Page 17 of The Madam’s Highlander

She threw open the small box beside the seat and struck the flint with shaking hands. It exploded into a flame of light, brilliant after so long without sight. Spots danced in her vision, but she managed to lift the glass from the lamp and light the charred wick.

She closed her eyes to clear away the splash of white staining her sight. When she opened them again, she found Captain Fraser still slumped in the same position.

“Captain Fraser,” she said sharply.

He did not move, but issued forth a low moan.

She sat forward and pulled back the cloak. There, spreading over the clean white of his leine, was a stain of deep red. He’d been injured somehow, but when? How?

And then she remembered. He'd pushed her out of the way when Clemmons fired the pistol.

He'd taken the bullet, most likely saving her life. And possibly at the cost of his own.

***

Hot fire surged against Ewan's side. He twisted in the tangle of obscurity, and the burning sensation blazed into brilliant pain.

A hand curled around his, smaller and cooler than his own. “Drink this,” the voice was soft, husky, and feminine. Beautiful. Alluring.

A warm cup pressed to his mouth and a toxic odor hit his nose. He tossed his head back and squinted. Light glared through his slit lids, revealing the rim of a steaming cup of murky water and a set of wide eyes.

He wanted to lose himself in those eyes until the burning at his side ceased. They were large and blue as a cloudless summer sky. He wanted to stare into them, to fly in them, a bird soaring through the endless beautiful sky, above pain and burning and everything aching inside him.

For it was more than his side which ached, so too did his heart. There was something dancing near the edge of his memory, something he needed to remember. Something he didn't want to remember.

He gave a low groan and tried to move his face away.

The mug followed him, dragging his attention from the eyes of summer sky blue.

“Captain Fraser, ye must drink this.” The woman was even more insistent this time.

“What?” The word rasped from Ewan's throat. He glanced around the small cabin, registered the jostle of road beneath them. “How?”

She shoved the foul cup at him again. “Drink this and I'll tell ye everything ye need to know.” Her expression went stern. “Drink it.”

The firmness of her tone pulled at the protective barrier his sleep had curled around him, unraveling it and everything he had wanted to avoid remembering.

Ewan's servants dead, his home razed, his mother left to fend for herself in the wilderness for two weeks, Freya helping him, almost being shot, him taking the bullet and staggering through the slanted streets of Edinburgh, running to the safety of the carriage, the promise of freedom.

Freya sat back with a mirthless smile. “And there ye go, remembering. Ye still need to drink this. It'll ease yer pain.”

Ewan took the mug from her hands and swallowed it down in three awful gulps. The urge to gag clogged the back of his throat, but he forced his thoughts from the desire and swallowed once more to clear the unpleasant sensation. Still, it tasted as though he'd guzzled down a cup of bog water.

He held the mug out to Freya. She filled it with ale and he readily drank it, clearing the awful taste from his mouth.

“How are ye feeling?” she asked, taking the cup from him once more.

“Like I was shot.”

She smirked. “That's to be expected being as ye got shot. The tea will help.”

He glanced down at where the wound still glowed with a pulse of pain. His leine was white, unmarred by a bullet hole or the blood associated with it. He gingerly touched his side and found the thick padding of a bandage beneath.

He'd already been to a healer and been changed into a fresh leine, but how? When had they stopped? How had he not noticed? “Ye got a healer already?”

“I did it myself. I had the supplies in my bag to bring to my ma. She’s verra particular. She’s ill, as I’m sure ye know.” Freya looked out the window, inspecting the flickering scenery as it passed. “The bullet went straight through, lucky for ye. However, ye dinna tell me ye'd been struck and ye sat there bleeding out for long enough to knock ye senseless.” She shrugged. “Made for an easy cleaning at least. And changing.”

She'd saved him. He'd been completely unaware this entire time, and she had worked hard to ensure his safety.