A Warrior's Soul (Highland Heartbeats Book 8)

by Aileen Adams

  “I was the one who didna wish to remain there,” he explained. “Do not get me wrong, neither of us was ever cut out to be a cobbler. I canna imagine sitting at the bench from sun-up until sunset and beyond. I’d rather be hanged, truth be told.”

  “I cannot imagine either of you engaged in such a vocation,” she admitted. They both looked as though they’d spent their entire lives out of doors.

  “I approached my father with the intention of joining the army. He wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Why not? You’re the younger son, are you not?”

  “Aye.”

  “Did he not see the honor in serving his king?”

  Fergus bristled at this.

  Alana blushed. “I did not mean to insult him.”

  “He served his king,” Fergus explained. “Which was why he didna wish either of his sons to do so.”

  “Why not?”

  She regretted the question when a cloud seemed to pass over his face. He took his time with replying. “He saw many things. Terrible things. I never knew him as a younger man, ye ken, but I always heard he was changed when he came back. Older, haunted about the eyes. Small noises made him jump more than they should have. He loathed the sight of blood.”

  She clicked her tongue in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

  “So, when I announced my wish to join up, he was against it. Putting it gently. It was a terrible row, lasted for days. I’d never heard my father raise his voice prior to that. There were times when I wondered if it were even possible for him to do so, since he never had. And his sons gave him more than enough reason to do so over the years.”

  Alana smiled. “I would wager on it.”

  “Och, how he bellowed,” Fergus murmured, half-lost in memory. “Mother wept, told me I was going to tear the family to pieces thanks to sheer stubbornness. I didna understand it, not all of it. Now that I’ve been through some of what he went through and know somewhat of all he wished to spare me from, I see why he reacted as he did.”

  “What was the alternative?” she asked. “Did your family not have a responsibility to send one of its sons to the army?”

  “He’d rather I live with the priests,” Fergus snarled, spitting on the ground as if to curse the very idea.

  Alana fought against the laughter which bubbled up in her throat. “The Church?” she choked.

  “Aye. A silly idea, I know.” He grinned. “It’s all right, lass. Laugh, if ye like. I would, if I were ye.”

  “What decided him, then?” she asked, since he had certainly fought in the war.

  “Brice.” He nodded in his brother’s direction. “He promised to look after me, to ensure no harm would come to me. It was the only way either of our parents would consent. I would either run off on my own—they both knew it—or they would send him along with me and hope for the best. They could hardly keep the both of us locked away, ye ken. They knew they were beaten—after all, once the two of us joined up on anything, we managed to get our way.”

  “He did not have to go,” Alana mused aloud, staring ahead. “He might have claimed he needed to stay behind, learn his craft as the eldest son.”

  “Aye. Many did,” Fergus agreed. “Brice did not. He knew how important it was to me that I go—and, as I said before, he did not wish to follow our father’s path. In a way, it worked out well for the both of us.”

  “And did he make good on his word?” she asked. “Did he watch over ye?”

  He let out a soft laugh. “I’m alive to tell the tale thanks to him. He’d never agree with me, ye ken, always insisting he had nothing to do with both of us making it out in one piece. But I know he played a role in my safety on the field of battle.”

  A strange mixture of emotions stirred in Alana’s heart as she stared at the broad back and shoulders of the man Fergus spoke.

  He had risked greatly to protect his brother.

  Perhaps it was foolish of him to do so. Perhaps he had given up a life of, if not comfort, at least security and safety.

  He’d likely broken his parents’ hearts as well.

  What a strange man he was. Not nearly as easy to understand as she’d first assumed.

  16

  Alana stretched, groaning slightly as her thighs protested the movement.

  “Sore?” Rodric asked, frowning in sympathy as he finished skinning the last of the rabbits he and Quinn had snared.

  “Ye might say that,” she grumbled, wincing as she tried to walk the short distance to where Quinn had set up the fire for their evening meal. “I’m not accustomed to riding day after day, as you lot.”

  “You’ve made a good show of it so far,” he offered, trying to be friendly.

  She appreciated his effort, all of their efforts. None of them needed to be kind to her and, in fact, could just as easily have treated her as a captive after her second escape attempt.

  She was slow to lower herself to the ground, gritting her teeth as her legs and backside rejected any such idea, while Brice returned from watering the horses, a saddle in each hand.

  She made a show of wincing and groaning as she finished lowering herself, hoping to play upon his sympathy. He glanced over at her, frowning, but did not say a word.

  It was enough to make her want to scream. If anything were to happen, it had to happen soon. They would reach Carlisle in two days’ time.

  Her stomach turned at the thought. Only two days. She was uncertain whether the notion made her want to cry or vomit. Perhaps both, together.

  Two days until she’d meet her intended.

  Unless she enticed another man to the point where he would ruin her purity.

  What then?

  She supposed she would have to marry Brice instead of Earl Remington. Unless Brice rejected her, which she wasn’t certain would be an altogether terrible turn of events. She did not wish to tie her life to his, did not wish to travel hither and yon.

  When the time came, she would want a home, a husband, a family.

  Only not with a man she hadn’t met prior to their betrothal, no matter how wealthy he was or how comfortable he could make her.

  No matter how comfortable, a cage was still a cage.

  If anything, she reasoned, Brice’s decision to sleep by her side made the task easier. He’d already struggled with himself the night before. Perhaps he would lose the struggle once she put her mind to tempting him, rather than simply toying about and feigning innocence.

  The sun had set, the sky turning a deep purple which would soon fade to black. She turned her face upward, admiring the stars which had already begun to sparkle like jewels, just visible between the tops of the pine trees which surrounded the five weary travelers.

  The rich scent of pine and fresh earth was intoxicating. Alana breathed deep, filling her lungs with the pine-scented air, hoping to clear her troubled thoughts, the guilt which nagged at the back of her mind.

  “Are ye well, lass?” Brice finally acknowledged her, taking a seat at her side, though he left a good deal of space between them.

  “Sore from riding,” she shrugged. “I’m uncertain how the lot of you manage it every day.”

  “We’re far better accustomed to it than ye.” He nodded toward his brother, who sat opposite them. “How is he?”

  “The wound does not appear to be festering,” she reported, having checked its condition after they’d decided where to make camp for the evening. “And he appears to be in good spirits, does he not?”

  “You would know better than I,” he replied with an edge in his voice.

  So, he was still jealous, then. It struck her as odd, since Brice did not seem the type to allow for such base emotions.

  He’d struck her as stoic, as though he held much of life at arm’s length.

  “Would ye rather have allowed him to ride on his own today, with one arm in a sling?” she challenged.

  “Nay, I would rather he not have been wounded at all.”

  “And you’re still on about that,” she accused with a sc
owl.

  His eyes narrowed. “Forgive me if I find it difficult to excuse behavior which left my brother unable to ride. In case you hadn’t noticed, lass, a great deal of our lives has to do with being able to take care of ourselves. That means being able to ride on one’s own.”

  She wished most fervently that he might be a bit more agreeable. It was nearly impossible to remember the task at hand while he was all but begging her to slap him.

  Instead of continuing to argue, which would only make things worse, she turned her attention to Rodric and Quinn as they set the rabbits to roast over the fire. Her mouth watered when the scent reached her nose, mixing with the pine and the soil and the sweet, fragrant breeze.

  If it weren’t for their destination and the saddle sores which all but brought tears to her eyes, she might have enjoyed herself.

  She shifted slightly in hopes of easing the smarting of her backside, grimacing as she did.

  Brice let out a grunt. “It’s truly bothering ye, is it not?” he asked, sounding much kinder than he had before.

  “Aye. It is,” she admitted, blushing. It was difficult to maintain one’s dignity when the topic was so plainly undignified.

  “Ye might take some of the tincture Fergus has been drinking,” he suggested. “I’m certain he wouldna begrudge ye a sip or two, just to make ye more comfortable.”

  She watched Fergus, laughing and joking with the others. “Nay. I want him to have all of it, as much as he needs. He deserves it far more than I do.”

  “He’s a bit of a hero to ye, then?”

  The abrupt change in his tone did not escape her notice. She turned her head slightly to the side to look at him. His face was blank as he watched his friends.

  But his hands were a different matter. They rested on his thighs, clenched into fists.

  “All of ye are heroes to me,” she admitted, blushing. There was no pretense in her admission, no ulterior motive.

  “We’re no longer the enemy?”

  “I’d be no more than an ungrateful wretch if I still thought of ye as such.”

  A smile played on his lips. “That’s no answer.”

  She laughed in spite of herself at how easy it was for him to read her—and he laughed, as well. “Fair enough. You make nothing easy.”

  “Nor do ye, lass. Nor do ye.”

  “Is this still necessary?” she muttered, putting on a show of resentment when Brice joined her as he had the night before. “I have no desire to run from ye any longer. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Aye, as have I,” he agreed, making up the bed beside her nonetheless. “Which is why I’m sleeping at your side.”

  She rolled her eyes, huffing and puffing, all while glowing with satisfaction inside. He made it almost too easy.

  She rolled onto her back, hands folded over her stomach as Brice settled in.

  Rodric, Fergus, and Quinn were seated around the fire as they’d been the night before, with Quinn agreeing to take the first watch. Fergus felt himself up to the task of keeping watch, too, lessening the burden on the others.

  They were nearby, yet far enough away that Alana was confident her conversation—and whatever else might occur—would not be overheard. She was downwind from them, the fire’s smoke wafting her way. It was not an unpleasant odor, especially when it meant her words would be carried away from them.

  “I wish there was something to do about your snoring, for you snored in my ear all last night,” she informed Brice as he made himself comfortable.

  Once again, he took the saddle for himself, while she used her bundle of clothing as a pillow.

  He snorted. “Truly? Ye seemed to sleep deeply every time I looked upon ye.”

  “You watched me sleep?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I must admit, I’m uncertain as to how I feel about that.”

  “It meant nothing,” he was quick to assure her, nearly tripping over his tongue in haste.

  She bit the inside of her mouth to conceal her smile.

  “Oh? It meant nothing, then? Am I that unpleasing that ye did not wish to be near me, then?”

  “I didna say that.”

  “So, you did enjoy being near me?”

  He grunted before swearing under his breath. “There’s no reasoning with ye. Everything turns into an argument.”

  “Because you make it so.”

  “I take offense to that,” he whispered, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her with eyes narrowed. “I’ll have ye know I’m normally a very agreeable man. Ask any of the others. I’m the best humored of all of us.”

  “I have yet to see evidence of any such thing,” she hissed.

  “Because you’re the sort of lass who could make a deacon take to drinking,” he snarled, flopping down on his back.

  It was so easy to forget that she was supposed to be enticing him, encouraging him to take liberties with her. How was it that they always managed to fall into the same arguing and sniping at each other?

  She took a few deep breaths to calm herself before whispering, “I admit, I was having a bit of fun with ye.”

  “I noticed,” he muttered, staring up at the stars.

  “I apologize. Truly.”

  He let out a grunt. “You’re forgiven.”

  “But I don’t enjoy feeling like a prisoner,” she added.

  “Why must ye insist on having the last word?” He turned his head, looking at her as she looked at him.

  He was rather handsome, she was surprised to realize. He had a rather nice way about him. Fine features, crinkles around the corners of his hazel eyes which told her he laughed quite a bit.

  She forgot what she was going to say.

  “Because you insist on being unpleasant,” he replied on her behalf. “You’re unhappy, and you wish to take that out on others.”

  “You certainly do know me well.”

  “It isn’t difficult.”

  She turned her face back toward the sky, despairing at the turn of events. All she seemed able to do was push him further away, rather than drawing him in as she needed to do.

  “I… have not known many people,” she whispered. “I had a friend. The daughter of our cook. My nurse, as well, and I will never see either of them again. But that is as far as my interactions with others have gone for most of my life, you see.”

  “That is not an excuse for being so difficult to get along with.” He rolled onto his side again, squinting at her as he had before. “Besides, you seemed to get along wonderfully with the others today. Laughing and talking. Not a single harsh word reached my ears.”

  She looked at him, her eyes widening in what she hoped was an enticing manner. “I do not wish for it to be this way. Arguing with you, that is.”

  His forehead creased when he frowned. “Why do you do it, then?”

  She clenched her hands tightly, waiting until the sharp retort which begged to be voiced wasn’t so near her mouth before replying. “I’m unsure. I’ve never known men before now. I’ve never known what it feels like to…”

  She averted her eyes, both out of artifice and genuine embarrassment. Was she going about things the right way? There was no telling, for she’d never attempted anything like this before.

  He waited a moment before prompting. “What it feels like to what?”

  She shrugged, her fingers now playing with the edge of her blanket, her eyes still averted. “To not be able to speak what’s truly on my mind.”

  “Why can you not? What stops you?”

  She shook her head, scrambling to her feet. “I need a moment to myself,” she whispered, stumbling through the darkness, away from the fire.

  “You’re not going anywhere alone, and ye know it,” he reminded her as he charged along in her wake.

  He was following her.

  This was good!

  She wiped her sweaty palms on her kirtle before running her arm across her forehead where sweat had begun to spring up as well. Her nerves were frayed, her mind racing.

>   “I cannot, Brice. I cannot. Don’t you see?” She came to a stop between two pines, the dry needles crunching beneath her feet. “After what occurred yesterday, with the boar, I cannot…”

  “Cannot what?” He took her shoulder in his much larger, stronger hand, turning her to face him.

  They were inches apart, and his breath was hot on her face as he looked down at her, waiting for a response. The moon was behind his head, casting his face in shadow. What was he thinking? If only she could read his expression.

  She swallowed back the panic rising in her throat. “I cannot be so near ye without wanting to…”

  She reached for him then, touching her palm to the side of his face. His whiskers were softer than they appeared, his skin warm.

  “Brice…”

  She lowered her eyes, focusing her gaze on his lips. They were rather nice lips. Full, smooth. What would they feel like against hers?

  A stunning realization made itself plain to her.

  She would not mind finding out. In fact, she wanted to know, just as she wanted to know what his thick arms felt like around her.

  Before she knew it, she was on tiptoe, straining to reach his mouth with her own as her eyes began to close…

  “Alana.” He hooked a finger beneath her chin and held her in place. “Look at me.”

  “I am looking at you,” she breathed, wondering all the while what she was doing wrong. Why was he not responding favorably?

  He looked away, back toward the fire as if to assure himself of their privacy. When he returned his attention to her, he shifted slightly so she might see his face better.

  His gaze was hard, not full of passion as she’d hoped.

  “You know this cannot be.”

  There was a sickening sensation in her stomach, as though she were falling from a great height. “Why can it not be? We’re here, now, and you… you saved my life, and I…”

  “Just stop it, lass.” He took a step back. “You’re making a mistake, thinking along these lines. You do not know what it is you’re playing at.”

  Despair threatened to overwhelm her. Only digging her nails into her palms kept her focused as she stared at him. “I only know I want ye, Brice. I’m not playing at anything.”