by Lily Baldwin
He raked both his hands through his long hair. The moment before he spun away from her, she saw such an ache of suffering in his eyes, it brought tears to her own. She stared now at his back, knowing he fought to regain the control he worked so hard to constantly maintain. When he turned back around, his impassive mask shaped the contours of his face. Her beautiful statue stood in front of her, but now she did not fear him. Now she understood.
Slowly, the hardness left his eyes, and he again stepped toward her. She held her breath as he drew closer still. Then he reached out his hand, and just his fingertips grazed hers. His touch ignited her soul, compelling her to weave her fingers together with his.
“When I touch ye,” he breathed, “I see nothing but ye. I am just a man. Ye’re just a woman.” A shiver shot from his body into hers, and she could not help but think that he was far from just a man. She looked up and met his gaze.
He swallowed hard. “I cannot tell ye how good it feels,” he said, his voice low. He drew her cloak away and reached for the last few pins sloppily containing her hair. “So beautiful,” he whispered.
She bent her head, unable to bear his kindness, his gentleness. Tears stung her eyes. Longing filled her with his every breath caressing her cheek. Warm and so close, it hurt as much as it pleased.
“Still so sad,” he said, crooking her chin and gently lifting her head so that he could see her face. “I cannot see yer truth. Ye must tell me.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat. “What do you want to know?”
“Ye,” he implored. “I want to know ye.”
Flashes of fists, knives, whips, and pokers combined with hurtful words — she did not want him to know her truth. It was too ugly.
“I know that emotion all too well,” he said, his voice soothing. “Ye’ve been hurt, Joanie. A lifetime of hurt. But the shame is not yers. None of it is yers. Do ye hear me?”
His searching eyes and full lips blurred like a dream as tears welled over her lids. “The scars across my body will tell you the story of who I am, how I came to be … me.”
Once more he cupped her cheeks, and he lowered his head and gently kissed away a tear from her cheek, then another. Holding her gaze, he let his hands fall to his sides. “Let me see ye as ye really are.”
She couldn’t bear the idea of Alec seeing the ugliness that marred her body. Although healed over on the outside, each wound cut soul-deep. Inside, she still bled. How could she let him see?
“Do not be afraid. Trust in me,” he whispered.
Her breath caught. Dare she? Dare she truly trust Alec with her life, her story. She found her courage. “I do this for me,” she said quietly.
Hands trembling, she reached for her tunic and pulled it slowly over her head. The warmth of the fire caressed her shoulders. Her heart pounded, but she refused to turn back. Drawing a deep breath, she lifted the hem of her kirtle and eased her tattered hose from her hips, peeling them down each leg.
Then she stood before him, head down and eyes closed, clad in naught but her sheer kirtle.
Pressing her lips together, she fought the desire to scream, to sob — for she knew what he saw — the layers of red lashes that covered her back and stomach. The burn marks. The angry bruises still marring her skin from her last fight with Geoffrey.
She opened her eyes when she felt his hands gently circle her waist. She gasped at the sight of his black eyes burning with midnight fire. Furious waves of heat emanated from his hands that held her so gently, but burned her soul with the fire raging within him.
“Who did this?” he growled, the very words seemed to pain him. “Who hurt ye?”
A sob tore from her throat. “My father.” She drew a shaky breath. “And every master who has owned me since.”
He ran a thumb along the scar across her collarbone that slashed her chest.
“That was a knife,” she whispered. “It was the closest I ever came to dying.”
He bent down and kissed where he had touched. The heat from his lips soothed below the surface, penetrating beyond layers of skin to where the true scars resided. She reached her arms around his neck, weaving her hands through his hair and closed her eyes. His lips trailed down her chest and stomach, kissing every hurt through the thin fabric of her kirtle. He turned her around, his hands and lips spreading his magic breath and heat over her, inside her, everywhere. Then he circled around her and stood in front of her, his black eyes now glistening with her story. She expelled a breath she felt she had been holding her whole life as he lifted her into his arms. Cradling her, he crossed to the bed. Lying beside her, he held her in his arms and she closed her eyes, feeling his strength surround her.
“Never again,” he whispered over and over until at last she believed him.
Chapter Twenty One
Joanie slowly stretched, savoring the warmth and restfulness that filled her limbs. She had never slept better. It had been a night without fear that someone might come through the door with fist raised or tongue ready to sting. She opened her eyes and saw Alec sitting in front of the open window, his feet crossed and resting on the ledge while he crunched down on an apple.
“Good morrow,” he said without looking at her. She realized as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed that he saw her even though his eyes gazed out beyond the ledge. He knew she had risen, because he would have felt her awaken. He saw in ways others could not.
“Good morrow,” she answered, reaching her arms heavenward. He turned then and met her gaze. Somehow, he looked different, warmer, like a patch of earth that had thawed in the sunshine. She realized he was younger than she had thought. He could not have been older than five and twenty. He held his body with such ease that she could not help but smile. And then something happened that made her gasp, her heart nigh full to bursting. The corners of his lips rose like the sun, and a smile spread across his face, making her knees weak. She did not trust herself to stand.
“Come,” he said, still smiling. “Break your fast, for we’ve much to accomplish before we set out. I wish to be on the road before noon.”
Blushing, she glanced down at her lap while she waited for her heart to stop racing. After a few moments, she dared to look up. Smiling, too, she accepted his hand and sat next to him by the window.
“Where did this come from?” she said, accepting the rosy apple he offered.
“Last night, Betty left a tray outside our door,” he said, pointing to the table.
She glimpsed rolls and cheese. Her stomach growled at the sight. Bringing the apple to her lips, she took a big bite. While she chewed, she peered out the window at the street below and breathed in the crisp morning air. From above, she enjoyed the sight of children playing and people milling with purposeful strides over the frost-covered road.
Feeling a slight pressure on her shoulder, she looked up at Alec who now stood behind her, gently pushing her shoulders away from her ears.
“Yer body needs to learn to not always be guarding itself.” With his hands on her shoulders, she felt tall. She straightened her spine and grew longer, but when he removed his hands, her shoulders instinctively shot up around her ears.
“We’ll work on that,” he said, his lips upturned.
She looked up at him, mesmerized by the warmth in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his head, bringing his lips a breath away from hers. Her stomach fluttered. Her heart pounded. And then he closed his eyes and kissed her. She trembled beneath his gentle touch. The apple rolled from her hand forgotten to the floor as she closed her eyes and felt the heat of his touch pulse through her. Then she stood and wrapped her arms around his neck. He deepened their kiss, and she pressed into him. All his fire whirled around her like a blazing windstorm making her heart race faster. He filled her empty soul with longing and an ache so sweet it curled her toes and made her knees weak.
When he slowly pulled away, she felt somehow like they were still connected, still touching. She’d been branded by his kiss, forever changed by her first taste o
f passion.
His eyes bore into hers with an intensity like never before, but his words were gentle, setting her racing heart as ease. “After tasting yer lips, I cannot imagine being sated by mere bread and cheese, but we should probably finish our meal.”
She nodded incapable of containing her smile.
After they finished eating, she put on her cloak.
“Are ye ready?” he asked gently.
She took a deep breath, wishing they could remain in that room for the rest of the day, the rest of their lives.
He grabbed the latch on the door and held it open for her. After closing the door behind him, he clasped her hand and stepped slightly in front of her, keeping her just behind him. She watched the warmth flee his face, replaced once more by his stony mask. Behind his impenetrable wall of cold indifference, she happily hid from the world as they made their way from the inn.
Marketers had set up on the village green. Moving from stall to stall, he bought her new leather slippers and a cloak of thick worsted wool. He also bought a new cloak for himself to replace the one he had given Alma. For their journey, he filled a satchel with dried meat and several fresh bannock, and lastly, they stopped at the stables where he paid forty crowns for a chestnut colored horse.
As planned, they left the village just as the sun rose above their heads. On the outskirts of town, he brought the horse around and began arranging their supplies in saddlebags. She eyed the large beast nervously. She had never sat a horse before. Chewing her lip, she readied her courage to mount. But Alec looked at her with his seeing eyes and offered her his hand. Pulling the horse behind him, they set out on foot while sunlight glistened on the frost still clinging to the bracken. Her breath hung in front of her, but she did not feel cold walking beside Alec. With his hand clasped tightly in her own, he warmed her from the inside out, and about her shoulders hung the most wondrous cloak.
“You are even more beautiful when you smile,” he said softly, looking down at her from his great height.
She blushed, her hands rushing to her cheek. “I didn’t realize I was smiling.”
“Don’t stop,” he said, cupping her cheek. He slowly lowered his lips to hers, and she softened in his arms. His full lips molded to hers, filling her with warmth. His touch was gentle and yet so deeply felt. When he pulled away, she gripped his tunic to keep from falling, her knees trembling from his touch.
“I can’t believe ye’re real,” he said. And the truth of his words shone in his eyes. “Come,” he said. “There is someone I want ye to meet.”
Drawing her shoulders around her ears, her eyes darted around them, afraid of who might suddenly appear from behind the trees or rise up from the thicket.
“This is Rosie,” he said, bringing the horse closer to her.
Realizing there wasn’t a stranger hiding nearby, her shoulders eased down a little. “It’s a girl?” she asked, looking at the large animal with wide eyes.
“Aye, lass, and named Rosie by the stable master’s daughter, like my sister, Rose, which I judged as a good omen. She has a sweet temperament, a strong back, and her hooves are better at negotiating the rocky highlands than yer small feet, even with new slippers. And … well … to be honest, Joanie, ’tis in our best interest to reach the border as quickly as we can.”
Joanie eyed the mare’s great height and muscular body. She did appreciate a good omen.
“I won’t let anything happen to ye,” Alec promised. “Trust me.”
She swallowed and met his gaze. “I trust you,” she breathed. Stepping closer to the horse, she straightened her spine and spread her feet apart. “What do I do?” she asked, her voice strong.
Before she could draw her next breath, she was soaring through the air and set astride Rosie’s back. In a flash, Alec settled in behind her, pulling her close and enclosing her in his arm while his other hand held the reins.
She laughed. “Well, that was simple enough.” Then she nuzzled against him, enjoying the feel of his body surrounding hers.
After riding for several hours, he stopped where the road intercepted a river and climbed down before he reached for Joanie. She slid into his arms. “Ye might find yer legs feel a bit weak.”
She blushed. “My backside is sore. That much I know already.”
“See if ye can stand?”
He placed her on her feet and slowly let go of his hold. Her legs felt like they didn’t belong to her, and it pained her when she walked. But the pain was not so great that she couldn’t deal with it. Pain was something she had learned to tolerate.
Lifting her chin, she said, “I’m fine.”
Alec considered her for a moment, admiring her strength. Then he handed her a costrel. “Have some ale and a bannock. I’m going to take Rosie down to the river.”
Rushing currents wound among large rocks that jutted from beneath the restless surface of the river, ever changing, ever moving. The river’s song rose out from the earth, expanding the reach of the river to the air, the very clouds. It surrounded him, penetrating his heart and mind, a welcome change from the harsh, abrasive sounds of the city. While Rosie dropped her muzzle to the undulating currents, he stared back at Joanie. She nibbled on a piece of bannock while she stood, her back long and straight, gazing up at the myriad branches set against the cool sky. They fanned out in wild disarray, bare and starved for warmth. She was like those branches. The harshness of life had stripped her down to a shell, exposed, unadorned, but just beneath the surface teemed ferocious vitality. How he admired her strength. He knew the ride must have left her aching, and yet she made no complaint. She pushed on. She would survive. That is what she’d spent a lifetime doing, surviving one unthinkable horror after another. He fought the rush of fury that blazed within him when he thought of the scars that crisscrossed her bare limbs. But in time, if she came to know the security of roots planted firmly in the warm earth, then she too could grow and stretch, and become the woman so many had tried to cut down.
He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling the secret shard. The abbot had said that the fate of Scotland resided in the mystery of the stone — but how could Joanie be tied to Scotland’s fate? He worried for her, wanting to protect her from ever knowing harm again. A sudden flurry of emotions blasted his heart, turning his thoughts from Joanie. He closed his eyes, absorbing the faint but unmistakable nearness of other souls. Men approached, their minds disciplined and purposeful.
He pulled on Rosie’s reigns. “Come to me,” he said to Joanie. He took the costrel from her hand and shoved it in one of the bags. Then he clasped her waist and lifted her onto Rosie’s back. Swinging up behind her, he drove his heels into the horse’s flanks and galloped off toward the woods.
A jolt of fear shot through Joanie. Alec had turned to steel before her eyes. “What happened?” she gasped once they were beneath the sparse canopy provided by the bare trees.
“A large band of warriors, English soldiers most likely, was moving quickly toward us on the road.”
“How did you…?” Her question trailed off unfinished from her lips. She already knew the answer. He had felt them coming.
“We’ll stay off the roads from here on out. It will take us longer to reach the border, but it will be safer.”
“I rather prefer it in here than on the open road,” she said, nestling deeper into his arms. She felt enclosed, protected from every direction. His strong arms encircled her, and the trees surrounded them both. Overhead, the branches wove an intricate canopy, delicate but strong, like fine lace on a burlap backing. The weave permitted streaks of light to pass inside and touch her cheeks, but guarded against all other intruders — or so she allowed herself to believe. She loved everything about that moment — the strength of Alec’s long and leanly muscled torso against her back, the breath of the forest slowly warming as Spring began to awaken and stretch, still hidden but only just beneath the surface. His arms tightened around her, and she sighed, savoring the warmth of his body.
~ * ~
It wasn’t until the last golden light vanished into shadow that Alec eased Rosie to a halt and swung down to the hard earth.
“We will rest here for the night.” He laid his cloak on the forest ground, and produced two apples, dried cuts of meat, and two pigeon pies from one of the saddlebags. Then he reached for her, his hands surrounding her small waist, and once more his heart broke at the ubiquity of her suffering. “I intend to fatten ye up, so eat yer fill.” He smiled softly. “Just as soon as I drink mine.” He kissed her, slowly, gently, like one might sip the very nectar of life itself — something to be savored and cherished.
He pulled away, his harsh breaths contrasting with the gentleness of his touch. “Eat, so I can hold ye without worrying I might break ye.”
Joanie’s stomach growled as she knelt on his cloak and reached for a pigeon pie. Flakes of buttery crust crumbled on her tunic as she ate. When she was finished, she pinched the crumbs, not letting a speck of the delicious pie go to waste.
“The other one is also for ye,” Alec said.
She looked at him, sitting just across from her. He held an apple, which he absently tossed from one hand to another. “You must have more than just an apple,” she said.
His smile reached his eyes, which shone at her like black suns, bright and hot. He shrugged. “I will have some meat and bannock as well. Anyway, I am particularly fond of apples. My wee sister, Rosalyn, and my mother used to sell them on market days.”
“You still grieve for them,” Joanie said, knowingly.
“I always will. Once grief enters someone’s soul it is there forever. It has a different feeling than sadness or fear, although both are present in grief. When it is fresh, it screams. It’s raw and impossible to contain. But after a while, it disappears from the surface, sinking deep like a river that runs through ye. It becomes part of ye, always present but quiet, like the low notes in a song.” He reached for her hand. “Ye seem warm enough,” he said before crunching into his apple. “I dare not risk lighting a fire.”
She smiled, folding her cloak tighter around herself. “I’ve never felt so warm.” And that was true. Never had she owned such a fine cloak, but more than that, Alec always gave off a wave of heat that kept her warm to her core. He was her own living, breathing flame. She took a bite of her second pie and took in the sight of him. Her eyes traveled down the white skin of his neck to the V of his tunic where she glimpsed sleek muscles. She wondered what his skin would feel like to touch. Then she noticed the thick twine around his neck.