didn’t kill him, the fever would.

  As Abigale peered up from wiping a smear of blood from James’s forearm, she saw his kinsmen standing around the bed, grief-stricken, as they looked upon their fallen chief. These men had so much respect for their ruthless leader. If she knew anything, she would have bet that anyone of them would have traded places with him and taken the blow of that blasted arrow.

  Alice placed a hand on Abigale’s shoulder and reached for the washrags. “Let me. Ye should get some rest.” She nodded in James's direction. “He’s in God’s hands now.”

  “Nay!” Abigale shook her head and snatched the rag away from Alice. “I will no’ leave his side.”

  She didn’t mean to be so rude, but the thought of leaving James made her heart stop beating. What if he awoke and she wasn’t there? What if he was in pain or what if he started to bleed again? No, she had to be right here by his side.

  Magnus cleared his throat. “My lady.” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “Is there anything else we can do?"

  “Aye.” Abigale choked out a faint whisper. “Go to the chapel and pray.”

  As the last man quit the room, Abigale rubbed her face against James’s hand. “James Douglas, this is no time for ye to be stubborn." She sniffed and fought back tears. “Come back to me.” Her vision clouded, her hands began to tremble, and the air thickened, making it difficult for her to breathe. She needed to be close to him, to feel him breathe. Without disturbing him, she climbed into bed, and laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Death wasn’t an option, he had to live.

  10

  A debt is owed, the price: his soul.

  The sun shone through the trees, casting an amber hue throughout the glen. “James,” a beautiful voice whispered, luring him deeper into the forest. He saw a woman wearing a sheer dress run behind a tree. He couldn’t see her face, but her voice washed over him like ray of sunshine.

  “James.” There it was again. He ran after her but once he reached the tree, she disappeared.

  Where was the voice coming from?

  "Come back to me.” Her whispered words sent a shiver down his back. He knew that voice. He turned around and couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Abigale?”

  Abigale stood in front of him. The wind whipped through her long auburn hair. Her sweet scent drifted over him. He reached out to touch her. She was so close, yet too far away. “Abigale,” James whispered.

  She stepped into his embrace. He held her tight, feeling every lush curve of her body. Running his hands through her hair, he confirmed that she was really there. Well, at least she felt real, but this had to be a dream. “What are ye doing here, lass?”

  Abigale gently stroked his face. “Come back to me, James. I need ye.”

  Aye, this was a sweet dream.

  All of a sudden, the forest grew dead silent and darkness closed in around them. Panic-stricken, James grabbed Abigale’s arms a little too firmly. “Abigale, ye must leave. He’s coming for me.”

  “Nay, come with me, please,” she begged.

  Off in the distance, James heard a hollow clanking sound echoing through the glen that seemed to grow closer and approached fast. He looked behind him to see where the noise was coming from. The forest trees moved closer together. Branches touched, creating a tunnel, and the dirt trail narrowed.

  James knew who had tracked him down. This was the reason he didn’t sleep at night, for the bloody bastard haunted his every dream. A cruel, twisted game the menace craved to play. He toyed with James’s mind night after night with visions of his father’s bloody body being tortured, all the while laughing vilely at James’s fear.

  The soul collector knew no boundaries; he collected at will. James had to get Abigale out of his Hell…now! The bloody bastard could have his damned soul, but not Abigale’s. She was everything good and pure in his world, the light to his darkness.

  James turned back to warn his wife to run, but much to his surprise, she was already gone, leaving a trail of light behind. He desperately wanted to follow her light. If only he believed in Heaven, she would be his bel ange.

  The air around James cooled. An icy chill slid down his spine and settled in his bones. He peered down the darkened tunnel waiting for the soul collector. The ground shook and the smell of sulfur assaulted his nose. “The essence of Hell.”

  The air rippled like a stone thrown in water as the malice rode toward James in a horse-drawn death coach. Black skulls and bones covered the coach and the spokes on the wheels were the leg bones of some unlucky bastards.

  The coachmen leaned forward with a sinister smile, pushing the horses to charge faster with the crack of his whip. Their eyes glowed red with hatred and they were foaming at the mouth.

  James dove out of the way as a black cloaked, faceless coachman halted the raging team. Silver chains connecting the rig to the horses rattled a sinister song as it drew to a complete stop.

  James jumped to his feet in battle stance, ready for a fight. The coach door slowly opened. A black, chainmail glove appeared from the open door, motioning with a thick finger for James to come join him.

  This was it, James thought. The collector had finally caught up to him. He had been running from this moment all his life. The moment of truth, payment for the sins he’d committed. The slain would be avenged and wrongs righted. His soul was the price.

  Tired of avoiding his destiny, he began to walk over to the death coach, ready to embrace the darkness. When a blast of golden light flashed over the glen, it knocked James to the ground.

  He looked up and saw the horses rearing up, then take off down the tunnel. It was as if the light had chased the collector away.

  11

  He who wants to be a dragon must eat many little snakes. ~ Chinese Proverb

  “You fool!” Sheriff Rickert raised his leather whip and released its fury upon the man’s bloodied back. His sharp tone filled the damp dungeon. He grabbed the fool’s chin, “You were supposed to bring me the Black Douglas. Alive!” he hissed and shoved the man’s head back.

&nb
sp; Rickert had been a patient man. However, as of late, his patience had been strained. Seven years was a long time for a man to live with a near-destroyed reputation without revenge. He’d been made a fool the day James Douglas came back to Scotland to reclaim his lands. With their chief dead, the clan had been weakened, which left Castle Douglas defenseless. An easy target, Sheriff Rickert and his army seized the castle.

  Oh, but fate could be a bloody bastard. James’s counter-attack left Rickert retreating deep into the forest, running like a scared child to his mother. Coward, he thought. Flashes of that terrifying night flickered through the sheriff’s memory as he recalled the stench of burning flesh and deafening screams. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would have believed the devil himself had showed up to fight that day. He barely escaped alive. A shiver snaked down his spine; he had seen the vile beast.

  “You’ve failed me. You do know the punishment, don’t you?”

  The man stood silent as another crack sliced into his back.

  “Must I remind you, fool, I have something very valuable and precious to you.” Rickert stroked his goatee. “Your dear sister is at court, unwed and under my protection."

  Sheriff Rickert had held the man’s sister in the royal court as a hostage of sorts. He promised no harm would come to her if he obeyed his every request. A request to bring him the Black Douglas.

  Rickert fondled the leather strip. “Mayhap I should inform King Edward that it’s past time for her to wed,” he threatened.

  The man twisted around and met Rickert’s stare.

  Leaning close, the sheriff said, “I wonder what a young, Scottish piece of arse would feel like.” The sheriff’s cutting words dared the man to lose control.

  Giving the sheriff no satisfaction, the man only fisted his hands.

  Rickert enjoyed inflicting pain in more than the physical sense. Manipulation and blackmail were games he played well. Once he had his eyes on a prize, there was no turning back. No longer could he abide walking among the crowds and being heckled about being defeated by a Scottish lad. A Highlander at that. It had cost him his favor with the king, who now considered him a failure.

  James Douglas needed to be destroyed. Now his plan had been put into motion, and James Douglas wouldn’t know what hit him.

  * * *

  The beaten man lowered his head. His body shook from the last crack of the whip, or mayhap it was the rage he fought to keep from surfacing. He had to tell the sheriff about his little secret, it was the only way he could keep his sister safe. His beautiful, innocent sister was caught up in a dangerous game. He’d failed to protect her. Once the sheriff had her at court, he had to go along with Rickert’s plan. If he ever wanted to see his sister again, he must bring him the dragon.

  Soon it would be over. Sometimes you had to shame your soul in order to help destiny along.

  The man squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “I can bring ye the one thing that will destroy the Black Douglas,” he muttered.

  This new-found information pricked Rickert’s interest. “Do tell.”

  The man slowly raised his head. “I can bring ye Abigale Bruce, James's wife, the princess of Scotland.”

  Rickert mused. “Capture the princess, slay the dragon.”

  12

  Sometimes life can be as bitter as dragon tears. ~ Chinese Proverb

  A week had passed and James still lay motionless. Caring for her husband nonstop started to take a toll of Abigale. She’d had little sleep and food and refused to leave him. Abigale sat by the foot of the bed, diligently working on some embroidery. If James didn’t wake soon, before long, the castle walls would be covered in tapestries. A knock at the door made Abigale jump. She wasn’t expecting visitors.

  The door creaked open as Marcus peeked in. “Lady Abigale, may I?”

  She nodded.

  Marcus went to James’s bedside. “How is he?”

  “The bleeding has stopped, but he still sleeps.” Abigale stood and placed her needlework on the chair. She felt James’s forehead. “He's still feverish.” His fever should have broken by now

  “My lady, forgive me for being blunt, but maybe the time has come.”

  “Nay Marcus, we still have time.” Abigale straightened the covers over James’s body.

  Marcus walked over to the head of the bed. “Ye’ve done everything possible to save him. We can't let him suffer.”

  Abigale grew irate. How dare he come to her with such a request? She was going to save James and nothing or nobody was going to stop her. She needed her husband to live.

  She marched over to Marcus and poked a finger at his chest. “Suffer? Do ye think I would let him suffer?”

  Marcus stayed silent.

  “I’ll spend every last breath making sure my husband lives. His clan needs him!”

  He pinned her with a glare. “And what about ye, Lady Abigale? Ye need him, too.”

  Through a deep sob, Abigale held on tight to Marcus’s shoulder. “What if Marcus, what if…” She couldn't say the words. Who would take James’s place if he died? What would happen to her?

  Marcus held her tight. “I’m sorry, I dinnae mean to upset ye. James is a warrior. I have seen him wounded before and he’s too stubborn to die.”

  Before she could apologize for breaking down, Marcus cupped her face, wiping away her tears.

  Abigale began to feel uncomfortable. Marcus held her too close and too long for comfort. Abigale stepped out of his embrace.

  Clearing his throat, Marcus asked, “When was the last time ye ate? I’ll bring ye some of Alice’s famous oatcakes.”

  “That would be very kind of ye.”

  Marcus headed for the door.

  Abigale had other things on her mind, but she could not forget the hungry look in Marcus’s blue eyes. And though he was handsome and intelligent, she belonged to James. A man cannot take what has already been claimed.

  Abigale shook herself free of those thoughts. Perhaps she was misjudging him or too tired to think clearly. After all, James was his cousin and Marcus was in need of support and comfort, too.

  “Marcus,” Abigale called out.

  He turned to face her. “Lady Abigale.”

  “Thank ye.”

  Marcus smiled and walked out of the bedchamber.

  Abigale went to James’s bedside. She ran her fingers through his hair, bent down, and touched her forehead to his. “Come back to me,” she whispered.

  * * *

  James blinked away the spinning room as it slowly came into focus. He heard soft breathing and lifted his head up slowly. There she was, one arm tucked under her head, asleep. Trying to determine whether he was dreaming or not, he rubbed his thumb over her delicate hand that held onto his. Her hand felt soft and warm. This was a good sign.

  He then took his wife’s braid. As he fingered the silky strands, relief rippled through him. Laying his head back down, he closed his eyes. He wasn’t dreaming this time. His bel ange was there and safe.

  The dream had been too real. He was ready to succumb to the darkness, yet someone had stopped him. The light, aye the warm, bright light had chased away the collector. His soul was saved for now. Another question burned him. Why had Abigale been there in his dream?

  James looked back down at her. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “God’s bones!” She was a beauty.

  Sleepy eyes blinked open. “James, ye’re awake.”

  “Aye.” James coughed through the dryness in his throat.

  “Do ye remember what happened?”

  Groaning in pain, James leaned forward. There was a tightness in his chest and nausea rolled through his gut. What the hell had happened to him?

  “Easy.” Abigale warned as she propped pillows behind his back to make him more comfortable. “Ye were shot with an arrow two days ago while hunting. ‘Twas an accident.”

  “Two weeks?”

  “Aye.”

  “An accident…while I was hunting?” James’s dar
k brows creased. This information didn’t set well with him. He looked down at the blood-stained bandages. Two weeks? He should have healed by now. His sleep magic should have healed him quickly. Never before had he come this close to death. The whole thing didn't make sense. He was immortal. One blow from an arrow was like getting a splinter under your skin.

  He’d remembered the burn of something flowing through his veins and even now he was in a tremendous amount of pain. Poison? Aye, he had to have been poisoned.

  “If the arrow was an inch deeper, it would have reached yer heart.”

  James took Abigale’s hand in his. “Ye’re a healer?”

  Abigale shrugged. “I’ve performed surgeries.”

  “A surgeon?” This puzzled him. Usually women were discouraged and not allowed to practice intricate surgeries.

  Abigale reached over to feel his head for fever and was stopped quickly. James grabbed her slender wrist as if he was done with her fussing over him. “How did ye become a surgeon?”

  Pulling her arm away, she said, “I’ve spent a lot of time studying the four humors of the body from the monks at the abbey. Fortunately for ye, I’m one of the best surgeons the abbey had.” She smiled.

  James knew that she’d lived at Dunfermline Abbey, but for how long? He’d never really asked about her past. This saddened him. For some strange reason he wanted to know everything about her. He could have died not knowing the woman who’d saved his life.

  Abigale swallowed hard. “James, I…couldn’t help but notice when I was removing the—”

  At that very moment, Marcus stepped into the room, interrupting their conversation. He carried a plate of oatcakes, and Alice trailed close behind.

  “My laird, ye’re awake! Oh, tis a glorious day!” Alice beamed and rushed over to James’s bedside. “Lady Abigale brought ye back to us.” Alice glanced at Abigale as they shared a smile.