by Nicole Locke
‘I’ve been burying the dead,’ she said, stepping away from him. ‘But only at night and my ankle slows me too much.’
He turned around and saw her picking up his sword and dagger. The angle wasn’t the same as before, but his memory was still too fresh and her legs were still too long...and shapely.
‘Why at night?’ He cleared his hoarse voice.
‘I’m trying to hide what I do,’ she answered.
He thought of the boy running past the gravesite. Even at such a tender age, he had to have known what she was doing. ‘You have more to bury.’
‘Aye. I’m afraid the smell is getting so bad I can hardly do it any more.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘But I won’t leave Doonhill till it’s done.’
He ignored the conviction in her voice. He had come only to get some answers and report to Edward. Not help her bury her kin.
She pointed towards the door and he turned to leave the hut. Keeping her distance and his sword, she followed afterwards. She held it over her shoulder to support the weight. Robert honed his blade so it could slice full-grown trees. Her neck was no barrier and her ankle made her clumsy.
‘Take my scabbard,’ he offered.
‘It won’t fit around my waist.’
He stopped. ‘Hold the sword like you are, just put it in my scabbard.’
She gave him a look he did not understand, but she did as he asked. After placing the sheathed sword back on her shoulder, they continued walking.
Why he wanted to save her neck, he did not know. ‘Your name’s Gaira?’ he asked instead.
She stiffened. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I thought Gaira meant—’
‘Short,’ she interrupted. The tension in her shoulders eased. ‘It does. I think my ma had hopes I wouldn’t end up like my brothers.’
She had brothers. Were they the ones killed here or were they camped nearby? He had no intention of being strung up by some Scotsmen.
‘Is the boy safe where he is?’ he asked.
‘Aye, we have seen nae one for almost a week and the camp is somewhat hidden by the forest. He’ll stay there till I return. He has been too frightened to disobey.’ She stopped, shrugged her shoulders. ‘Or maybe too busy eating honeycomb. Do you have a camp?’
‘No, I just arrived.’
‘Will there be other Englishmen?’
‘Shouldn’t you have asked that question before you kidnapped me and walked me to your camp?’
She laughed, but it was the sound of panic and she quickly silenced it.
Not for the first time, he wondered at his acquiescence, but for the first time, he was apprehensive.
She had not revealed if there were others, but he was fairly sure there were not. It had been only her footsteps in the dirt. Still, he could not be certain.
He knew he could protect himself from one Scotswoman, albeit one mercurial in nature. But he could not control the consequences if there were others. He would not shed any more blood here. She might have tied him up and taken his sword, but he still knew how to fight. If there were more, he needed to leave. ‘Give pardon, but I fear—’
‘Ach, I won’t have you afeared. You’ll stay where I stay. And I’ll not be biting you. You’re too hairy for that.’
He blinked, not understanding the direction of her thoughts, until he remembered his overgrown beard and long hair. Hairy. Something rumbled inside him. Laughter. She had almost made him laugh.
Chapter Four
Gaira kept glancing over her shoulder at the stranger who quietly followed her. No, not quiet. Contemplative. Dark. He was dark like the bottom of a turbulent river. This man, though seemingly tranquil, was as forceful and powerful under his surface as any Scottish river. It made her nervous that he hid it.
He hadn’t said a word since he’d retrieved his horse. Now he walked behind her with the huge horse in tow. She had his dagger and sword, but the horse was laden with a larger sword, blankets and two pouches, one she was sure jangled with coins. He was quiet, but she could almost feel his thoughts. She tried to stop biting her lip.
She had invited a stranger to the camp. An English soldier, who talked of peace but walked with his sword drawn and carried more weapons on his horse. But she had to invite him. What else could she do?
If he truly meant her harm, all he had to do was follow her to camp and catch her unawares. It was best to keep him tied and close. But close did not mean stupid and she had some talking to do first.
She whirled around to face him. He stopped just as suddenly and looked at her expectantly.
* * *
Robert watched the woman staring at him. In less than an hour she had displayed several emotions: bravery, fear, gentleness, affection and humour. Now a myriad of expressions were crossing her face, the dominant one being determination. She clearly wanted to tell him something, but didn’t know how to say it. He felt the heady rush of anticipation. It had been a long time since anyone had intrigued him.
But then he saw them.
Behind her was a crude camp. A fire blazed around a steaming cauldron. The fire was strong and the moon was full. Both provided enough illumination. The night’s light was not playing tricks with his sight.
‘Who are they?’ he asked.
Her eyes, so expressive before, became shuttered. Her only movement was the almost imperceptible tensing of her shoulders, the slight raising of her chin. ‘You’ll not be harming them, you ken?’ She kept her voice low. ‘If you do, I’ll be taking away more than one sword of yours.’
‘Who are they?’ he repeated.
She did not answer him, but kept her eyes unwaveringly on him.
As if pulled forward, he walked past Gaira to face four children who emerged out of the trees. They lined up like soldiers for battle. Gaira hurriedly passed him and stood behind the tallest girl.
The image hit him. These children were not lined up like soldiers for battle, but for inspection. His inspection. Gaira did not stand between them to protect them, but behind them as if to point out their merit.
He couldn’t speak.
She brought the children close to her, whispered low, but she did not take her eyes off him.
‘Children, this is Robert from Dent and he is English.’ She stood and raised her voice. ‘I do not believe he means us harm so I asked him to our camp this eve.’
He could sense their wariness turn to fear, but they did not make a sound, nor did they break ranks. Ridiculous as it was, he could not get soldiering terminology out of his mind.
Pressing her hands on the girl’s shoulders and briefly pointing to the boy of equal height to her left, she said, ‘These are Flora and Creighton, they’re nine and, well, twins.’
Flora and Creighton shared the same dark brown hair and, although he could not be certain, their eyes appeared bright blue.
But where their colouring and height were the same, the way they acted towards him was not. Flora’s nose was jammed into her chest, her lips trembling.
Creighton’s eyes were a flat stare and he held his hands fisted at his sides.
Gaira took a quick sidestep and waved her hand briefly over the head of a boy whose hair looked as if it were trying to escape. ‘You met Alec.’ She roughed the boy’s brown hair and it barely moved. Alec smiled, obviously pleased to be introduced.
‘The little one there is Maisie.’ Gaira pointed to the girl hanging on Alec’s left arm. ‘She’s not two, but learning words.’
Maisie’s hair was so blond it was practically transparent in the firelight, but her eyes were round, green and took up half her face. He could not discern much more of her features because it looked as though she were trying to swallow her free hand and arm whole. Spit glistened.
He forced the words from his mouth. ‘Are these yours?’<
br />
‘Aye.’ She jutted out her chin.
None of the children resembled each other and certainly not the tall woman in front of him. The camp itself was a single blanket attached to a rope tied to a tree, making a crude tent too small to fit them all. She had a single horse, with a single satchel.
This woman was not their mother, maybe not even their relation. Yet she claimed them. He didn’t know who she was, or even if she was from Clan Colquhoun, but she had been taking care of four children who had survived the massacre. By herself.
And she was burying their decaying parents’ bodies at night. By herself.
It looked, too, as if she had no protection, no companion and was camping in a godforsaken land on the brink of the most bloodthirsty war he’d ever known in his lifetime.
Her eyes were challenging him, her hair coming loose from the many plaits resembling Medusa’s snakes. In the full fire’s light he could make out the roughness and largeness of the tunic she wore. It was not a woman’s garment, but a man’s. Had she been wearing that before or after she arrived here? There were too many questions.
Whatever he was expecting by coming to this small farming village, this was not it. By coming here, he had wanted to see if the rumour was true—if his English brethren could have the capacity for such horror. He hadn’t expected survivors. Yet here they were: four children and a woman.
And he didn’t know what to do with any of them.
Chapter Five
He was going to leave. Gaira could see it in his eyes. She felt a moment of panic before she relaxed again. His hands were tied. How was he supposed to go?
She glanced at the children. Creighton looked as though he might murder Robert. Flora looked as though she might cry from fear. Alec, bless him, looked happy just to be there. Maisie’s big eyes absorbed everything around her. At such a tender age, she had seen too much.
She couldn’t soothe the children’s feelings, which had to be just as confused as her own. She had just brought an Englishman to the camp and the English had slaughtered their families. Had killed her sister. She choked on the grief clogging her throat.
She couldn’t risk letting him out of her sight. ‘You must be hungry. Would you like some food?’ she asked.
He looked to the children as if they had some say, but they were quiet. They knew something was held in the balance.
He nodded and she released her held breath.
* * *
Sobbing.
Gaira woke. The sun was just cresting the hills and it cast the morning mist a milky white. When had she fallen asleep? Late, but it should not have happened.
She moved slowly, careful not to wake Maisie and Alec, who were snuggled against her.
Broken words. Nightmares again.
With the crisp wind biting her cheeks, she tucked her shawl around the children and turned to Flora and Creighton, who slept closer to the fire.
Flora was awake, crying, frantically patting her brother’s shoulders.
Creighton made not a sound, but his entire body keened of the demons trapped inside. This nightmare was worse than the last.
She gently laid her hand on Flora, who jumped. ‘Let me,’ she asked.
Flora shifted away from her brother, her hands locked tight in her lap.
Singing very low, Gaira gently brushed Creighton’s brow until his breathing eased and his body slumped. Singing helped. She had startled him awake before and wouldn’t do it again.
Slowly, Creighton’s body eased and when he woke, he looked surprised that Gaira was there.
Smiling, she stood. The cold wind whipped around her and she wrapped her arms around her waist. Then froze.
Robert was sitting and staring at her. She became aware of the arch of his brow, the shape of his nose, the colour of his deep brown eyes.
She was no longer aware of the children or the biting wind. All she could feel were his eyes. She thought he hid himself just under the surface, but now everything she ever wanted to know about the world, about him, was right there. Without blinking, his eyes became opaque, the brown turning flat.
She felt as though she had been pushed from a summer brook to the cold sand of shore with no chance of submerging back to the warmth.
Acutely self-conscious, she looked to Maisie and Alec, wrapped tightly in her only shawl. She glanced again.
He looked angry and more than frightening.
His hair was a beautiful shade of brown, but it was long, unkempt and fell in deep waves to his shoulders. It looked soft and wild at the same time. She followed each strand, each curve of each wave. A strange tingling in her palms occurred. Nervousness again?
Trying to calm her suddenly heightened nerves, she unwrapped her arms and raised her chin against him. Without her arms, the wind plastered her tunic and leggings tight against her body. ’Twasn’t decent, but it couldn’t be helped. She wouldn’t show her nervousness.
His eyes flickered; his frown deepened. Aye, he was frightening. She couldn’t believe she’d invited him to their camp.
His entire appearance indicated he couldn’t be bothered with a comb, frippery or anything to make him pleasing to the eye. He wore a beard, like a Scot, but his did not have pretty plaits to keep it tidy—his was full, waving and long. If it wasn’t the same beautiful colour, she’d have thought him an old man.
‘We’ll need food,’ he said.
The timbre of his voice was clipped, abrupt, the tenor still too pleasing.
Stray curls swept across her face, blinding and stinging her eyes, but she did not push them away. ‘I’ve set some traps.’ She waved her hand in the direction of the trees. ‘We haven’t had much luck. Our baits have been—’
He interrupted her and gestured with his tied arms. ‘I can get food if you untie me.’
Arrogant. She looked at his hands, which she had tied in the front so he could relieve himself. He must think her small bit of kindness meant weakness. He would soon learn otherwise.
‘You need to eat,’ he continued.
She took several steps closer to him. He continued to sit and was forced to look up at her. He should have looked diminished to her. But his eyes remained too steady and the tilt of his chin too proud.
Who was he? An English solider—a nobleman, too, she suspected.
His clothes were fine, rich, but he wore all black. Not a bit of ornamentation or colour. Except for a gold ring, he dressed plainly as if he had no money. But he travelled with a jewelled dagger, two swords and a pouch weighted with coins. Such costly items spoke of great wealth. She had never known a wealthy man to go without ornamentation on his clothing. Even her brothers wore a bit of this, a bit of that.
‘You think me gluttonous enough to risk our lives by releasing you?’ she retorted.
‘Your taking my weapons and tying my hands is but a false sense of security,’ he answered. ‘If I wanted to harm any of you, I would have.’
‘I haven’t given you the chance, Englishman.’ She pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘And I won’t. Ever.’
‘Aye?’ he answered, his voice gone softer. ‘And the times you closed your eyes last night? Those moments weren’t enough for me to strike?’
Oh, aye, he was arrogant and just a bit too frightening. He was sitting, he was tied and yet he was still intimidating. Worse, she feared, he also spoke the truth. She had fallen asleep a time or two last night.
She was these children’s only guardian and she was all too aware of how little protection she was. Even more so for bringing this man to their camp. He might not have slaughtered their kin, but she knew he’d killed others. There was no other reason an Englishman would be here. It was not safe to release him.
‘You need to eat, Gaira,’ he continued. ‘And so do the children.’
The fight, if th
ere was any, went out of her. They did need to eat. Desperately and in great quantity. Their traps did not work and the fires had scared most of the animals away.
He seemed to sense the change in her and stood.
‘What promise do I have?’ she asked.
‘None that you’d believe,’ he said, his lips curling at the corners. ‘But I have to eat, too, and maybe that is enough.’
She searched every nuance of his face. What she saw wasn’t quite a smile, but it wanted to be. ‘Maybe that is enough.’ She untied his knots. ‘But the moment you take your sword and dagger, leave this camp. I won’t let the children see a weapon in your hands.’
She didn’t wait to see him go, but grabbed the kindling to rearrange the fire. She sensed his departure and she let out the breath she’d been holding.
He was gone and there was no reason he should return. She trusted him, which made her all the more nervous because he had done nothing to deserve that trust.
He was a nobleman that kept his hair like a peasant and hid the wealth from his clothes. He was an enigma, obscure, as if trying to hide something of himself and personify another.
There was something he hid just under the surface like a river. She pushed her hair behind her ear again. And one she had no time to contemplate. Maisie would need feeding, changing, and the leather skein would need filling for water to boil.
And she would have to explain to the children that they were on their own again.
* * *
Busby threw together the few supplies needed and walked down the narrow stone stairs of his keep.
The rushes in his hall squished under him and even in the dim lighting the grease-splattered walls and thrown bones from previous meals were visible. He breathed in the smell of damp wood and rotting meat and couldn’t wait to get outside. But his three youngest were crawling on the ground and prodding the rushes with sticks.
‘What do you three do inside on a fine day as this? You should be outside.’
Delight widened their eyes before they rushed to their feet and surrounded his arms and legs. Wiping away his impatience for the delay, he roared, ‘What do we have here?’ They giggled and gripped him even tighter.