by Syme, R. L.
But when she opened her eyes, the world moved in front of her. At first, she was disoriented, but when she realized she was moving, she shook herself awake.
They were cantering down a long hill at an angle, cutting across open country. The sun was at their back, although she couldn’t feel it. She could only tell by her shadow. Their shadow. For she was actually seated in Aedan’s saddle, between Aedan’s arms, on Aedan’s horse.
The tree at her back wasn’t a tree at all, it was Aedan’s chest. She nearly burned up in embarrassment. She shouldn’t have been moving so suggestively against him. What would he take her for?
“Where are we?” Her voice was scratchy from sleep, still. How she must sound. And smell. She’d been wearing the same dress for two days and even she could tell she needed a wash.
“We’re about an hour past Lowich. I’m impressed you didn’t wake when I moved you from your tree. You must have needed the sleep.” His voice was so close to her ear, but then, if his chest was at her back, it would only make sense that his mouth would be close to her. The very thought made her shiver.
“We are not taking the King’s road?”
Aedan snorted and the air breezed past her ear, tickling the sensitive flesh there and tingling something from inside.
“Can you just imagine what would happen if we did?” Aedan shifted her to one side so she could turn her shoulders and look up at him. “A deformed man carrying a beautiful noblewoman, bound, on his horse with fifty silver coins in his pocket?”
She let that sink in for a moment and laughed at the notion. “You are not deformed.”
He snorted and shifted her back to face forward. “Don’t deceive yourself, my lady.” A pause almost had her answering back, before he added, “And don’t deceive me, either.”
That shut her up.
The look in his eyes when she’d stabbed him flew back into her memory. The pain and betrayal. He likely could have taken a hundred stab wounds, knowing his strength. But he had been at her command as soon as her lips met his, and she knew it. She could have had anything she wanted in that moment.
Except to continue to kiss him forever, a thought which flitted through her mind with alarming speed. But instead, she’d stabbed him. And now he would always be waiting for that move. The deception. The Judas kiss.
“I am sorry, Aedan.” That was all she could offer. Otherwise, she had no words. He knew why she’d done it, so there was no excuse and no justification. And it had all been worthless.
When given the chance, Broccin did not help her. He had his own family to care for, to protect, to worry about, and no time for hangers-about—no matter how old the friendship.
If she hadn’t been so angry at him for abandoning her to Aedan, she might have been able to see his perspective and forgive him. But to Anne, this daughter of Lachlan, this wife of Broccin, she was nothing. What did matter was Elena.
“You should not apologize. I am a mercenary, as you so notably pointed out.” Aedan clucked at the horse and they moved a little more quickly once in the flat land of the valley.
“You are so much more than that.”
“No, I am not. I was paid a good deal of money by your mother to return you to Berwick and I negotiated with your former captors to secure your release into my power. This is all.”
Anne pouted against him, wishing her arms were free. She wanted to punch his smug face.
“I’m trying to apologize to you.”
“Stop.” This time, his voice was more than commanding. There was an edge of desperation there as well. “There is no need to apologize. You did what you had to do to escape. But now you are my captive and I don’t need to wait for you to come to your senses. I can simply take you to your mother.”
She paused, the tickle of tears rising behind her eyes. Anne wanted so much to have him forgive her. Such a small thing. She tried to shake off the sadness that crept up as he put more formality between them.
“Do you really think that my mother has been cast aside?”
He breathed in her ear for a moment and she leaned back into the breath, loving the tickle of his hot words against her ear. “Were you really promised to the Sheriff?”
“I am promised to him.”
“So it was not your mother who intended to bed or wed him?”
Anne laughed. “My father lives still!”
“How could he allow her to act as she did in public? In full view of other nobles, and in a public court, no less?” He sighed and that lovely feeling rumbled through her belly. “I would never allow a wife of mine such liberty.”
A delicious warmth spread through her and she smiled. What, she wondered, would it be like to be married to a man like this? Someone so strong and so fierce. Someone who saw a precious thing when he looked at her, and not a path to her parents’ money—what little there was, in reality.
“My father cares little for what my mother does.” Anne shifted against him and craned up to look in his eyes. “They have been living separate lives for longer than I can remember.”
“I wouldn’t tolerate that, either.”
She shrugged and leaned against his good shoulder. “You can’t control a woman like that. She is the most selfish creature I have ever encountered.”
“I would teach her humility.”
“She would never marry a man like you.”
“Meaning? What? I’m too brutish for her? Too ugly?”
“Do not put words in my mouth.” She turned her head until she could see the cut of his jaw. “I would never say that.”
“Aloud.”
“Aedan.”
“What do you mean, then? A man like me?”
They reached the end of the valley, where the river crossed back in front of them, and he steered the horses into the water and pulled them up, then let them drink.
“I mean a man who is strong and has the capacity for love.” She stared off toward the other side of the low, slow river, where trees lined the bank and a dusting of purple flowers led up the hillside.
She carried a powerful memory, one of her earliest, of her father and mother sitting at table to break fast. He had come in from the stable and Milene had come down from her library. The children had been brought by their nurse. Anne had been so excited to see their father, having been separated from him for so many days.
They all waited for him to speak, having not seen him for days, but he slurped up his breakfast and returned to the stables without a word or a look to anyone. He cared less about his wife than his horses, and only marginally more for his children, when he had to. But she couldn’t imagine Aedan being like her father.
A powerful silence passed between them. She’d just given him a compliment, and she felt it land, but to say more would open more than just her past to him.
“You know nothing of me.” His voice wavered. She knew she’d hit on something important. She remembered his talk of his sister. He cared for her more than his own life.
“Very well,” she admitted. “I know nothing of you. But my status as the Sheriff’s fiancée is, to the best of my knowledge, still intact and expected.”
“Then why would your mother have been cast out and ready to travel?”
“These are questions I can’t answer.”
“We will find out when we reach Berwick.”
Anne shuddered. No matter how hard she tried, each time someone mentioned the town of Berwick, she saw the Sheriff’s face. And worse. She heard his grunting, smelled his sweat, felt his teeth, tasted her own blood on his lips.
And then she saw herself falling from the castle tower.
And falling, and falling.
But Aedan was convinced that he had to return her to her mother, and nothing she could say seemed to change his mind. She considered, for just a moment, telling him about the Sheriff’s accosting her in the courtyard.
Her hand went, absently, to her neck, where her hair covered the wound the Sheriff had given her. She hadn’t even shown that to Broc
, afraid he would do something rash—which had been an unnecessary worry, given how easily he’d left her to Aedan.
Perhaps he didn’t think of Aedan as dangerous, but he’d seen the Sheriff attacking her. Surely, he would have known what awaited her if she was returned to her mother. Did he really think Aedan could protect her from her own mother?
At this point, she doubted he wanted to, but a part of her couldn’t help wishing he would.
Chapter Eleven
Aedan pulled the horse to a rough stop at the first sight of the lights of Berwick. The sun was almost gone and the purple haze of twilight cloaked the land in darkness. Anne had been silent for so long, he’d assumed her to be sleeping, but her body tensed as they halted.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked.
“I have been thinking.” He dismounted and pulled her to the ground in front of him. “I understand that you fear the Sheriff, we all do. And you worry for your sister, even with your mother there.”
“Yes?”
He worked at the knots that kept her arms restricted. “I am not a man without honor, despite what you may think. Before I return you to Berwick, I want to know the situation there.” Aedan paused with his fingers on the rope over her hands. “Promise me you won’t try to escape again?”
“Why do you care so much if I escape?” Her lips pouted defiantly and her brow furrowed. “You’ve made it clear you don’t care if I live or die. You have half the money up front. Why not just release me and wash your hands of the situation?”
Aedan’s heart ached and he opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. He’d been paid well to keep his distance and the one time she’d closed that distance had been so tempting, he’d been thinking about it most of the ride.
True, he had the money to save Brighde, even without the rest of the payment, but knowing his father, he would need the rest of that silver when he returned.
Damned infernal woman. He didn’t care if she escaped. But he wanted to make sure she was safe. He wanted to hate her for stabbing him, for exposing his deficiency with women. But he did have a weakness for her.
He was a walking contradiction when it came to Anne de Cheyne. Wanting to hate her, but wanting to kiss her, both at once.
Aedan finally decided on releasing her hands and took a step back once she was free, expecting to be pummeled with her tiny fists. Instead, she rubbed her wrists and stared at him, the question still lingering on her face.
“I care if you live or die, my lady.” He wasn’t certain which would please him more at the moment, but he couldn’t admit that. If she knew this, his internal conflict, this power she had over him… he wasn’t sure what she would do with it.
He’d seen how her mother used that power.
“Why not leave me to my own devices, then?” She dropped her hands and crossed the distance between them.
Aedan glared back at her, then pulled back the fall of his hair that hid his scar. Anything to put the distance between them again. But she didn’t back away.
“You can’t frighten me away with your scar, Aedan Donne.” Her voice held a note of chiding and her eyes stayed on his. One of her hands was suddenly on the side of his face, the scar. She held him, daring him to move with that ardent green gaze of hers.
His breath stopped and the two of them stayed locked like that until she finally pulled away. He refused to be the one to break. He would do his duty to her, to her mother if he could, and then discharge her. This fire lighting between them was no good.
If she was promised to the Sheriff, then she would have to marry the man, pig though he was. And if she was not, no amount of persuasion would make her mother consider him as a candidate, whether Anne wanted it or not.
Eventually, the novelty of his scar would wear off and he would be just another ugly man. If she was one of those girls who was thrilled by the unknown, then by all means, let her get an eyeful of the thing. God knew he was sick of it. She would be sick of it before long, as well. Soon, like him, that scar would be all she would see in his face.
Anne picked up the rope that had just bound her hands and handed it to him. “You obviously intend to see this through. What is your plan?”
He pointed down the hillside where a tiny inlet cut into the otherwise smooth country down to the town. “There’s an old man who lives in that hill. He knows everything that happens in this corner of the world, and if he does not, he knows who to ask to find out. We’ll stop and see him, then do what he says.”
Aedan untied the two horses and handed one of the sets of reins to her. “You’ll not try to escape?”
“Why would I? You’re taking me to the very place I need to go.”
“You’re going back to Berwick, still?” He nearly laughed in shock.
Her delicate features drew downward. “Whether my mother intends this or not, I plan to find my sister and take her home. My father may not have the strongest will, but I believe that if I recount my encounter with the Sheriff and tell him of Mother’s behavior, he will at least allow us to be free of her matchmaking.”
“Your encounter with the Sheriff?” Aedan searched his memory. He hadn’t seen her with the old man at any point in his time at Berwick, and she hadn’t said anything. “What happened?”
“To answer your question,” she said, swinging up onto her horse, “I will not try to escape. Now take me to this old man so we may proceed with the plan.”
Aedan mounted quickly and rode after her, still not quite certain that she would keep her promise. He kept the rope at his side just in case she did not.
Molnar’s house, as it were, was difficult enough to find in the daytime. More than once, Aedan had to shout to Anne to halt where she was, in case she went too far and plunged off the bank, onto the rocky beach below.
After they went back up the hill, low light illuminated one of the dips that dead ended near the rocky cliff face, instead of leading down to the water. They dismounted and secured the horses to low bushes that clung to the craggy surface.
Molnar, an old potter, had built a makeshift door over the opening to a shallow cave in the rock that served as his house. The door was made of what looked to be the remains of a boat hull, and lay propped between the face of the cave and a large rock.
Aedan knocked at the door and a rickety voice answered in Gaelic. “Who goes there?”
The old man may have been a hermit now, but he used to be in the castle guard before he became a potter, and he would be waiting behind the door with a spear or a dagger of some kind, ready to skewer any intruders.
Rumor was, once he stabbed you through, he threw you on the beach for the waves. The ocean didn’t claim as many bodies as the hermit, it was said.
Aedan stayed a good distance from the door and its side openings. “It’s Aedan Donne, old man. I’ve a boon for you.”
“Well, come in, then. You know the way.” A clatter against rock and shuffled steps, and Aedan knew it was safe to enter.
He offered his arm to Anne and as he did so, his shoulder throbbed. “Come with me,” he said through his wince.
“Your shoulder,” she whispered.
Aedan shook his head. “We must enter as he bids us.” He grunted through the pain as he pulled the door away from the cave face and propped it against the hill.
She took his offered arm this time and didn’t comment.
The cave was dimly lit, but warm. Once inside, Aedan replaced the door with considerably less pain than the first time. Perhaps his shoulder was healing after all.
He grabbed Anne’s arm and stepped in front of her as they walked into the larger, taller part of the cave. Aedan stood at full height with Anne behind him.
“Molnar,” he called. The light came from the back of the cave where there was obviously a fire, because as they came farther in, the air was also warmer. A table and two chairs sat along one wall with a thick rug made of some kind of animal skin in front of it. On the opposite wall, there were crates stacked at the end of
a makeshift bed, which looked to be mostly straw and some hides and blankets stacked on top. The last time Aedan had been inside the cave, it had looked very different.
The room took a bit of a turn along the back and there, Aedan found both the fire and the old man. He’d fashioned a spit and roasted an animal over the fire, which was almost as tall as Aedan’s thigh and blazing.
Anne held her hands toward the fire and smiled at the toothless old man who stoked it. She acted as easily at home here as she had been in the Sheriff’s house, and he admired her for it. True nobility of character didn’t always follow noble blood, his mother had always told him. But when it did, that was the truest treasure.
His mother had been one such treasure. His sister was another. And Anne was proving this to be true of herself as well.
Except for the stabbing, of course.
“Molnar.” Aedan offered the man his hand, but instead of shaking it, the man slapped a hunk of bread into it and gestured to Anne. Aedan split the bread and gave Anne the choicer piece, then split his piece in half and offered the chunk back to the old man.
“Aedan Donne.” The old man sat on his heels and gnawed at the soft bread with his few remaining teeth. “I’ve not seen you in months, boy. Do you come seeking shelter?” Molnar pointed around him at the largely empty space. “As you can see, I have plenty of floor to sleep on, though you might be more comfortable on the turf outside, if colder.”
“May we?” Aedan pointed to the chairs and the old man nodded, turning the animal on the spit.
“I’m here for information.” Aedan pulled the cloth from his pocket that he’d been saving for the old man. The fabric itself was silk, and only a scrap, but it had the most intricate pattern of flowers woven into it with bright red thread. Molnar liked unique found items, and often used them to inspire his clay work.
The man fingered the gift, then took it from Aedan’s hands with a smile. “You know me well, m’boy.”
“I found it on the Roman road, lying on the ground as though it had been torn from a sleeve.”
The grey haired man clucked. “Ahhh. This may have belonged to a nobleman.”