by Carmen Caine
Merry raised a wicked brow and then stood to hover over him, raising her voice. “Why were ye licking Bree?”
Ruan winced. Grasping her arm, he yanked her down on the bench as a round of chuckles circled the room.
“Be done!” he snapped roughly, but his heart melted at Merry’s genuine distress. She was scared. In his recent confusion of late, he’d all but ignored her.
He sighed.
Aye, she was his wee sister, the one he’d been fighting for, but she was also the reason he was in his current predicament, he added wryly to himself. He pulled her into a warm hug. “Forgive me, Merry. I’ve been selfish, a bit distracted of late.”
She was rigid at first, but then clung to him tightly. “Aye,” she nodded, but added with a devilish grin, “but I haven’t missed your constant pestering.”
Ruan raised a brow, thrilled to see her smiling. “Pestering?”
“You’re a bit smothering, treating me like a bairn. ‘Tis nice to have Bree distract ye.” Merry’s humor disappeared in an instant, and she pulled out of his embrace, rising from the bench to stare at him in disgust. “But I did nae think ye were going to lick her! Why would ye?”
Ruan shook his head, taking a deep breath. It wouldn’t be the last time he regretted Fearghus still walked, if only he’d done more than wound the man in their last meeting.
“Were ye… trying to make her cry?” Merry frowned.
“No!” He replied vehemently.
Merry’s eyes were large, dark, glowering. “I did nae think ye’d ever hurt a woman, even if ye were drunk.”
Ruan leaned forward, gently cupping her chin in his palm. “I’ve made many mistakes, and I’ve hurt many people, but nae like ye think, Merry. I swear it. When a woman loves a man, she… finds… pleasure in those things. It doesn’t make her cry.”
“Oh?” Merry’s lips lifted in a sneer of challenge. “Does Bree love ye?”
The voices in the room hushed, more than one person strained forward to hear his reply.
He exhaled an exasperated breath.
Isobel spared him, waving a hand and pointing to Bree hovering near the bottom of the stairs.
“Bree, love, take a seat,” the old woman called, grabbing Merry’s wrist and pulling her down onto the bench next to her. She sent her a fierce warning to behave with her brows.
Ruan settled back, watching Bree’s approach. Everything about her heightened his senses, affecting his very breathing, from the tumble of brown curls cascading over her shoulders, to the curve of her lips, to the slight unconscious swaying of her hips as she walked. Several men gawked at her longer than he liked, and he sent them a dark look. They obligingly returned to their cups.
Bree timidly took her seat next to him, nodding shyly in greeting, and he let his gaze rove over her figure. Desire surged in him. He wanted to pull her close and thrust his tongue between those sweet, glistening ruby lips.
A burst of pain exploded in his knee, tearing him from his thoughts. He swore as Merry kicked him again, apparently for good measure.
“Are ye being foolish?” the little girl hissed.
Ruan frowned suspiciously, drawing his knees out of her reach. She hardly appeared frightened or upset. No, this time, her brown eyes were seething with jealousy.
The Innkeeper’s wife appeared. “About that dress,” she said to Isobel, tapping a finger on her chin. “I’ve a lass the same size, and she’s a gown or two that would serve ye quite well.”
“Bree’s smaller than most,” Isobel pursed her lips as both women eyed Bree speculatively. “It has to be right warm, though. The snow is already falling in the mountains.”
Bree frowned, confused.
With a slight smile, Ruan studied her through half-closed lids, settling back again to continue his bold appraisal when a sharp jab in his hand once more jolted his attention to Merry. The vixen had stabbed him with the end of her blunt knife.
“Be done, Merry!” he barked, in unexpected pain. “Ye’ve no cause to be jealous!”
“Jealous? Of Bree?” Merry’s nostrils flared. “I like Bree!”
“Then, what is the problem?” Ruan glared, rubbing his hand. She’d almost drawn blood.
“You!” she spat, on the verge of tears. “I don’t like ye, nae anymore!”
In the past, he’d simply have swept her into his arms, and a hug would have healed the pain. However, this suddenly new Merry was complex. He didn’t have the foggiest notion of what she meant nor what thoughts were running rampant behind those snapping eyes. Temper flaring a little, he glared. “By the Saints, Merry! Now is nae the time to turn into a bloody woman! I’m tortured enough with Bree. I canna be guessing about ye as well!”
At that, Bree frowned a little. “Tortured?”
He blinked. “I only meant … ye are a wee bit … bedeviling … at times—”
She glanced away.
“Aye, I’ve heard ye call her meddling and troublesome,” Merry announced.
Bree’s green eyes flashed alive.
Taken aback, Ruan turned on his sister. “Are ye daft?”
“I heard ye, telling Ewan, afore ye left on the raid,” Merry replied with a hostile flare of nostrils. “Can ye deny it?”
“I can scarce recall what I might have said then,” Ruan said. He glowered at his little sister before turning to Bree. “And I’m sure I only meant ye were troublesome … on occasion … but nae like either of ye are thinking!”
Bree said nothing, her lips tensed a little, but she took a deep breath, and helped herself to a bannock.
“Aye, well, I’ve never heard ye complain of all the other women ye said enjoyed ye, Ruan.” Merry piped, dark eyes tightening maliciously.
Bree’s hands clenched a little at the mention of other women, and Ruan drew his brows into a firm scowl. “Ach, Merry! This time, ye are speaking far out of turn! There is no cause for such impertinence!”
“Ye’ve said yourself, time and again, that ye had many, many, many women –”
“Many, many, many?” Ruan repeated, slamming his fist on the table. “What devil are ye possessed with, lass?”
To his surprise, Merry’s mouth shut instantly with a gulp as she burst into tears. Isobel laid a comforting hand on the little girl’s shoulder, pursing her mouth in disapproval, and even Bree sent him a dark look.
He stared at all three of them, at a loss, and then stood abruptly.
A quick glance about revealed what he had feared. He was the sole amusement of the entire common room. He met their gaze boldly and executed a bow with an extra flourish. He kicked the door open and strode across the courtyard to the stables, swearing loudly.
At least the horses were understandable.
***
Across the table, Bree could feel the heat of Merry’s anger. The little girl furrowed her brows in a deep line and stuck her tongue out at Ruan’s disappearing back.
“Yer right cantankerous of late,” Isobel said. She pinched Merry on the cheek. “‘Tis time for bed.”
“I’m nae tired,” Merry growled.
“Aye, but ye’ve tortured Ruan enough for one day,” Isobel answered, with a chuckle. Rising, she forced Merry to stand. “’Tis time to sleep, ye can torment him again in the morning.”
Not wanting to be alone, Bree followed them back to their attic room.
It had been a confusing day.
Merry was bundled, still protesting, into bed and Isobel settled next to her with an extended sigh. Sounds from below drifted their way as Bree slipped under the covers. Someone began to sing. Others clapped their hands, and she found herself wondering what Ruan was doing and with whom. Her imagination had taken a dark turn when the door inched open, and she felt a wash of guilt. She really was a nastily suspicious ‘lass’. She hurriedly turned away, feigning sleep.
He stumbled a little in the darkness, cursing under his breath, and dropped a small bundle on the bed.
“These are a warmer dress and shoes,” he explained shortly. “I’m
nae a wealthy man, but at least they are new.”
Bree sat up slowly.
She’d never had anything new. She traced the weave of the cloth with a finger, at a loss for words.
“Ye can try them on in the morning,” Ruan yawned, stretching beside her and folding his arms under his head. “We leave at dawn.”
She ran her fingers over the shoes, striving to understand the man next to her, and her thoughts swerved in directions she seemed to be traversing more of late. His dark eyes, the strong line of his jaw, his nearness made her blood tingle. How could she actually sleep?
To her utter annoyance, he promptly drifted off.
Sourly, she scooted as far from him as she could, clutching the bundle to her chest.
She awoke to the sound of Isobel’s voice ordering Merry to rise.
“Why did we have to sell that horse?” Merry grumbled, struggling with her dress. Her head emerged and she added pointedly, “I can actually ride it!”
Bree sat up slowly. Ruan was nowhere to be found.
Isobel stood by the door with her things already tied in a bundle. “Bree, love, bring our wee beastie down when she is ready. ‘Tis time we left.”
“I’m ready,” Merry growled, stomping after Isobel and slamming the door.
A draft of cold wind rattled the shutters as Bree swung her legs over the bed. She blew on her fingers and shook out the new dress. It was blue and made of thick wool. A pair of green stockings rolled onto the floor next to the leather shoes. She dressed hurriedly, staring at the new shoes peeking from under the hem of the dress. She smiled, thinking of Ruan and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.
The door flung back and Merry trudged in, kicking it shut and yelling, “Ye fobbing, mewling, beef-witted maggot!”
In spite of the shock, Bree’s lips twitched.
Merry glowered in response.
“You are so much like him,” Bree finally said.
The little girl folded her arms and scowled.
Bree’s smile widened.
For a moment, the little girl seemed as if she’d leave, but then she sidled to the edge of the bed, hands twisted nervously behind her back.
“He loves you more than anything, Merry,” Bree said softly. As the little girl’s eyes lit, she knew she’d guessed the source of the problem. She sighed. “He just doesn’t know what to do with me. He has a kind heart, and he’s … stuck with me.”
“See that he doesn’t love ye,” Merry whispered. Her words were harsh, but her tone pleading as she lunged, wrapping her thin arms about Bree’s neck.
There was a shrill whistle from the bottom of the stairs.
“Isobel wants us,” Merry murmured. Taking Bree’s hand, she pulled her down the steps.
The common room was empty except for Isobel. She pointed to two bowls of porridge, watching Merry cling to Bree with a pleased twinkle in her eyes. Her lips wisely remained sealed. They had almost finished eating when the door opened and Ruan entered. He didn’t notice her at first, striding over to give the Innkeeper and his wife a warm farewell, but then he turned and spied her. An expression crossed his face that curled her very toes as he took in the blue dress and the leather shoes. Then, Merry jumped up, moving to block his view and Bree bowed her head.
When she looked up, he was gone.
Sighing, she followed Merry out of the door, wrapping her plaid close.
The two horses were saddled and ready. Isobel mounted with a groan. “I’ll be grateful when this day is done.”
“Why canna I ride my own?” Merry grumbled, stomping her feet. She squawked as her brother caught and easily tossed her behind Isobel.
“Ye’ll be riding with Isobel, lass.” Ruan cut her complaints short. “That’s an end to it.”
At his dark scowl, Merry snapped her mouth shut, but her brows drew into a scowl of her own as he swung easily into the saddle behind Bree.
Bree swallowed a sigh. It promised to be a miserable journey, not for the weather, which was perversely bright and beautiful, but for Merry’s venom and Ruan’s disturbing nearness. Even though the beast had been the spawn of evil, she suddenly regretted the loss of her horse. Almost anything would have been better than suffering the intense hatred radiating from Merry while perched in Ruan’s lap.
They set out in the crisp, morning air. A heron flapped lazily overhead, long legs trailing, as it followed them curiously for a time. They left the trees and headed into the barren wilds, and she saw nothing for leagues save the lonely tracks of rabbit and deer.
“Aye, ‘tis a bleak place,” Ruan said, seeming to sense her thoughts. “But bonny in its own right.”
Bree furrowed her brow, inspecting the wide expanse of brown heather and mud for shreds of beauty as the cold wind bit her face.
Ruan laughed, “Your silence seems to disagree.”
“What is so amusing?” Merry called from behind, craning around Isobel’s girth for a better look.
Ruan didn’t reply. Instead, he kicked his horse forward and upon reaching even ground, broke into a canter to cover a great distance. By evening, they had left the barren moors, traveling alongside a river for a time that eventually drained into another loch. The terrain here was green with pine trees and little snow.
The sun was sinking low on the horizon when they reached a small village; several cottagers raised their hands in greetings as they arrived. An elderly man called Ruan’s name as they reined in before a large croft.
“’Tis right glad I am to see ye, lad,” the man said with a grin, revealing several missing teeth. “’Tis been far too long.”
“Aye.” Ruan laughed as he dismounted and slapped his arm around the man’s shoulders. They walked to the side of the windowless croft as several young girls emerged from within. Bree slid stiffly out of the saddle, staggering a little as her feet hit the ground, but Isobel’s ready hand caught her elbow, providing support.
“Step inside, love.” The woman nodded encouragingly. “’Tis my kinfolk.”
The evening passed in a haze.
The humble croft filled with family members spanning three generations; there were so many that Bree lost count. One of the girls passed bowls of porridge made with oats and a little meat and Bree dutifully swallowed a mouthful between yawns. She allowed her heavy lids to close, just for a moment, and awoke sometime later to a pleasant burr beneath her ear.
“Aye,” Ruan laughed heartily. “’Twas nae my grandest moment, to be sure.”
Isobel and several others attempted to stifle their laughter.
“Ach, ye’ve woken the lass, love,” Isobel said. She leaned forward to brush a lock of hair from Bree’s cheek.
Bree blinked and slowly sat up. She was on the floor next to Ruan and had been sleeping with her head upon his chest. She frowned in sleepy confusion.
“We’d best rest.” Isobel struggled to her feet. “We should leave at dawn, though I’d love to stay a spell, mayhap next time.”
Ruan yawned, placing a gentle hand on Bree’s shoulder and pulling her back to his side.
She tensed a moment, unused to the intimacy of his gesture, but gradually felt drowsy and safe. She nestled closer, sliding her hand over his chest, unaware her fingers had slid under his shirt until she felt the heat of his bare skin. Her eyes popped open as he audibly caught his breath, but he didn’t move her hand. She could feel his heart quicken beneath her fingers, and it was strangely comforting to discover he was not all that much different than herself. Neither spoke, nor moved, and finally, her lids closed once again, and she succumbed to the irresistible call of sleep.
As dawn painted the morning skies, Bree was yet again on the back of a horse, with Ruan planted solidly behind her. Merry’s mood had blackened even further. For the fifth time that morning, she had kicked Isobel’s horse forward, forcing the animal to quicken its pace to edge in front of Ruan, thereby allowing her to twist and send him a poisonous glare.
“Be done, Merry,” Ruan’s deep voice resonated.
> Merry didn’t reply, instead she tossed her hair and lifted her nose in disdain. A few minutes later, she glanced over her shoulder again, sending Bree a black look.
“Merry!” Ruan warned.
“Ye don’t have to hold her like that,” the little girl observed waspishly.
“I’m not … holding her any special way,” Ruan growled in reply, even as his fingers slid slowly back and forth over Bree’s hip. “And, even if I were, ‘tis no concern of yours.”
Merry’s nostrils flared.
They plodded in silence for a time, Isobel’s horse gradually slowing until they were abreast. Without warning, Merry’s foot lashed out in a spiteful kick, this time striking Ruan squarely on the shin.
“Ye bloody wee beast!” he shouted.
Merry smiled, practically purring.
Snorting in exasperation, Ruan urged his horse faster, out of his sister’s reach. They pressed forward, traveling south over moors and down steep ravines. Bree forced her attention to the landscape in the attempt to avoid the disturbing heat of the man behind her. After several hours, what she’d found dull and gray before became more interesting in a rustic, wild sort of way. The smell of the damp leaves, the rustle of the evergreens, was almost comforting. She smiled at herself. She must be falling ill from boredom.
Then, Ruan began to speak, asking her about her childhood, and the things she liked. She was shy at first, but as time wore on, their conversation became easy and warming to her heart. They stopped several times to rest the horses and eat bannocks and apples, laughing, and each sharing parts of themselves the other found surprising.
Merry glared, chewing her apples in silence.
As the afternoon wore on, the wind began to howl, and icy droplets of snow occasionally stung her cheeks. Pausing on the shores of a small loch, Ruan briefly considered making camp, but he gave into Merry’s insistence that they move on, so great was her fear of the kelpies in the water.
The sun hung low on the horizon before they finally halted before a tiny stone cottage nestled amidst the dim shapes of rustling pines. The elderly couple greeted Ruan like a son, attempting to press their meager supper into their hands, but Ruan would have none of it. After seeing the women safely bundled into the small barn nearby for the night, he spent several long hours gathering peat and mending a fence until the night made it impossible to see.