He dismounted and tied his horse to a convenient tree branch, heading towards her.
“Lass,” he said, approaching her.
She turned her head and stared at him from tear-soaked eyes. Was she hurt? He crouched before her. “Are ye trying to kill yerself, lass?” he said. “Are ye hurt?” He put out his hands to offer her a lift up. She took his hand reluctantly and rose. But she was unsteady on her feet, and he picked her up, turning and trudging back up the sandy beach to his horse. She subsided meekly enough in his arms, shuddering a little with cold, and no wonder. He could feel the sharp edge of the breeze through his jacket. Her flimsy garments and even her cloak were not sufficient protection, despite the intermittent sun.
He marvelled again at how slender and light she was. She was like a bird, fragile and quick, yet with the determination of a lioness.
He settled her on his horse and got up behind her, an arm round her waist to stop her toppling off. He was conscious of eyes on them. It would be all over the village that he had been seen with her. So much for keeping it quiet. He sighed inwardly. The conclusion his son had made would be made by the villagers as well.
She had curled into his chest in a way that made him look down at her. He couldn’t see her face, for her hair had come loose and fell like a straight, thick black curtain over her shoulders and obscured her face from his sight. He could feel thewarmth of her still-rasping breath through his shirt, where her face pressed against him and her small hands wrapped around his middle. Her shoulders still shook, and her breathing was troubled.
He returned to the house and took her back upstairs to the bedroom. Of the boys and Fergus there was no sign, so he was spared the necessity to explain what he didn’t understand himself.Why chase after her? Why bring her back, when she obviously doesn’t want to be here?Perhaps for the self-evident fact that she had nowhere else to go, and she was too weak to make her own way yet. When she was stronger, he’d let her go, of course he would. But she needed him right now. The notion that he was needed gave him a warm feeling in his breast.
The boys needed him too, but he didn’t know how to be what they needed him to be. He seemed to be all wrong for them. Rory borderline hated him, and Callum wasn’t fond of him either. He suspected they would both be happier without him. But he was their father, and they were his responsibility. He would have to figure out how to do right by them.
For the umpteenth time, he wished for Merlow. He might be younger, but right now Col felt as if Merlow were the older and wiser of the two of them. His time in China had changed him.
He set the lass down on the bed, removed the poker and the plank with the nails still in it, took off her boots, fetched the socks and put them on her feet, removed her cloak, and tucked her under the covers. All the while, she sat passively, letting him. Her eyes contained a deep sorrow that cut him to the quick.What is wrong? This is more than just her desire to chase after Ming Liang,he would swear.
He sat on the bed and took her hand. “What ails ye, lass? What is wrong?” he asked helplessly.
She said something in her own language, but it was just sounds to him. Then she pointed over his shoulder at something.Turning, he followed the line of her finger. On the mantle over the fire was a miniature of a ship. He had made it as a lad and kept it.
She said something else, and he turned to look at her.
“Yer ship, yer ship has sailed without ye?” He made gestures to try to convey his words.
“Shaolin,” she said. “Ship! Gone!”
“They have gone back to China without ye?”
She nodded, tears brimming her eyes and slipping down her cheeks.
“That was why ye were so desperate to escape!” His face screwed into a grimace. “I’m sorry.”
She punched him in the chest then. Surprisingly, the short, sharp jab hurt.
He rubbed it absently. “I’m sorry, lass. Ye’ll be wanting to find Liang.”
She nodded.
“When ye’re well, lass. Ye stay here until ye’re better.” He tried gestures to convey his meaning.
He glanced at the bowl of parritch he had left her. It was untouched. His stomach rumbled then, reminding him he hadn’t eaten either.
“Food?” he asked making an eating gesture.
She nodded. “Aye, please.”
He smiled at her manners. “Ye stay here.” He pointed at the bed and then mimed. “I’ll bring ye food.”
She nodded, relaxing into the pillows. He left her with the dogs to guard her and went downstairs to raid the kitchen.
To his relief, she was where he’d left her, still in bed, when he came back with a laden tray.
After they had eaten, he left her to rest and went to make up a new mattress for the Daffodil Room. With a freshly stuffed mattress, clean sheets and pillows, blankets, and a plaid forgood measure, the bed looked comfortable enough. He flung the window open to air the room, cleaned the furniture of dust, and made up the fire, ready to light later. Satisfied that the room was as comfortable as he could make it, he went back to check on her. She was sleeping, so he left her and went to his study, where he stared at nothing for an hour, trying to work out what had happened to his life in the past few days.
When she woke later that afternoon, he transferred her to the Daffodil Room. If she wanted to run, she could. He wasn’t going to lock her in anymore. But he rather fancied she wouldn’t. Not yet. He hoped not, anyway.
