Page 56 of A Forbidden Night with a Scot
The one thing Samuel couldn’t wrap his mind around was how MacLaine’s men had come so close without anyone noticing. With all the guards who were posted around the walls and the security measures they had taken, the enemy should have never come this close.
Had Arran been killed near the gates, he wondered? Had they killed him somewhere else and dragged him there to make sure he would be found quickly? What had happened to Cameron? Was this a trap?
It was very likely it was a trap, Samuel decided, but he couldn’t sit idly and wait for an attack. Even if MacLaine’s men were waiting out there for him and his forces, it was a risk he had to take. Colm MacLaine was closer than he had thought. He had been so preoccupied with the attack in the forest and the conundrum of his relationship with Alicia that he had neglected to consider the possibility of an imminent attack, something he now regretted dearly.
As they walked around the castle, he and Nerian remained as quiet as they could, swords at the ready in case of an attack. The more they searched, though, the more apparent it became to Samuel that whoever had been there was now gone, though perhaps not long gone.
As they strayed farther and farther, he spotted traces of a camp—a camp which had been hastily dismantled, leaving behind—whether purposefully or not—the remnants of a small fire and several pairs of footsteps that led in all directions.
They are tryin’ tae confuse us.
He didn’t think trained soldiers who were good enough to approach the walls undetected would be so careless as to leave these traces behind without a good reason. MacLaine knew just how to instruct his men in order to lure Samuel into a trap, and Samuel knew better than to think it was anything else, but had no other choice than to walk right into it.
“We should call more men,” he told Nerian, looking at him over his shoulder, where he was crouching by the edge of the camp, examining the ground. “At least a few o’ them must be nearby still. If we find them, we may manage tae get somethin’ out o’ them.”
Nodding, Nerian made to stand, but he had hardly managed to get upright before an arrow whizzed right past his head and lodged itself in the tree behind him. In an instant, Samuel rushed to him, eyes wide with fear as the arrows began to fall around them like drops of rain, one after the other in a relentless attack. It was too dark out there for them to see their attackers, but from the angles from which the arrows came, Samuel could only assume they were hidden in the trees, and the torch he was carrying was making them both a very easy target.
But without the torch, they could hardly see a thing.
Samuel steered Nerian back towards the castle, the two of them running to avoid the arrows that rained upon them from the trees. As Samuel looked back over his shoulder, he saw one of them heading straight for Nerian, threatening to pierce throughhis heart, and so he pushed him out of the way, using his body as a shield to save him from the killing blow.
Pain erupted in his left shoulder as the arrow struck him, white-hot and searing. An agonized groan was ripped from him as he fell to his knees on the ground, the pain so blinding for a moment that he couldn’t move. The flesh of his shoulder had been torn wide open, he knew, without even needing to look. The arrow had pierced clean through him, and warm blood seeped down his arm in a steady river, coating his skin and making his grip on the torch slippery.
“Samuel!” Nerian called, standing up from where he had fallen after Samuel had pushed him away. He rushed to him, grabbing him by the right arm and hauling him up to his feet, and Samuel did his best to follow his fast pace as Nerian dragged him out of there and back to the safety of the castle walls.
They weren’t too far from the gates, and yet the run there felt as though it took an eternity to Samuel. His breathing was ragged, coming out in labored puffs, and every step he took jostled his shoulder, sending a new wave of agony through him. It wasn’t the first time he had been pierced by an arrow—wounds were nothing new to him, but this one was worse than most, almost unbearable in its intensity.
Soon, Samuel found himself being half-carried through the gates, and the moment they reached the castle, more guards rushed to them, helping him walk. Someone was pressing a cloth against his shoulder, while others were calling for the healer.It all felt distant, as though he was underwater and everything around him was muffled and blurred by the depths.
It was then he understood just how much blood he had lost. Still, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to walk, refusing to allow the darkness to claim him. He couldn’t be unconscious, not when his clan was under attack. Even if the attack was not direct, even if MacLaine’s men wouldn’t dare come too close yet, he needed to be alert and ready for them.
With each step he took, he was closer and closer to the healer’s quarters, and once there, his men laid him on one of the cots gingerly. Samuel was thankful for it; he didn’t know how much longer he could have walked in his state. He was also thankful for Nerian ordering everyone out of the room, giving him some space as the healer rushed to him and began to work on the wound.
“I’ll need tae remove the arrow,” the healer said, enlisting Nerian’s help, who held Samuel upright. When the end of the arrow was cut off, Samuel bit his lip through the pain, tasting blood. But when it was pulled out of his body with one rough yank, he couldn’t fight it anymore; within moments, everything went black.
When Samuel opened his eyes once more, he found that he was not alone in the room. Nerian and Gavin were there too, sitting a little farther away from his cot and discussing between themselves quietly. At first, Samuel looked around, trying toorient himself in time, and saw that it was still dark outside. He hoped that meant he had only been unconscious for a short while and that he hadn’t lost an entire day or even longer than that.
Looking at his shoulder, he found it bandaged, his clothes removed from the waist up. Blood had seeped through the bandages, leaving a deep red circle on the surface, but at least the pain had subsided a little, leaving behind an insistent throbbing.
As he shuffled on the bed, trying to sit up, Nerian and Gavin noticed him trying to move. Nerian stood quickly and rushed to his bed, pushing him back down with a look so stern that Samuel went back down easily, without so much as a complaint, though there was much he wanted to say to him.
At least Nerian hadn’t been injured, he thought, and Samuel could rest easy knowing that both he and Gavin could take over if the need arose as the head of the clan while he was recovering. Nerian was his closest advisor, after all; he knew what needed to be done and how to do it.
“Dinnae try tae move yet,” said Nerian. “Ye must still rest. Ye’ve lost a lot o’ blood.”
Samuel could tell. When he tried to sit up, his head had swum, the room around him spinning. Still, he had to try, just to prove to himself that he could. Sooner rather than later, he would have to return to his duties, and he couldn’t take too long to recover.
“Did the soldiers find anythin’?” Samuel asked. “Any o’ MacLaine’s men?”
“Nay,” said Nerian, shaking his head. “In all the chaos, they must have fled. But they willnae have gone too far. I have already sent men tae look fer any signs o’ them.”
“Good,” said Samuel, finally relaxing. “Good. Ye will report tae me every two hours.”
“Samuel, I dinnae think there is any need fer ye tae?—”
“Every two hours,” Samuel insisted, interrupting Nerian. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if he had to stay in the healer’s quarters, he needed to know if there were any news.
With a sigh, Nerian nodded, relenting. “Fine. But promise me ye will try tae rest.”
