A Warrior's Soul

by Aileen Adams

It appeared she was hardly in need of watching, her head slowly swinging from side to side as she watched for any signs of danger. He would have reminded her once again that she need only ride and leave the watching and protection to the men surrounding her, but that would have been wasted effort.

  They passed one farmhouse, then another, riding alongside rock walls which lined the road. The houses appeared dark, the occupants asleep. He attempted to remember how many such houses they had passed on their way from the village but could not.

  He hadn’t known there would be a need to pay attention to such things.

  Who could have foreseen what they would find themselves doing?

  The passed one final house, dark as the others had been, the only sound coming from the area the lowing of cattle in the barn. A cat walked along the wall to Brice’s right, its green eyes glowing in the dark as it watched the party progress.

  “If that is our only witness, we should be safe,” Fergus whispered.

  Brice did not share his attitude. It seemed too easy. He would not feel satisfied until they were in Scotland, and even then, would likely be on his guard until they reached Anderson lands.

  They reached the crest of a hill which Brice remembered cresting upon exiting the village. This meant they were close—and closer than ever to being captured.

  “Do ye think the guards would have spread the word in the village?” Rodric asked in a low voice.

  The question was likely intended for Brice, but it was Alana who answered. “Nay. It would mean embarrassment for him, and he would not want that.”

  “I agree,” Brice nodded. “Remember, they said he did not wish for word to get out among the guests. They would not have come out explained who they searched for or why.” If only that were true. He was not certain whether he could believe it.

  Rodric pointed to Quinn and Fergus. “Perhaps the two of you ought to go ahead and ride through the village, see if there are any guards still on the watch for her. They might not even recognize you if they’re so concerned with finding her.”

  “Aye, can you imagine what it would be to return to the castle without her?” Quinn agreed with a grim smile. “I canna say I would return if I were in their position.”

  “I might take a new name and learn a trade,” Fergus smirked, bringing the horse around. “We shan’t be long.”

  “We will await you here.” A grove of birch trees would provide shelter and cover in the meantime.

  Alana rubbed her arms, shivering after she dismounted. Brice longed to wrap her in his warmth but held back. It was not the time, nor was he certain she would accept his embrace.

  It was enough to have her there, safe, under his protection. When he remembered his despair at believing he would never see her again and the certainty that her life as Countess Remington would not be a long one, the ability to look at her and hear her breathing was more than he could have hoped for.

  She looked over her shoulder to where he stood, waiting, watching. “What will happen to me after this?” she whispered.

  “I do not know what ye mean.” He exchanged a glance with Rodric, who was wise and discreet enough to give them some measure of privacy. Brice knew without asking that his friend would keep watch while he and Alana spoke.

  She was unaware of this, too concerned with looking at him as though he’d gone simple.

  “What will I do? Where will I go? I cannot return to the Stewarts, of course. Douglas would either personally escort me back or have me killed for defying him.”

  The lass was merely conjecturing, but the very idea was enough to set Brice’s blood to boiling. “Ye know we would never allow such a thing.”

  She turned to him, head tilted to one side. He could hardly make out her expression in the deep darkness but thought he might be able to imagine the pursed lips, the narrowed eyes. She always looked that way when she was assessing someone or something.

  She had when they’d first met, standing outside the door to her father’s home. How his feelings toward her had changed since that day, when he had found her tiresome and disagreeable. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then.

  “Why would you not?” she whispered. “It seems you are going to all this trouble for nothing.”

  “I would hardly call ye nothing, lass.” There was so much he wanted to say, an entire lifetime’s worth, but he did not dare speak it.

  “You have put yourself in a precarious position,” she insisted. “When the Stewarts get word of my escape—for ye know Edward will be certain to demand things be made right, though I have no knowledge of what that would entail—he will be looking for me, as well. And if I am with you…”

  He held up a hand to stop her, shaking his head. “Do not worry yourself over that.”

  “How can I not? Are ye daft?” She laughed softly, throwing her hands into the air. “Last night, ye begged me to consider the others. Rodric, his wife, and child, your brother. Quinn. And now ye tell me it’s no matter, that I need not bother myself. Which is it, lad?”

  “Now that the thing is done, there is no choice but to follow through,” he replied. “I do not blame ye for fleeing. None of us do. We wish to see ye safe, out of his control, unharmed by him.”

  “I suppose I wonder why it is you’re taking this on yourself, then. And what you plan to do once we’ve crossed over into Scotland.”

  He could not quite answer that, for he did not have a plan. All that mattered just then was getting her away from her betrothed; there had not been time to think beyond that.

  He knew what he wanted, what he wished for. That she be his.

  First, the matter of escaping England.

  A horse approached on the road.

  They waited with bated breath, Alana’s hand finding Brice’s in the darkness and squeezing hard.

  He held a finger up to his lips, urging her silence though he did not need to do so. She would know well enough.

  He looked to Rodric, who held the horses in place as best he could and endeavored to quiet them.

  “It is only I,” Quinn whispered.

  Alana let out a sigh, falling against Brice who bolstered her. “All is well,” he murmured before leading her out to where Quinn waited.

  “We saw nothing to give us pause. The village is asleep, or as good as. We ought to make haste.”

  Brice did not disagree. They hastened to mount the horses and proceeded to the village at a trot, still watchful but somewhat more hopeful.

  Fergus met up with them at the crossroads of the two main thoroughfares. “It could be that we missed them,” he murmured, “or it could be that they took rooms for the night and plan to continue their search on the morrow.”

  “All the more reason to make haste,” Rodric observed, looking to Brice for agreement. He nodded firmly, and all of them spurred the horses to greater speed once they’d made it through the heart of the village.

  Only when the sun was on the rise did they stop, all of them at the point of exhaustion and yet very nearly delirious with gladness at their escape.

  “Did we make it?” Alana asked again and again, as though she could scarcely believe it.

  “Aye. It would appear as though we did.” He helped her from the saddle. She was stiff, groaning in discomfort after everything she had endured.

  Now that the excitement had passed, and they were reasonably certain of their escape, she would feel the pain and exhaustion more acutely. One of the many things he’d learned in battle.

  “Find her a place to sleep,” Rodric suggested. “We’ll tend to the animals.”

  And so, with her leaning against him, Brice led Alana into a clearing well away from the road. Pine trees surrounded the open space, providing seclusion. The only intruders he spotted were a pair of frolicking squirrels who darted away at the sound of needles crunching underfoot.

  “Have I thanked ye?” she asked, her head lolling back when she looked up at him. There was barely strength left in the lass to speak, yet she insisted on trying
to do so.

  “I canna remember,” he answered in truth, “though it matters not. I know. We all do.”

  “But you, especially,” she whispered as he cleared a place for her to rest. She swayed on her feet, prompting him to hasten his work. Once he removed her cloak and spread it out on the ground, she sank down upon it with a happy sigh.

  “Why especially?” he asked as he wrapped the ends of the garment around her.

  “Because I know it was ye who wanted to find me.” Her eyes slid shut.

  “How?” Why it was important for him to know at that very moment was beyond him. The lass needed her sleep—so, in fact, did he—and yet he would have shaken her just to keep her awake long enough to answer.

  “Because…” But it was too late, for she was already sleeping by the time the word escaped her lips.

  He sighed, running a hand through her hair to loosen the last of the white buds which had been tucked into it. “Sleep, lass,” he whispered. “Sleep, my love.”

  31

  Riding astride was much easier when one wore trousers.

  “I do not know that I will ever wish to go back to wearing a kirtle,” Alana confessed. “This is much more comfortable. I can understand why you wear them.”

  “I do not think I would make a fetching sight in a kirtle,” Fergus snorted from in front of her.

  “Do not give yourself too little credit,” she laughed, and the others laughed along with her.

  It was easier to join in their jesting without the sense of a noose tightening around her neck.

  She enjoyed the scenery as well. They had followed the Irish Sea on leaving England rather than following the road which would lead them to Lockerbie. They were far west of Stewart lands by the time they reached Solway Firth, which they’d followed north along the River Nith.

  She’d never seen so much of the world, had never witnessed fishermen bringing in their day’s catch. Had never seen so many people, heard so many voices raised in so many varying dialects from all around the kingdoms.

  All the while, the men had taken turns stopping in at the occasional tavern and inn they’d passed on the way to listen for word of her escape. Nothing had come of it yet.

  They tended to sleep during the day and ride at night for the sake of avoiding notice whenever possible. Alana had grown accustomed to the night air, which grew cooler with each passing evening, and had come to look forward to the beauty of dawn as it encroached, spreading across the sky and the land beneath it.

  “It truly is beautiful,” she sighed one morning while the group rode further north. Ben Lomond stretched up toward the sky, well head of them, its glorious peaks blending in with the early morning mist which hung about them. At its base was Loch Lomond, as blue as the sky above it. The wooded areas about the base of the mountain had begun to trade their green leaves for red, orange and gold.

  It took her breath away.

  “Aye, that it is, lass.” The two of them rode somewhat behind the others, and there were moments in which it seemed as though only they were on the road. No one else.

  She was merely being fanciful. Rodric and Quinn were in the middle of a good-natured argument over the cloth Quinn had acquired for the making of a new tunic, while Fergus laughed until it seemed as though he might be sick.

  She had grown fond of all of them, not merely for the fact that they had gone out of their way to rescue her. Gone was the assumption that they were merely rough, unseemly Highlanders. She enjoyed speaking with them, listening to their stories. Each of them had lived a rich, interesting life.

  Including Brice.

  “The trousers suit you well, then?” he asked in a softer voice than before, for her ears only.

  “Aye, a bit large,” she grinned, double-checking the rope they’d used as a belt to cinch in the waist. Brice was considerably larger than she, after all. “But serviceable.”

  It had become increasingly clear that, cloak or no cloak, she could not continue wearing the silk gown any longer. It sat in her pack, folded carefully in spite of the way it had been ruined.

  Since then, she had taken to wearing the extra garments the men had packed for themselves. Modesty was something she could ill-afford at that point, though she’d still suffered a slight pang of embarrassment at first.

  She looked out over the countryside, the early morning light casting everything in a soft, golden glow. “How much longer do ye think it will be until we reach the River Nevis?”

  “Three days, perhaps four,” he estimated. “If the weather holds out.”

  What then? She did not dare ask for fear that he would remind her of the need to part ways.

  They had not spoken of it—like as not because she was afraid to bring it up. She did not wish to hear for a fact that they would go about their lives on their own.

  There had been several moments over the course of their journey back through Scotland that she’d been certain of his intentions. A look, a pause, a soft word. Something to give her hope. But nothing had come of it but more of the same. Camaraderie, mostly.

  That was not what she wanted. Being his friend was not enough.

  Perhaps she had been granted enough favors by the Lord and his angels. She had escaped an unhappy marriage. She was no longer beholden to a heartless father. She might have died in the forest twice over but had not, thanks to her rescuers.

  What more could Heaven possibly allow her?

  She decided as they rode on toward Ben Lomond that she would find a way to be happy with her lot in life, whatever it might be. The men had spoken of a need for a woman’s help in the Anderson household.

  Perhaps she might be suited to the task, if Padraig Anderson would only be patient with her at first.

  “What are ye thinking, lass?” Brice asked, his voice soft.

  Would that he were speaking words of love in that soft tone.

  “Oh, many things,” she said, waving a hand as though it meant little. “Wondering what will become of the rest of my life. Nothing too important.”

  He snorted. “Nay, nothing requiring much concern.”

  “I do not believe I ever gave enough consideration to what I would do for the rest of my life,” she admitted. “I assumed I would marry, most likely someone chosen for me. Not someone so dreadful, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “And yet, I never gave thought to the rest of it. Where I would go, what sort of life I would lead. I always considered myself… I know not how to explain it. Above certain things. Above being told what to do by a man, above being pushed around or treated as though I were a mere possession. How foolish of me.”

  “Not foolish.”

  “It was when I had no better plan to follow. I did not consider what I might do instead.”

  “Ah. I see what you mean.” He fell silent for a moment, the two of them riding with nothing but the sound of hooves hitting soil between them.

  This was the time. If he were ever going to tell her he loved her, that he intended to make her his own, this was when he would have to say it. There would be no better chance.

  She watched him from the corner of her eye. What was he thinking? Why was it so difficult for two people who’d once easily spoken their minds to one another to get to the heart of the matter?

  When he offered nothing in return, she finally decided she’d had enough. “Whoa, there,” she murmured, pulling on the reins.

  He looked over his shoulder in surprise. “What made you stop?”

  “You. You did.” She shook her head, laughing at herself. “I’ve been a fool. Afraid to speak my mind since leaving England because I felt I owed it to ye. I would no longer argue or be disagreeable as you once accused.”

  He frowned. “I do not understand ye, lass.”

  “I am not surprised,” she smirked. “What I’m trying to say is, what do ye want from me? Do ye want me to be yours or do ye not, Brice MacDougal?”

  He sputtered, his face going as red as a beet. “You’ve got a tongue o
n ye, Alana Stewart,” he managed to choke out.

  “Aye, so you’ve told me. What is it, then? Do ye want me, or shall I find a way to earn a living elsewhere? I know I’ll never find another man, so that is not something I can consider.”

  “Why can ye not?” he countered.

  She rolled her eyes. “Because I only want one man.” She pointed to him, jabbing her finger in his direction. “Is it not clear to ye yet? Have ye not seen it? I’ve done everything I can aside from speaking the words plainly, and all that’s stopped me from that was the fear that ye did not feel the same. I cannot understand ye at all. Why would ye go to all the trouble to rescue me time and again if ye did not at least care for me?”

  “Why, indeed?” he asked.

  “Well, then? What are ye waiting for? The sky to fall on ye? I love ye, Brice MacDougal, and if ye do not feel the same, now is the time to tell me so.”

  The words came out in a rush, before she could stop herself, and once they had been spoken, she would’ve liked to crawl into a hole and never come out. How could she be so brash, so bold?

  This was not the way she had imagined things at all. Disappointment weighed on her heart, while tears welled up in her eyes.

  He sat still, straight, as though he needed to absorb all she’d said. Och, what did he think of her? She had shown him the sharp side of her tongue many times, but never to such a degree.

  “Thank ye for putting it plainly, lass,” he said, nodding slowly. “I see I took too long. I didna wish to make ye wonder or fret.”

  “You are still causing me to wonder and fret,” she pointed out, wishing she could strangle him.

  “I’ll put it plainly, then.” He swung his right leg over the saddle, dismounting smoothly before reaching for her. She placed her hands on his shoulders, allowing him to lift her and place her on the ground.

  He took her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I do love ye and wish for you to be my wife.”

  She let out the breath she only just then discovered she’d been holding. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” he nodded. “I didna know how to say it, or when would be best. I thought perhaps I ought to wait until we reached the Anderson home, but now I see that was folly. Forgive me.”