by Carmen Caine
“Dinna be ungrateful, Alec,” Merry chided him with a disapproving scowl. “Ewan’s ever on the alert, watching over us. Let us all return now, aye?”
However, Alec scarcely paid her heed. Rising to his feet, he crossed his arms and locked gazes with Ewan in an outright challenge.
It could only mean one thing.
As he’d suspected, Alec had somehow discovered Merry to be a lass. And that ‘twas downright disconcerting, to say the least. The rascal of a Montgomery had just landed them all in a dungeon for dallying with the Lord Warden’s daughter. He was hardly a man worthy of Merry MacLeod.
And then Ewan became aware of Merry shaking his arm. She was standing close. He could feel the warmth emanating from her skin, and a wave of protectiveness reared up within him.
“Have ye taken a blow to the head, Ewan?” she was asking, her brown eyes twinkling. “Let’s go, aye?”
“Aye,” he agreed, a wee bit rattled. Stepping back, he waved an inviting hand to Alec. It wasn’t really an invitation. Alec would know it for what it was—another command. “After ye, Montgomery.”
Montgomery. All of his men knew well he would only address them by their surnames when he was angry and expected immediate obedience.
Alec clenched his jaw. He stood there, his feet planted firmly on the ground. But as Merry then sent him an inquisitive glance, he suddenly complied. Looking as if he’d much rather do anything else, he stepped forward but paused the moment he drew abreast of Ewan.
“Nothing escapes ye, does it, MacLean?” he inquired in a voice laced with frustration. “I swear ye have the eyes of a hawk.”
Ewan’s jaw twitched, and then leaning close so only Alec could hear, he looked straight ahead and, barely moving his lips, hissed a warning. “Leave her be if ye have a whit of sense. No games, or I’ll have your head, I swear it.”
Alec cast him a look, at once wounded and angry, and then they went back to the camp in somber silence to await Lothar’s return.
As the light of day had almost been spent, the Frank returned with several plump rabbits, which were soon put to spit and roasted. The group remained silent until all had eaten and, succumbing to weariness, they fell asleep.
All except Ewan.
He sat, staring into the dying flames, lost in thought for a time, before lying back and folding an arm over his face, in the hopes a deep sleep would overtake him.
But as usual, his night was fitful and provided little rest.
* * *
The group rose at first light, and under a lead-hued sky, they headed east for a time. However, the recent rains had rendered the roads treacherous, and the going was even slower than before. The horses sunk into the mud past their fetlocks, their hooves making sucking sounds as they squelched through the muck.
By noon the sun had succeeded in piercing the haze to make their journey a bit more pleasant.
A short time afterwards, they came to a crossroads, and this time, chose the northerly road. But they’d gone less than a quarter of a league when Ewan’s horse began to markedly favor a leg.
Dismounting, he knelt beside the gelding to see that its fetlock was hot and swollen.
Ewan frowned.
The horse would not be traveling much farther, that was certain.
“I feared so,” Merry sighed, slipping down from Diabhul’s back to join Ewan. She gave the gelding a sympathetic pat on the rump. “We’ve been riding too hard for ye, old lad, haven’t we now?”
“There’s a hamlet not far down the road. Mayhap we can trade him in for some provisions, aye?” Alec suggested, joining them to peer at the gelding’s leg. “Aye, that’s a hoof that willna be touching Scotland.”
Grabbing a stick, he gave the horse a little poke.
Swearing, Ewan leapt out of the way, pushing Merry back as the gelding lashed out in response.
“Are ye daft, Alec?” Ewan growled.
“’Tis the only way to see how sore he is,” Alec said with a shrug.
And then the sound of giggling caused them both to turn.
Merry was sprawled in the mud and muck. Chuckling, she floundered a bit, trying to rise. “’Tis a bog in the making here,” she said, slipping and falling to her knees.
“Forgive me,” Ewan said, reaching down with a scowl.
“There’s naught to forgive,” she answered. “Mud is better than a hoof to the head, aye?”
“Then allow me to aid ye,” Alec inserted himself, knocking Ewan’s hand away to extend his own. “’Tis my foolishness that landed ye there now.”
Ewan arched his brow and sent Alec a cold stare. “The lad doesna need your help,” he said.
“Though he needs yours?” Alec challenged with a flare of his nostrils.
Merry looked up at them a little surprised and rolling her eyes, slapped both of their hands away. “I can very well help myself, ye fools—”
But before she could finish her words, Ewan stooped, and placing an arm about her waist, lifted her upright.
She blinked, surprised. And then removing her sodden cloak, she strode to Diabhul, past the silent Lothar sitting on his horse and observing them all with folded arms.
Alec’s voice then hissed in Ewan’s ear. “Do ye think I canna win a woman’s heart?” he charged acidly.
Ewan clenched his jaw and met his eyes squarely. “I’m in no mood to quarrel, lad.”
He took a step forward, but Alec blocked his way.
Raising a brow, Ewan lowered his voice in warning. “Step out of my way, Alec.”
But Alec’s green eyes narrowed, and he replied, “Aye, you’re the only man I’d step aside for, MacLean. But ye’d best see matters at Hermitage Castle done with or I won’t be standing aside for long, aye? Do ye understand?”
Ewan held still, stunned.
Not because Alec had just challenged him to resolve his engagement with Lady Iona of Hermitage Castle—that was simple enough. He knew now that he never had intended to wed the woman at all.
Nay. He was astonished because at that moment he realized he wasn’t willing to allow Merry to give her hand, or her heart, to anyone, save himself. Shaken, he glanced over to where she stood next to Diabhul. Even covered in mud, there was no denying the lure of her.
Lifting her eyes to his, she brushed a strand of hair from her face, leaving a trail of mud across her cheek.
Oddly, his lips wanted to twitch into a smile.
“Are ye well, Ewan?” she asked, her brown eyes flooding with concern. “Ye look as pale as death, ye do.”
He studied her face. Aye, he’d long considered himself dead, but this vibrant lass was perilously close to wakening him. Could he allow it?
Uncertain, he scowled and announced to them all, “We’ll not be reaching Scotland afore nightfall. Alec’s plan is a good one. In yon village, there will surely be a soul willing to trade provisions for this horse. There’s life in him still, and with a good long rest he should be fair recovered.”
“But ye?” Merry asked. “How will ye ride?”
Pivoting on his heel, he strode toward her, and he did smile this time. It felt strange to do it, but somehow natural in Merry’s presence.
Her lips curved up in response to his, until he said, “I’ll be riding Diabhul, of course.”
She frowned, at once.
“Diabhul willna allow ye on his back,” she replied with a stubborn set to her mouth. Ruan was the only man he would let handle him.
Ewan arched a brow at the challenge. “I understand Diabhul well enough,” he said. “He may not be thrilled at the thought, but he’ll allow me to ride him.”
She wasn’t convinced. In fact, she suddenly seemed to find it amusing. “Then, brave sir, please mount your steed,” she invited with a courtly bow, holding out the reins.
He didn’t take them. Not at first.
Diabhul reminded him of his own favored battle-charger. Temperamental. Testy. And downright foul-behaved toward all save the handful he trusted.
The beast wa
s exceedingly smart.
Nay, the horse would not trust him. Not this quickly. But he’d not let the steed control the situation like a spoiled princess. The thought made him smile yet again. And feeling strangely light-hearted, he seized the animal’s bridle and looked him straight in the eye.
“Aye, ye wee princess,” he informed Diabhul. “Ye’ll be doing as I say now, aye? You’re not the ruler here.”
Diabhul flattened his ears.
“I thank ye for the warning, my lady,” Ewan said, noting his response. “I’ll not use the stirrups.”
Grabbing the saddle, he waited for the horse to buck, and then just as it reared, swung himself onto the animal’s back.
It didn’t take long before Diabhul realized that Ewan could not be unseated. And with a loud angry snort, the horse submitted—at least for the moment.
Ewan knew the battle was far from over, and he had no doubt the crafty beast would urgently and most stealthily seek opportunities to be rid of him. But he enjoyed such challenges, and pleased to have reached at least a temporary truce, he wheeled Diabhul around to where Merry stood.
There was admiration in her eyes, and it warmed his soul.
“Well done,” Alec said tightly, and then taking up the reins of the gelding, headed toward his own mount without a backwards glance.
Ewan watched him go before turning back to Merry. “Ye’ll be riding with me then,” he announced and, swooping low in the saddle, caught her about the waist to swing her up before him.
Immediately, the fragrance of her hair assailed his senses. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to enjoy it before pushing all such thoughts aside.
She was still Ruan’s wee sister.
“Should I not ride pillion behind ye?” Merry asked faintly. “’Tis unseemly for a lad to ride in such a manner, is it not?”
“We’ve not far to go,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.
He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist then, allowing his fingers to rest lightly on her hipbone. It felt simply right to hold her, and in her presence, he felt more peace than he’d felt in years.
Neither spoke after that.
And gently nudging Diabhul’s side, they cantered down the road that led to the village. With Merry on his back, the horse turned at once biddable, and he was a pleasure to ride, his gait smooth and strong. It was a ride that Ewan didn’t want to end, but all too soon, they rounded a bend in the road and the acrid stench of a tannery assaulted his nostrils.
The village was small. Chickens and geese scattered before them as they rode up to the largest building, little more than a hovel with hides tacked over the windows.
A man with dye-stained hands stepped out to greet them cautiously.
Swinging down from Diabhul, Ewan met Alec with the injured gelding, and the bargaining began. The trade was a fairly quick one and favored the pleased tanner. He’d had little to offer, but what he did have was enough for them: two leather saddlebags filled with oats, pasties, ale, and a few dried fish.
Swinging the bags over his shoulder, Ewan strode to where Alec, Lothar, and Merry stood eating meat pies filled with pork fat.
“Aye, and a right bonny saddle it was, too,” Merry was saying, nibbling on the crust of her pie. “’Twas my brother’s gift to me—a saddle fit for a nobleman.”
“Then ye should demand Ewan repay ye,” Alec said with his trademark spark of mischief in his eye. Clearly, his mood had improved. “Ewan’s heir to an earldom, is he not?”
Ewan stepped forward, his face marred by a frown. “Dinna loosen your lips, Alec,” he warned, casting an eye about before turning back to them. “What saddle is this ye speak of?”
“The saddle the lad sold to pay for our freedom,” Alec answered with a yawn. “Ye owe him, Ewan.”
“And was Ewan the only one set free?” Lothar asked suddenly.
They glanced at him in surprise. ‘Twas always a bit startling when the man chose to speak.
“’Tis no matter,” Merry said quickly, devouring her meat pie in several large bites.
She wiped her lips then with the back of her cuff, and Ewan found his gaze riveted upon them. Her lips were plump, soft. Aye, begging to be kissed. All at once, he was consumed with the temptation to bring his mouth down upon hers in a claiming kiss.
“Shall we be going?” she asked with a seemingly puzzled frown.
It was then that Ewan realized that both he and Alec had been staring. They both cleared their throats at once, as Lothar once again folded his arms. Turning on his heel, Ewan stepped away distraught.
He was behaving foolishly.
Aye, he needed to return Merry to Ruan’s care as quickly as possible, and he’d not rest until he saw it done. He’d hoped to be in Scotland before sundown, but the sun was already low in the sky and they still had far to go.
Wordlessly, they mounted, and pulling Merry up behind him to ride pillion this time, he set a grueling pace heading north.
Aware of Merry upon his back, Diabhul behaved well, and the ride was a pleasant one. And there was something about Merry’s closeness that soothed Ewan’s soul, and though he tried his very best to deny it, the sensation of her breasts occasionally pressed against his back, quite delighted him as well.
He could almost feel at peace in her presence. It wasn’t her beauty—though he found her a lass of striking comeliness, tall and willowy. No, it was her heart that appeared to be melting his, and he rode for a time, forgetting all other thoughts and simply enjoying the heady elation of being near her.
As the sun set in a deep, rich splendor, fading to no more than a faint glow on the horizon, he pulled rein near a knot of tall, sweeping pines and announced they’d be riding no more that night. They had a small fire crackling in no time, and after a meal of mainly dried fish, rolled into their cloaks to sleep.
Lothar taking the first watch, Ewan settled under a nearby tree in the vain hope of finding rest.
The night was a clear one, and the late spring air had only a touch of chill. Through the dark branches above, he could see the stars bright in the sky. Altogether, it was wholly peaceful.
Or, it would have been if he hadn’t rested his head in his arms and closed his eyes.
Aye, he fell asleep fast enough. And just as quickly, the dreams came. The screams of dying men. The blood on his sword. The graves of nameless, faceless men.
Startled, he sat up, gasping for breath, losing interest at once in sleep. Moving, he propped himself against one of the saddles tossed down near the fire and prepared for another long, sleepless night.
And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Merry rise. Gliding silently his way, she stepped up behind him and gently lay her cloak about his shoulders.
He looked up, surprised.
Crouching next to him, she lifted a finger and rubbed it along his scratchy jaw. “Tell me what keeps ye from sleeping, Ewan,” she said softly.
He stared into her brown eyes, feeling almost as if he were drowning in them before he glanced away to study the night sky. The stars were bright, and the full moon was high. He could see the silhouettes of the leaves gently dancing in the wind.
Aye, he’d much rather think of anything other than what haunted him in sleep.
“This night will bring a chill,” he said, cocking a brow at the sky. And removing the cloak, he handed it back to her. “Ye’ll be needing this more than I, lass.”
She merely stared at him. “Do ye confide in no one, Ewan?” she asked.
He blinked, surprised at her stubbornness. “There’s nothing to confide,” he lied. “Now, off with ye—”
“I canna forget the man I slew,” she said. A look of sorrow entered her eyes. “Aye, I dinna think I’ll ever forget his face.”
His heart pulled at the sight of her, and he wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her closely to his chest. Instead, he settled for an awkward pat of her hand and a confession. A confession that caught even himself off-guard.
“
I only remember the face of the first one,” he said, briefly closing his eyes to see again the first man he’d ever killed in the heat of battle. He shivered and then looking down at her, added, “I dinna think it ever fades. But know ye this, lass. The man ye slew would have killed us all. Ye had no choice.”
“I know.” She nodded, and then moving closer, she laid a hand on his knee. “And the same to ye, Ewan. The men who have died by your sword would have killed ye the same. And if they had, ye wouldna now be here, aye?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Aye, but I canna help but wonder if that is a travesty of justice,” he said, surprised to find the words falling so easily from his lips. But he couldn’t seem to stem the flowing tide. “I’ve slain many in the name of law and order, in wars ordered by the king. But, was I an instrument of justice or simply a pawn in the games of power that men play? I am told I am bold and brave, but my sword now only grows heavier each time I lift it.”
She sat there, awash in the moonlight, her brown eyes wide as she listened with rapt attention.
And then a wealth of emotion broke inside him, and words he’d never thought to voice came pouring forth.
“Many times I tried to leave,” he whispered brokenly. “But I could not. Revenge and sorrow eat my soul. Revenge for those I’ve seen die by another’s sword—brothers, all of them. And sorrow for those dying by my blade! I’m so weary of the smell of blood! I dinna know what to seek now. If only I could walk away, truly walk away from it all.”
Dimly, he was aware she was moving in front of him, and then reaching up, she cradled his head in both of her hands.
“Ye can take my hand when you’re ready, Ewan,” she whispered, giving his cheek a soft kiss. “I can help ye walk away from it all.”
He closed his eyes and leaning forward, rested his forehead against hers in an intimate caress.
Peace. Aye, he found peace in her presence—a soft, healing grace flowing from her touch. He didn’t speak. It wasn’t necessary, not with her. Somehow, she seemed to understand his pain.
He didn’t know how long they stayed there that way, but he knew it was a long time. Finally, with a heavy heart, he whispered, “Ye deserve a man worthy of ye, Merry.”