Deja Vu

Chapter 2: A Bumpy Start

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Dougal shoved me roughly out the door of the cabin. I instinctively stepped toward Donas. Jamie mounted the beast, and I very nearly reached for his hand, forgetting that in their minds, none of this had occurred yet. Bloody hell, I had to tread lightly, retracing my steps as if I was none the wiser.

We rode for days, until we came upon Cock's Comb, a promontory peak with a good view of the surrounding area. I pointed out that it had been used in the past to ambush unwary Highlanders. Dougal took me at my word, albeit he scrutinized my face as he did so.

In the next seconds, I steeled myself in anticipation of the fall from the saddle, nevertheless, I was a mass of scratches and bumps as a result. After dusting myself off, I ran to the place where Jamie had previously found me, and as expected he was right on time, his claymore unsheathed. The man was literally splattered with blood, despite his denial of much of it being his own. The nurse in me was anxious to dress his wound then and there, but had to play out the scene as it was written, so to speak.

While back on the trail, I winced, as I felt Jamie, swaying precariously in the saddle, and finally slipping to the ground. I kept my wits about me though, and directed the men to transport him away from the road, and place him safely among the concealing shrubs.

Remembering the perplexed appearance of the men as I inquired about an antiseptic, I jumped ahead to the following: "Do any of you have a flask of whiskey, perchance?"

Rupert stepped forward, proffering the necessary alcohol. "Oh, aye."

As I poured the liquid over his wound, I was astonished that this whole scenario had elicited lingering feelings of anger toward Jamie's careless attitude toward his own welfare—the foolish Scotsman.

Practically shouting at him, I blared, "You could have saved yourself from an injurious fall, if only you'd said something about being shot!"

Instead of being insulted, Jamie stared at me, silently, with a playful gleam in his eye—a gleam I had seen quite often in our amorous association.

The warchief interjected, "Och ... the lass has a wee bit o' a temper, I see."

With a scornful glare at Dougal, I spouted, "Indeed, I most certainly do, and it would behoove you to stay out of my way."

"We'll see 'bout that."

He turned to Jamie. "Get on yer horse, lad, and Mistress Beechum, see as ye'll do the same."

Straightening up to my full height, I fired back, "I will do no such thing, and neither will this man. He needs to rest awhile. He's lost a lot of blood."

"Ye'll be directin' us now, will ye?"

I rolled my eyes, and turned my back to the brute. "Oh, go tell it to the marines."

Dougal didn't honor me with a comment, instead, he told Angus: "Hoist the lass into the saddle. Rupert and I will help Jamie. We canna risk loiterin' here'bouts too long afore the Sassenachs will be crossin' swords wi' us, ye ken. Druit!"

The warchief was impossible. I don't believe he had a compassionate bone in his entire body. I'd always been leery of him, and for good reason. The man would kill his own mother to further his ambitions.

~~~~~

We approached Castle Leoch, and it was almost with a hint of nostalgia that I entered the gate. Fitz greeted us, and I had to remind myself not to give her a warm embrace.