Annie didn’t correct his assumption that she was Niall’s wife. When they’d boarded the boat yesterday her cap had flown off and her hair had tumbled down. No one seemed particularly surprised that she was a woman wearing breeches, but then this was a working ship. And Niall had acted very protective. Her breathing hitched. Niall had always acted protective with her, but she hadn’t appreciated it.
“How long before we dock?”
“Less than a half hour. I came down to see if we would be needing…” He stopped. “Well, I will let the captain know to send someone for the MacLeod carriage.”
Annie looked at Niall and then up. “Should we try to wake him?”
“Better not to agitate him. If he wakes, the pain will be bad and I gave him all the laudanum we had last night.” The quartermaster secured the bandage and dropped the blanket. “I will send some men down once the carriage gets here.”
Annie picked up Niall’s plaid after the man left and shook out the long length. She knew how it was supposed to look since she’d seen Niall wear it a dozen times, but how did he get everything to fall into neat pleats around his hips and have material left over for a sash? She folded and unfolded it several times, trying to figure it out before she gave up and went to the saddlebag to pull out the stained and torn breeches that Niall had worn when he’d gotten stabbed. At least she knew how they fit.
Annie pulled back the blanket and felt her breath hitch again at the redness and swelling. The wound itself was covered with the bandage, but she could imagine it only looked worse. Carefully, trying not to disturb Niall, she slipped his feet throughand tugged the breeches slowly upward. Lifting his hips to slide the pants under him was difficult since his body was dead weight, but she managed it. Then she hesitated. The codpiece needed lacing, but did she dare touch himthere? Annie paused for a moment more, then shook her head. She was being silly. Niall was not conscious and would never know. Pushing his tunic out of the way, she started threading the laces through the eyelets. She was halfway through when she felt his manhood stir. Her gaze flew to his face. Niall’s eyes remained closed and nothing had changed in his expression. His breathing remained even, yet… She felt it move again and quickly dropped her hands. Apparently that part of a man worked independently of his brain. Annie tugged Niall’s tunic down. The breeches would have to remain half-laced.
By the time the ship docked and two sailors came down to carry Niall up on deck, she’d managed to get his boots on and wrapped his plaid around him in a shawl-like fashion. At least the wool would keep him from getting chilled, something he didn’t need with the fever he was running.
Captain Vance met her as she came up the companionway. “I’ve informed the driver to take you straight to MacLeod,” he said, “and I dispatched my boatswain to ride to Glenfinnan for a physician.”
“Thank ye.”
The captain nodded. “God’s speed.”
“Aye. God’s speed,” Annie said.
They were going to need it.
****
The carriage that awaited them was not much bigger than a curricle, although it did have four wheels and two horses. The benches, while well-padded and upholstered in soft leather, were too short for Niall’s length, so the sailors placed him on the floor. Annie put the saddlebag under his head for a pillowand bent his knees so he would fit. He mumbled something and Annie thought she saw his eyelids move before he went still again. She wondered why anyone would choose to keep such a small carriage for transport. It seemed even smaller when Captain Vance hitched their two horses behind it.
Her unspoken question was answered a short time later as they left the shoreline and started to climb. She looked out the window to see only sky. Leaning forward she looked down and then quickly jerked back, pulling the drape closed. Merciful heavens! They were on a road that was only a narrow ledge with a sheer drop to what looked like a ravine far below. The sight—short as it was—gave a whole new meaning to the termhighlands. The horses continued to climb, the wheels of the carriage now catching on ruts and protruding rocks and causing it to tilt dangerously. Annie slid down to the floor beside Niall and propped his leg over her lap. He opened his eyes briefly, not focused, before he closed them again. That he was beginning to wake gave her some hope. She prayed his fight to stay alive wouldn’t be lost to a carriage tumbling off a mountainside.
Every lurch—of what now seemed to be an oversize vehicle for the road—brought Annie’s heart into her mouth. The carriage finally rolled to a stop, although the driver did not jump down. Annie’s heart jumped again. Had they actually arrived at Ian’s or was there a rockslide ahead and they weren’t able to turn around in such a tight space? Why wasn’t the driver doing something?
Annie eased herself back onto the seat and slowly pushed the drape aside from the window. They had arrived at someplace, but she wasn’t surewhere.The carriage waited in front of a tall, stone curtain wall while a massive iron-grated gate was being raised. A portcullis? Annie leaned her head outside the window and gasped. Inside the courtyard stood a medieval castle, complete with merlons and embrasures along its roof.
A guard appeared on the curtain wall and waved them through. As the carriage rolled toward the four-storied keep, its massive double oak doors opened and a large, broad-shouldered man in a tartan appeared on the steps, looking every inch a barbarian warlord with his long, ebony hair and eyes nearly the same color. One hand rested on the pommel of his sword. His face could have been chiseled out of the granite hills they’d just climbed.
What in the world had she and Niall gotten themselves into?
Chapter Nineteen
The unsmiling man strode toward them, although a look of surprise flitted across his face as he noticed Annie looking out the window. She quickly pulled her head back in. Dear Lord! If that was Ian MacLeod, he certainly didn’t look welcoming. What would they do if he turned them away?
“Why are ye bringing a woman here?” he asked the driver. “And in my own carriage?”
Before the driver could answer, Annie pushed open the door and jumped down. The black-haired man frowned and looked down at her. Good heavens, he was tall. She lifted her chin. “I am nae important. I have a wounded man in here.”
The frown deepened. “We are hardly a way-stop. Why bring him here?”
“For heaven’s sake, does it matter?” a female voice asked behind him.
Annie started as a young woman, with chestnut hair that had an odd blonde streak through it, appeared beside the man. A resigned look replaced the frown. “I thought I told ye to stay inside, Jillian, until I kenned it was safe for ye to come out.”
“I believe you did say that, Ian.” The woman turned to look at Annie. “My husband is quite overly protective of me. How badly is your friend hurt?”
Her accent was English, but Annie felt an immediate empathy for her. “His leg is infected from a stab wound four days ago—”
“Four days! Why did ye nae take him to a physician?” Ian asked, giving her a look that said in no uncertain terms she must be completely daft. “I ask again. Why bring the man here?”
