The Highlander On The Run (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 1)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Come on!” her friend whooped.

  Together, hand in hand, they went into the hall.

  Thronging people pressed tight together, heaving and stamping with the music. The air was close and Addie thought she might pass out. She clung to her friend’s hand, briefly, but the younger woman, grinning, whirled away, seeking the dancers.

  Addie felt herself panic as her friend disappeared, taking the hand of a guardsman and joining the stamping, cheering crowd that weaved their way about the hall. When she stepped back a little further, and found herself out of the press and sway of the crowd.

  “Whew.”

  She leaned against the wall, feeling sweat run down her brow. At once removed, it ceased to be so frightening. She could hear the music better, too, and she felt her spirits lift. Maybe this would be fun, after all.

  A delicious aroma caught her nose, and she felt her stomach clench with hunger. She hadn’t eaten since noon, and she found her feet weaving along the edge of the hall, following the smell.

  Stew, in great pans, was being ladled onto trenchers – big, hard baked bread slices. Addie reached for a trencher, feeling her tummy tighten as the savory scent hit her nose.

  “Mind awa’ there!” somebody said, glaring as they shouldered past. The crowd was thicker here, and Addie shrank back, instinct warring with her want to stay.

  She felt a cool breath on her cheek. Somebody had opened the rear doors, she realized. The air coming in from outside was cool and inviting. She wove her way through the crowd, her small trencher balanced in her hands, the gravy starting to soften the bread so that it went pliant and spongy. She found the door and heaved a sigh.

  “Whew.”

  Outside, the air was crisp and autumnal, the wind sighing through the boughs of the big pine tree. She listened to the sound, letting it calm her nerves. This side of the castle, the land was left largely to its own devices. There were a few bushes and shrubs planted here and there, two benches laid out, but the rest left to grass, trees and nature.

  Addie leaned against a wall, taking a bite of her stew. She felt herself relax. Here, on the edge of things, she could hear the music and the laughter, and she smiled. She liked it here, alone, on the edge of the crowd. The sound of pipes, lilting and keening, touched her soul. The dark sky sparkled with stars and the wind sighed in the trees, its own song.

  “Getting overheated, eh?”

  She jumped. Whirled round, almost dropping her supper. She stared.

  “You!”

  He bowed. Red hair long and loose, dressed in the jerkin and trousers of a laborer, he nevertheless exuded a strong authority.

  Addie set her dampened trencher on the bench. Wordlessly, she stepped away from him, putting two arms’ length of space between them. Then she stared up at him.

  His face was strong in the torchlit darkness, his eyes catching the light, the way a fox does. He grinned, his thin-lipped mouth twisting into a smile. She felt her tummy tighten with a strange mix of feelings. Fear was one of them, but so was something she could only call excitement. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. He was here!

  “How are you here?” she asked.

  “Is there a reason on earth why I shouldn’t be?” he mocked. “I am a hard working verderer. This party is for me as much as any other.”

  “I see,” she quipped. “But pray explain to me, then, how it is that a hardworking verderer was hiding in our kitchen, not a day ago?”

  “He wasn’t,” the man said. His eyes hardened fractionally. “I was nowhere near that place. Alexander Raeburne might have been. This is Alec Brune, woodsman and farmer’s son.”

  “I see,” she said. “Well, um, welcome, Mr. Brune.”

  She licked her dry lips. Inside, she felt as if the drums and pipes were chorusing within her. Alexander, she thought, wanting to smile. His name is Alexander.

  There was a strange triumph from knowing his name. It felt as if she had been granted select information, something very few knew. Almost like she had the day her father had taught her the alphabet. She hardly ever used the skill and, when she did, her reading was achingly slow, but knowing what letters were and what they meant felt as exciting as it did to know his name.

  “Well met, Addie.”

  He beamed, and bowed to her.

  “Adelberta,” she chided. She looked at him, challenging. “My name’s Adelberta.”

  His eyes locked into hers and she felt a slow fire tingle from her belly, spreading through every one of her limbs. He grinned, which made the feeling even more intense.

  “Miss Adelberta, then,” he said. “I am pleased to see you again.”

  When he lifted from the second mock bow, Addie turned away, towards the hall.

  “I should go,” she said.

  “Why should you..?”

  He was standing close to her, his body almost touching hers. Addie bit her lip, struggling to control the strange feelings that were tingling through her, making her feel hot and flushed.

  “I shouldn’t be alone here,” she whispered back.

  He was behind her, his shoulder touching hers. They stood side by side, the wind ruffling her hair. They listened to the music together, faint strains of it weaving through the cool evening air. The sound of the drums and strings wove into her bones, tingling through her stomach like a strange magic.

  “Do ye ken the dance?”

  His voice was low, almost teasingly so. Addie, conscious that she had been swaying to the music, felt her cheeks redden.

  “Mayhap,” she admitted.

  “Well, then?” he said, and she felt his hand on her shoulder, then twisted round to meet his stare. “Shall we dance?”

  “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I mean…mayhap I don’t recall the steps.” Addie was flushing, feeling embarrassed, and annoyed with him for making her feel that way.

  “You seemed confident a moment ago,” he challenged.

  His eyes danced. Twin flames of brandy-dark fire, they were dangerous, exciting.

  “I…very well,” Addie allowed. “But only one dance.”

  “Only one dance seems fair to me.”

  Addie flushed again, and again she was not sure whether he was teasing, or if he really meant it. All the same, she held out her hand. She stifled a gasp as he took it in his own. Big, strong and warm, the skin surprisingly soft and pleasant feeling, this was the first time she’d felt his touch as delicate, and welcome.

  You must be daft, Addie McMurrie.

  She was dancing with an outlaw.

  His one hand gripping hers, his other hand settled in her waist. She tensed, feeling as if it scalded her, his fingers warm and tight, squeezing her. She had never been touched so intimately by a man before.

  Her body was a mass of warring feelings –fear mixed with excitement, mixed with strange heat that she’d never felt before, as if she drowned in honey.

  “Now,” he said, drawing her close against him. “I don’t know the steps.”

  “Well,” Addie stammered. “It’s a reel. Ye must ken a reel?” Her eyes slanted skeptically. He had to know! Unless he’d been brought up on a farm, or in a barn! He had to know a reel. Everybody knew them, surely?

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I reckon I was nae raised as well as ye.”

  Addie suppressed a grin. “Well, then,” she said, a small frown twisting her brow. “It’s a dance for four, rightly…but we’ll try with two. You take a step to the side, like this. Then another two, and then we go around, like this. Whoops…you’re going the wrong way…”

  He walked into her. His legs tangled with hers. Breathless, she giggled and collapsed back onto the bench.

  He followed, sitting down heavily beside her. He leaned back, closing his eyes. In the distance, the music continued, the circular melody weaving round and round the castle, dancing and thrumming in her blood.

  “Well, I reckon I’m not a grand dancer,” he said. He still had his eyes closed, his head leaning to the wall. This close, she co
uldn’t resist letting her eyes linger on his body. His neck was long and firm, meeting his shoulders in a thick welter of muscle. She could see how hard and lean his chest was, and she could smell the spiced musk of his body.

  Her own body tingled, and she became aware of a heat concentrated in the base of her belly, her hand lifted, almost of its own volition, a longing to touch him growing inside her.

  “You came from the lowlands, aye?” he said in that musical voice. His eyes were still shut.

  “I was born and raised in Barnard Castle,” she whispered.

  “You’re English?” His eyes widened.

  “Nay,” she said, feeling at once stung and amused. “My father was in the service of Lord Baliol there.”

  “That traitor.” Alexander spat on the ground.

  “He’s not!” Addie protested, feeling her cheeks flush with anger. “He’s a good man.”

  “You say so,” he said. He’d sat up now, and twisted her round to face him. His eyes were dark with anger. “But you haven’t seen the serfs on his lands to the north. You dinnae ken who he really is.”

  “No,” Addie said, feeling her heart twist painfully. “I suppose I don’t.”

  She blinked, feeling her eyes well up. Was Lord Baliol what this man claimed? Was he responsible for cruelty, for letting the English lords take liberties in her land? She shivered, clutching at the neck of her fine gown.

  Beside her, she felt Alexander shift on the seat, moving closer to her. She shifted away instinctively, and heard him sigh.

  “Whatever he is,” the man said in a low voice. “It isn’t your doing. You have no reason to be afraid, or sad.”

  “I’m not afraid, for me,” she countered angrily. “It’s for him. He doesn’t know how to be king. What’s going to happen to him?”

  She watched his eyes, fearfully. She saw a light in them, a fevered one – not unlike the look she’d seen in the eyes of some fanatical preachers. She shivered.

  As swiftly as she’d seen it arrive, it disappeared. He shook his head, gaze downcast. “I didnae wish tae rile ye,” he said. “I don’t wish tae discuss this.”

  “As you wish,” she whispered, shaken. She tried to forget the look she’d seen cross his face, tried not to think about what he might be planning to do to Lord Baliol one day. She didn’t want to think about that – not when she had come here to enjoy herself.

  “Now,” he said, stretching out his long legs, encased in hose in a pale gray-green color. “I want to speak of other things. Like you. How did a lass from Durham come to be here, in Berwick?”

  “I was brought here by his lordship,” she stammered. “The first time he came to council. I was part of his retinue.”

  “His maidservant, are you?” he sounded challenging.

  “I’m a hairdresser,” Addie shot back. She felt offense, and a flare of pride. She was a skilled worker! He might be a woodsman, but she was also skilled and sought after.

  He grinned. “Hairdresser, eh?” he chuckled. “Want to do something with this untamed mess?” he shook out his own rusty red curls, which hung to his shoulders.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she shot back, dryly.

  That made him laugh. “Whew! The lass has a tongue like a knife blade.”

  She raised a brow. “The lass also has a name,” she challenged. “And, if you’d like, she’d trim those locks for you.”

  She felt her hand come up and had to physically stop herself from touching the curling strands of hair. She was a hairdresser, and she could see at once how fine and soft it was. Hair, she had come to notice, spoke volumes about a person’s state of health. She had seen scant, thin hair; locks that were worn and brittle, and hair that was springy and curly as wool. She’d also seen fine lustrous hair, and seen that it was usually on the heads of people who looked well, and strong, and contented.

  “You’ve got fine hair, Alec,” she said.

  He grinned. She noticed points of redness on his cheeks and wanted to giggle with pleasure. She had succeeded in making him react, at least.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  They sat together silently a while. Again, she became aware of the closeness of his body. His leg was almost touching hers, the warmth of his chest and shoulder right beside her own.

  “I should go,” she whispered. She shouldn’t be out here. Though she was by no means a lady, bound to the strict code of behavior that held most of them. However, she was also not free to do as she wished. She owed it to herself, at least, not to jeopardize her future by ruining her reputation with a man.

  What reputation? And for whom?

  This was the first man she’d ever been this close to.

  Swallowing, she looked up at him. “Alec?” she said. “Are you coming inside?”

  He raised a brow. “Can I take that as being invited?”

  She flushed. “You are invited already,” she countered, teasing him. “You said so yourself, earlier. Remember?”

  “So, I did.” Standing, he stretched lithely and took her hand. “Miss McMurrie?” he said, those dancing eyes teasing her again. “May I invite you to dance another measure?”

  Addie felt her brows shoot up. If the first attempt was any reflection of his true skills, she wasn’t sure they could do another measure. Swallowing, she nodded.

  “Well, no reason not to,” she demurred, trying not to smile. There was one big reason not to, and that was his rank ineptness. For a man so graceful, he showed no skill at dancing whatsoever. It was funny.

  “Well, then,” he said. “This one’s easier for two.”

  He was right – the music was a dance for pairs now. He stood before her, placing his hand in her waist, his other gripping her own.

  Then, as she drew breath to count the beats, he whirled round, drawing her into the dance. He was an excellent dancer, she thought, scandalized. He moved with fluid grace that took her breath away, whisking her around as if she was no heavier than down feathers.

  She felt her skirt whirl around her ankles and felt breathless and elated as they floated together, the music in her blood, drawing and thrumming within her, weaving her closer to him, and closer, and then…

  Gasping, she felt him stop the dance, his arms tightening round her. Breathlessly, he lifted her chin, and, before she could say anything – agreement or refusal – his lips pressed onto hers, parting them beneath his.

  She gasped. Nothing had ever made her feel this way – as if her body was melting, becoming part of someone else’s. Her lips felt as taut as fiddle strings, the skin tingling and craving his touch.

  His tongue was in her mouth and she sighed and leaned into him, feeling his chest, warm and strong, press her. She wrapped her arms around him, barely aware that she did, and drew him close, feeling a crazy excitement thrill inside her.

  Gasping, he stood back.

  “Oh, Addie,” he whispered.

  He looked into her face. Lungs heaving, he seemed as overwhelmed as she. Her hand reached up and cupped his cheek.

  He kissed her again.

  “I have to go,” he whispered, looking around. He seemed alert, suddenly, like he’d transformed again, moving from the ardent dancer and into the stealthy soldier. She felt her heart thump, nervously.

  “Take care,” she whispered. She looked about the garden, aware, suddenly, of the guardsmen up on the walls overhead. “If you have to hide,” she added, “there’s a shed by the gate. They seldom use it. If you went in there and laid low, nobody’d go in.”

  He looked at her. He seemed as surprised as she felt, and her cheeks reddened, a mix of shock and shame deepening the color in them. Was she a traitor, to be betraying the castle’s secrets to a strange soldier?

  “You do care,” he said.

  “What?” Addie asked, not sure she’d heard him rightly.

  He grinned and looked down into her face. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, making her body tense to his touch. It felt almost as if, now that she had once tasted his kiss
es, her body leaned in, craving for more.

  Smiling, he leaned forward and kissed her. Then he turned away.

  “I have tae leave,” he said. “I promised I’d be awa’ by now. Take care, Addie,” he said. “And thanks. It was a grand dance. You’re a fine dancer.”

  “So are you!” she called out, but he was already slipping away.

  Leaving her in the garden, alone, with a heart thronging with memories.

  A DANGEROUS MOMENT

  Alexander leaned against a tree, looking out over the glade. The fingers of mist traced across it, as fine and soft as cloud. He could see almost nothing, only the darker silver of the tree trunks, damp and shining after a rainfall.

  “Bollocks.”

  He swore, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. It made him more relaxed, but that was all the value it imparted. He closed his eyes and tried to still the rising tide of concern and anger inside him.

  Brogan was supposed to be in the valley, signaling when the riding party went past by waving a tattered flag. With the mist, visibility was reduced to barely an arm’s length before him up here on the hill. The valley floor was utterly lost, as invisible as ghosts were. He cleared his throat, worriedly.

  I cannae see the signal in that.

  “Not looking good, eh?” McNeil said, slipping round the trunk to join him.

  “No,” Alexander agreed grimly. “If you want to point out the obvious, go to court. I’m sure they need fellers like that in the trials.”

  Next to him, McNeil chuckled, though he didn’t sound particularly cheerful. “No use shouting at me,” he grumbled.

  “No,” Alexander admitted again, still feeling annoyed.

  “What can we do?”

  “Not a lot,” Alexander said, rolling his shoulders, which were tensing up in the damp cold. His whole body thrilled for action, but it seemed like today he’d see little of it. He felt frustrated. His mind was hard enough to control, returning every waking moment to the ball the previous evening.

  She’s such a fine lass, and the feeling of her lips, parted so gently below mine…

  He had to bite his lip to keep himself from groaning. His loins were aching at the merest thought of her, his whole body wishing he could have stayed, could have danced again, and kissed, and taken her somewhere alone.