The Memory of Her Kiss

by Rebecca Ruger

  “C’mon, then, Bean. ‘Tis a small encampment, just a group moving through the woods. Couple big guys with ‘em. We dinna need to kill ‘em—likely could no without losing too many to the giant wit’ ‘em. But now they want to ride with us. So you keep her mouth covered and pretend she’s no more than your wayward wife.” There was some censure in his tone, intended as a rebuke, no doubt, of her having accomplished that scream on her chubby captor’s watch.

  “GREGOR!” CONALL CALLED out again, his voice risen over the thunder of the horses. “We have to stop,” he called when Gregor turned toward him. “The horses’ll drop if we dinna rest them.”

  Dawn was near, some bare light climbing over the horizon before them. A mist shrouded the glen, glistening on leaves and shrub and grass.

  Gregor reined in, his jaw still clenched, or clenched again, the foggy plume of his breath pushed from his nose matching that of his well-lathered steed.

  Conall and Gregor, at the front of the charging line, stopped, bringing the rest of the party to a quick halt behind them. John and Torren circled.

  “We keep going!” Torren insisted.

  John threw him a hard glare. “If your horse drops beneath you, you’ll go nowhere.”

  “We still have the trail,” Conall reminded Gregor. The trail had split after only a few miles and they’d made the decision to follow the tracks of the larger of the two parties, assuming the Duncan’s wouldn’t chance so small a number to guard their captive. Conall had sent only about twenty men after the smaller group.

  Taking a deep breath, Gregor nodded his assent. “Twenty minutes,” was all he allowed, and this delivered gruffly. He dismounted and relieved himself a few yards from where he’d left his horse. He couldn’t deal with his thoughts and emotions now. Couldn’t think of what she must be facing and fearing. For hours, he’d thought of only what he would do to Duncan once she was recovered and safe again.

  “They won’t harm her. They need her for Hugh,” Torren said when he returned.

  “They won’t kill her. I trust nothing else.” This, silently acknowledging that she might well be harmed. Again.

  With some self-derision, Gregor announced, “I should have known!”

  Conall dismissed this with impatience. “You could no have known!”

  “I could have!” Gregor fired back. “Duncan pushed and pushed for a wedding date, keeping at Stonehaven. Then suddenly, he departs, just leaves when the wedding is set for only weeks away. Says he’ll tidy up some affairs and return but takes Nathara and the entire party with him. Didn’t leave Nathara. I thought it strange, but truthfully, was only happy to have them gone.” He stared at nothing and no one, only recalled the way Duncan had stared at Anice when he’d found her within the circle of his soldiers that day on the training field. “I should have known.”

  “Bollocks!” John chimed in. “You get your mind off that shite, lad! Get your head straight now. We’ll find her. You do the lass no good with all that shite. It’ll keep.”

  “Aye.” Gregor nodded. He mounted again, restless, anxious. “Let’s go.”

  It hadn’t been five minutes, but the party began to move again. Conall and John exchanged glances.

  “Aye, you’d do the same, were it Tess,” John said.

  THEY RODE THROUGH THE night, now with five more people, though Anice rarely saw these additions, as they kept to the rear of the party. She’d been set again in the saddle with her ham-fisted abductor, thankful now for the ties that kept her bound to the saddle as sleep could not be put off. She alternately lurched forward or woke to find herself slumped back against the foul man, which caused just as much discomfort. Once she dreamed she rode with Gregor and his hand was around her middle and she was safe. Once she dreamed Gregor had returned to Stonehaven without knowing she had been taken, and no one came to rescue her.

  The sun was just rising through the trees, bathing the wood in a soft yellow glow, when Anice began to gag on the cloth shoved in her mouth. She must have drawn too many breaths through her mouth while sleeping and now the fabric was tickling the back of her throat. She turned and cast anxious eyes at the man atop the horse with her, trying to indicate some distress. But with her hands still tied to the pommel, she could not even point out the problem. He gave her a nasty look and nudged her to turn around again. Unable to even cough properly to clear the piece, she turned again to him, her distress real and growing, her eyes wide and panicked as she fought for air.

  “Aw, now, stop with the playacting,” he said gruffly, his voice a hiss.

  The more she fought for air, the more she needed, and the less that was available to her. Her chest rose and fell but she was able to claim no relief. In utter desperation, she flung herself from the saddle, even while her hands still held at the pommel, so that she was dragged for several feet before the man, Bean, stopped the horse.

  “Mother of—Git your arse up here.”

  Anice ignored him, trying to rub her face against her own arms and then the horse to move the rope around the gag. It was too tight.

  “Bean! Get her up!”

  His hand clamped down on her arms, his fingers bruising in their grip. “I’m about to—”

  “What is this?” Came another voice that made Bean go completely still.

  Anice dropped her head against the horse’s neck, trying to control her meager breathing. This must be what it feels like to suffocate, to lose breath completely.

  “Have we a lass in our midst?” Said a voice so deep, it did raise Anice’s eyes, but she could see naught. He was on the other side of the horse.

  Bean cleared his throat. “Jus’ me wife, behaving poorly.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said the deep voice. “As would I, were I tied to a horse.”

  Bean defended, in a shaky voice. “Aw, but she’s a bad one, always running off.” Whoever or whatever the deep voice belonged to, it frightened Bean. Anice could feel a tense restlessness in him.

  “Which begs many questions.” The voice came closer. Something—someone—entered Anice’s peripheral, coming from behind the horse to which she was attached. “Aye, a gag as well. You are a pillar of manhood, to be sure.”

  She managed to keep her eyes open, though still struggled to find breath, as she heard feet thump to the ground. A giant entered her limited line of vision, coming along the side of the horse. Anice was forced to tip her head further and further back to take in the huge face that displaced Bean at her side. A mountain of a man stood before her, tired and older than soldiers to which she was accustomed. Her breathing accelerated again, and tears fell. What now?

  She refused to let herself wince as his large paw lifted before her face, and somehow managed to keep her gaze on his. His eyes were deep set and very blue. He was not unkind, but he was hardened. This man had seen more tragedy than most. He loosened the knots at the back of her head and as the ropes fell, Anice pushed out the gag, drawing in her first real and decent breath in hours.

  “You may do with your wife as you please when we part, but I’ll no stand witness to her mistreatment whilst in her company.”

  Perhaps it was his size, perhaps the uncompromising tone, but no man, not one of her abductors, challenged him. Next, the titan cut the ropes to the pommel and unraveled the complete length from around her chafed wrists. He lifted one of her hands, her palm and fingers fitting into just his palm, and examined the red rope burns.

  Did she dare plead for his help now? Anice watched him studying her hands, saw that her head did not even reach to the height of his chest. She tipped her head back again, considering him. Two things prevented her from seeking aid from this man: of course, his very size—the man was easily twice as large as any man here, could likely snap her neck with one hand, and she was terrified of him; and because if she begged for help, and went off with him, would Gregor ever find her, or would she only be driven further away from Gregor?

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, her voice cracked and dry.

  Blue eyes narrowed
while he measured her. “No more than that, lass?”

  What was he asking? Was he asking if she needed help?

  Slowly, she shook her head. “Not at this time.”

  “Too soon to have formed an opinion, but you will keep the option open. Clever girl.”

  He turned away from Anice then, and she watched, in awe, as he strode with measured steps, further into the trees, calling over his shoulder, “We shall break here for a spell.”

  Bean had reappeared before Anice and she gave him skinny eyes for all his mistreatment of her. His face scrunched up in anger, but he did nothing. Around her, the Duncans who had taken her exchanged glances, wondering how the giant, with only four other men, had managed to assume control of the traveling unit.

  Not very long after, Anice was seated atop a fallen log, her backside thrilled for the respite from riding, her hands and face unencumbered by ropes and ties. Bean sat near, but not very close, sipping from a leather pouched flask, offering nothing to Anice. The giant’s party lounged under a wide yew while her own kidnappers huddled together, their voices low, some distance away.

  The giant did not find ease, only sat, watchful and attentive to everything around him. Three of his men slept, stretched out in the grass, their slumber undisturbed by the hard and dewy ground. Anice was startled to find the eyes of the fifth man on her, from a distance perhaps equal in length from one end of the hall at Inesfree to another. She bit her lip and considered his steady, almost rude perusal. She looked away several times, nervously plucking at the bark of the fallen trunk on which she sat. When she returned her gaze to him, he stared still. Admittedly, he was handsome, she supposed, if one appreciated a very earthy and rugged countenance, or maybe he would be if he tamed the long and unruly dark blond hair and lightened the gloom of his penetrating gaze. It dawned on her that he only stared at her hair; she was very accustomed to that. He stood, bringing himself to a full height surely equal to Gregor’s, and walked toward her. If there had been any way to make herself smaller, maybe invisible, she would like to do so now. He kept his eyes—blue, she saw as he neared—on her, unblinking. Again, Anice was forced to tilt her head back to accommodate the size of him. He stood very close to her and stretched out his hand.

  Shaken, Anice saw that he only offered his flask to her. She breathed again, too parched to refuse, and accepted it with a thankful smile. As she tipped the flask up to her lips, the man squatted before her so that when she lowered the flask and swallowed, their eyes were on the same level.

  His elbows rested on his knees. He flicked a hand, pointing a finger at her waist.

  Anice looked down. She saw that her pretty kirtle had a long tear that started near her hip, where she was bent on the log, and ended near her knee. Brushing her hand along the slit, she made a face at this atrocity and met his eyes again. He shook his head and pointed again.

  Anice looked down again. He was pointing at the tartan strip Gregor had given her. She jerked her eyes back to his, his gaze now covered by lowered brows.

  “Did you steal it?”

  Offended, Anice showed a matching frown. “I did not. It was... a gift.”

  Bean sat a little straighter, trying to listen, Anice guessed.

  “I think no.”

  “You accuse me of thieving and lying,” Anice complained. She pushed his flask back at him. She would accept no sustenance from this man!

  “No man here wears this tartan,” he reasoned. “This is expected to be your husband—” he tossed his head at Bean, “but you wear these colors?”

  “I’ve told you. It was a gift. A farewell, actually.”

  He narrowed his eyes, considering her. Anice regarded him with equal cynicism.

  “Not that it’s any of your concern—”

  “Aye, lass, it is.” His eyes darkened yet more. He showed perfect white teeth as he threatened, “You’ve got five seconds to say how you came to be in possession of these colors.”

  Anice said nothing, her mind whirring with all the possibilities.

  The man raised a brow and stood, drawing his long dagger.

  Bean jumped up, eyebrows lifted into his hairline. Anice sensed many men rising to their feet. She hadn’t known the giant had moved, but saw him now, as he came to stand beside this one before her.

  “Lass says that strip was a gift.” He pointed to her waist with his dagger.

  The giant met her eyes. “When?”

  “Two nights ago.” She stared from one to the next, watched them exchange glances, some hint of disbelief moving between them. Before she even realized movement, the man with the dagger had her throat in his hand, not squeezing, but his grip was firm. He yanked his hand, forcing her to stand. She hadn’t any idea where his dagger was now. She closed her eyes and recalled what John had said was her greatest weapon, when she had no weapon. She lifted her knee as fast and as hard as she could, jamming it right between his legs. He didn’t release her, but he did double over a bit. Anice opened her eyes and clawed at the hand around her neck. The fingers didn’t budge. His lips were pressed together, in pain she hoped.

  The giant laughed beside them. Anice stilled, the hand around her neck yet, her fingers scratching at his, and turned her head to the giant, whose deep chuckle only grew louder.

  The man who held her straightened. “Keep laughing and I’ll be passing her over to you.”

  The giant shifted, closing in on her, so that all others were blocked from her view. She was forced to raise her eyes and meet his. The fingers around her neck loosened only minimally.

  “You wear the tartan of the Kincaid, lass, and Jamie here is wanting to know why. Simple enough question.”

  “But I’ve answered him already. It was a gift.” Anice hadn’t any idea why she wasn’t more fearful just now.

  The giant shrugged and shook his head once, back and forth. “That’ll no do, lass. How came you to receive, as a gift, this tartan?”

  She slapped once more at the hand and it was finally removed from her throat. She threw an angry look to the rude blond man and answered the giant. “He came to Inesfree for the wedding and he gave me this because he was leaving and wanted me to remember him—”

  The giant held up his hand. “You live at Inesfree?”

  This, asked with more skepticism. Anice rolled her eyes. “I do now, but I was at Stonehaven until he sent me away.”

  The two men shared yet another doubtful glance and the giant lifted a brow. With the barest hint of a smile, shifting his reddish-brown beard, he asked, “And why would he be sending you away?”

  There was no pretty way to say it. “Because he is to marry another but he... well, he wanted to kiss me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She was growing quite annoyed with men, mostly these two right now. She didn’t even care that the blond one’s entire stance seemed to relax. “I was sent to Inesfree and Tess and Conall were married yesterday and he was there and—”

  “Who is he?”

  Anice frowned. “Kincaid. Gregor Kincaid.”

  Both men nodded. “And these?” The giant asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at all the Duncans, watching so intently.

  She blew out another frustrated breath, assuming the truth was required now. “They stole me from Inesfree after the wedding. Because Hugh Duncan attacked me at Stonehaven and Gregor almost killed him, but Torren wouldn’t let him; then Torren almost killed him but Fibh and Kinnon stopped him. So Hugh was in the ‘below’—that’s what Gregor called it. And Hugh’s father, the little man, he demanded that Hugh be released, but Gregor refused. So I’m guessing they took me to bargain for Hugh’s release.”

  “Or to kill you so you make no claim against Hugh,” the blond suggested and ignored Anice’s brows raised in fear over this possibility.

  “Lass, why did you no cry for help earlier? I asked you, did I no?”

  “I don’t know you from God’s Adam,” she said, defending her earlier decision.

  The blond man, Jamie, turned to the giant. “Take
her with us?”

  The giant nodded but Anice shook her head, panicked. “You cannot. How will Gregor find me if I’m not with the Duncans?”

  “You think the Kincaid will come for you?”

  Anice blanched as he planted this doubt in her mind with his question. “Will he not?”

  The blond spoke up. “Aye, he will.” He flicked the tip of his dagger at the Kincaid tartan hanging from her waist. “Says it right there. But we’ll get you to him, safer and faster. And I have a feeling he’d have my head if he ken I’d found you and let you go.”

  The giant considered her, sizing her up without remorse for the hard gleam in his eye. “Lass, there are many tragedies in this life. A disloyal Scotsman is a grave travesty. Greater still, a disloyal Scot who would abuse a bonny lass. Aye, you’ll go to Stonehaven with us.”

  She didn’t want to go with them, certainly not with the blond man having confirmed that Gregor would come for her. “Well, there are five of you, if you can rouse your friends, and there are twenty of them. The numbers don’t seem to be in your favor.”

  “There are twenty-three, lass, and we’ll try to go easy on them,” said the blond man with his first smile, such as it was, more of a curling of his lip.

  “I do not want people dying because of me.”

  They both frowned. The giant said, “You are rather remarkable, lass, quite...”

  “Incorrigible, I know. But they did not truly mistreat me, and likely only followed orders. Isn’t that what they are trained to do? If Torren or John said it once, they said it a million times—an unruly army will lose the war. So, you should not punish well-trained soldiers, right?”

  “Fair enough,” said the giant. “Lass, I am bound to persuade these men to allow you to depart with us, but I have one more question: where is your hair?”

  For the second time that morning, Anice rolled her eyes at William Wallace. “That, sir, is another tale altogether.”

  She peeked around the wide bodies of these two men and saw that all the Duncans were gathered and waiting. Bean was still pretty close to her, at the end of the felled tree.