by Nicole Locke
‘My brother didn’t know the jewel existed either,’ she said. The ground underneath them was drier. It was the middle of the day, the sun shone, but their clothes needed to dry and they would need more fire by evening.
‘My brother gambled,’ she said. ‘The laird forbade it, but Ailbert didn’t stop.’ She reached into a bramble bush for loose branches. ‘He kept losing, but he didn’t stop, not even when he promised the English soldiers a chest of money at the next full moon.’
She pulled her hand out and ignored the scratches. She needed small kindling and there wasn’t much close by. ‘There wasn’t any such chest.’
She turned to look at him. Caird was tiring. He’d eaten all she could provide and slouched heavily against the mud-saturated cloak. She crouched before the fire and threw in a few branches.
‘We went to market. The thief from the cave was there and the dagger fell from his pouch. It happened just in front of us. The fair was busy and the thief didn’t stop walking away. Not knowing its value, Ailbert grabbed it and we quickly went in the opposite direction.’
Mairead stared into the fire. How did she talk of the rest? Of the fear, but the gleefulness when they saw the silver workmanship and the glinting rubies. Stealing was a sin, but the dagger had just landed at their feet. As if God had given it to them. The dagger was valuable. Maybe not a chest of silver, but enough.
Then she— She wasn’t ready to tell him everything, but Caird would have too many questions. ‘My brother had me hide in the shadows when he went to sell the dagger. It was quick. I now realise there were two of them.’
Standing again, she shrugged, letting him know she couldn’t tell him anything else.
‘When?’ he asked.
Typical Colquhoun, demanding more answers. Never assuming, never jumping to conclusions as she would have. Rubbing her eyes, she answered, ‘The day I met you.’
A tilt to his head, a sudden inhale. Caird stretched his left thumb as if to flex it, but didn’t. He didn’t like what she told him. He’d have more questions.
She also had questions about that night. Such as how could she have run, grieving for her brother’s death, and then recklessly kiss a stranger at an inn? How could she have thrown herself into Caird’s arms like she did? Responded like she did? She still didn’t understand it and feared it was another impulsive mistake.
‘Where?’ he asked, looking away.
‘The market was on Buchanan land. I spent all day and most of the night following the thief. I kept thinking he’d stop and—’
‘Nae, where were you at the market?’
Caird sounded angry but his face was turned away from her, so she didn’t understand.
‘You said your brother went to sell the dagger.’ He enunciated every word, his eyes focused on his hands, his thumb now flexing repeatedly. ‘Had he reached a stall? Had he exposed the dagger?’
‘He—’ She didn’t know why Caird wanted to talk about this. His concern was the jewel. She had purposefully rushed the ending, not wanting to relive it. ‘It happened as he crossed the crowd. The stalls were on the other side.’
‘Are you not getting me?’ he demanded, turning his grey eyes on her.
Shaking her head, she felt exposed to the tumultuous rage in his eyes. She was talking about that day, about her brother’s death and how she’d been too far away to stop it from happening.
‘Since they killed him before he reached the stalls, they knew your brother had the dagger,’ he said. ‘They were watching for him, and knew you were with him.’
Mairead locked her suddenly weak knees. They had murdered her brother before he took the dagger out of his cape. As though they were waiting for him to be in a crowd, or maybe they were stopping him from exposing the Jewel of Kings.
She knew what Caird was truly trying to tell her. That if she had not suddenly hid, that if she hadn’t accidentally gone to Caird’s room, she’d be dead. She knew it, because before they had fled the fight at the cave that’s what the Englishman had been telling her. And Caird seemed...angry...about that.
She didn’t care how he felt.
Her brother had been stabbed, had experienced agony. Caird’s observation confirmed her worst imaginings: it was her fault he was dead. If she hadn’t made Ailbert sell the dagger he’d be alive. Alive.
Her teeth started chattering and she rubbed her arms. Suddenly needing to do something, she told him, ‘I know how to fish and I need to get clean.’
She knew she didn’t make sense. Caird had told her she should be dead and now she was off to fish. But she ignored him and his watchful eyes.
‘Wait,’ he asked, seeming to war with himself.
His expression contained more questions than answers, but she couldn’t confess any more. She was going to break. The things she did remember, she wanted to forget. He made her think too much and now, she just needed to act.
‘Nae more answers, Colquhoun,’ she said and walked swiftly away.
* * *
Caird woke to the smell of fish frying.
Mairead was just removing a flat stone from the fire. A fish with burnt fins lay on top.
‘I slept?’ he asked.
Turning suddenly, Mairead fumbled the stone. ‘Do you hurt?’
‘Nae.’ He felt stiff, but the pain in his side had lessened enough so he could sit. His wound’s sharp tugging now made the pain in his ribs feel dull. A small comfort.
Mairead had bathed. Her hair flowed gently in the breeze and she wore her now much wrinkled and half-torn gown from the inn. He remembered her insisting on keeping that gown and his suggestion to burn it.
‘Did you burn the one I got you?’ he asked.
She shot him a questioning look before she pointed above his head and he saw the yellow gown hanging to dry. It was more holes than fabric, but he knew she meant to keep it.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.
‘Aye, but I need to—’ He nodded his head to the trees and quickly held up his hand when she moved to help him.
‘You could undo it still,’ she protested.
He could lose his dignity, but he did that anyway as dizziness almost overcame him when he stood. He had lost too much blood. When he returned, there were three fish upon a stone placed near a boulder padded with his cloak.
‘Smells good,’ he said, easing himself down and leaning back against the rock.
‘It’s been a day since you last woke.’ She delicately pulled away a fin to get to the meat of her fish. ‘And days before when we ate sufficiently.’
He shoved the hot fish in his mouth, knowing he needed to be cleaned as well. He could feel the mud caked to the back of his neck. ‘Another day lost?’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I returned from the stream and you were asleep. Stayed that way through the night. I ate without you.’ She indicated the fish cooking on the stones. ‘This is today’s.’
He had slept, when there was much to discuss and to plan. Shame hovered over him. He did not question where it came from.
It was because of her.
He kept failing her. The Englishman had come when he’d been unconscious and unable to help her. Yesterday, she had been frightened, had practically run away from him when she realised she could have been killed that day at the market. Instead of providing her with assurances, he’d fallen asleep. She had faced these trials on her own.
He had fought her this entire journey and she’d only wanted the dagger to save her family. Now she offered him food.
He was wrong about her.
Buchanans were a lying deceitful clan, and she too lied effortlessly. Yet, he was beginning to realise that when she lied, she did it with a purpose.
She was from his family’s most hated clan and yet, without any doubt, she was different.
‘Can y
ou travel?’ Mairead asked.
She was as anxious as he. Maybe more so given her impulsive nature, but if she wanted to go, he couldn’t.
He had to lean against a tree to relieve himself. He could travel, but wouldn’t be able to protect Mairead if they caught up with the Englishman.
He had to wait, but he was alive and there was a chance to get the jewel. He welcomed the feeling of satisfaction coursing through him. ‘I’ll need another day and more food.’
‘This was all I could—’
‘Nae, Mairead, this was most welcome.’ He licked his fingers knowing he needed food more than manners. ‘I could not be more grateful. Or beholden.’
‘Do you have a fever?’ She put down her piece of fish.
He knew what she meant. He had given her a kind word. But she had surprised him, made him laugh and saved his life. A kind word was a paltry act in comparison. ‘We’re different,’ he explained.
‘My telling of my brother and we’re nae longer enemies?’
She made it sound insignificant, but the telling of her brother’s death had pained her. She’d shown vulnerability.
He had...craved...to take the pain from her. She was impulsive. Stubborn. Brave, his mind whispered. Brave and had more care for others than was good for her.
Never in his life had he met such a female. To face a killer on her own. To face him, knowing the odds were against her. Buchanan, his mind reminded him. But what did he know of Buchanans?
One horrific and tragic act, when he and his brothers had been young, had shaped his opinions of Buchanans. One act that never was spoken of again. So long ago that Gaira had little knowledge of it or didn’t remember. Shannon’s death had changed Malcolm, but marked him and Bram as well. Painful. Tragic. But should Shannon’s death mark Mairead as well?
Caird rubbed his forehead.
Since the beginning, he had been fighting his knowledge of Clan Buchanan with the reality of Mairead. All her true feelings had always been there for him to understand. He had just been refusing to see them for what they were.
She railed at him, fled from him, struck him and lied to him. Every duplicitous action done not because of greed or deceit, but out of her helplessness. For what other options had he given her?
None.
If he’d faced the same odds, if all his options had been closed to him, would he have done everything in his power to help his family as she had tried to do? Aye, he would have.
He had been blind when it came to her. She had never been the enemy.
‘We’re different now,’ he repeated. ‘Why would there not be some accord between us?’
‘Accord? Beholden?’ She set down the rock. ‘I’m going to believe this talk is blood loss.’ Her movements were wide, exaggerated. ‘How am I to believe you? How am I to believe we’re different, when there’s been nae evidence that’s different? I’ll always be from Clan Buchanan. And you’ve been cruel, kidnapping me and saying my very touch is vile.’
Everything she said was true. But then it was him with the misconception of her. With her actions, she had taken his prejudices just as the flood had taken his bandages. Quickly, harshly. With his prejudices gone he actually was in a different place in the world. But it was the same place she had been the entire time.
It was a world he knew little about. He needed more answers to his questions. But this time, the question was Mairead and he was beginning to realise he wanted the answers to her, very, very much.
‘Why did you tell me of your brother?’ he asked.
She gave him an enigmatic look. ‘You told me of the jewel.’
‘But you didn’t need to tell me all.’
Mairead turned, but not before he saw her face flush.
This was something he needed to know. He’d told her a tale that most of Scotland knew. She told him a tale that was private and full of woe. With her flush, he realised she’d told him more than she intended. But he didn’t understand why.
‘Mairead?’ he prompted.
She looked over her shoulder and shrugged.
It had been personal, and very painful. He owed her. ‘I’ve wronged you,’ he said.
‘Wronged?’ There was a moment of surprise and softness to her voice before she turned towards him. ‘These confessions are pity at the most. You know my clan will most likely banish my family for going against the laird’s orders, for getting in debt to the English. Worse, my brother’s dead. Dead. This is pity and I doona want it. Especially from an arrogant all-knowing Colquhoun, who is, nae doubt, wanting to lecture me on all my mistakes.’
‘Mistakes? You have made nae mistakes. You’re nothing like your clan.’
‘My clan? What have my mistakes to do with my clan?’
He’d said too much.
She took a step closer to him. ‘You are too certain of your opinion. This goes further than Colquhoun arrogance. What do you know of my clan?’
‘You’re different. You’re not like them.’
‘Tell me.’
He couldn’t. In spite of everything, he couldn’t.
‘Secrets, Colquhoun?’ She almost laughed, but the sound was full of derision. ‘Secrets coming from you, when I told you all?’ She turned away again. ‘We are not different.’
He showed her trust. ‘I explained about the jewel.’
‘That I gave away!’ She spun around. ‘You should be even angrier with me. Not beholden!’
He frowned. ‘You saved us. You saved me.’
‘Is that it?’ Something flashed across her eyes. ‘Because I saved you? I explained that was for my own self-preservation. It would be worse for me if you’d died.’
‘Is that why you did it?’ he asked. Her reactions were unexpected. There were secrets still, he knew, but they were beginning to trust each other. Why was she not realising it for the miracle it was?
She scraped her fish remains into the fire and dropped the stone next to the flames to burn off. She was ignoring him and he should let her.
Yet, now that he understood at least a part of her, he wanted more. Desire? It was there and could not be ignored. Even now, he wanted her. He wanted to wrap her within his arms, breathe her in. Protect her.
The want, with the knowledge she had saved his life, that he had risked his life for hers, was overwhelming. He could no longer deny the trust beginning to spring between them. Yet, she was denying it...no, she was lying about it.
‘You know we’re different together now,’ he said, his mind just now understanding. ‘You noticed it first.’
‘I have nae idea what you talk of, Colquhoun.’
‘I had the dagger,’ he said. He’d had the dagger at the river. When she was drowning, and he had been at shore, the dagger had been strapped to the horse. He’d had everything he thought he needed and he had still gone back for her.
He pointed to her. ‘I had the dagger. At the river. You noticed it.’ His mind had been too full of need; he hadn’t given a thought to the dagger, just her.
She moved impatiently away. ‘I was half drowned; I said many things.’
She wasn’t looking at him now and he couldn’t see her thoughts. Which meant she was hiding something again and she only lied for a purpose. He just didn’t understand the purpose now. Complicated Buchanan. He was too weak and too hungry to reason with her.
‘Aye, you said much at the river. Little doubt why I remember it wrongly.’ He stood slowly, carefully. ‘After I clean, we’ll need to make traps.’
She looked as if she wondered if he lied to her.
He kept his face impassive. He was lying to her, but he did it with purpose, as she had, and he was a quick learner.
* * *
‘I did it.’ Mairead lifted the snare for Caird’s inspection. It was crooked and her fingers were bleed
ing and stinging from tying the nettle stalks together, but it somewhat resembled the other snares finished around his feet. The three snares he’d completed to her one.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘And it’s a fine one.’
The day’s light showed the green of his grey eyes as he seemed suddenly riveted by her accomplishment and what she knew was a ridiculous grin.
Embarrassed, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear and his eyes darkened as he followed her hand.
He had been looking at her too closely all morning. Since he’d left her to get clean and find the supplies to make snares, he had stopped his talk that they were different.
But his gaze remained disconcerting. Even if she didn’t believe they were different, he certainly did. His encouraging and teasing her, while they made snares, was doing riotous things to her insides. So much so, she continually failed to concentrate and, when handling nettles, she needed to concentrate.
‘Why are your hands not hurting?’ she asked more irritably than she meant. The nettles were old and they had dipped the remaining leaves in the fire, but it didn’t remove all the needles and there was no dock to be found.
‘They do,’ he said. Caird stopped picking nettle leaves from a stem. ‘You’ll need to tie the stalk to a twig like this.’ He wrapped his stalk around a small stick. ‘Then tie it to a larger one.’
He’d already explained the procedure, so his voice lulled her into just looking at him again. If his gaze was unsettling, looking at him rattled her. No matter how many times she looked, she was struck again by how comely he was. When she had seen him in the inn at night, she had thought him mesmerising. During the day, Caird was staggering.
He had emerged from the water with his clothes wet as if he’d walked into the stream to wash himself and his clothes together. He wore his breeches, but his tunic and cloak were hanging in the trees next to them.
His chest was bare. With no bandages, she saw the bruising around his ribcage, the blackened burn from the sword thrust, the numerous scrapes and scratches she hadn’t tended.
He’d earned them all in his fierce pursuit of the jewel. Now when he no longer had the jewel, he patiently taught her to make snares.