“I know,” she whispered. She fought to speak around the lump in her throat. He wouldn’t be staying there with her. He’d be leaving – like as not getting back on a ship and sailing away again to the other side of the world. She couldn’t let herself picture it.
It would break my heart.
She sniffed and looked into the fire. She had nothing she could say to make him change his mind. After a long moment, he cleared his throat.
“Lass, come here.”
She stared at him. Mistrust flickered in her and she felt her hands clutch at her skirt, making fists. She wasn’t about to let him do anything to her.
“Lass,” he said again. “I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”
Longing vied with fear and Bonnie stood and went to his side of the fire. She sat down beside him. He gently unfolded his cloak and wrapped it around both of them. His shoulder pressed against hers. His hands were clasped around his knees, one finger hooking his edge of the cloak around himself. Bonnie sat the same way. They leaned back against the tree.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“It’s cold, lass,” he said simply. He turned to face her and his eyes were soft. “What else could we do?”
She could see his lips so close to hers, and it was almost irresistible to lean in and press her mouth to his thin, hard ones.
He tensed and his arm moved under the cloak, resting on her shoulders, drawing her into his embrace. His body was hard and muscled, and the feeling of his arm around her shoulder made her feel safe. His lips tasted warm and strangely sweet. She felt his tongue touch the line between her lips and the slip into her mouth. She closed her eyes, feeling the strange, wonderful sensations as he explored her mouth with his tongue.
“Bonnie,” he murmured as he moved back. His eyes stared into hers and she felt a sweet wonderful feeling like a little fire inside her, making her want to press her body to his and kiss him all over again. “Och, lass.”
He moved to press his lips to hers. This time, she opened to him eagerly. He drew her to him, his body crushing her against him. His kiss was urgent, passionate. She felt her heart thud and leaned back, breaking the embrace.
She looked away and stared fixedly into the fire. If she gave into her longing now, she would not be able to stop. The thought of doing…that…with him made her feel confused.
He wanted to do that, she knew. The thing that she had seen men and women doing at feast days, surreptitiously in the corner of the hall or out in the shadows, since she was a girl. The thing that men did to women – to her – when they were angry and violent and needed to cause pain to feel strong. She glanced sideways at Arthur. His eyes were half-closed, a tender smile on his lips. He glanced at her and the grin deepened. Her tummy tingled.
She knew with her mind that it shouldn’t be all that different to what had happened to her before. In her body, she knew that it would be gloriously different.
“We need to bank the fire,” he murmured. He reached for a bigger piece of wood, laying it on top of the others.
She watched the fire shift on the logs. She tried to ignore his presence, so close to her, his body so warm beside her own. The flames had died down, their color changing from golden warmth to orange glow. She could hear the hiss and the crinkling shift of ashes and the warmth seeped out of the glowing coals towards them. The forest was silent, its menace turned into safety by his presence.
“Thank you,” she murmured, “for coming to find me.” Her lids drooped and she felt her body start to drowse in the warmth.
“Lass,” he said softly. “I would come to the ends of the earth to find you.”
“You would?” Bonnie stared at him.
“Aye,” he murmured. “I love you, lass.”
Bonnie stared, too shocked to know what to say, but he had already turned away. He lay down, his cloak over him. The surprise she felt was so great that her jaw dropped, but her body was so drowsy and warm that she couldn’t react and very soon she felt herself drifting slowly off to sleep.
Disruptions
Arthur stirred, feeling warmth on his face. He blinked, and noticed pale sunlight falling between the leaves to glow on his face and fall against his eyelids. He sat up.
“Morning,” he murmured to nobody in particular. It took him a moment to remember that he was not alone. He felt a weight on his side, reminding him that he had not fallen asleep alone that night. He remembered his words. He looked around.
He stiffened. Beside him, Bonnie was asleep, leaning against his arm. She rolled off a little as he sat up, but her breathing soon returned to the even rhythm of sleep.
He looked down and studied her gentle face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth relaxed at the corners, all care and tension smoothed away by sleeping. The light shone on her black hair. He looked at the soft skin of her neck, taking this moment to study her covertly. She was so beautiful!
His loins ached as he let his gaze rove lower, to where her small breasts pressed against the fabric of her gown. He imagined his lips fastening onto her nipple, feeling the soft skin so smooth between his lips. His groin hurt and he looked away, hands clenching into fists.
“Come off it, lad,” he rebuked himself gently. “Leave her be.”
He edged away from her and tried to stand. He heard her draw a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered, then opened. He found himself staring into those dark eyes.
“What…? Are we…?”
“Easy, lass,” Arthur whispered. “It’s morning.”
He turned away and hunched over the fire, preparing fresh kindling so that they could at least heat water. He heard her stand and the crack of twigs and guessed she had gone behind the tree to relieve herself. He felt his body respond to the thought and his cheeks flushed. He had never thought like that before.
“What will we do?” Bonnie asked him. She reappeared from around the tree trunk, dropping to sit beside him by the fire. Her hair was tangled and the odd few leaves had caught in it, dirt marking one cheek. He thought she looked more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen.
She looked up at him with that strange mix of confusion and longing that set his heart on fire. He looked down at his hands, trying to get his thoughts together and make a plan.
“We’ll go to the farm?” he asked. “Not that one…my plan is, I’ll go there and we’ll ask directions to another place nearby. Where there’s one farm, there have to be others.” That was a thought that had occurred to him later on, while she slept. It seemed like a good one.
Bonnie nodded. “That makes sense.”
“I’m not happy about staying in these woods, lass. Not just because of outlaws, but because of patrols. I don’t trust the English.”
“No,” Bonnie agreed.
They sat in silence, thinking about that. Arthur looked around, already alert to any sounds or signs of danger. As it was, the forest was silent. He could hear no other noise besides the trickle of the stream.
They ate in silence. Arthur had managed to remember to snatch up the handkerchief of provisions and they still had half a loaf to share between them. It wouldn’t fill them for very long, but it was, he reckoned, better than nothing.
After breakfast, they covered up the remains of the fire and headed down the road. A mendicant preacher, driving along in a small cart, gave them passage to the farm. Arthur leaned against Bonnie in the tiny, cramped space. Her body warmth pressed on his side and he could feel her firm flesh against him. He closed his eyes and tried to control his imagination.
At the farm, the farmer was in the path and it was clear that he saw them driving up. They had passed out of the forest. The farm was on a rocky, barren-looking ground with a gentle slope. It seemed inconceivable that it could be farmed, but Arthur had heard that sheep could find grazing in unfavorable circumstances. He held his breath, hoping his guess was right.
“Hello, there,” the farmer called out. His voice had a suspicious note in it. “What do you want here?”
“I’m a humb
le preacher, sir,” the preacher said, speaking for them. “And these are two folk seeking…what were ye seeking, lad?” he turned a short-sighted gaze on Arthur.
“We’re looking for another farm,” Arthur said. It sounded stupid, even to him. He had no idea what he was looking for, save that he didn’t wish to stay anywhere that Miller could have spread his awful tale.
The farmer gave them a hard stare out of narrowed eyes. Arthur felt himself ready for a fight. His wound still ached, despite the priests’ care, but he was sure he could face the man and win.
“Another farm?”
“This is a sheep farm, yes?” Arthur asked.
“Aye,” the farmer nodded slowly. “We farm the best wool this side of the Highlands. What’s that to do with your business?”Cursed Scottish temper! Arthur wanted to hit the man’s head. Why did he have to be so confrontational about a simple question?
“It’s my business,” Arthur said, forcing his voice out, “because we’re looking for the next farm on the moors. Not yours.”
“Are you tax-collectors?” the farmer wanted to know. Arthur stared at him in surprise. The maltolt was a due to be paid per every weight of wool. It was very hated, since the merchants, to cover the cost, had started to pay less to the farmers, or to ease the taxes onto them. It was, Arthur knew, imposed in England, because he’d spent time talking to a merchant in a tavern once. However, was it being levied here, too?
The farmer was a free man, not a serf obliged to pay his lord for staying here. If Scotland had sunk to that, he felt little wonder about the resistance people felt to English domination.
“No,” Arthur began, but Bonnie dug him sharply in the ribs. She turned around and gave him a firm look. Arthur stared at her in surprise and then he noticed that the farmer was watching them with keen interest. He looked at Bonnie again, wondering what she’d done that for. Did she want to make them enemies here? To his surprise, the farmer coughed.
“The next farm is two miles east o’ here,” he said, pointing eloquently with one outstretched arm. “If you’ll go there, I’ll be very much obliged.” He was standing in a humble attitude, his eyes downcast.
Arthur stared at him, amazed by his sudden change of attitude. He turned back to Bonnie, but she was looking ahead. The preacher turned to face them both.
Arthur shrugged. “You heard him,” he said. “Let’s carry on two more miles.”
The preacher nodded and shook the reins and they set off. As they went, Arthur turned to Bonnie and whispered to her.
“What did you do, lass?” He asked in an awed tone. The response had been so instant that he wondered if, just maybe, Bonnie had used magic to deceive the farmer.
“Well, he had to think that we were tax-collectors, so that he wanted us off his land and on somebody else’s,” Bonnie said. “Looking as if we were trying to hide the truth made him think for certain that we were.”
Arthur stared at her. As the clever plan sunk in, he burst out laughing. “Lass!” he chuckled. “Well, if that isn’t the best plan I’ve ever heard.”
“Thank you,” Bonnie said primly. He saw her smile and felt like the sunshine had warmed him. She pressed a finger to her lips, indicating silence, and they rolled on down the slope towards the next farm.
When they reached the farmhouse, Arthur jumped down nimbly and reached up to help Bonnie alight. He felt her hands slip into his and squeezed them a little harder, loving any contact with her, however brief. He set her down on her feet and turned to the preacher.
“Thank you,” he said humbly. He gave him a few copper coins, and the man seemed quite pleased with them. He turned the cart and set off down the road.
Arthur and Bonnie looked at each other. Arthur swallowed hard.
“I reckon they’ll let us in,” he said. “And, well…if it’s safe enough, then…”
He was cut off from saying more when the door opened and a head popped out. The farmer gave him a suspicious look.
“What’re you seeking here, lad? Lass…?” As his gaze roved over Bonnie, his face softened. Arthur saw Bonnie tense and put an arm around her shoulder. There. If the farmer had any ideas, that ought to dent him somewhat. If he thought he was going to touch her, he would have to fight off Arthur first.
“We’re looking for shelter,” Arthur said firmly. “We were displaced from our homes after the fighting at Berwick.”
“You were?” the farmer looked at them carefully. His face was guarded, giving nothing away.
“We’ll work for our keep,” Bonnie said. “I can mend things, and tend the chickens.” She sounded hopeful. Arthur looked down at her, feeling tenderness and protective.
“You can?” the farmer gave her a wide grin. “Well, if that isn’t the finest thing I’ve heard in years. Well, then. Barra?” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Yes, Father?”
A woman came through the door. She was about Bonnie’s age. She had a neat face and red cheeks and she saw Bonnie and beamed. She was pretty, but not the sort of woman who usually stirred Arthur’s soul. He looked from her back to the farmer.
He beamed, nodding to her. “Daughter, see that there’s straw pallets in the barn. And give them blankets…looks like they’ll like as not freeze to death out there. You can stay here,” he added gruffly, as Bonnie made to follow the woman to the barn. “Get warm by the fireside, you lot. You look like you’ve starved the last days.”
“Just about,” Arthur nodded, settling himself gratefully by the fire. He felt the heat of it sear into his cold fingers and cheeks, a sensation almost too painful to be pleasant. His fingers hurt from the sudden warmth. Beside him, he heard Bonnie draw in a breath sharply and he took her fingers in his hands, warming them.
“You think they’ll let us stay for a while, at least?” Bonnie whispered to Arthur. The farmer was somewhere in the back of the large kitchen, washing pots in a copper bowl. They could hear the clatter of the iron on copper, and the grunt of effort from the farmer.
“I reckon,” Arthur said, under cover of the noise, “that he’d let you stay as long as you want. Myself, I’m not so sure.” He made it into a joke, but he really was uncertain.
Bonnie said nothing. Arthur felt her body go stiff. He recalled how frightened she seemed of men and realized that was a daft thing to say.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” he said.
Bonnie still said nothing, but he felt her relax a little. He stared into the flames, brooding. His plan had been to find Bonnie a safe place and leave her there, then get back to the coast and find passage on a ship, sailing for France. Scotland held no particular appeal for him anymore, and the thought of being caught up in a war was even less appealing.
Now, though, he felt different. He had slept the night beside Bonnie, hunted her through the forest and been saved by her clever plans. He didn’t want to leave her now. He had told the truth the other night, he knew that now. He loved her.
He looked down at her again and felt her lean against him. As her head rested on his shoulder, he realized that he couldn’t leave her. At least, not for long. He wanted to kiss her.
“I got you some gruel,” the farmer’s daughter said brightly. “You look like you need a good few bowls of something to warm you up.” She smiled at both of them, passing them roughly carved bowls filled with steaming gruel.
“Thank you,” Arthur murmured. He lifted the carved wooden spoon she’d placed in each bowl and started to eat. His stomach groaned and ached as he ate the hot food and he realized, suddenly feeling sick with nausea, that it had been far too many days since he’d eaten.
He noticed Bonnie looked a bit ill too, though she had the sense to eat more slowly, one little spoon at a time. Behind him, he heard the farmer’s daughter laugh.
“Och, lad! You poor thing,” she said. “It’s a rare terrible thing what happened, eh? A dreadful thing.” She shook her head, expression sorrowful.
“Are there many people coming through these woods, displaced from there?” Ar
thur wanted to know.
The farmer’s daughter nodded. “A few. We had a band of three men who came here a week ago. They mended the cart in exchange for boarding with us.” She made wide eyes at Arthur, as if seeking some equally useful gesture from him.
Bonnie laughed. “We’ll do our best,” she said. “I can help with the hens and geese. Have you geese?”
“Aye!” the girl beamed. “We have a great big gander…his name’s Marwell, and he’s a fierce fellow! We also have a half a dozen big geese. We get ever such fine eggs from them!” She added breathlessly.
“You feed them fennel?” Bonnie asked. “It’s good for the laying hens, and for geese too. Helps them produce fine eggs.”
The farmer’s daughter looked as surprised as Arthur. Her brow furrowed with a frown, and then she clasped her hands, looking excited.
“By! There’s an idea! You know about chickens! Father…this lass knows chickens! Now, don’t you think they can stay…?” She turned to her father with a hopeful gaze on her face.
“Aye, daughter. Now there’s a thought.” The farmer beamed. “Come lass. Come and tell us what you know.”
Arthur felt himself relax as he saw Bonnie, growing in stature almost visibly, stand and go across to the table to join the farmer’s daughter. The two of them were soon involved in a complicated discussion about chickens and their feeding habits. Their voices rose and fell, low and quickly paced.
Arthur, who had never so much as seen one up close, never mind had anything to do with their care, sat alone by the fire, watching the coals glowing there. He sighed and tried to disengage his mind from the murmured words about egg yield and housing, about dry barns and clean hay. He swallowed bile.
On the one hand, he felt relieved that Bonnie was settling in already. With the farmer’s daughter to take care of her, he was sure that nothing bad could befall her. He should have been happy. However, he wasn’t. He also felt a strange longing for the way it had been, when he had been alone with her.
The Highlander's Honorable Savior (Iron Of The Highlands Series) Page 11