I'm sorry for the long delay. I had a stressy time at work and then got ill. But now I finally finished the chapter. Let me know what you think of it.
/
Seconds later, Dougal came back into the room and looked between the two of us. "Are ye down now, lass? We need to move on."
Isabelle nodded her head and helped Jamie pulling on the remnants of his shirt, making some sort of sling out of the torn sleeve. The young Scot stood up and together they made their way out of the cottage, to see Rupert and Murtagh holding six ponies outside.
In the dark the young woman couldn't see anything, the men, dark shapes in the night, although the light from the mass of glittering stars in the sky was illuminating the metal of the harnesses.
She looked around, the town of Inverness not far away, lay in complete darkness, unlike the city that she had seen only days ago.
"Lass, ye'll ride with Jamie." Dougal said, leading her over to the pony, where the redhead moved to sit atop. "Ye can take the reins, if the lad canna manage it with his good hand."
Isabelle nodded her head and took hold of the saddle, to get up. The older Scot wanted to help her, but she stopped him. "Don't worry, I can manage myself. Been riding, since I was a child."
Dougal nodded. "Do make sure to keep close wi' the rest of us." he told her and left to get to his pony himself.
Jamie put his good arm around Isabelle, gathering her close to his own warmth. The Irish woman was glad for being near him, as the night was chilly and bit through her clothes. Isabelle could smell the strong aroma of woodsmoke, blood and unwashed male.
The Scot seemed to be having no trouble with only be able to use his right hand, he used his thighs, shifting and pressing occasionally to guide the pony in the right direction. Isabelle had put her arms on the saddle, trying not to interfere with Jamie's doings.
After some time the company reached a cross track and stopped for a moment. Angus and Dougal conferred in hushed tones at the front, so Jamie dropped the reins, letting the pony wander of to a patch of grass.
He slightly grunted as he twisted and turned. Isabelle looked over her shoulder at him with a raised brow.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Another grunt was her answer as he used his good arm now. "Don't do that, you'll get your dressing off."
"I want to get my plaid loose to cover you." the young Scot told her. "You're shivering. But I can't get it undone with just one hand, can ye reach the clasp of my brooch?"
Isabelle nodded her head and shifted awkwardly, before she could help him get the plaid loosened with a lot of tugging. Jamie twirled the cloth out and let it settle around his shoulders and then put the ends around her shoulders, tucking them neatly under the saddle.
"There now, we dinna want ye to freeze, before we arrive." Jamie said and Isabelle regarded him with a smile.
"Thank you, but do you know where we are going?" she asked and heard him pause for a moment before answering.
"To tell ye the truth, lassie, I don't know myself. Daresay, we'll find out when we get there, eh?"
Isabelle looked around at the scenery. It seemed familiar to her, which she just confirmed at seeing the large rock formation ahead of them, that was shaped like a rooster's tail.
"Cocknammon Rock!" she exclaimed, but her escort seemed unfazed by her revelation.
Uncle Frank had spent hours telling her about the local history over the time she had spent her days with them. How the English had used that part for ambushes. At first she thought about drawing attention to them, but thought better of it.
"The red-coats usually patrol here and use it as place to ambush." Isabelle said but recovered quickly as she saw the dark look on Dougals face. "They are probably hiding there now."
The leader of their group turned to her, a grim expression marring his face. "And how do ye know that?"
"Must be a spy for them." Another said.
Isabelle felt the great urge to flee, but the last time she had tried to get away from the company, Jack Randall wanted to kill her and if a patrol would find her with the Scots, they'd probably think, that she was a part of them and would get killed.
She stayed still and just shook her head, knowing the men were still wary of her, even though Isabelle had helped Jamie.
And suddenly she had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "What is going on?" she asked and waited for any kind of reaction from both men. Dougal signalled Jamie, Murtagh and Angus to drop back, while he and the rest of the company raced towards the rock a quarter mile ahead of them.
Jamie just looked down at her, before he through her of his horse and galloped after the men. She didn't think twice about what was going on. Every minute she remained meant she would be in danger.
Hastily Isabelle ran through the forest, away from the fight that was only taking place a few paces ahead of her. She could hear the shouts of men and the occasional musket shot, but didn't want to look back, out of fear that she would get captured again.
Her already ripped clothes had a few new sets of tears and on her hands were scratches from speeding through the underbrush. Even her boots, that were rather new, had some minor scratches in the leather.
Soon it had started to rain and the young woman could do nothing but try to stay warm, not knowing when and where she would find civilisation again. Isabelle soon had reached the track, but realized that she was to visible. Still she needed to follow it to get back to the town that she had seen.
Sometimes the Irish woman thought if she had unbeknownst to her stumbled upon a play, but in all the films and plays the actors weren't firing real muskets at each other and even the drinks and swords were real.
Maybe it was a dream. One from which she hadn't been able to awaken.
Isabelle looked around her, the sounds of battle had faded miles before. There was nothing but the trees beside her and the occasional star that shone through the clouds. A chill racked her body, as the coldness seeped into her bones.
Her eyes moved ahead and a soft gasp left her lips as she saw a dark shape in the distance and heard the faint sound of hoof beats. Stopping in her tracks Isabelle's heart sped up and her eyes searched for any way of escape.
As they drew nearer the shape dismounted and walked up to her, gripping her arm. "Dinna worry lass. 'Tis me."
"That's what I was afraid of." she mumbled as Jamie stepped into the light of the moon, that had come through the clouds.
She saw him. The bloody shirt and his sword stilled poised for any attack that might come.
"What were you trying to do, lass?" he asked with a curious look on his face.
"I didn't try to do anything. But you are hurt." she said, stepping up to the young Scot. "Have you broken open your shoulder wound or is it fresh?"
Jamie shook his head, when Isabelle reached for the remains of her torn shirt. "Nay, pay it no mind, lass. This is not my blood. Not much of it, anyway."
Lightly he took her hand and let her to his steed. Jamie, this time not as gallantly as he used to be, more like forcing Isabelle to move. "Dougal and the others will be waiting on the track."
But she would have non of it, digging her heels into the ground, forcing the young man dragging her to stop. "I'm not going with you."
He turned, surprised at her resistance. "Yes, you are."
Jamie wasn't upset at the refusal, rather amused by her objection to come with him.
"And what if I don't want to? Are you going to kill me?" she demanded, pulling her arm out of his grip.
"Why no. You don't look heavy." he said with a slight smile playing at his lips. "If ye won't walk, I shall pick you up and sling ye over my shoulder. Do ye want me to do that?"
This time he took a step forward, to which Isabelle retreated hastily. "You can't, you'll damage your shoulder again."
Jamie grinned, the moonlight catching the gleam of his teeth. "Well then, since ye don't want me to hurt myself, I suppose that means as you're comin' with me?"
Isabelle struggled to find an answer, but failed to do so. He took her arm firmly and placed her on the horse, mounting behind her, galloping off to meet with the rest of his group.
Once they had reached Dougal and the men, Jamie drew the pony to a sudden halt, making Isabelle's head give his bad shoulder an unintentional thump, and he drew in his breath with a hiss.
"Serves you right. I told you to take it easy, not to brawl round the countryside and chase through bushes and rocks." she said, looking straight ahead, not daring to move.
Jamie seemed amused by her 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 red-coat wi' one hand – maybe even two of them." he told her, a bit boastfully, "but not three."
Isabelle huffed holding tightly to the saddle.
"Besides." he said, drawing her against his chest, her back to his blood-encrusted shirt, "ye can fix it for me again, when we get where we're going."
"That's what you think." she said coldly, squirming in the saddle again.
The men were joking and laughing, a result from their ferocious good spirits after the fight. A flask was passed around,, praising her thwarting in the ambush and toasts where drunk in her honour, while the men discussed the fight with the same patrol she had seen earlier that day. Rupert offered her some of the contents of the flask, but she declined, wanting to stay sober and not falling off.
Soon the flask was passed to Jamie and Isabelle could smell the hot, burnt smelling spirit as he drank. She wasn't thirsty at all, but the faint, sweet scent of honey was enough to remind her, that she hadn't eaten in a while. Her stomach growled lightly, making Jamie aware of her current situation.
He put the flask in front of her face. "Better have a wee nip," he whispered. "It willna fill your belly, but it will make ye forget you're hungry."
With a slight nod, Isabelle took a small sip, and found that the young Scot had been right. The hunger was nearly forgotten and the whiskey warmed her from inside.
They had managed to cover a few miles without incidence, but near a ruined cottage, the breathing of the man behind her changed to ragged gasping, and before Isabelle knew what was happening, felt the weight of Jamie shift in the saddle.
"Stop! Help!" she yelled, as he slid headfirst off the pony like a sack of stones.
The others swirled and crowded around them, as Isabelle hopped out of the saddle and kneeled down to Jamie's body.
"He's breathin'," said one of the group and the Irish woman couldn't help but role her eyes at the declaration.
She reached out and groped for a pulse in the darkness. She found one at last, rapid, but still fairly strong. Isabelle went through all the procedures she had learned at the nursing school feeling the regular rise and fall of his chest and heard his breath with less of the gasping note.
"I think he just fainted. Put a saddle bag under his feet and if there's water, please bring me some." she said and the instantly obeyed, bringing her all that she needed.
Jamie groaned and opened his eyes, looking around in the darkness. "I'm all right, just a bit dizzy." he said, trying to sit up.
Isabelle put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "Lie still." she said and started inspecting his upper body.
"The musket wound has been bleeding again, and the idiot's been knifed as well. I think it's not serious, but he's lost quiet a lot of blood. His shirt is soaked through, but I don't know how much of it is his. He needs rest and quiet. We should camp here at least until morning." Isabelle explained in her nurse mode.
But Dougal would have none of it, shaking his head at her suggestion. "Nay. We're further than the garrison will venture, but here's still the Watch to be mindful of. We've a good fifteen miles yet to go."
He looked up, gauging the movement of the stars. "Five hours, at the least and more likely seven. We can stay long enough for ye to stop the bleeding and dress the wound again. No much more than that."
He dispatched one of the other men to stand guard with the ponies by the track, while Isabelle set to work.
Murtagh helped her, tearing strips of linen, fetching more water and lifting Jamie up to have the dressing tied on, as he was being strictly forbidden to move himself.
"You're not all right, and it's no wonder," she snapped at him, venting her fear and anger. "What sort of idiot gets himself knifed and doesn't even stop to take care of it? Couldn't you tell how badly you were bleeding." Isabelle hissed and earned a slight hiss from her patient. "You're lucky you're not dead, tearing around the countryside all night, brawling and fighting and throwing yourself of horses."
She cursed as one of the strips slithered away behind Jamie's back as he moved. Her mother had always scolded her for her sailor mouth that she had earned from her grand-father.
"Christ, I've ne'er heard a woman use such a language in my life." Rupert said and earned a few laughs.
Another voice spoke from the blackness under the trees. "Your husband should tan ye, woman. St Paul says 'Let the woman be silent, and"
"You can mind your own bloody business," she snarled, "and so can St Paul. And I am not married so I can do whatever I want."
The sweat was dripping down her face as the task of dressing his wound was a mighty feat. "Turn him left." Isabelle said and then addressed her patient. "And if you move so much as one single muscle while I'm tying this bandage, I'll throttle you."
"Och, aye." Jamie answered meekly.
A few minutes passed before the next curse was thrown into the night. Murtagh laughed. "Perhaps we should send her to Ste Anne's abbey, Dougal. I've not heard Jamie swear once since we left the coast, and he used to have a mouth on him would put a sailor to shame. Four months in a monastery must have had some effect. You do not even take the name of the Lord in vain any more, do ye, lad?"
"You wouldna do so either, if you'd been made to do penance for it by lying for three hours at midnight on the stone floor of the chapel in February, wearing nothin' but your shirt." Jamie answered.
The men all laughed and he continued, "It was only for two hours, but it took another to get myself up off the floor afterwards. I thought my...er, I thought I'd frozen to the flags, but it turned out just to be stiffness."
Isabelle smiled despite herself as she listened to his tale, but spoke firmly nonetheless. "You be quiet, or I'll hurt you."
He gingerly touched the dressing, but she slapped his hands away. "Oh threats, is it? And after I shared my drink with ye too!"
The men had been drinking from the flask again, while the young woman treated Jamie's wounds, and had now found its way to the young Scot. She tried to reason with Dougal, telling him, that he needed tea or water and not more alcohol. But the older man would have none of it, pouring a sizable slug of the whiskey down the throat of her patient, making him cough.
As he tried to do the same again, Isabelle jumped in between. "Do you want him to be so drunk he can't stand?"
"Feisty wee bitch, is she no?" Jamie said, sounding amused.
Dougal regarded her with a dark look and put the flask back to his lips. "We've got a good way to go yet tonight, and he'll need whatever strength the drink can give him, no tend to your business woman."
Fuming Isabelle finished his dressing, making sure to tighten it thoroughly, earning a quiet groan from the Scot on the ground.
"Does it hurt?" she asked, a slight ting of innocence riding on the words.
"Aye, it does." he told her shortly.
She felt a small smile on her lips. "You deserve it. Maybe that will teach you to not do something stupid like that again."
Together with Dougal she helped him up and even though Isabelle had protested before, the company mounted their horses and moved on through the night.