Alix hunched down into her cloak, pulling it closely about her. Her hands were cold despite her fur-lined gloves. Her feet were icy in her wool stockings. It was growing darker with each passing minute. There wasn't a bit of shelter in sight. And then ahead of her she saw what appeared to be large mounds in the heath. Approaching them carefully she found herself walking among a herd of great horned shaggy cattle. There had to be at least two dozen of them, legs folded beneath them, settled down to ride out the storm. Their hides were already well dusted with snow.
She could go no farther. For a moment Alix stood stock-still. This was the end. She was going to die. She would freeze to death out here in the borders. Her legs gave way and she slipped to the grass half wedged between two of the great shaggy dark beasts. Laying her head against one, she began to weep softly, and then suddenly it dawned upon her that she felt wanner. The two creatures were sheltering her with their big bodies. Alix pushed herself firmly between the two cattle. Aye! She was warmer. Warm enough to perhaps survive the long night ahead. She lowered her head and pulled her hood up as far as she could. The creatures made no protest, and their quiet, even breathing shortly lulled her into a deep sleep. If she died, Alix thought, she would be with her mother and father again. And she would not have to wed Sir Udolf. Despite her circumstances, it was a very comforting thought. And if she survived this night it would be a sign that she was not meant to marry Sir Udolf. She would never marry again, Alix decided. She would never again be at any man's mercy.
Chapter Four
"Come quick!" the young herdsman called to his father. "Over here!" The two border collies with him were barking wildly and dancing about.
The Laird of Dunglais's head herder, one Jock by name, moved across the field in the early dusk of the morning. The wind had thankfully died, and while a light snow still fell, the worst of it he thought was over. Now all he wanted to do was to get his master's cattle out of the weather on the moor, away from predators and nearer home. They were the last of the herd in the summer pastures, and had been caught by the sudden unexpected weather, but fortunately it hadn't been a bad storm. "What is it, Robbie?" he asked his son as he joined the younger man.
"Look!" Robbie pointed to the still figure between two shaggy beasts.
"Jesu! Mary!" Jock exclaimed." 'Tis a lass." So small and delicate a form could be nothing else, he realized. He bent and brushed the snow from the girl's cloak. "Are ye alive, lassie?" he inquired, shaking her gently.
She moaned faintly, but did not move.
"The poor creature was probably caught in the storm," Jock said. "We must get her back to the shelter. Can you carry her, Robbie? I'll want to get the cattle up and moving. This snowfall will continue for a few more hours though 'tis light now. Here, Shep, here, Laddie," he called to the two dogs. "We have work to do."
His son nodded and, pulling Alix up, he took her into his arms and walked off. Behind him his father and the two border collies began to rouse the cattle from their comfortable positions in the heath. It was over a mile to the small shelter on the moor, but Robbie walked doggedly along, carrying Alix as if she were a child. She did not stir, and were it not for her faint breathing, he would have feared her dead. It was a miracle she had survived her night on the moors, but then huddled between the two big cattle she had been saved from freezing. Still, the poor thing was cold.
Reaching the small shelter, he kicked the door open with his foot and laid the girl down on the single cot there, covering her with the sheepskin. Then he stirred the embers of the fire that had burned through the night, coaxing it alive once again. He added more wood from the store near the hearth. He and his father had come to fetch the cattle when the storm had caught them. Arriving at the little hut, they had sheltered for the night. Even inside with a fire it had been cold. The fact the girl was alive at all was a miracle. Swinging the iron arm from which a kettle hung, he added a bit of whiskey from his flask to the water in it and warmed it over the fire.
He turned as a weak voice said, "Where am I?"
Pouring some of the hot liquid from the kettle into a little tin cup, he put an arm about the girl, helping her into a sitting position, and put the cup to her lips. "Drink some of this, mistress, but take a care. 'Tis hot," he advised her.
Alix sipped, coughed, but sipped again. Then, pushing the cup away, she repeated her query. "Where am I?"
"Yer on the lands of the Laird of Dunglais," Robbie answered her. "My name is Robbie, and I'm one of the laird's herders. My da and I found you out on the moors huddled between the cattle. They saved yer life, they did, mistress."
Alix took the cup from him more to warm her hands than to drink the harsh brew he had given her. Aye. She had thought she was going to die when she had fallen between those two great beasts. Yet they were warm, and she fell asleep thinking about her mama and her papa. The Laird of Dunglais. Then she was in Scotland. Alix sneezed.
"Take more of the whiskey and water, mistress," Robbie said.
"I'm so tired," Alix told him, but she sipped until the cup was empty. Then, falling back against his supporting arm, she closed her eyes.
The young herder slid his arm from beneath her, and going to the fire, added more wood. Then stood by the hearth, waiting for his father to come and tell him what to do next. After some time had passed the older man entered the shelter, shaking the snow off of him, going to the fire to warm his hands.
"How is she?"
"I gave her warmed whiskey and water, Da, and she fell back to sleep," Robbie replied.
"Who is she? Did she tell ye her name?" the chief herder wanted to know.
The younger man shook his head. "I dinna ask, and she dinna say."
"I've got the cattle outside." He looked over at Alix. "The lassie looks like she'll sleep for several hours. There's plenty of wood, and I'll leave one of the dogs with her. But we've got to get the cattle home, and the laird should be told about the lass. He'll know what to do. She isn't strong enough to come with us, and you canna carry her all the way to Dunglais Keep. Leave yer oatcakes and some whiskey. If she awakens she'll know we haven't deserted her, especially if the dog is here. Shep, stay!" he commanded the younger border collie. Then he left the small shelter.
Robbie followed his father's instructions, pulling the stool near to the cot, leaving two oatcakes and his flask. The girl was sleeping heavily, and as his father had said, probably would for many hours. She was very pretty, he thought. Then he hurried to join his father, and together the two men drove the herd of shaggy Highland cattle the several miles through the still-falling snow into the safety of their winter pasturage.
While his son secured the beasts, Jock went to find his master, who was seated in the hall of his keep breaking his fast. His small daughter was with him, and the laird was smiling. Jock could not recall having seen his master smile in years. He made his way through the hall, stopping to stand before the high board and patiently waiting for Malcolm Scott to recognize him.
"Did you bring the cattle in safely, Jock?" the laird said in his deep, rough voice.
"Aye, all are accounted for, my lord," the herdsman replied.
"Good," the laird responded, turning his attention to his little daughter again.
"My lord, there was something out on the moor that you should know of," Jock began, and when the laird looked up, his dark gray eyes focusing directly on the herdsman, he continued. "We found a lass, my lord."