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"Aye," Dougall acknowledged.
"How long do ye think it'll be before he looks here? She and Saidh are friends after all," he pointed out.
"Saidh does no' live here anymore," Dougall pointed out.
"Aye, but he may not ken that," Aulay said solemnly. "Besides, you boys were at Danvries when she went missing. That in itself--"
"We had nothing to do with her leaving. I told ye she fled on her own and we merely came upon her on the road," Dougall argued at once.
"But he may not ken that either," Aulay pointed out. "If he arrives ere ye marry her, he'll likely refuse to allow the marriage and take her back."
"We can no' let him get her back," Dougall said grimly, his gaze moving over Murine. She looked so pale and weak in the bed. Mouth tightening, he stood up. There was no profit in it for Danvries if Murine married him. The only chance they had was if they were married before he caught up to them. "I'll have Alick fetch the priest. We'll be married at once."
He started around the bed, but Aulay stepped in front of him, forcing him to a halt. "She's not conscious and apparently Rory gave her a sleeping powder. She could remain asleep all day and through the night as well."
"Then I'll say her I dos for her," Dougall growled, trying to step around him.
"Father MacKenna won't marry ye to an unconscious woman, Dougall," Aulay said grimly, shifting to continue blocking his way.
"If we explain the circumstances--"
"He'll say it must be God's will," Aulay interrupted firmly.
Dougall frowned, knowing what he said was true. Father MacKenna was very devout. He wouldn't marry them unless Murine was awake and alert enough that he was satisfied she knew what was about. Unfortunately, that wasn't likely to be any time soon. And Danvries was probably on his way here even now. In fact, he could be at the gate any minute.
"It's all right," Aulay said now, drawing Dougall's attention from his thoughts. "The boys and I came up with an idea."
"Tell me," Dougall growled.
Dougall was stirring the tincture Rory had given him into some cider when the cottage door opened and Conran leaned in to say, "The boys are saddled up. We're heading out now."
He nodded absently, and then glanced at his brother, "Ask Rory for more of this tincture to build her strength. I'm mixing up the last of it right now."
Conran raised his eyebrows. "Already? He gave ye an awful lot of it. Surely 'tis no' all gone already?"
"Well, it is," Dougall said grimly.
Conran frowned and then stepped inside, pushed the door closed and moved to join him by the table. Peering down at the chunky liquid Dougall was stirring, he pursed his lips and then asked, "Is it supposed to be so . . . thick?"
Dougall scowled at the concoction, but admitted, "I've been doubling the amount of tincture in the cider and then doubling it again since yester eve."
"Ah," Conran murmured and then asked, "Is that wise?"
"It should no' hurt her. It's suppose to build her strength and help her heal," Dougall said with a frown, then growled with frustration, and blurted, "She's been asleep for four days, Conny. I've had to shake her to wake her enough to even drink the tinctures. I needs must build up her strength somehow. She was overly thin to begin with, now she's wasting away before me eyes."
"Aye." Conran clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed briefly. "I'll bring back more and see if Rory will come check on her himself."
"Thank ye," Dougall muttered.
Nodding, Conran turned and moved away to head outside again. Dougall stood still, listening until he heard the sounds of the others riding away from the cottage, then grimaced and set the tincture-filled cider on the table and walked over to sit in the chair next to the bed where Murine rested.
She'd been sleeping for the four days since he and his brothers had brought her here to the family hunting cottage. At first she'd slept because of the sleeping powder Rory had insisted they give her. But Dougall had stopped giving that to her after the second day and yet still she slept like the dead. The last time he'd managed to wake her, he'd asked her how the pain was. She'd mumbled that it was much better, downed the tincture he'd given her and fallen right back to sleep. And when he'd changed the bandage last night, he'd been able to see that it was healing well. Yet still she was hard to wake and couldn't seem to stay awake for more than the time it took to drink the tinctures he gave her.
Dougall was really beginning to worry . . . and not just about her health, although that was constantly preying on his mind. Aside from that, though, he was also concerned that the longer she remained asleep, the higher the chance was that her brother would find them and end any possibility of their marrying . . . which led to another worry plaguing him. Dougall still didn't know if Murine was willing to marry him. Did she want to? What if she didn't?
Sighing, he sat back in his seat and then frowned as he noted the slight chill in the air. It had been threatening a storm when he'd stepped outside earlier that morning to head for a swim in the nearby loch. Now, two hours later, rather than warm up, the day must have cooled further. Nestled in the woods as it was, the cottage was sheltered from sunlight and the room was cold enough that a fire wouldn't go amiss.
Standing, he moved to the fire pit, only to frown when he noted that there were only a couple of logs stacked next to it. They needed more firewood, for cooking as well as to warm the cottage. He glanced to Murine, but she was sleeping peacefully, showing no sign of stirring. It would take only a minute to run out and grab a couple of logs, he thought as he headed out the door.
Murine stirred sleepily and shifted onto her side, grimacing when the bed coverings slipped down off her shoulder, and cool air crept over her in its place. It was chilly this morning, she thought.
Waking up enough to tug the linens and furs back up, she huddled under them briefly and then opened her eyes. Murine blinked in confusion as she took in the alien surroundings. Rather than her bedchamber at Danvries, or even at Carmichael, she found herself peering around a large room with tables and benches, several barrels and chests for storage and a fire pit to cook over. There were also a handful of wooden chairs by a fireplace at the opposite end of the room from the bed she was in and a set of stairs leading up to a second level.
Not recognizing anything, Murine frowned and started to sit up, only to pause with a wince when the action pulled on the skin of her back, sending a sharp pain through her that immediately reminded her what had happened if not where she was. The pain was nothing like the agony she'd experienced when first injured, or even as bad as that she'd suffered for the day or two afterward, but the wound was definitely making its presence known.
Letting out the breath she'd sucked in when the pain first struck, Murine moved more cautiously, easing her way upward with care until she managed to sit up on the side of the bed with her bare feet on the cold wood of the floor. Relaxing a little then, she glanced around again. She was in a hunting lodge. At least that was her guess. It was similar to her father's own hunting lodge. Well, her cousin's now, she acknowledged sadly. At any rate, the walls were decorated with the mounted heads of beasts no doubt caught by the hunters who used this lodge; hart, boar and wolves all stared down at her from every angle.
Now that she realized she was in a hunting lodge, Murine had a vague recollection of a dreadful ride on horseback. She'd woken in agony to find herself once again in Dougall's arms on his mount, and he'd said something about taking her to the Buchanan hunting lodge to keep her safe from her brother until she healed as he'd urged her to drink from a skin of liquid. She didn't remember much more than that, other than a rather jumbled collection of memories of waking in this room ere this and Dougall feeding her one vile concoction after another and speaking to her in low soothing tones. It was all quite fuzzy, but the recollection made Murine realize that she was hungry and thirsty, and she glanced around for Dougall, expecting him to appear with a cider that tasted slightly off.
When he didn't magically appear as he had each time she'd woken since Rory had removed the arrow, Murine bit her lip and listened for any telltale sound that might reveal to her whether he was even in the lodge somewhere. Glancing at the steps, she wondered if perhaps he wasn't above stairs, but there wasn't a sound. Surely he was here? He didn't just ride out with her, put her to bed and ride away leaving her to fend for herself?
The question made Murine grimace to herself. Why shouldn't he do just that? Dougall wasn't responsible for her. They weren't kin. And she was the one who had run away from her home and her brother. True, it had been to protect her virtue, but that was not his trouble to worry about.
"Right," Murine whispered and forced herself slowly to her feet. Much to her dismay, her legs began to shake the moment she put weight on them. Dear God, she was as weak as a babe. The realization was a bit alarming and made her wonder how long she'd slept.
The bed was a four-poster with a cloth top and curtains around the sides that were presently open. Worried about falling, Murine grasped the post next to her at the head of the bed and waited for her legs to remember their use, but a chill running up her calves drew her attention to what she was wearing. Her feet were bare, the rest of her covered to her wrists and nearly to her ankles by a thin sleep shirt that wasn't preventing the draft in the room from running over her feet and up her legs under the light cloth.
