Wild About The Witch Part 4

"What happened?" he asked.

It all came rus.h.i.+ng back and fresh fear p.r.i.c.kled all over her body as she scanned the area for Wodge. The big downed tree was gone. Shrubs and saplings grew all around the clearing, and there was no sign of him.

"You got shot," she told him, brus.h.i.+ng his hair off his forehead. "Oliver did the spell and ... something happened."

She got up and after a moment to find her balance, ran around the perimeter, poking under bushes and kicking at leaves to make sure Wodge hadn't come with them. There was no sign of him, and the horses they'd ridden in on were nowhere to be seen either.

"Did it work?" Oliver asked weakly, crawling over and inspecting Quinn's wound.

Quinn swore and closed his eyes as Oliver prodded at him. Lizzie dropped down next to him and took his unresponsive hand. Before she could yelp with fear, Oliver held up his hand.

"He's just pa.s.sed out from the pain. Look, the ball's still in." He swallowed, looking like he might be ill again. "I think it hit the bone. He'll need more help than we can give him."

"I'll go to the castle," she said, noticing Oliver's face for the first time. "Dear G.o.d, did he actually break your nose?"

Oliver blushed. "Yes," he said shortly. He nodded his head in the direction of the castle. "Do you think we're in the right time?"

She stood up, feeling less confident than a second before when she volunteered to go for help. "Well, we're in some time," she said. "Someone will be there, right?"

"He told me the Fergusons and Glens were never that friendly."

"Then we won't tell them who he is," she snapped, heading away.

She was as scared as Oliver, but they couldn't sit around hoping for the best. Not with Quinn bleeding freely all over the forest floor. Nausea hit her and she rushed back. Ignoring Oliver's questioning look, she knelt beside Quinn and kissed his forehead, then his lips.

His eyes opened again, unfocused and dark with pain. "Lizzie," he said.

"Yes," she answered, leaning close to hear his strained voice.

"Find Catie and make it right, aye?" His eyes drifted shut and she turned to Oliver to see if he'd heard.

Her cheeks burned with shame, even though he hadn't said the words in a judgemental manner, she felt the weight of her guilt, even somehow feeling responsible for his being shot. She should have found a way to stop Wodge. She shoved back up to her feet and took off, determined to end this nightmare. "I'll be back straight away with help," she tossed over her shoulder to Oliver.

It was rough going, winding through the trees and jumping over rocks and logs. She got hit in the face with low hanging branches the second she looked down at her feet, and tripped over something if she kept her eyes up. An eternity seemed to pa.s.s and she worried she'd veered off track when the trees finally thinned out and she saw the castle in the distance.

At the edge of the forest, she leaned over, gasping for breath. She'd run flat out for at least a half hour and still had to go down one hill and up another to reach the castle's back courtyard. Even from this distance she could make out people milling around, tiny dots that signified help for Quinn.

Lifting her skirts, she tore forward with renewed energy. After everything, she couldn't let Quinn die. Of all the self-pitying scenarios she'd played in her head while traveling with Wodge, Quinn getting hurt had never factored into any of them. It was beyond anything she could imagine, losing him so completely.

She slowed down on the way to the courtyard, seeing with dismay that the people were all still wearing eighteenth century clothes. If they'd gone forward at all, it wasn't far. She shuddered to think they might have gone backwards. She stopped at a low stone wall surrounding a small fruit orchard and tried to decide what to do. Run in yelling for help, or pick out one person and ask discreetly?

"Who are ye, la.s.s?" A sharp sounding female voice asked from behind her and she whirled around to see a pet.i.te woman with reddish brown hair holding a baby and staring her down. A young boy ran up and tucked himself under her arm.

"Oh, h.e.l.lo," Lizzie said. "I- please, can you help me? My companions and I were traveling through the woods, and a - a bandit attacked us."

She twisted her skirt and slumped, exhausted. It was the worst lie, with an even worse delivery. She expected the woman to start screaming for help, but instead she took a few steps closer, inspecting her with wide eyes.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, it canna be," she said. She stared at Lizzie for another long moment. "Ye are not from around here are ye?"

She groaned, remembering the animosity against the English in this time. She should have done an accent, but it was too late now. Before she could think of something without name dropping the Fergusons, the woman spoke again, her voice low.

"Ye're from another time, aye?"

Lizzie reached out and grabbed the stone wall, sitting down hard on the edge. "What?" she asked, to make sure she wasn't hearing things. She had to be hearing things.

"Never mind, la.s.s," she said quickly. "Ye were accosted in the woods ye say?"

"Yes, my companion is badly hurt." Lizzie held out her hands. "Please, I beg of you."

The woman gave the baby to the young boy and tilted his chin up to look at him. "Take your sister to Mrs. Maxwell, then tell your da to meet me at the stable. Hurry, lad." She ruffled his hair and gave him a shove. He went as quickly as he could without dropping the baby and the woman walked toward the stable.

Nearly crying with grat.i.tude, Lizzie followed her, wordlessly accepting a stone jug full of cool water and gulping it down. By the time they made it to the stable, a tall, rangy man with blond hair and sunkissed golden skin strode to meet them, dropping a kiss on the tiny woman's head. She pulled him away, and he leaned down to listen to what she animatedly told him, both of them glancing at Lizzie a few times.

Horses were ordered, and the man strapped on a pistol along with his sword. Lizzie didn't care if they didn't trust her as long as they went with her. In fact, it would be in her best interest if more than just this one man came with them.

"I'm so grateful for your help," she said, stepping forward and interrupting their secretive little chat. "But the man who is hurt is quite big. And unconscious."

They exchanged looks and after a moment, the man sent someone to fetch the physician and called for a burly guard to go with them. Lizzie faltered on her first attempt to mount the horse. The run to the castle, the days of little sleep and less food, and all the constant fear, was catching up with her, making it difficult to concentrate or stay upright. She clung to the saddle and through some miracle managed to guide them back to the clearing.

The group from the castle stayed behind her and she had a sinking feeling she'd made the wrong decision when she reined in her horse and slid to the ground. She hurried back to Quinn. If they were all about to be slaughtered by the Glens, she want to be holding onto him when it happened.

Oliver had him propped up against a tree and he was awake, but his face was pale and drawn. When she knelt at his side, he glanced weakly at her, giving her a smile. She turned around to face everyone, belligerently prepared to die.

"I knew it!" the woman squealed, dropping down beside him and grabbing his hand. "Quinn Ferguson, as I live and breathe. What have ye got yourself into this time?"

Quinn turned to her and laughed, which turned into a cough. "Bella Glen, ye wee harridan. I canna believe it." Lizzie watched him bring the woman's hand to his lips and press a kiss to it. Her heart raced with confusion and jealousy. "When is the babe due? Ye hardly show. Have we not been gone at all?"

"Ye simpleton, ye've been gone seven years. We have three children now, two lads and a wee la.s.s."

Quinn breathed out a quiet swear word before covering his mouth in dismay. Now the blond man dismounted and strode over, leaning down to look at Quinn's shoulder. Quinn reached up and took his hand in a brief grip before dropping his arm back to his side.

"Pietro. It's wonderful to see ye, but we werena supposed to be here."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time ye screwed up, aye?" He smiled at Quinn and motioned for the physician to come over. "We'll get this scratch fixed up in no time. And it's so verra good to see ye, too." The man called Pietro turned to Lizzie and smiled, pulling her out of earshot of the others. "Bella swears ye are from another time, and she likes to be right. Ye can tell me true, la.s.s, for I understand all too well."

"How did she know?" Lizzie asked.

Bella poked her head under Pietro's arm much the same as the young boy had done to her earlier. "When ye're married to someone from the distant future, ye tend to notice such things."

Lizzie looked at Pietro again, struggling to recognize what Bella might be seeing. "You?" she asked.

He nodded. "Aye. She's verra discerning. I'm certain ye've been fooling everyone else just fine."

Lizzie was more confused than ever, but at least Quinn was getting the help he needed. She hoped so, anyway, not sure she wasn't hallucinating all this. Oliver walked over and took her arm.

"Come sit down, Miss Burnet," he said, nodding politely to Bella and Pietro before leading her away.

She followed Oliver and sat down in a patch of moss, which looked soft and pillowy but was hard, cold, and slightly damp. She was too tired to move. Oliver sat next to her and she pointed out Bella and Pietro, explaining to him that they knew, and weren't at all shocked.

"Can you believe that?" she asked him, resting against the closest tree.

"I can hardly believe any of this, Miss Burnet," he said, leaning against the tree next to her and smiling ruefully.

"I think after everything we've been through, you should call me Lizzie," she said, never wanting to be called Miss Burnet again as long as she lived.

"Very well. I thank you."

She laughed at his relentless civility and leaned closer so the burly guard who came along for the ride didn't overhear. "We definitely came forward. Just not far enough."

"That seems to make you happy, but we ultimately failed," he said with a frown.

She closed her eyes for a moment, so tired the scratchy tree bark and damp moss almost felt comfortable to her. Opening them and getting into a more upright position so she wouldn't fall asleep until she knew Quinn was going to be all right, she smiled encouragingly at Oliver.

He was really a fine young man, both handsome and kind. Why hadn't she let him and Catie fall in love and get married? What had been the point of her meddling? It all seemed so long ago.

"Don't you see, Oliver?" she asked, still smiling. "That thing you did worked. If it worked once, it'll work again. We'll keep trying."

Quinn howled in pain and the dreamy languor that had begun to overtake her vanished. She jumped to her feet and pushed past the guard and Pietro to kneel beside him. The physician had his case opened next to him, a series of b.l.o.o.d.y instruments laid out on a none too clean looking cloth. He held up the squashed bullet in his ungloved fingers, a triumphant look on his face.

"Got ye, ye wee b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

He placed it on the cloth and poured some clear liquid over the wound, causing Quinn to turn ghost white, clench every muscle he had, then knock the physician in the side of the head.

"Ah, h.e.l.l, Quinn. Now who's going to wrap ye up?" Pietro asked, choking back a laugh as Bella rushed to make sure the doctor was okay.

"I've got it," Lizzie said, rummaging through the medical kit and finding a roll of thin linen cloth.

Pietro and Bella moved aside, dragging the unfortunate healer out of the way. Lizzie dabbed at the wound, made all the more jagged and vicious looking from the doctor digging the bullet out with his instruments of torture. She wanted the man to wake up so she could punch him herself.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, thinking Quinn was pa.s.sed out again.

"Not your fault, la.s.s," he mumbled, opening one eye to look at her.

She began carefully wrapping his shoulder, gently lifting his arm to get the bandage under it. He was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat, and he s.h.i.+vered, gooseb.u.mps sprouting up and down his arms and the exposed part of his chest. His s.h.i.+rt had been mostly torn off him to keep from having to move him too much and she tried to cover him as much as she could with the pieces.

"Isn't it all my fault?" she asked, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice. He flinched when she tucked the bandage in at the top, and she loosened it a little.

Despite his obvious pain, he smiled at her words. "Ye think verra highly of yourself, for all of it to be your fault."

The fact that he was teasing her after everything made her press the heels of her hands to her eyes to keep from crying. He took her wrists and gently pulled her hands from her face.

"I am sorry that he hit ye," he said, tracing the line of her cheek, feather light, with his forefinger. "And from the looks of it, more than once." He turned his head to the side, almost looking at her in the way that he used to. "But did I perhaps see the telltale blackened eyes and swelling about the nose on that wee madman to suggest ye got a blow in yourself?"

She blinked away the unshed tears and laughed darkly. "I did. I broke his nose."

"Good," Quinn said, looking at her intently.

She didn't know what to say or do under his unsettling gaze and laughed nervously. She only wanted his forgiveness and his love, and here they were talking about acts of violence.

"Speaking of broken noses, I can't believe you actually did that to Oliver."

He shrugged and winced at the pain from the movement. "Well, I was a bit frustrated when he showed up instead of ye."

She told herself not to get her hopes up, he didn't mean anything by his words, but her hopes soared anyway. Foolish things. She brushed his hair out of his face.

"I took a wrong turn and was waylaid." It was impossible to discern his thoughts as his blue gaze locked with hers. "I daresay Solomon Wodge deserved his broken nose more than Oliver did, though." Her hopes plummeted when he looked away.

"He understood. He's a good lad," Quinn said brusquely.

She nodded, having only just thought the same thing, and the unspoken rebuke hung in the air. She thought she should get up and go back to sitting by Oliver but couldn't make herself leave his side. His grumpy face and steady breathing were enough to make her happy right now, and maybe staying close to him helped keep him warm. Night was creeping in fast and the temperature dropped as rapidly. Bella and Pietro argued over the best way to get Quinn back to the castle, and finally sent the guard back for a litter and more men.

"Absolutely not," Quinn said, putting his good arm under him and slowly rising to his feet. "The day ye drag me along in a litter, is the day I'm dead."

"Trying to ride in your condition will surely kill ye," Bella said, trying to keep him down.

Lizzie helped her in grabbing his hand and staying near in case he toppled. "She's right, you big baboon."

Pietro snorted and Quinn leaned against a tree but stayed standing, brus.h.i.+ng Bella off as if she were no more than a bottle fly.

"What is she calling me? What is a baboon?" he asked indignantly, but grinned nonetheless at being able to stand.

Lizzie's heart ached. He was so good natured. Not even being shot, and then hacked at by a butcher, or being sent to the wrong time and called rude names could dampen his spirit.

"It's a fierce, n.o.ble animal," Pietro said, clapping his old friend on the unharmed shoulder. Quinn still flinched. "But ye must listen to my wife. Ye are in no condition to ride."

Quinn strode past them to the nearest horse and mounted up with minimal grunting. He looked smugly at everyone on the ground and turned the horse toward the castle. Not wanting him to faint and fall off, everyone mounted the remaining horses and gathered round him, making their way steadily through the forest.

Once in the courtyard Bella cantered ahead to call for rooms to be readied and a meal prepared for the guests. As soon as Quinn slid off his horse, he followed the servant to his chamber, silent and pale. Lizzie hurried after them, wanting to check Quinn's bandage. She told Oliver she would find him later, leaving him gaping nervously in the midst of a bunch of Highlanders.

Bella met them in a hallway, looking harried. "Lettie here will make sure ye have everything ye need, Quinn. Miss Burnet, please join the others in the dining hall whenever ye're ready. I may not see ye again tonight. My youngest lad's come down with a fever." She smiled at Lizzie and squeezed Quinn's hand before hurrying off.

The maid showed them a small chamber, and when Lizzie refused to leave Quinn's side and follow her to her own room, she promised to send up food and have the physician check on him later.

"Bella seems lovely," Lizzie said, standing awkwardly inside the door.

Quinn headed straight to the bed and fell onto it, his eyes closed. "The bairns must have mellowed her," he said, uttering a short laugh. "And the years. I saw her but two months ago and she was barely older than Catie. Now she's older than me, I suppose."

"Time travel, eh?" Lizzie said, creeping further into the room. She knelt by the bed and pulled his s.h.i.+rt away from the bandage.

He cracked an eye and smiled crookedly at her. "I'm sorry I didna get ye home. We can try again when I'm rested."

She was exhausted as well, and all the pent up fear she'd been pus.h.i.+ng down the last terrifying week on the road with Wodge slowly dissolved into tears. One splashed down on the mattress beside Quinn and she hurried to wipe her eyes before he noticed. Had he actually just apologized to her?

Fearing a rejection, she took his hand. He didn't twine his fingers with hers or even return her grip, but he didn't pull away. She adjusted the bandage, which had slipped during the ride. Stupid man, he could have injured himself further. The slightest infection could kill a person in this time and her heart rate sped up with anxiety for him. In fact, did he feel hot already? She pressed her palm to his chest, and the side of his neck.

"How do you feel?" she asked, getting up to sit beside him on the mattress.

She brushed his hair back off his face and felt his forehead, trying to compare it to her own temperature. How did mothers do it? She couldn't tell at all if he had a fever.