Bram gently took the tray from her and set it near his pallet on the floor. He sat back down and ate every small morsel on the tray while Lara quietly stood motionless. It had been what seemed like forever since he’d had a real meal. His last food had been meat from a dead mouse the guards had given him, but it only resulted in the mouse coming back up along with the other contents of his stomach. With his belly full, and the slight relief he got from the whiskey, he looked back at Lara who was now looking at him wide-eyed as if she were witnessing a wild animal devouring its meal.      

With her mouth agape, Lara stared at Bram. The moonlight shined through the barn door allowing her a better view. Hunched over on the ground, he ate as wildly as a starved animal. His eyes looked fierce yet his face displayed a look of pity. His cheeks and chin were covered by a thick tawny beard making it hard for Lara to see what he truly looked like under the mass of hair. He was bare chested wearing nothing but his kilt.

Lara did not recognize his clan because the colors were faded and worn. His bulky arms showed off his sculpted muscles and his chest had a small patch of hair that curled around over his sternum. Lara’s eyes trailed lower to his stomach. At the sight of it, Lara bit her bottom lip when she saw a scar across the side of his gut that looked as if it should have taken the life from him. It was deep, still showing some areas that hadn’t yet scabbed over, and would create a permanent scar. Across his shoulders were streaks of dried blood and specs of dirt and sand. She watched as he struggled to move freely.

“Ye are injured,” she said as she stepped closer to him, wanting to examine his wounds.

“I am fine,” he replied.

“Nay, ye are covered in blood and I am sure that yer wounds will become infected if they are not mended and washed properly,” Lara insisted.

Before he could protest, Lara grabbed a rag that hung on a rusty nail and dipped it inside a bucket containing rain water. Wringing it out, she walked back to Bram and cautiously sat down next to him. Sitting so close, she could feel the heat radiate off his skin. It caused her to worry that he may already have succumbed to fever.

It was only due to her concern for him that she made the bold move. She did not know what came over her or where she gained the courage to be so presumptuous. But she had seen a great deal of battle wounds before and what happened to them when not mended properly.

“Lie down on yer stomach,” she instructed.

Bram looked at her awkwardly, wondering where the quiet and shy lass had gone.

“Go on now,” she ordered.

Not wanting to argue, Bram rolled over and laid flat, resting his head on his arms. Without touching him, Lara examined his wounds. She was thankful that the welts and gashes were not as bad as she had imagined, for she had no salve to put on them. She lifted the cloth in her hand and gently dabbed it on his wounds. Bram winced.

“Does it hurt? I am sorry. I am trying to be as gentle as I can,” Lara said, worried that the pressure she applied was too much for him to bear. She tried to press softly but perhaps he was in more pain than he would admit.

“Nay, lass. ‘Tis only cold.”

Lara let out a sigh of relief and continued to minister to his wounds while her other hand rested firmly on his shoulder.

“May I ask...why were ye imprisoned?” Lara whispered quietly.

She prayed it wasn’t because of some evil deed such as rape or murder. She waited several moments for him to answer.

“A month or so ago, I was in Falkirk battling the English alongside William Wallace when I was injured. I was knocked unconscious and unable to defend myself. When I woke, I was bound in irons. After a week they moved me to Cumberland where ye were.”

“William Wallace! Are ye a Highlander then?” she asked, though there was no doubt in her mind that he was. His muscular size, long hair, and plaid told her all she needed to know.

Her father had told her grand stories when she was young about the Highlanders; how they treated their women and favored their drinks. He said that Highlanders were selfish beasts and cared for their women like Englishmen would care for their cattle. Lara wondered if Bram would have treated her differently had she not saved him. She also wondered had she known he was a Highlander from the start whether she, too, would have made a different choice. Either way, for now all they had were each other.

“Aye, lass. I be a Highlander.”

Bram kept his eyes closed tight. It was not the pain or the coolness of the water that bothered him. It was Lara’s hand that had troubled him so. It was soothing and made his blood run hotter. With his head to the side he stared at her exposed legs, then to her waist, but dared not to look any higher. Bram sat up and took the cloth out of Lara’s hand.

“I havnae had a chance to thank ye, but I must ask, why did ye do it? Ye risked yer life, saving mine. Ye also took a man’s life, which couldnae have been easy on ye. If ye’d waited another moment or two, ye would have been caught.”

“I have prayed and repented to God many times for taking that guard’s life, but it was either his or mine. I saved ye because,” her voice trailed off as if she was uncertain herself why she had saved him.

“Aye?” he said encouraging her to finish.

“Because of yer fearlessness. Ye withstood every lashing and still stood proud. It was yer honor and strength that I admired and I couldnae let ye die there. It was worth the risk,” she replied hoping she did not sound too naïve.

“Then I owe ye my life, my lady,” he vowed.

Taking her hand in his, he lifted her hand to his lips, and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. Lara quivered at his touch and quickly snatched her hand back. She was shocked that he dared to touch her so intimately.

“I make a promise to ye lass. I will do all I can to see ye safely home.”

Lara smiled in return for his generous offer.

“Yer wounds are healing nicely and dinna show any sign of infection,” she informed him.

“Thank ye. Ye must have much experience to ken such things. Are ye the healer in yer clan?” he asked, hoping to learn more about her.

Lara softly giggled. “Nay, I am no’ a healer. My father would no’ allow it but I used to watch my mother tend my father’s battle wounds so I have seen much in the art of healing.”

“Used to?” he asked. “Does yer mother nay longer tend to him?”

Lara’s face went flat. The memory of her mother caused Lara to feel sad as if Mam had just died all over again.

“Me mother died when I was ten and two,” she explained.

Bram felt guilty for asking the question. He did not mean to bring up such bad memories. Her saddened expression pulled on his heartstrings. He wanted to comfort her but knew not how to proceed. He had no experience with comforting women in loss or matters of the heart. He wondered what else the poor lass had endured. Bram turned his head and looked at her for a moment.

Wanting to change the subject and the unpleasant atmosphere his question had caused, he asked, “And what crime did ye commit against the English?”

Lara’s throat constricted, causing her to swallow hard. She had hoped to avoid the question as it was too unbearable to talk about. Her lungs tightened as if the air had thinned.

In a stern voice, she replied, “I did nay such thing. My only crime was that I was powerless to stop it.”

Noticing the sorrow in her voice, he apologized.

“I did no’ mean to cause ye distress, my lady.”

Wiping a tear away, she stood and brushed the dirt from her skirt, distracting her mind from the haunting images that crept within.

“Can I ask, why dinna yer clan or father no’ come fer ye?”

“I dinna think my father kens. I nay longer live wit me father,” she explained.