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

by Emilia Ferguson

  I cannot stay with him – we would be a burden.

  The thought hurt even more than the thought of going away, leaving him. She wished there was some way she could be part of his life without being a yoke around his neck, but she had seen enough men with wives and bairns to know that his life was utterly unsuited to her and a child.

  “I cannae stay,” she whispered, as if he was awake, and could hear her.

  His eyelids fluttered. She tensed, knowing that if he woke, now, everything changed. If he woke, and she had a chance to talk with him, then she would not want to leave – not ever. If she stayed, she would bring him death. She would slow him down, make it impossible for him to run away, to do what he had decided.

  He sighed and seemed to fall back into deeper sleep. Rolling backward a little, Addie let her weight carry her down and sideways, sliding away from his body. The floor was a little sloped, and she rolled down towards where, the previous night, they’d lit fire.

  She reached a place about five paces away, and got to her knees, surprised at how weary she felt. Her body felt like it had been wrung out – at once a wonderful and a debilitating feeling. She stood and looked about the cave. Broad, well-lit and dry, it was a surprisingly pleasant place. She shivered, noticing the slight wind coming in. It was cold in here, without fire or blankets, and she was naked.

  Clutching at her petticoat and dress, she recalled the previous night when he had undressed her. The thought made her heart twist with sadness. She wished she could stay, and be with him.

  “Addie McMurrie – no.”

  To choose him would be to kill him. She drew her petticoat over her head, tied the laces tight – blushing as she recalled his eager fingers unfastening them – and then pulled her dress down over the top. She tensed as Alexander rolled over, drawing in a sharp breath.

  Her eyes went to his face. He looked at rest still. She waited, counting to ten, until she saw his breathing slow and return to the slow regularity of sleep. Then she tiptoed out of the cave mouth.

  Outside, the morning was green and gray – the trees and bushes around the cave entrance still all had their leaves, and the river was a pale gray, reflecting a washed morning sky. The shingle by the stream was gray, too, and the air smelled fresh.

  Addie shivered and drew her shawl about her, grateful that she had it with her. She looked around the forest, memorizing the place. Perhaps he would come back here, if he needed somewhere to be safe.

  “I will visit every day,” she whispered, saying it to the valley itself, since she couldn’t say it to him. It was a promise.

  She drew her shawl tight about her shoulders and, feeling weary, walked back up the hill towards the castle.

  Addie kept to the most well-concealed paths, following deer tracks where she could, wishing to steer clear of the main road. It was too dangerous to risk being seen. She had no idea whether or not there were still soldiers, searching for them. She had lived here for almost a year, and – thanks to solitary walks – she knew the woods as well as any woodsman.

  She headed up the slope towards the castle. As she approached the gate, she heard voices, loud and crisp in the cold morning. She tensed, drawing her shawl about her. Her heart thudded nervously.

  “They’re still searching at the hilltop,” a man’s harsh voice said.

  “McMorne’s lot have come in from the valley. There’s nobody down there.” His companion sounded tired. She saw him point down the track she would have been on, had she chosen to stick to conventional pathways.

  Addie tensed. What would the guards think if they saw her returning from the forest, alone?

  Mrs. Murree might have sent me out to pick wild herbs. I’ll just say that.

  She drew in a steadying breath, and stepped into the path.

  “Addie?” one of the guards recognized her. Fergal, she thought his name was, but she didn’t know. “What’re you doing out here? It’s early.”

  Addie saw his eyes narrow – concern, or accusation – and she swallowed hard.

  “I was out for Mrs. Murree,” she said, mouth dry with nerves. “I had to fetch her wild onions – she needs them for a lass who has a cough.”

  “Oh?” the guard frowned. “She might have sent somebody else! It’s dangerous. We’ve spent the night chasing outlaws.”

  “She needed it urgently,” Addie bluffed. She felt her cheeks go red and hoped nobody was looking too carefully. She was sure she looked as untrustworthy as she felt.

  The guard just shrugged. “Get in wi’ ye, then,” he said. “As if we didn’t have enough tae keep us busy, without keeping an eye on wayward lassies.”

  Addie shot him a hard look, but he was already staring down the path.

  “You’d do better to go up by the ford, for onions,” the other guard called after her as she went in.

  Addie felt herself stop mid-stride. “Yes,” she stammered. “But I thought there might be some closer to the gate.”

  Please, just stop questioning me. Let me get inside.

  She held her breath, shivering, while the guard considered this. She didn’t know him, and didn’t trust him, either. She heard him laugh.

  She fought the urge to break step and run – this would only make her look suspicious. He said nothing more. Lifting her petticoat out of the way, she strode up the slight slope to the gateway, and from there into the castle courtyard.

  “Whew.”

  She went hurriedly into the kitchen.

  “…and that lot will be ready tae eat the larder dry…” Mrs. Miller was muttering to Mrs. Crake, as she went in. “Addie! What the…?”

  Now both women were staring at her as she limped the last paces across the kitchen flagstones. She tensed and tried to ignore their scrutiny.

  “I went out to look for herbs.”

  She reached the fire, then took off her boots and stood them by the fire grate. She felt herself start to shiver. Only now, when she was in the dry warmth again, did she realize she was chilled through.

  “Ye look as though the cat got ye!” Mrs. Miller chided. “Here! Dry your hair. I’ll no’ have ye making a mess on my kitchen flagstones.”

  Addie winced and accepted the linen towel she was handed. She dabbed at her hair, surprised by how wet it was. It had been misty, part of the way, but she hadn’t realized how wet she’d become.

  “…and it’ll be the death o’ a person, out there in this damp cold,” Mrs. Miller was muttering. “Damp cold kills people,” she added sonorously.

  Addie bit her lip, holding her hands to the blaze. She tried to stop shivering, noticing that Mrs. Miller didn’t seem altogether sorry about the prospect of her death.

  I wish you were here, Alexander, she thought.

  She bit back a smile, imagining what he might be doing now. She imagined that lithe, strong body naked and standing in the cave, stretching and reaching for his clothes. She blushed red, recalling just how handsome and finely formed he was.

  I wonder how long it will be, before he notices I’ve left.

  The thought was a sad one, and she looked into the fire, distracting herself from it. She didn’t want to imagine him there alone, wondering where she was.

  A tingle in her belly brought her attention back to her own immediate worries. She had to get dry, and eat something. Then she had to find out what to do, should she be expecting a child.

  There are ways to rid yourself of a bairn. I don’t think I could bear it.

  She knew that certain plants, in the right combinations and doses, could bring about an end to child carrying. However, she couldn’t bear to do that, to end a life! Not unless there was no other way. This was her and Alexander’s child.

  “…and then ye can take a posset up to Milord Burnell…he has an aching throat. Addie? Addie McMurrie! Are you listening?”

  “What?” Addie frowned dreamily up at Mrs. Miller, where she stood at the big table. Had she been speaking to her? She’d hardly heard it.

  “What’s the matter wi’ ye this m
orning?” Mrs. Miller asked. “In love?” She giggled, as if that seemed unlikely.

  Addie simply smiled. Her belly tingled with sweet warmth. Yes, she was in love. She was absolutely and irrevocably in love.

  And I have no hope of telling him that.

  She knew it would be best were she to never see him again.

  Mrs. Miller went outside to fetch some parsnips, and Addie seized the chance to grab something from the larder. She took a bannock – cold and going stale – and wolfed it down as she headed up the hallway to her bedroom. She was starving! The friable, oat taste reminded her of the previous evening, when the two men had been hiding and she’d shared bannocks with them.

  I pray you have some breakfast this morning.

  She reached her bedchamber and sat down on the bed. It was exactly as it had been the previous day. The ewer, the mirror, the table with its scratched surface. It seemed wrong.

  For her, the whole world was different. Everything had changed.

  Now that I’ve felt that, I can never go back.

  Her body still tingled with the sweet sensations from the night before. It felt as though her skin all over was thinned, sensitive to a whole new range of things. Her body was alive in ways it had never been.

  She didn’t know if she would ever see him again.

  “Whist, Addie,” she said to herself, swinging her legs round and standing up. It was not going to do her any good to mourn now! She had so many things she should be doing. The castle was still full of noblemen and women, guests of the English King.

  “I have to dress Lady Aberly’s hair and take Barnwell his posset…”

  She splashed her face in the ewer, catching sight of herself in the small, precious mirror she’d affixed to the wall. Her face, looking back at her, seemed thinner, more solemn. Her eyes were bright.

  “Addie McMurrie, I declare,” she giggled to herself. “You look different.”

  She was not a girl anymore. She felt a sweet flame burn in her chest, a feeling of joy and pride. Still smiling, she headed, floating, up the stairs to the first of her tasks.

  “It’s a fine morning, yonder,” Lady Aberly commented as Addie finished arranging her hair. An older woman with a thin, nervous face, she had big brown eyes and hair that must once have been auburn, but which was now iron gray.

  “Aye, it is, milady,” Addie commented, cleaning the hair out of the fine silver comb. “It’s wet, though, with that mist – and cold.”

  “Were you outdoors?” the older woman turned wide, shocked eyes on her. “It’s early, yet! What did you do there, at this hour?”

  “I had tae fetch herbs,” she muttered.

  A pox on it! she thought, gathering her scissors and pomade into her working bag. How many times was she going to have to tell untruths today? She hated lies! Her nerves would be worn thin by tomorrow morning.

  The rest of her chores went faster, and after them she headed upstairs to the still room. It was one of the few places she might have time alone.

  She tiptoed to the door. It was empty.

  Good.

  Addie settled into the big chair by the fire. The logs crackled and blazed, pale yellow flames dancing along their lengths. She breathed in the scent of rosemary and something darker – maybe spikenard, guessing her friend had been there mixing it in a pestle – it still lay on the table, along with a bundle of herbs. It was silent, the only noise the rustle of ashes in the grate.

  “Whew.”

  Now that she could, finally, relax, Addie let her mind drift to Alexander, her mouth twisting into a smile as she relived the experience. She recalled with wonderment the way he’d held her, the feeling of his body sliding into hers, the sweet bruised sensation in the pit of her tummy where he’d entered her, and the way it had felt like coming home after long absence.

  “I wish I could be there with ye.”

  The fire crackled in the silence. She found herself half-imagining the clearing, where, only a few short hours before, she’d been. Where he had been as well. He would be there, yet, bent over, chopping wood for the fire. Somewhere in the brush, the other soldier was waiting, she imagined, calling cheerful disparagements as they worked together.

  Mayhap they weren’t even there. Mayhap they had left altogether.

  She would not even consider the other possibility – that they were not there at all, because the guards had achieved their purpose.

  “Stay well, Alexander.”

  She wished she could tell him. Wished she could touch him. Her heart ached to be able to say his name, to nestle close, to feel his warm hands, stroking her body, her hair, her lips.

  A sound in the doorway made her look up. Mrs. Pritchard bustled up the hallway, pale face surprised. She had a pannier over one arm, and her hair covered in a cloth. She looked as if she’d been out in the mist.

  “Addie!” she grinned. “There you are! I was just coming in to dry these mallow stalks. I found them by the stream! Look!”

  “Very fine,” Addie murmured, pleased to see her friend. She watched as she unwrapped a grubby scrap of linen, revealing pale stalks, strong and lithe. She held one up proudly.

  “Mayhap ye can help me bundle them,” Mrs. Pritchard said, her long fingers already gathering some stalks, reaching for another. “There’s string on my table, yonder there,” she gestured at the long counter under the arched windows. The shutters were tight shut.

  Addie wordlessly fetched the string and started to work, listening to her friend’s chatter. She lost focus, but regained it as her voice hardened.

  “…And there was a to do, down by the river!” her friend said. “Mrs. Arnott called me down! One of her lads had a run in with a soldier. Said the fellow attacked him with a staff! Fellow said he thought he was an outlaw. Would you believe it?”

  “What happened?” Addie stared; bundle falling from her fingertips. What have they done, out there?

  “Well! The lad was at the river, looking for cress or something, and along comes this feller, and starts bludgeoning him with a cudgel, would you believe! Lad starts yelling, finally the fellow stops. I had to put a compress on, tae stop the swelling.” She shook her head in disgust. “A mite more o’ that would break his arms.”

  “My goodness,” Addie murmured.

  Her head spun. If that was what they did to someone on suspicion of their being Alexander, what would happen to the real man, were they to find him?

  Don’t think about it. He’s canny. They won’t find him.

  She felt her heart thud in her chest, slow, frightened thumps. She couldn’t let that happen!

  “All because of these outlaws,” Mrs. Pritchard finished, tying her bundle onto the rafters with carefully placed knots. “I dinnae fathom how people do such things! What does it matter, to people such as them – or us – who sits the throne?”

  “True,” Addie mumbled. She finished tying a bundle, and reached to add it to the row of things hanging from the rafters. Mrs. Pritchard was correct – why did they care who sat the throne? Why did Alexander care?

  It won’t change the life of a woodsman much.

  Or a hairdresser. Or, for that matter, an outlaw.

  Shaking her head, she reached for more stalks. It saddened her to think that. Alexander had chosen to throw away a chance of a better life – settling down, having a family – and for what? For a cause that could never affect him.

  “It’s just foolishness,” she murmured, fingers working on the knots.

  “Aye, foolery and selfishness,” Mrs. Pritchard agreed. She tied another bundle to the rafters, savagely, as if she was strangling whichever selfish fools had caused this.

  Addie just wondered where Alexander was now.

  IN THE WOODS

  The sound of the river was loud. Alexander sat on the ledge by the cave, his dagger in his hand, a staff of wood in the other. It was early afternoon, the sun shining down onto the leaves that shifted in a playful breeze.

  “Damn,” he swore, and sucked his finger where
he’d scraped the knuckle.

  He was busy carving the end of the staff into a point, to make it better for walking with – and lighter, should he need to swing it as a weapon. Besides a dagger, which was only useful at close range, they were dangerously lacking in armament.

  “Sir!” Brogan yelled. He was somewhere on the river bank, in the trees.

  “What?” Alexander asked, impatiently. He had been angry all morning. She’d disappeared! She’d vanished, and left him, with never a goodbye.

  Brogan didn’t answer, and Alexander forgot about it, turning back to his work.

  “Fine man I turned out to be, then.” He chuckled grimly to himself. The lass spent a night with him, and disappeared in terror.

  A real charmer I am – women seem to do this, when I’m involved.

  He’d never had much luck with ladies. His father had arranged a betrothal for him when he was sixteen, to the daughter of Lord Calmure. He recalled it with a sorry smile. The contract had lasted about a month, before the lord in question had declared he’d found another, brighter, prize. The betrothal was broken. Alexander smiled sadly. He’d only ever seen the lady once.

  “And after that, no luck, either.”

  Women had come and gone from his life – women he met in inns, in the street. They spent the night with him and then disappeared next morning. What was wrong with him, that they chose not to stay?

  Maybe my friends are right – I’m cold.

  He shrugged. The explanation seemed most unlikely – far more likely, to him, at least, was the possibility that he just didn’t appeal to women. If he thought about his friends, like Broderick, he could understand it. With huge shoulders, pale red hair and a cleft chin, he was everything one might imagine women to like. Broderick was wealthy, too.

  The two things together – strapping and rich – seem to be everything.

  “Alexander!” Brogan yelled again.

  Alexander dropped the knife, shielding his eyes as he stood. There was a note of anxiousness in that shout, and he frowned, taking a step forward and lifting his dagger again. A grim coldness filled him. What had he sighted?