Highland Wrath

by Madeline Martin

  “This is my fight too,” he said in a fierce voice.

  She turned to him with a smirk. The ribbon had been successfully secured around her throat, the scar hidden from view. Her shield had once more been raised. “Of course, I forgot you have to protect yourself. If they discover you did not die, they certainly will make reparations.”

  He didn’t like the snideness of her tone. “I meant I am still at yer side to fight against them. I want to help ye avenge yer family in an attempt to make things right.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he rushed on. “Ye are already outnumbered. I can help even the odds in yer favor more. And ye know I’m a good fighter. I also know their habits better than ye might.”

  She studied him for a long moment, and he could practically see the calculations spinning in her head. “Very well. But when this is done, you will leave.”

  Her gaze slid to the bed they’d shared, with its crumpled blankets and memories. “You will sleep in a separate room, and after this is all over, I will never see you again.”

  Those final words slammed into Ian like a throat punch. He’d expected her anger of course, he’d even expected it to hurt. But not as much as it did.

  “If that’s what ye wish.”

  “It is.” Her answer came swiftly, a lethal blow to the budding bond he’d worked so hard to cultivate.

  Without a whisper of emotion showing on her composed face, she strode toward the door, her boots thundering over the hardwood surface, and then she was gone.

  •••

  The rain was damn miserable. Like a mirror to Sylvi’s soul, it was cold and driving and abysmal. The ground froze in patches, leaving the parts of the trails not sucking with mud slick with ice instead. Heavy clouds hid the sun as well as its light, leaving the world cast in an unreal gray that kept much of the forests they passed concealed in shadows.

  Everyone in their wretched party was huddled beneath the additional blankets they’d brought with them, so they appeared nothing more than six shapeless masses plopped atop equally gloomy horses.

  There was a solemnity to the party, and Sylvi knew it had some to do with the storm, and even more to do with Ian’s silence. His jovial personality added more to the overall mood than she’d given him credit for. Without his wit and their smiles, the awfulness of their journey was all the more tangible.

  What’s more, the unrest between Sylvi and Ian had caused a disquiet among the ladies. For all but Isabel, who grinned with an annoying smugness.

  Sylvi was not responsible for his silence, however, and refused to allow a slip of guilt to nip at her. He had made his choices. He had kept pertinent information from her.

  He had deceived her in the worst of ways.

  The very thought of it brought a surge of energy to her muscles and left her wanting to slam her fist into his handsome face. At least such rage brought a semblance of warmth with it. She flexed her frozen fingers and prickles of protest tingled up her arm.

  My Lady’s horse appeared beside Sylvi’s. The fine beast had once been beautifully white and was now a pathetic gray, spattered with flecks and chunks of mud. My Lady regarded her from a narrow slit in the folds of her blanket, nothing more than a slash of skin and two eyes. “We cannot keep traveling like this.”

  Sylvi pushed away the blanket from her face and was hit hard by a rush of cold wind and smattering rain. “We are only an hour away.”

  “Yes. In good weather.” My Lady’s horse slipped in the mud. Her hand shot out, bone white against the darkness of blankets so sodden their color was indiscernible, and grabbed the reins. The beast steadied itself, and My Lady slid a look of annoyance in Sylvi’s direction. “You may not be affected by this weather, but the rest of us are near mutiny.”

  Mutiny was a strong word. One Sylvi knew My Lady added for exaggeration. Still, Sylvi cast a glance over her shoulder to regard the bundles on their horses. The trail was wide despite the dense forest around them. White puffs intermittently fogged in front of each person’s face as their breath froze once it hit the air.

  She knew they were miserable.

  “Even if we were to arrive in an hour,” My Lady said, “we are not in any condition to fight.”

  “If we arrive and do not attack, they could find out about our presence and we will lose our advantage.” A thread of icy air slipped down Sylvi’s back, and she shuddered. “We could lose them again.”

  “Better to have to find them again than have us all slaughtered for naught.”

  Sylvi regarded her mentor and found the other woman near glaring at her.

  My Lady jerked the bottom of the blanket from her face in a show of high irritation. “You are responsible for your ladies, Girl.” Her face was white and pinched, every line of age evident. “They look to you for guidance and care. Leading them to slaughter is not what a leader does. Do not let your need for vengeance overrule your judgment.”

  Sylvi’s heart thundered in her chest, and her breath came fast. “Do not presume to tell me how to lead my ladies. They are tougher than they appear.”

  My Lady scoffed. “I came here to help you put an end to what has haunted you your entire life. These ladies, and Ian, are here for that reason as well. I’ll tell you this one time to have a care for them and will leave it to your discretion.”

  Damn it.

  They were so close. Reginald and his men were practically beneath the point of her blade.

  Sylvi pulled up the thick blanket around her face. The wind was starting to make the insides of her ears ache. Or perhaps it was My Lady’s words. Regardless, their conversation was done. When Sylvi glanced beside her, she found the spot empty.

  Her sigh of relief warmed the blanket wrapped around her face for a scant moment before the wind chilled it, leaving it wet and cold against her nose. A fresh torrent of rain whipped around them. Sylvi couldn’t feel her hands anymore. In fact, the only things she could feel were the ice forming in her bones and the maddeningly rhythmic blossoming of wet hot and cold in the fabric over her face with every breath.

  Guilt constricted in her chest, and she glanced back at those who so diligently followed her.

  Every one of them kept pace. Not a one had complained, with the exception of Isabel, who offered growling complaints from beneath the layers of blankets, where she nearly froze in her tissue-thin clothing. My Lady was the only one to approach Sylvi, and did so on behalf of the group. My Lady had been in the right—a realization Sylvi grudgingly admitted to herself. She knew her fortitude to be unique, and if she was struggling with the cold, she knew the others were indeed suffering.

  My Lady had also been right in that they all looked up to Sylvi to make the right decisions.

  Frustration squeezed through her, and she blew it out in a great cloud of aggravation. She would never live with herself if she got them all killed.

  She would have to put off killing Reginald. So she risked losing him again.

  Chapter 16

  Ian’s body shuddered at a savage tear of wind and the fresh pelting of freezing rain. He clenched his teeth against the chill and tried not to think about how cold he was, how wet, how miserable. Yet somehow trying not to think of such things only made him focus on them more.

  He kept his gaze fixed on several feeble curls of smoke in the distance, a beacon of hope to once again be warm. Closer and closer and closer it came until finally a small cluster of buildings became visible. No one walked the sludge-thick roads, and not a soul could be seen. But they were there. No doubt all tucked inside their sturdy homes with a slab of peat smoldering in the hearth.

  By his estimation they were less than an hour from where Lady Camille had indicated Reginald and his men would be camped. Which made it all the more surprising they were stopping.

  The hard mask on Sylvi’s face indicated she was none too pleased with her decision. She swept from her horse and strode toward the inn without so much as casting a glance back at him. Ian’s
gut wrenched at the clear dismissal, and he hated it.

  “I told you she’d choose her vengeance over you.”

  He turned to find Isabel sitting on her horse, a self-satisfied smile on her uncovered face. The kohl she lined her eyes with melted down her face so the hollows under her eyes appeared deep and dark. For all the beauty she attempted, she now looked like a wraith.

  “Aye, but she chose our comfort over her vengeance. Maybe ye should appreciate what she’s sacrificing for ye.”

  Isabel rolled her eyes and fell into sullen silence. A petulant sign of grudging acceptance.

  Sylvi was a good leader, an incredible woman. Passionate, formidable, beautiful. A knot of longing worked its way into Ian’s chest. And she was slipping from his grasp.

  He had a good habit of losing everything in his life that meant something.

  And losing them only made him want them back more.

  His family, whom he had nothing to offer. Simon and his father, neither of whom could be brought back. Sylvi, whose trust had been shattered.

  Perhaps he ought to leave like Sylvi suggested, but not home. He couldn’t bring himself to return and be the type of man he knew his father wanted him to be. He could return to the road. The thought soured as soon as it entered his mind, bringing with it the memory of the hollow emptiness of such an aimless life.

  And he didn’t want to leave Sylvi. Especially not after what she’d told him with the utmost trust. He wanted that trust back. He wanted her love back. He wanted her. Because with her, he didn’t feel so worthlessly lost.

  She exited the inn and made her way to them as if the ground were not thick with sucking mud, her stride confident and sure. “They have rooms enough, but they do not have a door at the rear, nor do they deliver food to their rooms. We’ll have to eat in the main area.” The downturn of her mouth indicated she was not happy about this as she reached up to her horse’s bridle and led it toward the stables.

  Ian should speak to her. He knew this, and yet he could not bring himself to summon a thing to say, not when they got to the stables, nor when they left their horses with a stable lad, who took their coin with red, chapped hands.

  All the ready sayings that easily sprang from mind to mouth had suddenly gone quiet, weighed down by regret and guilt.

  He kept under the narrow roof of the stable as he made his way to the inn with Sylvi directly in front of him. A soft touch on his arm pulled his attention. He looked down to find Percy’s wide blue eyes gazing up at him from beneath her wide hood.

  “Give her some time.” She pursed her lips and glanced to where Sylvi’s back disappeared through the inn door before speaking again. “I know she cares very much for you.”

  Ian nodded his thanks, grateful for Percy’s ever-present consideration, and opened the door for her. A remarkably nasty gust of wind tried to wrench it from his grasp, but he held it long enough to pass through as well before letting it slam shut behind him.

  His body prickled with the warmth of the room, everything once cold only a second ago was now stinging with the introduction of heat. He unwound the plaid from his face.

  It was curious how every inn seemed to be identical to the last. With the exception of how clean a place was, they all were the same. Long wooden tables with sputtering candles set at their centers, a door in the back leading to an unseen kitchen, and a staircase to the rooms above.

  Not all were so warm. He knew well enough to be grateful for the heat.

  Several other patrons sat at the tables throughout the room, their voices mingling with one another’s to create a deep hum. Sylvi led the way to a table near the back. Percy and Lady Camille sat closest to the wall, where their faces might remain shadowed, Liv and Sylvi sat opposite them, and Isabel quickly grabbed the spot beside Sylvi.

  There was nothing quite like the ire of a rejected woman.

  Ian sank into the remaining spot beside Liv, who cast him a look as cool as the woman she modeled herself after. The lass may have offered to save him, but she was not inclined to forgive his transgressions.

  Sylvi’s gaze settled on him once and flicked away. Enough of a look to set his pulse racing.

  A brown-haired barmaid approached the table. Lines creased her comely face from a lifetime of smiles, and the easy sway of her hips told him she was comfortable in her role at the inn. “Sorry to not deliver food to the rooms. Rats.” She winked down at him. “Miserable day to be out, eh?”

  Sylvi straightened on the other side of the table.

  “It’s a frozen hell out there,” he conceded. “Thanks for getting the place good and warm for us.”

  “We aim to please.” Her smile was one of invitation.

  “We’ll all have ale and stew,” Sylvi said abruptly.

  The woman nodded and turned away to comply with Sylvi’s request, nonplussed with the sudden halt to her casual flirtation.

  The skin around Sylvi’s eyes tightened, and she glared at a spot over Ian’s shoulder.

  “Um … I’m looking forward to the stew.” Percy spoke in a soft voice at the end of the table from beneath her hood.

  Usually it was Ian’s place to break up the discomfort of quiet at a table. Yet since his conversation with Sylvi that morning, he found his well of witty conversation had run dry.

  “I’m sure our horses are glad we stopped as well,” Ian added in a halfhearted attempt.

  A muscle worked in Sylvi’s jaw. He hadn’t meant it as criticism, but she seemed to take it as such. Especially when she was already near to the point of wanting to eat his soul and spit out the pieces.

  Their food came without fanfare, though the brown-haired woman did pause to give him a smile when she set his steaming stew in front of his face. The meal was eaten in near silence, with only Isabel appearing to be enjoying herself with continually coquettish grins and winks in the direction of a man sitting by himself at a nearby table.

  Better him than Ian.

  With a belly full of warm food and the last chill of cold stripped from his bones, a deep, contented exhaustion settled over him. The door to the inn burst open, and a small group of men came in, their voices boisterous. One of them spoke, and the lot of them burst into raucous laughter.

  “We should get some rest,” Sylvi said. “Especially considering tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow they would be attacking Reginald. And facing the storm as well if the weather proved as nasty as it had that day.

  Together they trudged upstairs, with Isabel lingering in the back before finally following them. Ian’s pulse came a little quicker while they waited for Sylvi to tell them which room belonged to whom. All strategically selected, of course. No doubt he’d be placed as far from Sylvi as possible. Even knowing this did not stop the dread balling in his stomach.

  The second floor was a simple corridor of doors with wooden walls and floors. It was cooler there than below. The perfect temperature for bundling under a set of heavy covers and letting sleep steal away all one’s worries and hurts.

  “The first room is where I’ll sleep.” Sylvi spoke loud to be heard over the men below, who were now singing a song so out of tune, he couldn’t name it.

  She pointed to each room as she spoke. “Then Percy, Liv, My Lady, Isabel, and Ian.”

  As far opposite of hers as it could be—just as he’d expected. Nor did he miss how she’d placed Isabel’s room next to his.

  “I forgot something downstairs,” Isabel said casually. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Sylvi cast her a wary look before nodding. Isabel eagerly dashed back downstairs, and they all knew she wouldn’t be back in a moment. Nor anytime soon for that matter.

  Lady Camille poked her head into her room and strolled to Sylvi’s room. “I want this one instead,” she said. “There are two windows here since it’s at the corner. I like to see from all directions when I can.”

  Sylvi’s irritation was obvious. “Fine. Anyone else have issues with their rooms?�
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  Ian bit his cheek to keep from speaking up. Of course he wished to have his room by hers instead. In hers. With her.

  He waited until they had all cleared to their own rooms, intentionally stalling so he could speak with Sylvi. She didn’t so much as look at him until they were left entirely alone.

  “Sylvi, I—”

  She put up a hand to stop him and met his eye for the first time that afternoon. “We need rest, and we need to be prepared for tomorrow. I will not allow you to interfere with any of it.”

  “Then tomorrow, I—”

  “You’ve already done enough, Ian.” She turned from him then and closed her door behind her with finality.

  Ian stared at the thin wooden door for a long moment.

  Aye, tomorrow they would fight, but no matter how they won, he knew he would still lose. For he had indeed lost his angel.

  •••

  The night had been a hard one.

  Sylvi squinted her eyes open and flinched at the glare of sunlight streaming in through the window. Her head screamed with a hollow ache pulsing behind her eyes.

  The men who had come in as she brought the others upstairs had been loud through the evening and into early morning. In fact, they’d grown louder as the night pressed on into early dawn. Now the silence was so heavy, it seemed stuffed and thick in her ears.

  If Ian had come to her door in an attempt to speak again, she would not have heard him.

  Her heart flinched. Why had she even thought that? Wasn’t it just splashing vinegar on the freshness of her wound?

  After all, she’d already turned him away. Surely he would not attempt to return after their previous conversation.

  No doubt he’d found solace with the wench who had served them. She had been none too discreet in presenting her interest for him to enjoy. And damn it if he hadn’t given her that charming smile right back.

  Sylvi could have kicked him.

  Not that any of it mattered. After today, she wouldn’t see him again.

  Today.

  When Reginald would die under the bite of her blade, when his men would pay the price for having killed her family, and all the other wrongdoings they’ve surely done.