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The clearing was empty when they reached it. Geordie and Alick had headed out to help look for Murine, leaving the horses unguarded. Fortunately, they were still there and well. Dougall carried Murine past them to kneel beside the dead fire from the night before and examined her head. The light was much better in the clearing and he saw that while he'd felt blood at the back of her head, the wound was on the side.
"A new wound," Conran said with dismay, dropping to his haunches beside him.
"Aye," Dougall growled.
"Damn me, she knocked herself silly," Conran muttered with concern. "She must have fainted again and hit her head as she fell."
Mouth tightening, Dougall merely said, "Fetch me some water and a clean cloth. And whistle for Geordie and Alick so they know they can stop searching."
Conran nodded and rushed off, giving a piercing whistle as he went.
Catching at a corner of his tartan, Dougall raised it to wipe away some of the blood on the side of Murine's face. The lump forming on her temple was the size of a fist with a gash in the middle. It didn't look deep, but in his experience head wounds often bled worse than the same wound would elsewhere.
A soft moan drew his gaze from the lump forming at her temple to Murine's face as her eyes slowly blinked open. Her gaze was confused at first, and her eyebrows drew together as she peered at him.
"What happened?" she asked in a whisper and then winced and squeezed her eyes closed, her hands raising instinctively as she moaned, "Oh, my head."
"Pounding is it?" Dougall asked sympathetically, catching at her hands to keep her from touching the wound and no doubt increasing her pain.
"Aye," Murine breathed, squinting her eyes open to peer at him.
"Ye fainted again," Conran explained gently, drawing Dougall's attention to the fact that he'd returned.
"The water?" he asked with a frown when he saw that Conran's hands were empty.
"Alick is fetching it," Conran answered, and pointed out, "He's younger and faster on his feet so when he offered--"
Dougall waved away the rest of his explanation and nodded. Alick was faster, he acknowledged as Conran turned his attention back to Murine and said with concern, "Ye can no' go running off on yer own like that. One o' these times ye're like to kill yerself with all this head banging."
"Nay," Murine said with a frown.
"Aye, ye will," Conran assured her.
"Nay, I mean, I did no' faint," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper and then frowning as if trying to recall, added, "Something hit me in the head."
"Aye. We can see that," Dougall said dryly. "Probably a rock as ye fell."
"Nay," Murine repeated. "I was standing and something smashed into my head."
Conran looked dubious and glanced to Dougall, who just shook his head. He didn't think that likely either, but she was in no shape to argue with. Leaving it for now seemed the best bet.
"Ye do no' believe me?" she asked, sounding both wounded and annoyed at once.
Dougall shifted his gaze back to see that Murine was peering at him with disappointment.
"'Tis true," she insisted. "I was standing and I turned and something hit me in the head and then . . ." She
shrugged helplessly. "It must have knocked me out."
"Could be ye turned into a branch," Conran said when Dougall remained silent. It was purely an effort to soothe the lass, Dougall was sure. His brother still looked dubious and Murine seemed to think so too, because she shifted fretfully, pushing out of his arms.
"I am telling ye I did no' faint. Someone hit me," she said shortly, struggling to her feet and pushing away Dougall's hands when he tried to steady her.
"What are ye doing, lass?" he asked with a frown, straightening as she did, his hands hovering in the air between them, ready to catch her if she fell.
"I . . ." Murine paused and frowned, obviously not knowing what she intended to do.
"Ye should sit, lass. Come, sit by the fire," Conran suggested gently, taking her arm to lead her the few steps to the fallen log by the now-dead fire.
Murine didn't push Conran away, Dougall noted, an odd sensation stirring in him. It was something that was a cross between irritation and pain, as if his feelings were hurt by the realization. Which was ridiculous. He didn't get hurt feelings.
"Someone really did hit me, Conran," Murine said earnestly as she settled on the log.
"I ken ye think that, lass. But could ye no' just be a bit confused after yer latest head wound?" Conran asked gently. "All o' us were sleeping until Dougall woke us to hunt fer ye. And it did no' take us but a minute to find ye after we heard ye cry out and there was no one near ye. Is it no' more likely that ye fainted and hit yer head as ye fell?"
"But--"
"Bloody hell! Are ye all right, m'lady?"
Dougall glanced to Geordie as he rushed into the clearing and straight to Murine, his gaze horrified as he took in the blood staining her face yet again. The wound was still bleeding and while blood had run back into her hair as she'd lain on the ground, it was now trailing down the side of her face and down along her neck in rivulets.
"Where the devil is Alick with that water?" Dougall snapped impatiently.
"Here!" his youngest brother called out, crashing into the clearing. Water slopped from a bucket he carried and he had another strip of clean linen in his other hand. He rushed to Murine, and no doubt would have commenced to cleaning her up, but Dougall stopped him with a hand on his chest and took the items from him. If anyone was cleaning her, it would be he.
