Highlander Enchanted

Chapter Twenty Two

Cade's goal had been to stall Laird Duncan and to that end, he was successful. When his injuries did not slow the ambitious laird chasing his clan, the weather did. He awoke between storms, at times lucid and at others not, but always aware of whose prisoner he was and the rain battering the shelter around him.

The fifth time he awoke, he was soaked with sweat in place of rain, and his mind was clear. He smelled heavily of the poultices and herbs Laird Duncan's desperate healer had used upon him. The older man with worn clothing was hunched in a corner of the wagon, hugging himself for warmth in the cool autumn weather. Cade felt his bandages and grimaced, recalling how he had not been so weak or injured since his long stay in a Saracen dungeon.

The wagon lurched, and Cade peered through holes in the canvas covering at a grey sky. His seillie magic danced within him as it did each day at twilight. He counted how many times his sorcery had danced within him since he was captured.

Three nights. His magic had turned the two day trip into three at least. Was it long enough for his cousins to prepare his people? Were they close to the MacCosse lands or not yet arrived?

The voices of men outside the sheltered space came from the rear, and the snap of a whip from afore. Another lurch, and the wagon broke free from the mud trapping its wheels.

They moved forward at a crawl. He listened to ensure the men were gone before beginning to test his body.

He had little strength – but the fever was gone. His wounds had begun to heal. In the Saracen dungeon, he had grown accustomed to counting the days before an injury was no longer a threat to one's life. The bad wound in his stomach was grown over with skin yet sensitive to the touch, as was the wound in his thigh.

I am in no danger of death, he decided.

Restless for knowledge, he nudged the healer with his foot. The man remained asleep, so Cade pushed him harder.

Bleary, bloodshot eyes opened, and the healer righted himself. "You are not dead," he observed in a bland voice telling of his exhaustion.

"Not yet," Cade said with a grunt. "Where are we?"

"I doona ken. Close, I believe," came the tired reply. The healer pushed himself up and went to Cade's side. He checked the bandages and felt Cade's head. "I saw the sea 'fore I slept."

Cade was relieved to learn his magic was protecting his clan, even if he was unable to.

"Ne'er seen so much rain this season," grumbled the healer. "Yer healing and no longer fevered. No infections. I must inform Laird Duncan."

"Can ye not wait?" Cade asked quickly.

"'Tis yer head or mine." The healer pushed off the canvas covering and exposed Cade to the fading light of evening filtering through a thick layer of clouds.

Determined not to confront Laird Duncan on his back, he maneuvered into a sitting position then stood. The walls of the wagon reached his waist, and he breathed in the scent of rain, ocean and earth.

The healer leapt out of the back of the wagon and navigated through the mud to the bank of the road.

Cade carefully observed the columns of men behind and then afore him. The wagons were struggling to traverse the mud, and many men were walking their horses on higher ground rather than keeping to the road. He spotted Richard's knights and the tartans of the different clans supporting Laird Duncan's attempt to overtake the Highlands. Farther ahead, men had begun to circle wagons and horses as they marked where they would sleep the night.