..ooOOoo..
Ciaran was so paralyzed by terror she barely registered much of the fight. She sank down to her knees in mud, Aidan on her lap, the boys hunkering on both sides, and Mary crushed against her breast in case she tried to cry. They shivered and wept and prayed in silence as the battle raged just beyond their view.
Liam wrapped himself in his mother’s skirts, and Ryan held onto her arm. Only Avery stayed apart, his little fingers twitching restlessly at the trigger of the pistol, every gunshot and shriek causing him to flinch.
It seemed to drag on for hours, but in reality it was minutes at most. The howls and moans and gunshots finally subsided, and an eerie silence took its place.
“Mama?” Liam’s sweet voice piped up after a few minutes had passed that way. “Mama, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” she answered in a shaky rasp. She thought the battle was over, but didn’t know who had won, and didn’t know what she would see when they climbed up out of the gully. “Better wait here,” she said quietly, relieved when he nodded and settled down.
At last, she registered the sound of movement and voices, but she couldn’t work up the courage to leave her hiding place. She and the children were still huddled together; too frightened to move when the grass was pushed aside.
..ooOOoo..
Duncan prepared himself for the worst.
The adrenaline of battle carried him through the first few minutes after the fight. It was years since he had been in a battle, but his body remembered what it needed to do. From the first volley, his warrior instinct was fully engaged, his body acting faster than it could think, but with a skill and precision that years of careful study and practice had wrought.
He was like a machine: firing, priming, powering, reloading and firing again, shooting round after round into the invaders. Then, when they were finally too close, he had thrown down his rifle and drawn his knife.
He didn’t feel the arrowhead that had sliced the side of his bicep, or feel the sharp rocks cutting into his knees when he dropped to the earth. That numbness continued when their foe was finally beaten. He stumbled around the camp, staring uncomprehending at the fallen bodies, his mind wandering between the forest and battlefields that were an ocean away.
A hail from Frasure Cameron brought him back to earth.
“Three men down, Laird MacRae!” he reported hoarsely. “Old Munro is bad…he may not make it, sir.”
Duncan nodded, his thoughts returning to the matter at hand. It felt like time had been traveling very slowly and had suddenly sped up again. He finally noticed the noise and the smells of the clearing around him and his sense of duty returned.
“What about the women and the bairns?”
“I think they’re all accounted,” Frasure said. “The savages made off with a few of the chickens, and the Guests have lost a horse, but the damage wasn’t bad - not as bad as it could have been.”
Duncan nodded, but looked grim. “A raiding party,” he pronounced. He lacked any firsthand experience, but it sounded like what he had read about, and what he had heard others describe: a small, loosely organized band of braves that were looking for spoils and to scare the invaders away.
“We wouldn’t have made it without your warning,” the younger man said. His eyes flicked up the path, where Duncan noticed a thin column of smoke rising through the trees. “I wonder how the others fared.”
Duncan wondered too. Perhaps he had made the wrong decision? Perhaps they wouldn’t have been attacked at all if they had hurried on? In his heart, however, he believed he was right.
Frasure must have been of the same opinion, because he bowed his head. “Poor bastards,” he muttered.
Duncan couldn’t contain a snorting sound and spoke without thinking, “It would serve Sean Connelly right.”
Sean…
Duncan’s heart clutched as, the last haze of the battle finally clearing from his mind, he remembered Ciaran and the children. “Did you see Missus Connelly?” he asked his cousin, frustrated by the man’s puzzled frown.
“Ciaran!”
Duncan ignored the disapproving looks of his clansmen as he hurried to the edge of the clearing, his heart clenching in his chest as he looked around the ragged group of survivors - and failing to see them there.
It was happening again.
He was a fool. Duncan should have known better than to care for Ciaran and her little family. It was the kiss of doom. Everything he touched turned to ash. A horrible, ragged cry welled up in his throat, choking off his air as he tried to force it down.
“Laird?”
Duncan ignored his cousin as he stumbled off in the direction he had told Ciaran to go.
Fool! His mind taunted. You should have kept them with the wagons. You might as well have murdered them yourself.
Duncan steeled himself for the worst as he knelt by the side of the gully. He would try to be strong, but he didn’t know if he could bear the sight of Ciaran’s beautiful body broken and still. He pushed back the brushes, and then exhaled a slow, shuddering, disbelieving breath.
“Mister MacRae!”
Ciaran’s voice broke through his momentary stupor, and he thought he had never heard a more beautiful sound. She was there. She was alive. She was safe. He stared for a moment into her moss-green eyes, and then cast his gaze around her, picking out all five of the children’s faces. All of them were alive and whole.
“You made it!” Duncan croaked, his eyes watery as relief washed over him in a mighty flood.
“Is it safe to come out now?” Ciaran said in a tiny voice.
Duncan nodded. “Aye. The natives have gone away. We gave them a fair beating, I reckon. We’re fine for now.”
Reassured it was safe to move, Aidan scrambled out of the gully and launched himself into the Scotsman’s arms. The older children looked as if they would have liked to have done it as well.
Duncan squeezed Aidan tight, and then looked back at the boy’s mother. Ciaran had looked calm and shell shocked before, but now her eyes were streaming with tears.
It was the relief. Duncan had seen similar reactions before, and so he didn’t worry too much. He reached down to help her out of the gully, waiting as she shifted Mary to one of the older boys and then took his hand.
The tingling sensation Duncan had felt when they first touched redoubled. He curled his rough fingers tightly around her own and then pulled her out of the ditch. She managed it with a little difficulty, tottering slightly off balance for a moment, and Duncan couldn’t help it. He took advantage of the moment of weakness and tugged her into his arms.
“But-!” Cairan yelped in surprised as she was tugged against the Scotsman’s chest. Duncan stared hungrily at her eyes. There was no mistaking what he wanted to do. “My husband..!” Ciaran whimpered, but Duncan was sure that it was with fear and not regret.
“I won’t let him at you, lass,” Duncan growled back, and couldn’t wait another second before claiming her as his own.
His lips descended like a hot brand, searing into her skin as his hands curled around her back. She tasted as sweet as he’d imagined in his dreams. He knew, even before they broke away, that one taste would trigger an addiction.
She was his. The law and the church might have bound her to another man, but he knew, in his soul, that she belonged to him!
He bent to kiss her again, but Ciaran avoided his lips. “Your arm!” she gasped, touching her fingers to the sticky blood that oozed through his sleeve.
“A scratch,” Duncan assured her, annoyed by the distraction. The pain was nothing compared to the pleasure that a brush of her lips had wrought. He tightened his grip on her waist and bent to kiss her again - but was thwarted once more.
“Laird MacRae!”
Ciaran broke away only a second before Ross stepped into view. The man looked curiously between Duncan and Ciaran, but then registered the presence of the children and seemed to dismiss them in favor of the matter at hand.
“Laird MacRae…I think you need to see this…”
..ooOOoo..
Sean was dead.
Ciaran turned the thought over in her mind, trying to work out how it made her feel. It was something between relief and pain. It was true he had sometimes been a monster. He had ruled her with fear and pain, and his own foolishness had gotten him killed - but it was also true he was the father of her children. He had fed and clothed her. He was the only thing she had known since she left her home and came across the sea.
The children seemed similarly undecided, not quite certain what their reaction should be. They had all cried a little in the hours since Mister MacRae had returned and told their mother what he’d found. Ciaran walked with him the half mile up the trail, as far as the rest of the caravan had gotten before they were set-upon by Indians as well. She had looked on Sean’s dead and bloody body - she felt she had to see it for herself. Then she returned, drew the children aside and broke the news as gently as she could.
“What will happen to us now?” Ryan asked before anything else.
“We’ll manage,” Ciaran answered automatically, although she didn’t know if that was true. The raid on the first half of the wagons had been more successful. Most of the supplies and the cart were intact, but all of the livestock Sean had brought was missing, save a cage of chickens that was strapped in the back. What was more, Ciaran didn’t know if she could manage the horses herself - or what they would do when they reached the end of the journey. She wasn’t ready to think about that yet. She was simply trying to reconcile her mind to all the changes, and so she had missed the point of Ryan’s question.
“No-I mean…what will happen to Avery and me?”
Ciaran blinked. Surely Ryan and Avery knew she loved them? That she didn’t blame them for their father’s actions? That she wouldn’t dream of leaving them behind?
“Oh, Ryan!” she had whispered in answer, and then tugged him into her arms. “I won’t leave you, darling - or your little brother!”
The declaration seemed to ease the youngster’s fears. He managed a few bites of his own food before he allowed himself to be put to bed with his little brothers.
The mood at the camp was still wary and muted. The wagons had been arranged in a double circle around a large, single fire. Ciaran made sure the boys were all tucked into the wagon before she walked back toward the flames.
Most of the men had gathered off to one side, where LaSoeur and Duncan seemed to be having some sort of fight.
Nothing new there, Ciaran thought, and set about getting Mary to nurse. The baby, unlike her brothers, was blissfully unaware of the day’s events. She latched on hungrily and began to feed while her mother rocked her gently back and forth.
Ciaran’s thoughts began to wander again, thinking back over her life with Sean. He hadn’t seemed so bad in the beginning. When he’d come to fetch her off the boat he seemed handsome and kind, but she knew, as soon as she walked into the house, something was wrong.
The first Mrs. Connelly, her predecessor, looked old beyond her years. At first, Ciaran hadn’t understood why the woman was so reclusive and withdrawn, but then she had heard the first beating. Ciaran had stayed awake in her bed, horrified by the sounds, shocked by what she learned of Sean, but she forgave him the following day. He was an angel to the whole family: playing with the boys (Ryan and Avery were both so young then!), bringing flowers and a new packet of pins to his wife. That was the night he had called Ciaran into his study and tried to explain.
He poured her a glass of wine. Ciaran had never had anything but beer or watered-down whiskey before. She liked the sweet taste, the warmth it spread in her belly, and how it helped her to relax. Sean made it all make sense. He told her how withdrawn his wife was, how cold and uncaring, how she made him lose his temper and how lonely he was in the face of her rejection.
Ciaran thought it was strange when he wound his arm around her shoulder, but it was faintly thrilling too. Growing up in a house with fifteen other children, she had never been the focus of anyone’s attention before, and she liked it more than she should.
Sean spoke to her again the following evening, and the evening after that. The conversations were casual and friendly. What she’d told Duncan wasn’t a lie. Sean wasn’t a completely bad man. He had interests and talents. The silver that he’d fashioned before he turned into a drunkard was renowned for its craftsmanship. She had liked him, and she thought it would be good to have a friend, but then he had kissed her.
Ciaran didn’t think she could tell him no.
She knew it was wrong, terribly wrong, when he had placed his lips on hers, and even worse when he put his tongue in her mouth. She tried to avoid him whenever possible, but things didn’t get better, they only got worse.
Ciaran cringed when she thought back to how he had stolen her innocence. He was deep in his cups that night. He barged through the front door, sopping wet from the rain, berating her for not bringing supper and letting the fire burn down in his room. He had pushed her across the desk before she knew what was happening.
Mrs. Connelly didn’t know at first, although, it had been torture for Ciaran to face her the following day. After the first time, Sean came to Ciaran more and more frequently. She tried to act like nothing had happened, even though her conscience was eating her up inside. If her mistress had any suspicions about where her husband slept at night, she didn’t voice them - although, she couldn’t have been so blind not to notice when Ciaran’s belly began to grow.
Mary’s soft gurgle interrupted Ciaran’s musings, and she looked gratefully at her little girl. Mary was beautiful. Aidan and Liam were too. It almost didn’t seem possible her three wonderful children had been sired by a man like Sean. She wished they belonged to someone else.
Ciaran squelched the thought before it could be fully formed and looked around for distraction. She found it almost immediately - the men by the campfire were still arguing. She was startled by the sound of her name.
“…Connelly’s back with the Munro’s!”
“There’s nothing for them to go back to. You know that!”
“That is no concern of mine!”
Eyes wide, Ciaran hurried toward the men, who stopped speaking when they saw her standing there.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice soft and fearful.
Duncan’s jaw twitched angrily. “Monsieur LaSoeur and I were just…having a friendly conversation.”
“About me?”
Duncan looked uncomfortable. “Aye - about you and some of the rest.”
“Some of the others, the Claibers and Munros, are heading back,” Donaid MacNab explained to her.
“Oui! And she is going with them!”
Ciaran blanched. “Going with them? Where? How? WHY?”
LaSoeur chose to answer the last question first. “Because you and the children cannot come alone. They are enough trouble already! If not for the little boy slowing us down, we would not have been attacked!”
That wasn’t true. LaSoeur hadn’t waited for Aidan, so it wasn’t fair to give the little boy the blame. Ciaran tried to tell him so, but was drowned out by a booming:
“NO! It is in the agreement! ONE man with a rifle for every family. No exceptions. You place us all at risk.”
Ciaran looked desperately between the men, refusing to believe their words were true. Sean was dead, but it wasn’t her fault. They couldn’t simply leave her here!
“You will go with the Munro’s!” LaSoeur barked.
“But Avery can-!”
“That is a boy, not a man!” LaSoeur said coldly. “It is not enough!”
Duncan gave the Frenchman a black look, “And what if the rest of us say it is?”
“I don’t know, Duncan…”
Laird MacRae’s eyes went wide with shock as his cousin tentatively disagreed. “LaSoeur may have a point. If we have to fight the Indians again, who is going to be looking after her brood? And who is going to contribute to their defense? I’
m not saying I like it, but it isn’t fair to the rest of the men, we’ve got families of our own to look after.”
“But-!” Ciaran was beginning to feel desperate. Surely they wouldn’t really make her go? Sean had sold the shop, and the home upstairs where the family had lived. They didn’t have any money. Everything had gone to buy supplies. “Please!” she begged. “You have to take us with you! We can’t turn back now.”
“One man per family,” LaSoeur repeated.
There was a beat of silence. Then, the rich brogue that Ciaran was learning to love broke the stillness again.
“They’re with me.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. Ciaran thought most of the sounds were disapproving, but only the Frenchman had the gall to voice an outright “No!”
Duncan narrowed his eyes at the trapper. “You said one man per family. I’m a man, and they’re a family. I don’t have anyone to look after on my own.”
LaSoeur’s skin flushed an angry red as he tried to think of a way to contradict this logic, but he couldn’t in the end.
“Fine!” he spat. “It’s your neck, but if you change your mind, we’re leaving her wherever we are.” He shot a glare at Ciaran, and then he stalked away.
“Are you sure you want to be doing that, Duncan?” Ross asked in a wary voice. He continued, as if Ciaran wasn’t standing there. “The lass isn’t your responsibility, and-”
“I’m sure!” Duncan cut him off.
“But-!”
“I’m on watch,” Duncan said gruffly. He nodded in Ciaran’s direction, but then turned and walked away in the opposite direction from where the Frenchman had gone.
Ciaran stood staring after him, not believing - not understanding what had just happened. Why would Duncan do this for her and family?
A little heat stole into her cheeks when she recalled how he had kissed her, when she recalled how possessively his arms had wrapped around her waist, but-but if that was what he wanted then he was borrowing a whole heap of trouble to get it.
Ciaran had always understood men found that particular activity a lot more pleasurable than women, but surely Duncan didn’t think her body was worth quite so much? Was he really going to take over the protection of her whole family just to entitle himself to the privilege?
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