“How do you know?” he asked, coming to stand beside her.
She looked up at him with the air of somebody humoring the witless. “It didn’t rain yesterday. These tracks were made when the ground was dry.”
Arthur tried to suppress his laugh, but he couldn’t help it. She was quite right! He ran his finger over the shallow tracks by the door, and looked up to see her watching him.
“You’re right,” he said. “Which means they might have stabled their horses here for a few days – at least two – but that they didn’t sleep here. I reckon they’ve headed west now and they won’t be coming back.”
“We can take it in turns to sleep,” Bonnie said, already hauling pieces of wood out from a kindling pile he hadn’t noticed. “Then nobody will be able to sneak up on us.”
“A grand plan,” Arthur replied. He stayed by the door, watching her a moment. She moved with a graceful ease that showed that, despite the recent suffering, she was strong and well-muscled. He felt his body respond to her presence and made fists with his hands, trying to suppress the urge he felt. He walked to the door to fetch more wood.
While he was outside, the drizzle started again. He looked down the tracks, checking to see if there were any soldiers out there, but he saw none.
“Probably heading to Edinburgh,” he guessed aloud. He lifted a big branch and hauled it under the shelter of the roof. The soldiers would probably be reinforcing the barracks there. That, he thought sourly, was typical. The rich protected the rich, and left folk like them to try their luck against the invader.
Once inside, he and Bonnie sat around their pile of sticks. She was shivering, he realized with some chagrin. Her clothes had gotten wet during the walk. He reached into the pouch at his waist and found a flint there. With a stone to strike it on, he lit the fire. A spark flew and caught. He blew on it, watching with satisfaction as the flame grew bright. The orange light danced about the low roof and walls, bringing fresh illumination.
“We’ll stay here the night,” Bonnie decided. “And then we’ll move on someplace else.” Her voice was soft, not to disturb the silence and the crackling of the fire.
“Very well,” Arthur agreed.
He studied her where she sat across from him. The leap of the flames painted hollows and shadows on her face, highlighting the high cheekbones and the bright eyes. He watched her, wondering what mysteries lay behind that dark stare.
She was looking into the fire, eyes wide. She had stopped shivering for the moment, and sat with her knees drawn to her body for warmth. He wished he could think of something to say, some way to broach the silence.
“You should leave me at Lowkirk,” she said. “I can find my way there.”
“No,” he said, surprising himself. His voice was strong in protest. “I can’t, lass. Let me take you as far as your settlement, at least.”
“Can’t.” The voice was a flat statement.
“Why?” he asked, his voice more curious than he intended it to be.
“It’s burned to the ground.”
Arthur felt his stomach clench at the flat horror of those words. She said it with no particular emotion. It was a fact to her, the way another might remark on the rain.
“Lass,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” He felt his hands clench in his hair. How could she say that so baldly? The shock must still be weighing on her, he guessed. He looked at her eyes, seeing how haunted they were. In the dancing flames that painted her face, he fancied he saw her memory of burned cottages, fleeing people, crying infants. He bit his own lip, feeling sorrow well up freshly inside him for her pain.
“No need.”
She said that, too, without any coloring of emotion of any sort. Her eyes held his for a moment, then she returned to staring into the flames.
The afternoon was dark from rain already, but the sun was starting to go down, he guessed. It was even darker, and the air was cold. Arthur huddled in his cloak and wished that they could stay here by the fire forever. It was bitterly cold out there. The roof kept the worst of the wind away, but it had risen and he could hear it ruffling the leaves.
“Here,” he said, shrugging off the cloak and passing it to her. “You’re cold.”
“I’m…fine,” she whispered. Even so, she took the cloak from him. He looked back into the firelight, not wanting to intrude on her. She shrugged into the cloak, its warm folds draped around her. He saw her eyes close and he smiled to himself when, a few moments later, her breathing shifted into the slow rise and fall that denoted sleep.
“Lad, what are you going to do now?” he asked himself in the silence.
Here he was, in a lean-to in the middle of nowhere, with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen leaning against the wall, sleeping soundly. She was also easily the least trusting, most feral person he’d ever imagined. He couldn’t expect her to accompany him into a town to look for work. He also couldn’t expect her to trust him.
She sighed and shifted in her sleep, leaning back on the wall. Her eyes were closed and her lips opened a little, sighing in a breath. He felt his body respond, but, along with that, he felt a stirring of something in his heart. He had never seen anybody so lovely. In repose, she seemed so vulnerable, and so lovely, like ice that clings to the boughs in winter.
He shivered as the wind increased and glanced over at his cloak, which draped her shoulders. He was cold too, and he inched closer until he was leaning beside her on the wall. Her arm rested on his and he could feel the warmth of her body, reaching his even through the layered folds of wool.
The sound of soft crackling from the fire mixed with the sigh of human breath by his ear. He felt his eyelids grow heavy and, before he had realized it, he had fallen fast asleep.
A noise intruded on his thoughts. Arthur’s eyes shot open. He sat bolt upright and stared through the door. There was somebody there – he could see the shimmer of firelight on metal and the shadow of a person. His next thought was for Bonnie. She was sleeping by his side in the cloak, and it was vital he protect her.
He reached for her protectively, and found nothing. His heart almost stopped. Then, as his eyes got used to the half-light, he saw the outline of a woman by the wall opposite. She was standing very still but she had a blade of sorts in her hand and she was looking directly at the man by the door.
“If you come in, you’re dead.”
Darkness
Bonnie stared at the shadow by the door.
It was a man, wearing mail. One of the soldiers they had seen riding in the woods, she guessed. She could see that even over the few paces of distance that separated her from him – the glint of the firelight on the chains, the fighting ready stance of him. He was tall, and his eyes, glinting in the fire, had been staring at them with a look she had come to fear. It was a look of narrow-eyed greed, lit with the intent to do harm.
I’m not letting him try anything – not without doing him some harm first.
Bonnie gripped the clay piece she’d found. It was part of a pot, broken cleanly, the clay edge sharp and curved. It wasn’t a knife blade, but it was every bit as dangerous in a desperate situation she knew. Bonnie felt her arm shudder with fear, but she kept it level.
“I’ll kill you,” she repeated.
The man at the door stood transfixed. He had no reason to fear her – she knew she couldn’t do him much damage, especially should he be armed. The ceramic edge would cut his skin well enough, but its ability to pass through the links of mail was less sure.
“Drop it, lassie.”
She leaned on the wall, pressing her back to the cold bark of the logs that made it. She felt rage surge through her, displacing her terror.
“Not until you go away.”
The man laughed. At that moment Bonnie saw Arthur stand up. She felt relief flood through her. She had thought he wasn’t going to help her – either because he was in league with the soldier, or simply because he’d fallen asleep – but the relief that he would be there to fight alongside her filled
her and made her arm go limp.
“You drop your weapon instead.”
Arthur growled the words, his hand moving to his belt. Bonnie saw the soldier raise a knife. He hesitated, as Arthur rolled his shoulders. Whatever profession Arthur followed, Bonnie reckoned it had made him powerful enough to scare the soldier. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick. She felt a glow of something spread through her chest as she saw their adversary drop his blade.
“Welcome, friends,” he said. The blade clattered onto the rain wet soil. Bonnie saw it glint dully and then disappear in the shadow at his feet.
“Why were you threatening us with a knife, if we are friends?” Arthur asked. His voice was a low growl, and Bonnie felt her legs go weak with the relief of having somebody to stand with her. She had never had any help before.
“I didn’t know who you were,” the soldier said. He took a step forward into the light of the fire. His face was narrow and long, his eyes dark. He had the traces of a beard on his chin, and he wore a dark tunic under the mail. Bonnie watched him, her back pressed to the wood.
I don’t trust him.
Arthur sheathed his own knife and Bonnie felt a moment of fear. She wanted to take it and force it back into his grip. No, she wanted to say. We don’t know yet who he is or why he’s here.
She didn’t trust his proffered friendship.
I saw the way he stared at us.
Bonnie had seen more than enough of such looks in her life. He had wanted to hurt her, and to rob them both. He was far from worthy of their trust.
“Right,” Arthur said. He was standing in a relaxed pose, his weight on his back leg. He had one hand by his side, fingers unfurled. He gestured to the man to sit by the fire. “Come. Sit down.”
“Thanks,” the man said. His knee cracked as he lowered himself to sit by their fire. He was sitting opposite Arthur, his knee almost touching Bonnie’s. She drew her knee to her chest, regarding him levelly over the fire.
“You were scouting the woods?” Arthur asked. Bonnie saw him reach for the bag that held their things.
“Aye,” the soldier nodded. “Saw your fire. Thought you might be intruders. Outlaws. These woods are getting dangerous.”
And men like you are responsible for that, Bonnie thought. She watched as he held out his hands to the fire. The joints were thickened by years of use, the lines in his hands seamed with dirt. His eyes watched her and Arthur, assessing them.
“It’s because of the invading troops?” Arthur asked. “Where are they now? Still near to Stirling?”
“I suppose,” the man said. He spat over his shoulder at the mention of the invader. “So many desperate men, without anything to lose. They’re like wild beasts, let loose on our land. That bastard Longshanks.” He spat again, narrowly missing Arthur’s feet.
“It’s disgraceful.”
“Aye.” The man passed Arthur a bottle of something. Arthur accepted the offer and drank deeply. He passed it to Bonnie. She shook her head.
“No. Thank you.”
Arthur looked at her oddly, then shrugged. He handed the bottle back to the soldier. Bonnie felt a touch of hurt. Why was he smiling at the soldier, and ignoring her? Whose side did he belong to? She touched his hand. Arthur stiffened, then turned to her.
“What, lass?”
She looked at him searchingly. She didn’t want to say anything against the soldier – not while he was here. However, she also didn’t want to risk Arthur betraying them to the soldier. She didn’t like him and she couldn’t forget the air of menace with which he’d approached them. She found his eyes on her and shivered, wishing she could get away from him.
Arthur seemed to notice the look he gave her, because he reached over and drew her against him. “We were just resting here, sir,” he said politely to the soldier. “Tomorrow, we’ll move one.”
“Suits me,” the soldier shrugged. “Just, I thought to wonder, why rest here? There’s a fine farmhouse a mile from here. You could come there. Some of us are billeted there. It’s a rare place. And warm, too.” He threw Bonnie a grin.
Bonnie kept her face expressionless. She saw Arthur give her an odd look, as if he wondered why she was being so unfriendly.
She felt betrayed. She leaned back on the wall, wondering how to let Arthur know what she thought. If he would listen. A creeping suspicion occurred to her. What if Arthur had never wished to help her, after all? She felt the soft cloak around her shoulders and instantly doubted herself again.
If he wanted to use me or kill me, why didn’t he do it hours ago?
She wasn’t of any importance to the Scots military, so there was no reason to assume they wished to capture her.
No, she thought, her best bet was to trust neither of them. She inched back from the fire, closer to the corner. Her plan was to wait until they’d drained whatever drink they had with them, and then to run away.
As she had hoped, the soldier proffered the bottle again. She watched as Arthur drank, then looked at her in puzzlement. After a while, he stopped offering it to her. She saw his eyelids drooping and she tensed. By now, she was sitting in the corner, well away from either of the men. Feeling her ankles tense, she lifted herself to standing.
Her foot found a twig, cracking it. She tensed, sure both of them would hear the disturbance. Neither of the men moved. The soldier was slumped forward, his eyes shut. Arthur was leaning on the wall, seeming asleep.
Slow and quiet, her brain repeated. Slow and quiet.
Bonnie edged around the wall, heading to the door. As she passed behind the soldier, she held her breath. Her belly was tingling with fear. She could barely breathe.
As she reached the door, she heard someone move by the fire. She felt her resolve break and she started to run. She ran towards the trees, gasping for breath, her legs pounding as fast as they could. She had to reach safety…
“Bonnie! Bonnie, wait!”
She turned around as a hand grabbed at her blouse. She felt her hand make a fist and she turned and slammed it into her attacker, knowing that to fight was futile, but hoping that at least, she could startle him enough to break his handhold.
“Bonnie! Please…it’s me!” Arthur’s voice called.
Bonnie stared at him. Abrupt, hot tears flowed down her cheeks. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Why can’t you just leave me?”
“Bonnie…what happened?” Arthur asked. He had sat down, his eyes looking up at her, dark and sad. He ran a hand down his face, his pale hair gleaming in the moonlit night.
“You talked to him…like he’s a friend,” Bonnie said. Her chest heaved as she tried to force out the words. “He was…he isn’t somebody to trust.”
Arthur’s handsome face fell. He looked down, then up again. He cleared his throat. “Bonnie…you don’t know that,” he said gently. “He seems friendly enough. He was cold and he wanted to share our fire. That’s all. And he can help us,” he added, giving her a reassuring grin.
“You trust him,” Bonnie said. When she looked into his eyes, it was very hard for her to believe that he had any ill will towards her. He seemed so friendly, so kind. She couldn’t believe any ill of him. She could, however, believe it of the man in the hut. She coughed, trying to find the words to explain to him what she felt.
“He was watching us. I heard him draw the knife, or I wouldn’t have woken up. He wanted to steal.” She said it levelly. Stealing, she thought, was the least of what he wanted. However, she didn’t want to tell Arthur her particular concerns.
“I don’t think so,” Arthur said gently. “That man has armor that would take me two years to buy. I can’t imagine he’d want to steal anything off me.” He grinned a deprecating grin.
Bonnie wanted to shake him. Why was he being so trusting? That man was a killer. She’d seen enough of them to know one when she saw him. Yet seemingly there was no reasoning with Arthur.
“We’ll go with him to the farm tomorrow,” Arthur decided swiftly.
“No,” Bonnie wh
ispered. “I don’t think we should.”
“Bonnie,” Arthur said softly. “I know people have hurt you, but not everyone is bad, you know.”
“No,” Bonnie whispered, realizing she had nothing else she could say. “I reckon not.”
She stood and followed Arthur back to the hut. What else could she say? She’d tried and it hadn’t worked. So what more could she do?
They went inside. She shivered, realizing how cold she’d been.
When Arthur sat down by the fire, she stayed in the corner. Whatever he might say, he couldn’t force her to go near the soldier, should she choose not. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She still didn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust him.
She watched the man carefully, but discerned no signs of ill-doing. He was simply sleeping, and, when she was sure that he was not going to wake up for the next few hours her own eyelids began to drop too.
The last thing she thought of, as she drifted to sleep, was that they should have asked the soldier to disarm.
Whispers At A Fire
Arthur woke to find Bonnie already awake. He blinked in the gray morning and looked around, searching for her. The soldier – their new traveling companion – was already awake, stirring up the fire.
“Good morning,” Arthur greeted him.
“Morning,” the man said. He gave him a big smile. “I thought I’d get some water boiling. We could make a gruel of sorts.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Arthur admitted. His stomach cramped painfully. They had eaten bread for the last two days, but he was hungry for warm food. He stood and put his head out of the door, searching for Bonnie. He saw her returning to the shelter.
“There you are,” he greeted. He could hear how relieved he sounded. He’d been worried.
“Good morning,” she said. Her voice was frosty.
Arthur felt his head twitch in impatience. Why was Bonnie being so awkward? The soldier was here to help them. He would have killed them in their sleep, had he been after something other than that.
The Highlander's Honorable Savior (Iron Of The Highlands Series) Page 5