by Aileen Adams
Lie to Richard. Lie to Richard! He would as soon cut off his hand. He owed Richard everything, and they’d never been anything but honest with one another. How could they behave otherwise when so much of importance rested on their ability to trust?
It would mean leaving her behind, here, on the other side of the river. How could he? “Now that we’ve spent so much time together, I must admit I canna easily let ye go,” he muttered, looking across the water to avoid looking at her. Safety and peace and rest were on the other side, beyond the line of spruce and the hills behind them. It was right there, just beyond his reach.
He ought to have been on horseback by now, crossing the bridge, finishing his journey with the satisfaction of knowing he’d protected her and brought her home.
Whose home? He had not considered it, and more was the pity. He deserved her scorn for not having taken a moment to see things through her eyes.
Or through Richard’s. What would he think if he learned what her people had been engaged in while she was being kidnapped?
“Ricard Munro is a man of great honor,” he explained, thinking aloud more than speaking directly to her. “He would not turn away someone in need. Especially a woman.”
“But…”
He growled. “But I dinna know how he would feel about your… past.”
She snorted. “Well said.”
“How would ye prefer I say it?” He looked back over his shoulder, wondering why he’d been at all concerned when he woke to find her gone. She would have done him a great favor if she’d taken off on her own.
Her eyes widened, most likely at the fury in his voice. “Forgive me. I ought not to bedevil you.”
He turned away again, both surprised that she would apologize and disgusted in general at the tangled mess in which she left him. He could not risk Richard turning her away, leaving her to suffer and most likely die at Jacob Stuart’s hand.
He could not betray his friend.
“Damn it.” He hung his head, at a loss.
“Do you see now?” The question was soft, gentle, without the usual sharp edge. She sounded sad. Beaten.
“See what?” He stood, turning to find her all but slumped against the tree.
“This is why I wanted to leave you.” Her eyes were wide, brimming with tears. “I’m sorry. I do not mean to cry like this, but I… I knew not what to do.”
“What do ye mean?” He stood close to her, straining to touch her but daring not.
“I knew it would be impossible.” A quick skim of her hand over her face caught the tears which had overflowed onto her cheeks. “Your decision. But I cannot bend. I cannot. I will not. He cannot know who I am, what my people did. I will not put myself at risk, nor will I use them as a way to bargain for my freedom.”
“Ye dinna deserve anything but freedom. Ye dinna deserve to be locked away.”
“So you say. Others do not feel as you do. Your friend, the laird, might not feel as you do. He is a laird, he owns lands which his people work for him. What if my kinsmen were to raid Munro land? What would he have to say about them?”
“But they have not—that I’m aware of,” he was quick to add. After all, the thieves might have turned north after her capture. They might well have paid Richard a visit in the weeks since William rode off.
“Even so, he would be more likely to imagine himself in the place of a laird whose lands were raided, would he not? He would not take the part of those who committed the raids. Do you see why I cannot trust him, no matter how you speak on his behalf?”
He did, and his heart ached for her just as his arms ached to hold and comfort her. She was too small, too fragile to bear this on her own. Would that he might grant her a bit of his strength.
He settled for brushing the windblown hair from her face, where tears made it stick. “I cannot lie to him. What I can do is behave as though I knew not who ye were or what ye did. I found ye on the road, aye, and it was clear ye had been mistreated by the Stuarts. He is already aware of the reasons I had for riding out. He does not need to know ye confessed who your people are.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes wider than ever, mouth falling open. “You would do that?”
If it meant bringing life back into her voice as he just had, he would do anything at all. “Aye. I dinna overmuch like the idea, but I will if it means ye will come with me. I canna leave ye here. Who is to say how ye shall haunt my dreams if I do?”
The barest hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. “And I would.”
“I’ve no doubt.” He tucked another piece of hair behind her ear when a wind kicked up over the surface of the river, stirring the branches overhead and causing a handful of needles to fall like snow.
She reached up, touched his hand, held it in place. “Thank you. I know how this pains you. I know not what I did to deserve this—your help and protection, but I do not take it lightly. I can assure you of that. I thank the Mother every morning and every night for you.”
He felt himself moving closer to her, as though he no longer had control over his body. As though he merely observed from outside himself. He watched as he tilted her head back, as he leaned down. Watched as she trembled and he hesitated as a result—then as she strained upward, telling him what she wanted without saying a word.
He wrapped an arm about her waist while still holding the side of her face with the other hand and pulled her to him just before his mouth fitted over hers. Now he was no longer observing. Now he was holding, tasting, giving in to what his body and soul had desired for days.
Her deep sigh told him he was not alone in wanting.
She seemed to come alive in his arms, her hands clutching at the front of his tunic and twisting the cloth in her fists as his lips touched hers. Whatever happened once they crossed the bridge would happen. Now, this was all he knew. They were all they had. And it was enough.
Though it would soon not be. His arms tightened, his body pressing against hers with growing need, and he knew it had to end before they went too far. They might already have gone too far. He pulled away and caught sight of her flushed face, lips parted and swollen from the roughness of his kiss, brows lifting over closed eyes in a sort of lost, dazed expression.
She leaned against him, her head on his chest, her heart pounding over his ribs. It matched the beat of his own. He stroked her hair, her back, wishing there could be more even as he knew it was for the best there wasn’t more.
He might already have gone too far.
“Come,” he murmured once it seemed they had both calmed themselves. Though gray clouds still covered the sun, he assumed they were already well past midday. “We should be on our way if we hope to reach the castle by nightfall, and with the rain having ended, I suppose anyone looking for ye might be on the road by now.”
And so it was, the two of them riding as they had from the start, with her nestled against him and watching for signs from the surrounding wood while he walked the horse through puddles and thick mud before they reached the bridge.
Only once they had crossed—the longest ride of his life, that—did he feel comfortable enough to heave a relieved sigh. It was only a matter of crossing through Munro land now, and anyone they happened to come across would be a friend, not foe.
She lifted her hood, as though she did not much like the notion of anyone noticing her astride his horse. She was still afraid, even in spite of the rapid approach of darkness which would hide the shade of her skin.
He told himself not to be afraid for her, that there was no cause to be. No one on this side of the river would know of her, as her people raided too far south for word to have spread. They rode into the woods, now using the main road and making better time than they ever had before.
Only when the lass sat bolt upright, her body rigid, did he have a sense that anything was amiss.
“William.” Her whisper was tight, throbbing with urgency. “There are two men watching us from the right, just ahead. On horseback.”
&
nbsp; He did not have time to look for them before they appeared on the road, no more than two shadowy figures in the deep wood.
“Halt!” one of them barked. “Who are ye, and what brings ye here?”
20
She trembled so, William feared she might die of fright unless he spoke. “These are my men,” he murmured in her ear. “There is nothing to fear. We’re safe now.”
“They are?” she whimpered.
“Aye, I trained both of them myself.”
She slumped. “Och. Thank the Mother.”
“Indeed.” He nodded to the two guards nearest them. “’Tis a relief to be home.”
“Och, so it’s yourself! ‘Tis a relief to have ye back.” One of the men, who William recognized in the darkness as Fergus, signaled to one of the others. “Ride ahead and tell the laird the captain has returned.”
“There is no need to disturb him,” William protested, but they were hearing none of it.
“He’ll wish to know you’re safe, Captain Blackheath. He’s been keeping watch for ye, though he would not wish for ye to know it,” Fergus added with a soft chuckle.
William snickered. “Aye, I’ll not breathe a word of it.”
They rode the rest of the way to the castle in such a manner, speaking of the guard and how training had progressed in his absence. It seemed all was well, which came as both a relief and something of a disappointment. He reminded himself this was a sign of how well he’d trained his men; they could carry on without him.
Though his pride would not have minded if they’d been just the slightest bit lost.
The sight of the familiar walls, as they loomed nearer, was indeed a welcome one. The weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders—a weight he had lost awareness of, one which had become part of him somewhere along the journey—lightened with each step the horse took.
They came to the tall, thick wooden door which opened thanks to the efforts of two pairs of men standing atop the wall. They worked in teams at a pair of massive cranks which raised and lowered the door on a series of heavy chains.
“An entire army of men could try for a week straight, never stopping, and they could still not break through a door of that thickness,” he assured her. “You shall be safe here.”
She kept her thoughts to herself, choosing to look around instead. Now that they were inside the courtyard, lit torches provided her a better view.
And they provided a better view to the men who’d ridden along with them. Now, they saw her better, and judging by the way they frowned, sharing troubled glances, William knew they were surprised. Perhaps a bit concerned.
“There is the keep,” he explained, ignoring them for the moment in favor of making her feel comfortable. “That will be where ye stay, I would imagine. ‘Tis where much of the household lives, the servants and what have ye.”
“Servants?”
“Do ye believe a house of this size runs itself?” William chuckled as he dismounted, then he reached for her.
She did not move. “Is that what I shall do, then? To earn my way?”
“What do ye mean?”
“Have you brought me here to be a servant?”
“Why must ye always think the worst? Come, please. I’m all but exhausted and would like very much to speak with Laird Richard before sleeping in my own bed for the first time in weeks.” Just the thought was nearly enough to make his eyes want to close. He would sleep now. His dreams would be untroubled. He’d delivered her to safety, against all of the challenges which had stood against him.
She accepted his assistance in dismounting, her wide eyes still examining everything around her. “I’ve never seen anything so grand in my life,” she whispered.
“You’ve never seen a castle?”
“Only from the other side of the walls. Or of the dungeon, from the inside of a cell. Never from this side.”
He had a strange sense of indulging her, smiling to himself as she turned in a slow circle, a half-smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Turning away, he patted his loyal horse’s neck.
“Thank ye,” he murmured as he touched his forehead to the beast’s nose. He was rewarded with a snort and a tug at his cloak before a sleepy lad took the reins and led it away.
“Come,” he bade her, full of pride of ownership though he owned nothing but the horse he’d just bade goodbye to. Even so, he was proud, for this had been his home all his life. He explained this as he led her inside the keep, where several of the guard greeted him in cheerful tones.
“They all respect you so,” she whispered.
“Ye sound surprised.” He could chuckle then and be of good humor. He was home. All would be well. “I would imagine you’re as hungry as I.”
“I am.”
“The kitchen is just yonder.” He led her inside, where the fires were long cold, and the candles and torches dark. “Many’s the night I’ve come down here on my own. The cooks must ask themselves where the food goes.” He pulled a loaf of bread and a pair of apples from a cupboard, then cut a slab from a wheel of cheese.
“I must admit, this is… a great deal to take in at once.” She accepted an apple, biting into it with care, smiling at its sweetness.
“Ye shall have all the time ye need, I’m sure.”
“You have a great deal of faith in Laird Richard.”
“We’ve lived as brothers our entire lives. If there is a single person in the world I know, ‘tis himself.”
She nodded, remaining silent in favor of eating. He pushed the cheese closer to her, across the small table at which they’d settled to share their humble meal.
“I’m glad you’re here with me. I know I have not always been a pleasant companion for ye, and I’m sorry for it.”
“You’re sorry?” She blinked hard. “You are the only reason I’m still alive. I’m certain of it. I owe you my life. Everything.”
“Think nothing of it.”
She grinned. “I wonder if such a thing would be possible.”
Sharp footsteps echoed in the corridor just before Richard entered the kitchen. “Thank God, you’ve returned.” He clasped William’s arms, a wide smile spreading across his familiar face. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see ye.”
“Nor I ye,” William laughed.
“I’m certain it will not surprise ye to find my aunt visited her seer several times since ye left us.” Richard smirked with a roll of his eyes. “The crone vowed ye would return, and ye would not be alone when ye did.”
With that, he turned to where the lass sat in silent observation.
And only William would have noticed the way his features changed when he took her in. To Richard’s credit, he did not make a show of his surprise. “And ye must be the one over whom my old friend went to so much trouble. We’ve missed him a great deal, though the journey was not made in vain so long as ye are safe here.”
No one would know how unsettled he was. No one but William.
And, to his surprise, the lass. She changed. Stiffened. “Thank you for your graciousness,” she smiled, lifting her chin with all the dignity of a royal. “I hope you do not mind my coming.”
“Not at all,” William answered before Richard had the chance.
Richard turned to him, and his eyes were much harder than his tone suggested. “Ye are too right, my friend. It is no imposition whatsoever. And what is the name of our charming guest, then?”
They both looked to her.
She looked at them.
“You might call me Tara.”
William’s heart sank like a stone.
“I might call ye that?” Richard asked, his head tipping to the side, arms crossing. “Is that your name?”
“Lass,” William murmured, his eyes moving back and forth between them. This was not what he’d expected. Nowhere near. Yes, he’d known she would keep to herself, that she would only reveal that which she felt could be revealed.
But he’d hoped she would at least have the sense to share her given nam
e.
Richard ignored him. “Ye are here now, under my protection, and I will not turn ye away. However, it is considered good form to answer such a question honestly when one who has just offered ye protection, whose food ye are just finished eating, has asked it.”
“Richard…”
He held up a hand to signal William’s silence. “Nay, allow me to finish. If I’m to continue protecting ye, offering ye food and a place to rest your head, I ask that ye pay me the respect I deserve as laird and owner of this castle.”
When she remained silent, Richard merely shook his head. William, on the other hand, wanted to wring her neck. How could she make such a fool of him after everything they had been through?
“I’ll see to it that ye have a room,” Richard announced, waving one of the guards into the kitchen. “Take her to one of the prepared bedchambers, see to it she has everything she needs.”
He turned to William. “I’ll see ye in my study. Now.”
William knew better than to offer protest when Richard was in such a state. He could only cast a doleful look at the one he’d all but gotten himself killed to rescue before following his friend out of the kitchen, down the corridor and into his study.
“Close. The. Door.” Richard went to the small table beside the fire and poured a mug of wine.
“I can explain.”
“I will hear no explanations. Not yet.” Richard poured the wine down his throat, drinking it in two or three swallows, then poured another mug. “How did ye make it all the way with someone like her? How did ye manage not to kill her with your bare hands? I’ve never known such an obstinate, headstrong…”
“I know.”
“Ye brought her here without so much as sending word ye were coming.” Richard slammed the empty mug to the table, whirling on William. “Ye brought her here, to my lands, my castle, and now I’m responsible for her safety. I know who she is.”
“Ye… ye know?” William took hold of the closest piece of furniture—one of the chairs by the fire—to steady himself in light of this revelation.