Page 19 of Abducted By the Highlander
Chapter Six
It was arelief to change into dry clothes and as Grear hung their wet gowns over the wooden poles that supported the compact leather tent, Roisin opened the casket Hugh had rescued. Of all the possessions she’d brought with her, he had managed to save the two most important.
Her beloved writing case and the contents of this casket.
It contained her personal medicinal supplies, essential at any time but especially here, where there was little chance she’d be allowed to forage in the nearby forest or glens for the necessary plants. Besides which, most of them had been cultivated in the gardens at Sgur, under the watchful eye of Freyja, who had ensured both of her sisters learned the secrets that had been handed down from their ancient foremothers.
Neither she nor Isolde were as skilled as Freyja, but at least with these supplies she wasn’t completely defenseless against an unexpected injury or malady.
There were also soaps and cleansers, and beneath several lengths of linen, which she and Grear could use as a makeshift bed along with the blanket Hugh had salvaged, was her trusty satchel. As she pulled it out, Grear crouched down beside her.
“Should I see if I can find something to eat, milady?” Trepidation shivered through every word and Roisin took her hand as they stood up. Neither of them had eaten since they’d left Eigg at first light this morning, but with everything that had happened, she hadn’t realizedhow hungry she was. And poor Ecne must be starving, too.
She glanced at her dog who gazed at her with trusting eyes, and she bit her lip. Although she’d much rather stay in Hugh’s tent away from suspicious glances from Clan MacGregor, she and Grear needed to keep up their strength. And she certainly wouldn’t send Grear out of the relative safety of the tent on her own.
“We’ll go together.” She hoped Grear didn’t hear the quake of fear in her own voice. She pushed her writing case into her satchel and added as many of her medicinal herbs and soaps as she could, until the satchel bulged. There was no telling if her things would be safe in Hugh’s tent once she left it, and at least this way she’d have a few essentials.
But it was more than that. If anyone discovered the sketches she’d done of Hugh during the last eighteen months, and which she’d kept hidden in her writing case, their story of never having met before would be exposed. She didn’t know how Darragh would react to having been lied to but ’twas safe to assume her situation would become even more precarious than it was now.
That wasn’t the main reason she was so relieved that Hugh had rescued her writing case, though. Even the prospect that he might see those sketches made her stomach cramp with nerves. Now they had met again, the last thing she wanted was for him to ever guess she had once harbored foolish romantic notions about him.
That was over. Now she had to be practical, like Freyja, and find a way to best survive this perilous interlude until Hugh found her safe passage to Creagdoun.
She just hoped the MacGregor women would be kind enough to share their food with her and Grear, considering they’d helped themselves to her belongings.
“Yer hair, milady.”
“Oh.” Self-consciously, she ran her fingers through the damp strands. She’d loosened her hair to help dry it but it wouldn’t do toleave the tent looking like an unkempt forest fae. And then she remembered Hugh had seen her and heat streaked through her. What must he have thought?
She shook her head in disgust. What did it matter what he thought? The important thing was she had to maintain an appearance of calm, and no one would be fooled if she stepped outside in such utter disarray.
It took only a few moments for Grear to braid her hair, and once she was presentable, she slung her satchel over her shoulder and gathered her scattered courage. With a reassuring smile at her maid, she lifted the flap of the tent and stepped outside.
It was late afternoon, and the earthy aroma of roasting game wafted in the air, and her stomach growled in response. The horses and wagon had been moved to the far side of the camp, and there was no sign of her trunk. Hugh and the rest of the men were nowhere in sight, which was both a relief and a source of consternation. She’d secretly been hoping to find Hugh so he could procure some food.
But there was no help for it. She couldn’t stand here dithering and hoping the MacGregor womenfolk would take pity on her and Grear and offer them some sustenance. She drew in a deep breath for courage, before she straightened her shoulders and headed to where the rest of the tents were pitched some distance from Hugh’s. Small game, which she assumed Hugh and Symon had brought back with them, hung from a rope set up between two poles. A large fire pit had been dug in the middle of the semi-circle of tents. Once again, her stomach rumbled at the aroma emanating from it.
And then her burst of courage fizzled like a doused lantern, and she hesitated. Eight women, who appeared to range in age from herself to one in her early fifties, sat around the fire pit. Four of them were working on the various processes of tanning small animal skins while a fifth woman prepared wild plants for the meal. The remaining three were nursing their bairns.
They all ignored her, and she battled the overwhelming urge to slink back to Hugh’s tent. But she couldn’t let Grear and Ecne go hungry just because she wasn’t brave enough to stand up for herself.
She stepped forward until she was within a horse length of the group but the only ones who glanced her way were two young lasses who were entertaining a wee bairn who was clearly just learning to walk. She smiled at them, and they stared at her as though she were a fascinating apparition.
It was obvious they had no intention of making this easy for her. She took a deep breath and aimed her question at the oldest woman. “May I help?”
“I don’t know,” the woman said, sparing her a fleeting glance before returning to her task of cleaning out the bloodied remains that clung to the inside of what looked like a rabbit. “Does a lady of the Western Isles know how to help?”
It was true she wasn’t skilled in the tasks these women were undertaking. At Sgur, she hadn’t needed to be. Amma had taught her and her sisters how to manage a grand stronghold and all that entailed, and while she could certainly cook, she had never needed to butcher the animal beforehand.
That was, after all, a task for servants. She’d cut her tongue out before she shared that with these women.
“I do,” she said, before she could think better of it.
The older woman eyed her and for a terrible moment Roisin had the certainty she was going to tell her to skin one of the creatures currently hanging from the rope. But before she could say anything, one of the women nursing her bairn spoke.
“Let her do some mending, Elspeth.” Then she looked at Roisin. “These grand ladies are good with their needles, so I’ve heard.”
Mending was certainly preferable to butchering but she wasn’t sure it would be a good thing to show her relief. “I can do that,” she confirmed, then glanced at her maid before adding, “Grear and I can do that.”
