Wild Rose of Ireland {Rewritten Edition}

Chapter Two: First Meeting

≽⊰⊹══════ {𝒯𝒲𝒪} ══════⊹⊱≼
𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔐𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤
⌘

Outside Inverness, Scotland
31st October 1743
Samhain

TW: Violence, Mature Content, Assault, Blood

Booming crashes of thunder rattled the fragile windowpanes of a small stone cabin. Night had finally fallen, covering the land in her dark embrace on this all hallows eve. The storm which blocked out the moon's silver light raged outside, allowing the rain to wipe away the tracks of Dougal's warband; giving them a temporary reprieve from their pursuers which were not far behind. Sitting on a short stool beside the roaring hearth was Jamie. His jacket and vest having been stripped off, leaving him doubled over in his blood-soaked linen shirt. From any viewpoint in the deserted shelter, one could see the gaping hole and sickening angle at which his shoulder rested. The bones and muscles were so badly twisted it appeared as though the lad had the stump of a wing protruding. Ever since the moment of his fall, time had been their enemy; because each moment the limb sat dislocated, the harder it was to put back into the joint, due to the swelling.

Rupert and Angus stood careful watch over the young man, diligently plying him with raw spirits. Unfortunately for him, the alcohol barely took the edge off the agonizing pain he was suffering through. Slow, hazardous breathes he drew in, each shift of his torso sending shockwaves of pain through his entire system. From behind, he could hear his uncle speaking with his men in hushed tones, the realization of his predicament worsening by the second. "He canna ride...we barely got him back here; the lad won't be able to reach Leoch fer a chirurgeon."

"Aye, but we canna be stayin long either, Dougal. Randall almost had us, he canna be too far behind! I know he's yer nephew but...it may be best if we leave him here-" Argued one of the elder men, the notion all but stopping Jamie's heart. He knew what would happen if he was abandoned, left alone to fend for himself, with only his wits and a meager weapon to defend against the English. Death or life in chains if he was lucky, he had made far too many enemies in his short life to think otherwise. 'Ye've been through worse scrapes than this...dinna fash-' James thought to himself, trying to push back the fear bubbling to the surface. 'Much...much worse-'

It was as the elders of the group argued that the door whipped open with a hard crack𑁋 the blusterous wind bouncing the heavy wood off the stone wall. All eyes swiveled to watch Murtagh stride into the room with an unknown woman trailing close behind. Both looked haggard and soaked to the very bone, but alive and without further injury. "An do chaill thu d' inntinn!? Nach e a‑nis an t-àm no an t-àite airson strìopaichean?" (Have ye lost yer mind!? Now is not the time nor place fer whores?) Dougal seethed, stepping into the man's path as he glared down at the girl.

"Chan e strìopach a th' innte, bha caiptean dràgoon sònraichte trang a' faighinn a-mach an fhìrinn sin dha fhèin." (She's not a whore, a certain dragoon captain was busy discovering that fact fer himself.) Murtagh replied, keeping the knowledge that she could understand Gaelic to himself for the moment. "It's a long story, ye ken...how's Jamie?" Growling, the bald man receded, gesturing to the fire. In two strides his godfather crossed the distance and crouched near him, his hand patting the lad's knee gently as his features softened. "Won't be doing that again will ye?" He teased, inspecting his injuries for himself.

Daniea on the other hand stayed in the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to stay undetected. The rain had soaked her chemise through, making her corset sit heavy against her aching ribs. Hanging in thick strands around her like a black veil were her tresses, hiding the emerald light of her eyes from all who glanced back. Not an inch of her small frame had been spared from some form of pain during the ordeal𑁋 be it scratches, contusions or the now sealed cut upon her throat. When the sun rose, she would no doubt be a black and green canvas of bruises, but what worried her was if she would in fact live to see the new dawn.

"We've a good way ta go tonight if we mean to stay out of reach, trouble is Jamie canna ride-..." Dougal sighed, exasperation evident in his words. "His shoulder is out o'joint, poor bastard."
Taking another long drink from the flask in hand, which finished it off, Jamie nodded.

"The hole's no trouble...ball went clean through, but that shoulder... there's no help fer it then. We have to try and force it back right." Murtagh replied, an heir of authority about him. Signaling to Rupert and Angus to grab him steady, he twisted and yanked on the locked limb, trying to help the boy. Drawn in by the commotion, Daniea crept closer, eyeing the attempt. 'He has to be in pain.' She thought as she watched the torture. The red head didn't make a sound, instead he only gritted his teeth as a sheen of sweat beaded upon his pale brow. Yank after yank, the men tried their best to force the joint back in but it did nothing. "Damn it...hmmm, maybe Rupert should give it a try, he's got a bit more strength behind him." Regretfully, Jamie nodded after a few moments, signaling he was ready for another go.  

Murtagh traded places with the brawny highlander, shifting to crouch against his godson. "This will do the trick, ye'll see-" Rupert tried to assure, grabbing for his cousin's wrist. Slowly he pulled back, twisting the limb in an odd direction, trying his best to force it back in. Daniea could see the problem from where she stood and knew in her heart they were only going to do more damage. "Stop! Please!" She cried out, stumbling closer to the men. Jamie's oceanic eyes drifted to the young woman, not knowing she was even there𑁋 his focus having been elsewhere. Striking swiftly, Dougal caught the girl by the back of her neck, holding her near off the ground in a fit of anger.