She waited until Geordie had turned the man over, and then knelt across the body from her husband and lowered her head to the fair-haired man’s chest to listen for a heartbeat. Dwyn didn’t hear one, but the amount of blood on the ground hadn’t given her much hope that she would.
Geordie didn’t appear surprised when she shook her head. Sighing, he leaned forward to shift the top swath of plaid aside and tugged the second’s tunic out of it to reveal the injury he’d taken. Dwyn frowned when she saw the large gaping wound. The man had been gutted by either a sword or a knife. She raised her head to glance at her husband, and froze, as she saw the man behind him.
Tall, barrel shaped, with iron gray hair on his head, but a beard and mustache both more black than gray, the man was not attractive. He also had cruel eyes that haunted her in her nightmares.
“Brodie!” Dwyn gasped the name with horror.
Geordie started to turn, but it was too late. Faolan Brodie was already slamming the hilt of his sword into her husband’s head.
Dwyn’s gaze shifted to Geordie with dismay as he collapsed across Simon’s chest. Terrified that Brodie would kill him as he had Simon, she instinctively threw herself on top of her husband, protecting his head and back the best she could.
“Take her on yer mount, Garbhan, else I might kill her ere I can wed her.”
She heard Brodie’s words, but paid them little heed until someone—presumably Garbhan—grabbed her arm and started to drag her to her feet. Desperate to keep Geordie safe, Dwyn struggled violently to break loose and return to her husband. But her struggles were brought to an abrupt end when pain exploded in the back of her head and she lost consciousness.
Chapter 15
Terrible pain was crashing through Geordie’s skull when he woke up. Moaning miserably, he squeezed his eyes closed and raised his hands to cover his head, only to suck in a pained gasp when one hand pressed against cloth rather than hair. The touch sent the ache in his head ratcheting up from just terrible to excruciating.
“Drink this.”
Geordie heard the order, but paid it little heed until his hands were forced away from his head as he was lifted into a sitting position and something was pressed to his lips. His mouth was open on his pained groans, and liquid poured in at once, choking off the sound. He tried to struggle as a vile-tasting fluid flowed over his tongue, but someone caught his hands and held him still as the liquid continued to pour in. His choice was to swallow or let the liquid slide into his lungs and drown him. Geordie swallowed and continued to do so until his mouth was empty and he was eased back onto a soft surface.
He lay still then, aware that people were talking quietly around him, but was more concerned with trying to control the agony he was experiencing than anything that was being said. It seemed to Geordie that he lay there for an hour suffering before the pain began to ease, but suspected it was probably only a quarter of that. Rory often said it took a quarter hour before his tonics started to work and an hour before their full effect was felt. Hoping like hell that this wasn’t the full effect, he finally opened his eyes, wincing when bright sunlight struck his eyes, sending more pain shooting through his head.
“Keep your eyes closed until the pain eases more,” Rory instructed, laying something cool and damp across his forehead. “Ye took a mighty blow to the head.”
Geordie frowned at the news, trying to recall how that had happened, and then stiffened as he remembered.
“Dwyn!” he growled, sitting up abruptly, and then collapsed back on the bed with a moan as someone stuck a knife through his head. At least, that’s what it felt like, though he knew he’d taken no further harm.
The cool damp cloth was returned to his forehead now and Rory said, “Just rest another minute. Let the tonic work.”
Geordie remained still, but growled, “Where’s Dwyn?”
“The men are looking for her.” That was Aulay’s voice, solemn with an undertone of anger. “What happened?”
Geordie took a moment to sort his memories, and then sighed. “We were coming back from the waterfall. We saw a body on the path ahead, stopped to investigate . . . It was Simon,” he recalled unhappily. “He’d been gutted.”
“Simon was already dead when ye got to him?” Aulay asked, and he could hear the frown in his brother’s voice.
“Aye,” Geordie breathed. “And had been for a while. He was cooling.” He frowned at the recollection. “He must have died shortly after Dwyn and I reached the waterfall. He was no’ on the path when we rode out to the loch.”
“The men said he and Katie rode out almost on yer heels,” Aulay told him. “Ye must have ridden by the spot just before the men who killed Simon arrived. ’Tis lucky you are no’ the one lying in the path.”
“Did Katie see who did it?” Geordie asked at once.
“Aye, but she does no’ ken who it was. She said it was a large group o’ men—at least fifty warriors rode out o’ the trees and surrounded them. She said they did no’ say a word, just stabbed Simon. He fell from the horse behind her, and then his mount spooked and ran away with her. She said the men did no’ pursue her, and even made room for her to leave, but it took some time fer her to get control o’ the mount and get him to turn around. By the time she got back to where they’d been attacked to check on Simon, the men were gone, Simon was dead and ye were lying unconscious across his chest. She managed to get ye on his horse and brought ye back.”
Geordie frowned at that, but before he could think on it long, Aulay asked, “Did ye see who hit ye?”
“Nay. Whoever it was crept up behind me while we were checking Simon,” he admitted, mouth tight. But then his eyes narrowed as the memory of those moments on the path cleared a bit for him, and he said, “Aye. Dwyn gasped the name Brodie just ere pain exploded in me head.”
“Brodie?”
Geordie opened his eyes at that bark. Fortunately, this time while the light hurt, it wasn’t as bad as the first time and he was able to see that Baron James Innes stood between his two brothers at the side of his bed. The man was blanching at this news.
“Who is Brodie?” Aulay asked.
“Faolan Brodie,” James Innes said grimly. “He’s laird over the Brodie clan, our neighbors.”
It was Geordie who explained. “Brodie wanted Innes and tried to force Dwyn to marry him so he could get it.”
“Aye,” James said grimly. “No doubt he still wants Innes, and will be very angry when he realizes he canno’ marry her and get it.”
“Angry enough to kill her?” Geordie asked sharply.
“That’ll no’ get him Innes,” Aulay pointed out, and asked James, “How bad do ye think he wants yer land?”
James Innes hesitated. “At first, I thought it was his only interest. But when he attacked Dwyn . . .”
“She told me about that,” Geordie admitted. “She said he tried to force the issue and her dogs drove him off.”
“Is that how she described it?” James asked, his mouth tight.
Geordie’s gaze narrowed. “Is it no’ what happened?”
“Aye, but . . .” Sighing, he ran a hand over his thinning gray hair, and then said, “I heard it all secondhand from Maon, one o’ me men. He was on patrol, and saw it all. He was a good distance away though when it started, and said he never would have got there in time to stop the man when he attacked Dwyn. Maon said she was fighting like a hellcat and screaming for the dogs, but Brodie had her on the ground in seconds, and silenced her by pinning her neck with one arm. He’d already yanked his plaid up over his arse, and was choking her with his weight while he tried to drag her skirts up when the dogs came out o’ the woods. The dogs separated when they saw what was happening, coming at him from both ends. Angus went for his throat, but Brodie managed to get his arm up and in the way first, and the dog tore into that instead. But even as that happened, Barra went for his ballocks.”