I recognize the voice; it’s Rob. I leap up and run forward. Coming around the thick bole of an ancient tree I see him. He’s sitting down and doing something to his leg but I step on a stick that cracks loudly and Rob is on his feet in a blink, sword in hand with the point aimed at my throat.
“Quinn?” he asks, the point of the sword wavering.
Blood runs down the leg that has a half-done bandage on it. He’s favoring the other leg, making him off-balance.
“Rob, it’s me.”
“Aye, I see that,” he says, mistrust clear in his expression. “Where did you go, Quinn? How did you get away?”
I open my mouth to speak then snap it shut. What do I say? The truth?
“I was scared and—”
“You slipped, didn’t you?” he asks, giving me the perfect out. “That blasted mist was so thick I couldn’t find you.”
“Aye,” I agree, and for added effect I rub the back of my head. “I must have hit my head. Knocked myself out.”
He lowers the sword, then slides it into the sheath on his back.
“I’ll not lie. I’m glad you’re okay.” He hops on his good leg. “And I could use some of your healing skills.”
“Sit down,” I order. I inspect his leg. He has a deep cut on his calf that has jagged edges. “What happened?”
“You know, bit of this, bit of that. Hurts like the devil though.”
“You’ve got a bit of devil in you,” I laugh, seeing the way he attacked those men in memory but also meaning that the wound has the beginnings of infection. “You have any water?”
“Aye, here.”
He hands me a waterskin. I take a sip first to ease how dry I am, then pour a touch of it over the wound to cleanse the dirt and debris. Rob stiffens but doesn’t make any sound.
“How about whiskey?”
“Bit early in the morning isn’t it? Are you Irish?” I roll my eyes at his bad joke, and he pulls a small container out from his pouch. I uncap it and move to pour some over the wound as an antiseptic. “Here,” he says, grabbing my hand. “Don’t be wasting that.”
“Trust me. This isn’t a waste.”
I don’t give him time to argue further, jerking my hand free and pouring. He gasps in pain and surprise.
“Ach, that does sting a bit.” I take the ends of the bandage he has half-tied around his leg, undo it, and properly apply it. “You’re not going to do any of that woo-woo you did before?”
I smile and shake my head. “No woo-woo for you, my friend.”
“Friend?” he asks, all sense of levity gone from our conversation. I look up from his leg and meet his eyes. We don’t speak but it feels like a conversation of thousands of words passes between us until, at last, he nods. “Aye. Friend.”
The sense of relief that rushes out from my core is uplifting and makes me feel ecstatic. Happiness, or as close to it as I can have without Duncan, fills my heart. I smile and Rob returns one of his own.
“There, you should be good to go. It will still hurt but I won’t have to cut your leg off.”
“Ach, I’ll be glad for the pain then.” I help him to his feet, and he tests putting his weight on the leg. He winces, but then nods. “Good as new. We need to continue. We’re almost there.”
“Good,” I say. “Feels like this is already taking too long.”
“Aye, it is,” he says, and the darkness in his voice leaves no doubt he’s thinking of the tortures his friends and clansmen are enduring. We travel through the afternoon without more than a few stops to catch our breath. Rob shares a handful of nuts and some dried meat with me on one break and then we continue.
We’ve been climbing up the broken cliffs of the Highlands for a couple of hours. As the sun sets, I hear the clatter of pots and voices. Rob and I smile, knowing we’ve found our destination at last. We make five more steps when two hulking men step into our path as if materializing out of thin air. Jumping back, magic spikes in my guts, and for a moment I feel powerful. I land in a crouch, ready to fight, but Rob puts a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s fine, Quinn,” he says softly.