Highland Barbarian Part 37

"Sleep well, Jamie, along with Brice, in the hollow of G.o.d's hand."

The boy lay very still, absorbing the shock of her gentle kiss.

For as long as he lived he would never forget her kindness this night.

For long minutes he lay listening to the sound of Brice's shallow breathing. And though he struggled to stay awake and will life into the man who lay beside him, sleep at last overtook him.

Chapter Twelve

JDrice awoke in the inferno he had always known would be his destiny.

All around him drifted the acrid scent of fire and brimstone. And his own flesh felt seared beyond redemption.

So this was what it felt like to be doomed to an eternity of punishment. Pain throbbed until he writhed and twisted. And though he thought he moaned, no sound issued from his parched throat.

He knew why this punishment had been meted out to him. He had been so consigned to this penance for failing to save Meredith. In that brief moment when he had seen her in the doorway to his chambers, he had realized that if he did not succeed in fighting off MacKenzie's soldiers, all would be lost. Meredith, the innocent victim in all of this, would be forced into marriage with Gareth MacKenzie. Once married, he would claim her land and people. And once MacKenzie had what he wanted, Meredith would no longer serve a useful purpose. She would be conveniently disposed of.

That was what had distracted Brice and caused his downfall. It was the presence of Meredith there in the doorway that had made him lose his concentration. Never before had five or even ten opponents worried him. He was a warrior, born and bred for battle. His own mortality had never caused him a moment's worry. But that was before Meredith. Since meeting the fiery little beauty, everything had changed. The thought of what MacKenzie had in mind for her was more than he could bear. That moment's distraction had cost him the battle.

Now it had all come to pa.s.s. Brice felt an overwhelming sense of despair. He had lost. MacKenzie had won. Even now Meredith was no doubt standing at the altar of a small village kirk, surrounded by MacKenzie men, forced to speak vows that would seal her fate.

Brice was consigned to an eternity in h.e.l.l.

The pain came again in waves, causing him to arch his body and roll to one side and then the other. There was no escaping it. The flames of h.e.l.l licked across his skin and stabbed deep into his back. A fire raged inside him.

Something cool touched his face and he clutched at it, holding it to him when it would pull away. In his delirium he imagined that it was a small, delicate hand. Meredith's hand. But that was impossible.

Meredith had been captured by Gareth MacKenzie. She was lost to him forever. Still he clung to the hand, needing to feel it, small and safe in his.

A voice sounded from so far away he could not make out the words. But from the soft, muted tones, from the low, husky whisper, he knew it was Meredith's voice. Calling him. Calling out to him from a lifetime away. He lifted a hand and tried to reach her, to answer her, to tell her that he was sorry he had failed her, that even now he would find a way to come for her. But his hand dropped weakly to the linens that covered him. He would rest awhile, to gather his strength so that he could plan his escape from this eternal d.a.m.nation. One thought burned in his mind. He dare not rest until Meredith was safely away from MacKenzie and returned to Kinloch House. There she would be safe.

There she would be loved.

Loved.

Aye. Though he would never have admitted it in life, he loved her.

Loved her as he loved Jamie. Loved her more than he had thought it possible to love any woman. More than himself.

A dipper of cool water was forced between his lips. He swallowed and accepted another before turning his head away. A cool damp cloth was pressed to his forehead and he felt a moment's respite from the burning heat.

His lids nickered open and he found himself staring into green eyes the color of a Highland lake.

"Meredith."

His lips formed the word though no sound issued from his throat.

She smiled and he thought there would never again be anything as wonderful as her smile. As dazzling as the sun on a summer's afternoon. As warm and comforting as a fireplace on a cold winter's night.

A hundred questions danced through his brain, begging to be answered.

How had she escaped MacKenzie's clutches? Was the attacking army still here at Kinloch House, holding her prisoner in this very room?

His heart stopped. Or was she also dead? Had she been allowed this one visit before entering heaven?

Though his lips moved, the words were scrambled, making no sense. All he could manage was a weak croak.

"Rest now," she whispered, touching a hand to his cheek.

She was merely a vision, he realized. A lovely, ethereal vision.

His lids lowered. Though the fire raged on, he felt at peace.

Anything could be endured, even h.e.l.l, as long as he was granted an occasional glimpse of Meredith's beloved face.

"How does he fare?" Angus tiptoed into the chamber and peered over Meredith's shoulder as she changed the dressing on Brice's back.

"He seems to slip in and out of this world," she whispered.

"I fear he does not as yet comprehend where he is or who is with him."

"He is a strong man, my lady." Angus touched a hand to her shoulder and was reminded of how small, how frail, she was. Yet beneath her frailty he had witnessed enormous strength of will. Everyone in Kinloch House spoke in admiring tones of the way Lady Meredith MacAlpin tended their leader, refusing to leave his side even to take her meals.

She slept curled up beside him, and ate whatever the servants brought her. And all of her waking moments were spent applying fresh poultices and changing his dressings, and seeing to his every need.

Jamie MacDonald had become her most loyal admirer. To the lad she was more than a great lady; she was a saint. He had told everyone who would listen how Meredith had encouraged him to sleep beside Brice for the first two nights, until he was convinced that his hero would not succ.u.mb if he left him. And although Jamie had now returned to his own chambers, Meredith encouraged him to drop by Brice's chambers as often as he wished in order to chart the progress Brice made.

"Brice will not easily give up his life, my lady. If he is fated to die he will not do so without putting up a fight."

She gave Angus a tentative smile.

"How can you be so certain?"

"I know him, my lady. As well as I know myself. Brice is a warrior."

"Aye. And from the looks of both of you, there was great damage inflicted upon the other side. How do your wounds heal, Angus?" She glanced at the fresh dressings that bound his head, a sign of the loving care administered by Mistress Snow.

"The pain has nearly subsided. Now it only feels as if someone has buried an ax in my head."

Meredith laughed and Angus was pleased to know that he had managed to bring a smile to her lips.

What drove the lady? What caused her to stay by the side of a man who had taken her away from everything she loved? Was she suffering guilt because her own people had taken sides with the MacKenzies? Or was there some deeper emotion involved?

Angus glanced at the man who lay upon the pallet. So still. So pale.

The two had been inseparable since childhood. Angus had never questioned the goodness of Brice Campbell. He had been privileged to witness Brice's kind deeds a thousand times. But this woman? What did she know of Brice and his way of life? How was it that she had, after only a glimpse into Brice's life, decided to trust him, to care for him?

"Do not fear for him. Brice will respond to your tender ministrations, my lady. That other life that tugs at him will give up its hold over him. He will come back to us."