* * *
The following morning Ewan replaced his formal attire with a longer, looser leine with gores beneath the arms and sewn into the back. With a padded woollen jerkin instead of the leather one, and his great brat gathered over his shoulder and belted, he now wore clothing that would allow him to pass unnoticed through the countryside. He fixed his father’s favourite blade at his waist, smiling a little at the design of the handle that would have made genteel eyebrows rise if he had produced it at court.
He was still greeted with solemn faces when he came downstairs and anxious looks at the door.
‘There was someone outside in the night,’ the crofter explained. ‘I heard moving.’
‘It must have been the horses.’
‘Nay, unless a horse can lift a latch and help itself to cheese that my wife had drying in the dairy.’
The mystery went unsolved. The cart and contents looked the same as the night before. Any vagrant who had been in search of something valuable must have been satisfied with the stolen cheese. The rain that had continued solidly throughout the night must have put him off and Ewan felt a stab of pity for anyone unlucky enough to have been caught outside in it. He helped Angus hitch the mare, wondering if he should check the contents more thoroughly, but decided against it. Even though he was more exposed to the rain that was threatening to resume at any moment he felt freer and more comfortable than he had in a long time. He wrapped his brat around his shoulders and strode round to the front of the cart with a swagger he did not have to force.
‘Let’s be leaving!’ he said, swinging himself into the saddle. ‘I want to get to Druinunn and sleep in a proper bed tonight.’
In years to come he wondered how different his life would have been if he had inspected the cart at the croft. If he had discovered the additional contents of the cart when he was close enough to Stirling to turn back.
The rain did come down again. Hard gobbets of water that exploded in the road, turning it to a quagmire and making for slow going. On top of their brats the three men wore cloaks of felted wool pulled close over their heads and backs that staved off the worst of it. The cart was not as fortunate and before long the sackcloth clung to each item, moulding itself into the shape of each casket and chest and creating an odd undulating mass of forms that even Ewan, who had placed most of them there himself, would be hard pushed to identify.
* * *
Almost a full day had passed and the settlements were growing further apart when Angus beckoned Ewan over and pointed behind him into the cart.
Someone there, he mouthed. Heard movement.
Ewan peered behind Angus. Now he bothered to look closely he noticed a rounded bulk between his father’s targe and the driver’s board that he could not identify. A stowaway. Ewan narrowed his eyes. He pulled the edge of his cloak back to reveal the hilt of his sword. Angus nodded in approval and made a slitting moment across his throat. The chance to prove himself a fighter might have come sooner than Ewan anticipated.
They had been climbing steadily up the first of many hills and the small town of Druinunn where they intended to spend the night lay nestled in the glen before them, curving round the bank of Loch Lomond where the road split. The rain had eased, turning to thick drizzle that hung in the air, chilling Ewan to the core. As much as he wished to reach the inn he did not want to deal with his unwanted stowaway there. A track led away to the left towards the forest and as they came upon it Ewan took it.
When he was satisfied they were far enough away from the main road, he called loudly, ‘I need to piss. Stop the cart a moment, Jamie.’
Jamie grinned and tugged the reins with an exaggerated cry. Ewan dismounted, saw to the need he’d mentioned and walked around the cart.
Nothing moved. If there was someone hiding there, they were very good at remaining motionless. At a nod from Ewan all three men drew their daggers. Ewan pulled back the corner of wet sackcloth with a flourish. A small figure lay huddled in a ball. This was undoubtedly the vagrant who had stolen the crofter’s cheese. He was dressed in a dark cloak with a large hood and Ewan’s first impression was that a monk had hidden himself in the cart. His second, more accurate realisation, was that this was a youth not a fully-grown man. His third was that the cloak was finer quality than a common thief could have afforded. The stowaway burrowed deep down between the targe and the seat.
‘Come out of there, thief,’ Ewan barked.
The stowaway did not move. Ewan leaned over and grabbed him roughly by the back of the hood and one arm. He heaved on both none too gently and dragged the boy over the side of the cart backwards. The vagrant cried out in pain and twisted against Ewan, kicking wildly at his shins.
The voice was angry and scared. And, Ewan realised in astonishment, female. Ewan let go abruptly. The stowaway fell forward to the ground with a loud exhalation that ended in a weak groan. She rolled over to sit up and pushed her hood down. Long, wet tendrils of black hair clung to her face like an oil-soaked rope. She raked her fingers through it with long, slender fingers and raised her head. Ewan looked down into the face of Marguerite Vallon.
She was dressed in dusky green rather than her white and grey mourning clothes, which somehow was more unnerving than finding her there at all.
‘What are ye doing here?’ he demanded.
She made a move as if to stand, but her eyes fell on Ewan’s knife. She recoiled and looked at Ewan with an expression of helpless entreaty.
‘Don’t hurt me!’ she gasped.
She sprawled supine on the ground, resting her weight on her elbows, with her legs splayed out in front of her. Ewan’s limbs grew hot with desire. If a woman had presented herself in that position to him from the comfort of his bed he would have considered himself a fortunate man. He was not feeling particularly fortunate under the circumstances. Her dress had ridden up to her knees and Ewan had an unobstructed view of a pair of sturdy boots that looked out of place on slender calves that were sheathed in fine silk stockings.
‘Did McCrieff send you to spy on me?’
‘I’m no spy!’ she cried, tossing her head back and glared up at him from the ground.
‘Then why did he send you?’
‘He...’ She bit her lip and looked guilty. ‘He does not know I am here,’ Mademoiselle Vallon said at last.
‘Are you trying to trick me?’ Ewan brandished the dagger once more, glaring at her over the top of his outstretched hand.
‘No! He does not know, truly.’ She looked very close to tears. Her mouth was set in a firm line, her crimson lips pale with the pressure of keeping them rigid, and she blinked too frequently. ‘I have left him.’
Ewan shook his head in disbelief.
‘And you chose my cart to do it in!’ Ewan bunched his fists because otherwise he would have wrenched half the hair from his head in frustration. ‘Are you trying to bring the entire McCrieff clan down on my head, you foolish woman?’
‘No!’
Angus and Jamie were waiting for orders, the younger man with an expression of pure worship on his face as he looked at Mademoiselle Vallon. Ewan became uncomfortably aware that he was allowing—no, forcing—an unarmed young woman to cower in the mud. He sheathed the knife and put both hands to his temples, burying his fingers deep into his hair, hoping the pressure on his brain could help him make sense of what was happening. He looked down at Mademoiselle Vallon again.
‘Get up.’
She didn’t move so he held out a hand and eventually she took it. Her fingers were icicles and her grip was weak as he helped her to her feet. She swayed a little as she stood and Ewan instinctively put a hand to her arm to steady her, running his fingers from wrist to elbow. Her eyes widened, but she tensed and he drew his hand away, but not before feeling how unpleasantly damp her sleeve was. Every layer she wore must be wringing wet and heavy, right down to the intimate layers that sheathed her body. Ewan
did his best not to imagine them and failed.
‘What exactly is your intention?’ he asked her.
‘I planned to hide until we arrived close to your home. I am going to try to find a ship to take me back to France and return to my father.’
‘From my home?’ Ewan blinked. ‘Why on earth did you think that would be a good plan?’
‘You told me your castle is on the coast.’
A great guffaw burst from Ewan before he could stop himself. ‘Scotland has more than one coast, woman, and I live on the west.’
Chapter Eight
Ewan folded his arms and watched with amusement as the information sank in. She looked stricken and his stomach clenched with guilt for having mocked her. If she cried Ewan knew he wouldn’t be able to prevent himself from offering comfort.
‘Where were you hoping to get to?’ he asked, a little more gently.
‘I wanted to go to Leith. That is where my ship docked.’
‘You’ve got a long walk back ahead of you.’
Her whole body slumped. She looked defeated and exhausted. Deep purple ringed her eyes. He wondered how well she had slept.
‘Did you steal the cheese last night?’
‘Only the smallest. I left three pennies beneath another for them to find when they look.’
Much more than the meagre round was worth.
‘Get her an oatcake, Angus,’ Ewan instructed.
She snatched it from his hand and devoured it, then began to look around her with a slightly desperate expression that was easy to interpret.
‘The bracken is thickest over there,’ Ewan said. She rushed off with more urgency than gracefulness.
Ewan swore loudly. ‘Two days and both wasted! Angus, turn the cart around.’
‘Now?’
‘The town is so close,’ Jamie said.
Ewan ground his teeth. They were right. They wouldn’t find anywhere else before nightfall.
‘Three men and a woman together. How will that look at the inn?’ Ewan asked.
Angus shrugged. ‘I want a bed and beer. That silly woman shouldna’ stop me getting them, if that’s all the same to you.’
‘No, it isn’t. I want rid of her as soon as I can,’ Ewan snapped.
Mademoiselle Vallon was returning. She held her skirts high to keep them free of the mud as she picked her way through the thickest of the bracken. She had combed the worst tangles from her hair and it hung loose over her shoulders, almost to her waist. It was blacker than anything Ewan had seen before; slick and wet, it gleamed like the wing of a raven. She dropped to her knees before Ewan, eyes raised in supplication.
‘Lord Glenarris, forgive me for using you so badly. I knew you were leaving and saw no other means within my power to slip away without being caught. If I had realised you were not going where I wanted, I would not have involved you.’
That went without saying. Deliberately travelling in the wrong direction wouldn’t be anyone’s plan.
‘It’s all well and good to say that now.’
It would be easier to remain angry if she wasn’t shivering from cold and those thick-lashed lids weren’t doing their best to keep tears at bay. ‘Just make sure you make it clear to your fiancé that I played no part in the matter. Peace between Lochmore and McCrieff is fragile at the best of times.’
‘There will be nothing to make clear,’ she exclaimed, clambering to her feet. ‘I’m not going back to him.’
Ewan could not look at her because the expression of misplaced bravery that sparked in her eye threatened to skewer his heart.
‘And if I decide to take you back anyway, what exactly are you going to do about it?’
‘When we reach the first town I shall say you are forcing me to go with you.’
Desperation gleamed in her eyes and Ewan had no doubt she would do it. Stuffing her back under the sackcloth until Stirling seemed awfully appealing. He rubbed his eyes wearily. Angus wasn’t the only one who wanted to get his head down for the night.
‘If you want to go to Leith, you’ll have to pass by Stirling,’ he pointed out. ‘Whatever caused you to quarrel can be mended.’
She gave a great sob and the tears she had been holding back began to fall. She bowed her head, her slight frame juddering as she wept. Ewan swore under his breath. He patted her on the shoulder and she looked up at him.
‘I have no one to turn to. Please aid me.’
He gave Mademoiselle Vallon another stern look.
‘I’ll make no decision tonight. Angus and Jamie, go to the inn as planned. Buy provisions in the morning. If anyone should ask where I am say my horse became lame and I slept rough.’
He gathered some essentials.
‘You’re coming with me. We’re sleeping in the woods tonight until I can decide what to do with you.’
Mademoiselle Vallon drew her cloak around herself and began backing away. ‘No! I won’t. You won’t...’
Her meaning was clear enough to Ewan. ‘I won’t touch you,’ he growled, casting an obvious eye over her. ‘I like my women tall and buxom and fair, not scrawny and looking like drowned kittens.’
That was a lie. Some women drew eyes when they were dressed in velvet and jewels, others when they were clad in nothing more than a chemise. Bedraggled and wet, Marguerite stole Ewan’s breath away. Her dress clung to her breasts, belly and thighs. She might have been draped in a bolt of finest silk. Ewan wondered how he had ever thought she was a boy.
She still looked uncertain. She had made it clear on the first night they met that she thought the Scottish were wild brutes after all. He wondered what McCrieff had done to provoke her to flee and spoke a little more gently, spreading his palms wide.
‘You’re very pretty, I’ll own that, but I’m not going to touch you because I like my women consenting, not forced. You have my word your virginity is safe with me.’
She nodded. ‘I want my luggage.’ She retrieved a bulky leather bag from the cart. Ewan held out a hand to help her mount the horse and was taken aback when she ignored it and swung herself into the saddle, sitting astride.
After watching Angus and Jamie leave with the cart, he climbed on to his horse behind her. She stiffened as he passed his arms around her but before long he felt her relax as they both rose and fell to the rhythm of the horse’s stride. He followed the track deep into the forest until the undergrowth grew thick before stopping. As he helped her dismount she gazed up at him from beneath her long lashes. She placed her hand on his shoulder with her fingers skimming the place where skin met brat and Ewan’s throat tightened. He noticed the moment it occurred to her that she was touching him because her creamy complexion deepened to a soft pink and she drew a sharp breath. For a woman who was fearful of being alone with a man, she was making herself far too charming.
‘Go sit over there,’ he said, gesturing to a tree that offered some shelter. He began to make a fire, keeping his back to her. He heard her move and was surprised when she knelt beside him to help, dropping good kindling on to the ground. He was more surprised that she knew how to lay the kindling and tree bark well.
When the fire took hold he sat cross-legged beside it and took a long swig from the bottle of wine he’d packed in his pannier. Mademoiselle Vallon knelt at the other side, leaning close to the heat with her hands stretched out. Shadows stroked her cheeks and caught the lights in her black hair. She looked unearthly, pale face surrounded by darkness. The ghost he had thought she was. Faced with a night under the sky when he should have been in a bed, Ewan had no desire to make conversation, so for a while they simply stared at each other through the flames until he noticed she was beginning to shiver more violently.
‘You’re soaking wet,’ he said as he realised. ‘Take your cloak and dress off and spread them over the bracken to dry before the fire dies. It’s a terrible dreich night and it will just get c
older.’
She began to fumble with the laces at her side, though seemed to be struggling. Her fingers had been cold when Ewan had touched them.
‘I expect you’re used to a maid. Do you need help?’ he offered.
She glared at him. ‘I am perfectly capable of managing by myself and I most certainly do not want you to undress me. Please turn your back.’
Ewan obeyed. Before long he heard the rustle of foliage and she told him to turn back. She was clothed only in her shift, which a cursory glance told Ewan was mainly dry. A cursory glance was all he was prepared to risk, given the way his senses tingled at the sight of the close-fitting white linen that followed the outline of her full breasts and hips. She’d freeze dressed like that. Already her lips were tinged with white. He beckoned her over.
‘Come here and lie down.’
She grew paler, if that were even possible.
‘I’m not going to hurt you, or violate you,’ Ewan said irritably. ‘I’m only going to help you get warmed through before you shiver yourself to pieces and I’m left with a corpse. I’d have a hard time explaining that to Duncan McCrieff.’
She didn’t move so Ewan unwrapped his brat and held it out to her. ‘You can wrap yourself in my brat to save your modesty.’
She came round the fire in small steps and held the heavy cloth as if she had no idea what to do with it. Ewan took it back and began wrapping it around her from shoulder to feet, swaddling her like a babe. She gazed at him with eyes that were far too trusting, given the thoughts that ran through his head as he wound the cloth tightly around her frame. He helped her to lie down, doing his best to ignore the prickling of lust that raced from his scalp down his spine. He lay beside her and dragged the sheepskin over the pair of them. Before long Mademoiselle Vallon’s shivers reached him, each convulsion causing her to body to brush up against Ewan’s side, softly at first but with increasing strength that caused all manner of thoughts to assault him. He clenched his teeth, forcing his imagination to behave. He had no business becoming aroused by her suffering. He rolled on to his side and wrapped his arm cautiously around her, drawing her close to him.
A Runaway Bride for the Highlander Page 8