His Lass to Protect (Highland Bodyguards, Book 9)

by Emma Prince

“Aye.”

  “She was held captive for…six…bloody…years?”

  Logan’s slate gaze met Niall’s. “Aye.”

  Blindly, Niall fumbled for one of the nearby chairs. He sank down, fighting against the urge to heave, to bellow, to flip over the table.

  “Mairin vowed never to return to England,” Logan said quietly. “The closest she’s ever come since escaping captivity is Craigmoor. Even with the castle on the Scottish side of the border, it was…difficult for her.”

  Niall could only imagine. Knowing what she’d been through, it was a miracle she could stand the presence of an Englishman in the training camp at all. It would no doubt be a struggle for her to travel in such close proximity to him. And that would be naught compared to what she’d have to face once they actually reached Lancaster in England.

  “Mairin is strong,” Logan continued, seeming to read Niall’s thoughts. “She has overcome enough hardship to last ten lifetimes. But she’s never been tested like this before. Now do ye understand why I fear for her on this mission?” Logan asked. “And why I am charging ye with protecting her?”

  “Aye, I do.” He met Logan’s gaze. “I will not allow any harm to befall her. I vow it.”

  Logan lowered himself into a chair beside Niall’s, letting a suddenly weary breath go.

  “Ever since I pulled her out of that bloody root cellar, I made a promise never to let her come to harm again. I dinnae enjoy being in this position—no’ able to ensure her safety myself—but I am under the Bruce’s orders to return to Scone.”

  Logan pinned Niall with those too-knowing gray eyes then. “Yet I ken ye take her protection seriously, too. I have seen the way ye watch her, the way ye look out for her. Ye care about her, dinnae ye?”

  Ever since Rosamond’s kidnapping, Niall had shouldered the responsibility of defending his family—including those in the Bodyguard Corps. His failure to protect his sister had spurred him to make a vow to himself—no one under his care would ever come to harm again.

  But it was so much more than that with Mairin. She wasn’t his sister, nor was she merely a fellow member of the Corps to him.

  “Mairin is…” When no further words came, Niall simply said, “Aye.”

  Logan nodded, but his eyes narrowed. “Then I expect ye will keep her safe from all dangers on this mission. If ye think that this is yer opportunity to be alone with her, to weasel yer way into her affections or seduce her in any way, let me assure ye, Beaumore—”

  “There is no need for such a warning,” Niall cut in sharply. “Mairin has made it more than clear that she doesn’t return my…regard.”

  And why would she? Niall represented everything she hated. He understood that more perfectly than ever now that he knew she’d been held captive—and God knew what else—for six years by Englishmen.

  “Good,” Logan said, still eyeing Niall warily. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

  Niall rose. “I had best begin packing for the journey.”

  Logan did the same but to Niall’s surprise, he extended his hand.

  “I am trusting ye, English,” Logan murmured. “Trusting ye to see this mission done, but also to look after my sister. I hope I havenae made a mistake.”

  Slowly, Niall clasped forearms with Logan.

  “You haven’t.”

  Chapter Seven

  “We’d best stop for the night.”

  “Aye, verra well.”

  That was the longest string of words Mairin had exchanged with Niall all day.

  They’d left the training camp at first light that morning, which at this time of year wasn’t particularly early. Still, they’d made the most of their daylight hours, riding as fast as the crunchy snow underfoot and the pigeons suspended in swinging baskets from Mairin’s saddle would allow.

  Though Mairin fared well physically—the many hours of training had made her strong enough to handle a long ride—she found herself rolling her shoulders in discomfort several times during the day.

  They’d spoken little, only exchanging remarks on their chosen route southward. Neither had discussed the mission or what awaited them at the end of their journey. Yet Mairin’s thoughts continually tugged at what lay ahead—protecting Lancaster, sending missives to the Bruce, and most of all returning to England.

  She did her best to keep her features impassive. The last thing she needed was to reveal just how afraid she was to Niall. They were partners in this mission, and though she’d been tasked with managing the messenger pigeons, she would also be in charge of guarding Lancaster alongside Niall. She wouldn’t give him cause to doubt her abilities—or reason to believe that she couldn’t take care of herself.

  For his part, Niall was quiet all day, his mouth set in that serious, contemplative line and his bright blue eyes distant. Whether he, too, mulled over their mission or was simply indifferent toward their journey—and her company—Mairin could not tell.

  She would have given what little coin she had to know what Logan had said to Niall the night before, but that remained a mystery as well. She’d skirted the issue with Niall as they’d prepared their horses to depart the camp, then had bluntly demanded an explanation from her brother shortly before he’d headed out for Scone Palace ahead of them, but neither had been forthcoming. The tingle of awareness between her shoulder blades told her it had something to do with her, but getting information out of either man had been like talking to a rock.

  “There,” Niall said, drawing her out of her thoughts. He lifted his chin toward a copse of trees ahead, a dark blotch against the blue-white expanse of the snowy, twilit moors.

  By way of acknowledgement, Mairin urged her horse faster for the last few dozen strides. She was all too eager to make camp and light a fire to cut the drawing darkness.

  The copse was a dense collection of windswept pines. They grew in a loose ring that left a small protected clearing in the middle. When they reached the outer edge of the trees, Niall swung down from his saddle to walk his horse into the copse. Mairin moved to do the same, but before she could do more than lift one leg over the horse’s back, Niall came to stand before her.

  Without a word, his hands closed around her waist. She started at his touch, but his grip was steady. He lifted her as if she weighed naught at all, then set her on her feet.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d helped her down from a horse, nor the first time he’d touched her. Yet it was the first time he’d done either while standing alone with her in the twilight wilderness of the Highlands, she realized on a rising wave of warmth.

  “Ye dinnae need to—”

  “Aye, I know,” he said quickly. “You are more than capable.” He lifted one shoulder in a subtle shrug. “Call it a habit. I grew up with two sisters.”

  “I am no’ one of yer sisters.”

  At her words, his eyes flickered with some unreadable intensity, seeming to darken in the low light. “I am well aware of that.”

  Belatedly, Mairin realized his hands, big and warm and firm, still lingered on her waist. Niall must have noticed too, for he abruptly snatched his hands back and took a step away from her.

  He cleared his throat. “If you’ll see to the birds, I’ll start a fire.”

  Mairin nodded, turning back to her horse. For the first time in many years, she was grateful for the coming darkness, for it likely hid the flush on her face. She silently cursed herself as she fumbled with the baskets dangling from the pole fastened to the back of her saddle.

  Why the hell was she acting like a dunderheaded fool all of a sudden? Ever since the moment she’d shared with Niall in the dovecote the night before, she’d been drawn tighter than a bow string.

  How was she supposed to interpret all his looks, his attentions, and that strange intuition she’d gotten last night that he wanted kiss her?

  And where the hell had thoughts of kissing come from, for that matter? She’d had precisely zero experience with lads. Aye, she’d grown up with two older brothers, and had live
d in a camp full of virile men for the last four years, but those experiences had given her more insight into how loud, smelly, and hungry men generally were, not how they looked at lasses when they wanted to kiss them.

  She’d never gone to a tourney or Beltane festival as a young woman—only as a bairn. She’d danced with ribbons, stuffed her face with berry and meat pies, and run wild with the other wee children. But when the older lasses would sneak off to the woods or the hay loft with a grinning, wide-eyed lad in tow, Mairin had been puzzled at first, and then revolted at the idea of pressing her lips to one of those spot-faced, awkward lads.

  In her captivity, she’d learned far more than any innocent should. The foul words and lewd promises her captors made—which, blessedly, they’d never kept—were still burned in her mind. Their vulgarity was a threat of sorts, meant to keep her frightened and in line. That wasn’t how men of honor behaved toward lasses they were interested in—was it?

  Her lack of experience and knowledge made her burn with embarrassed anger. Why was she even wasting energy contemplating such silly things? She was a warrior, a member of King Robert the Bruce’s most elite fighting force, and a woman grown now. What did it matter that she’d never been kissed, and couldn’t even tell the difference between apathy and interest in a man?

  She yanked each one of the four woven bird cages free from the pole, but left the pole attached to her saddle. She also pulled a wool blanket and a pouch of seeds and grains from one saddlebag, tucking both under her arm to leave her hands free for the cages.

  Her nerves eased slightly when she turned to find a fire already flickering in a small clearing Niall had made in the snow in the middle of the copse. He leaned over the fire, feeding sticks into the flames and blowing on them softly, casting his face in an orange glow.

  Mairin approached and set the birds in a cluster on the ground beneath a drooping bough at the edge of the firelight. She drew the pouch from under her arm and sprinkled feed into each of the cages. The birds cooed and ruffled their feathers in pleasure, pecking at the frozen ground.

  When each bird had received its feed, she unfurled the blanket and draped it over their cages. It would seal in some of their heat and keep them calm through the night.

  She lifted her gaze to the fire once more, but Niall had already risen and was seeing to their horses. He hobbled them in the shelter of the trees, leaving their tethers long enough to allow them to nibble on what little greenery poked through the snow or clung to the undergrowth at the base of the pines.

  Just as he turned to her, a rustling sounded not far away.

  They both instantly stiffened, their heads whipping toward the noise. But while Mairin stood rooted, Niall surged forward, putting himself between her and the sound.

  “It could be a wee mouse in the underbrush,” Mairin muttered into Niall’s back.

  “Aye, or it could be a thief or outlaw looking for easy targets,” Niall breathed over his shoulder. “Don’t move.” He eased forward a step, his hand closing around the hilt of his sword.

  Mairin silently berated herself for leaving her short sword and bow and quiver in her saddlebags, which lay on the ground beside her horse several paces away. She’d tucked them away on their ride, reassuring herself that she still had three throwing daggers secured in their sheathes on the inside of her forearm.

  The rustling came again. On instinct, she flicked her wrist the way Kirk had taught her, causing one of the daggers to fall into her palm.

  “Show yourself,” Niall said loudly into the darkness. “And be properly introduced to my blade.”

  There was no reply. A long moment passed where naught but the sound of Mairin’s heartbeat filled her ears.

  Then all of a sudden, the underbrush exploded. A wild boar charged directly at them.

  With a shout of warning, Niall dove to the left, yanking his sword free as he went. He slashed at the animal as it barreled by. The boar squealed, a high-pitched shriek that was chillingly human, but kept charging.

  Mairin launched herself to the right, rolling as she hit the ground. She came up next to her saddlebags. Even as she let one of her throwing daggers fly, she fumbled with her other hand for her sword.

  Her dagger flew true, but it hit the boar in its fleshy haunch. Rather than slowing it down or even felling it, the hit seemed to only enrage the beast further. The animal shrieked again and made a wide arc in preparation for another charge.

  Mairin’s fingers brushed her quiver, but she kept digging through her bags. There would be no time to nock an arrow and take aim now. Besides, she needed to move, not only to avoid the boar’s charge, but to draw the animal away from the horses. Their mounts were already sidestepping nervously, their ears swiveling and their eyes rounded.

  “Mairin, take to the trees!” Niall barked, scrambling to his feet. He lowered the tip of his blade at the boar. The beast’s tusks shone orange in the firelight as it rushed at him.

  There was no way in hell Mairin would abandon Niall and flee into the encroaching darkness. Her hand closed around her short sword and she yanked it free.

  Just as she surged forward, Niall’s blade hit its mark. It pierced the boar’s chest. Yet the animal’s momentum was so great that it kept driving forward, bowling Niall over.

  Wild with pain and now scrambling on top of Niall, the boar lowered its head, seeking to thrust its tusks into Niall’s shoulders. From his back, Niall fought to fend the beast off using his sword, which was still buried in the boar’s chest. But even though the blade sank deeper, the animal still fought ferociously.

  Without thinking, Mairin dove to the ground next to Niall, plunging her sword into the boar’s side to propel it off Niall’s chest. The beast screamed, long and high-pitched, yet it did not rise again. Instead it slumped to the ground beside Niall, grunted, then fell motionless.

  “Bloody hell,” Niall panted, his breath a white puff over his face. He rolled onto his elbow so that he loomed over Mairin where she lay next to him. “Are you hurt?”

  Though he’d just nearly been gored to death, he used his first breath to ask after her? As the fright drained from her veins, she took stock. “Nay. A few scrapes and bruises mayhap, but naught more.”

  Despite her reassurance, his worried gaze scanned her face, then swept over her body. Heat pulsed over her skin. It was only from the altercation with the boar, she told herself.

  Niall rose slowly to his feet and extended a hand to help her up. As they brushed the snow from their clothes, they turned to look at the fallen boar. The animal bristled with both Niall and Mairin’s swords, plus one of Mairin’s daggers.

  “It seems we’ll have more than bannocks and dried venison tonight,” Niall said, raising one of his copper brows.

  * * * *

  After they’d butchered and roasted all the meat they could, they buried what was left of the boar’s carcass beneath the snow, then piled rocks over it to keep other animals away.

  Miraculously, the pigeons hadn’t been disturbed by the boar’s charging. When Mairin lifted the blanket to ensure that all four birds were safe in their cages, they peered at her through slitted, sleepy eyes, as if they had barely even noticed the kerfuffle.

  Her belly full and her mind at ease about the birds’ wellbeing, Mairin pulled a length of Mackenzie plaid from her saddlebags.

  Niall had already selected a spot for them to sleep. One of the pine tree’s limbs spread wide and low to the ground only a few feet from the warmth of the fire, leaving the ground bare of snow. He’d tossed his own wool blanket beneath the bough, but when Mairin crawled beside it, he hesitated by the fire.

  “I’ll take watch,” he said, his gaze looking at everything in the camp but her.

  She froze, partway tucked into her cloak and plaid already. “Ye mean ye’ll take first watch. I’ll take the second.”

  “Mairin, you don’t need to—”

  “English,” she interjected. “I do. Ye cannae expect to stay up on watch all night and ride all day
for the rest of this blasted journey. We still have nigh on a fortnight to go before we reach Pontefract Castle.” She fixed him with a hard look. “And more importantly, we are partners on this mission, are we no’? Or am I some helpless lass ye must look after?”

  “You are far from helpless,” he replied quietly. “But it is my responsibility to—” He cut himself off with a click of his teeth.

  He met her gaze then, his eyes keen and clear as the deepest blue of a Highland sky in summer. “Very well,” he said at last. “As you say, we are partners in this mission. You can have second watch.”

  With a nod, he turned to go, and her gaze landed on the low fire.

  “Wait.”

  Niall halted immediately. “Aye?”

  She should have bitten her tongue. After all that talk of being far from helpless and making him acknowledge that they were partners, she was about to prove herself far weaker than she cared to admit.

  But her own words came back to her. They would be traveling together for nearly a fortnight. She could attempt to stay awake every single night to make sure the darkness didn’t close in, but there was no way she’d manage with all the long days of riding.

  It seemed she needed his help after all.

  “Dinnae…” She had to swallow before she could go on. “Dinnae let the fire go out while ye’re on watch.” Belatedly, she thought to offer the most plausible excuse. “The night will be cold.”

  He fixed her with those penetrating eyes, and for a long moment, she feared he had sensed her underlying dread. But to her relief, he only nodded his assent and added a log to the flames before receding into the inky blacks, browns, and greens of the surrounding trees.

  When she was alone, Mairin let a long breath go through her teeth. She hunkered deeper into her plaid, inching as close as she could to the fire while still remaining under the pine’s low bough.

  She would only have a few precious hours of sleep before Niall roused her for her watch. After their day of riding and the boar attack, she should have fallen instantly into dreamless unconsciousness.