The Runaway Highlander (The Highland Renegades Book 2)

by Syme, R. L.

  “Or noble woman,” Aedan said.

  “Or even the king of England,” Anne added.

  Molnar winced, but held the delicate cloth with his fingertips. “Can you imagine, boy? What if this had been torn off the shoulder of the King himself?”

  Aedan smiled down at Anne, who was watching the old man with giant, mesmerized eyes.

  “My nurse told me that King Alexander used to travel the Roman road often, dressed as a pauper to fool his people.” Those green orbs glistened with memory and Aedan’s throat clenched at the childlike tone of her voice. “He would often get bored in his castle, and ever the curious ruler, he wanted to know what his people thought of him and how they lived. So he would walk the Roman road, with rags to cover his kingly garments, and when he would meet a poor man doing good, the king would reveal himself and bring the peasant to dine at his table.”

  Molnar reached across Aedan’s body and took Anne’s hand, his eyes shining. “You have a poet’s heart, my dear. Never lose your sense of wonder.”

  Aedan stared at her, finding himself drawn into the spell of the firelight and her eyes and the tale of a kind, strong king who would have kept all well and safe in his land. Tears stung behind his eyes at that thought. Oh, to have been alive when Scotland was its own. When the petty clan wars weren’t threatening to the land itself because the king provided the constancy to unite them when needed. What a beautiful time that would have been.

  Before Alexander’s death. Before the fight for the throne. Before the invasion.

  Now, Scotland was a place where men like Aedan were necessary, and men like Broccin had to fight in stealth, and there was no standing army. No hope. No unity.

  “And you, my boy, have a warrior’s spirit. You will forever be looking for someone to slay and someone to save.” Aedan glanced up at the old man and found his squinting eyes focused on his scar. “Who is it today? This young miss? And are you planning to slay her or save her?”

  “Both, in a manner of speaking.” Aedan gestured to Anne. “This is Lady Anne de Cheyne, daughter of the Earl of Caithness.”

  “Ahhh. One of the old mormears.” Molnar laughed. “You don’t know this, my girl, I’m certain, but until our war with Norway, we never had these names. These English names. The protectors were the old mormears, and they’d been the defenders of Scotland for hundreds of years.”

  “Yes, I knew that.” Anne pulled at Aedan’s arm. “There were families picked from all the clans of Scotland to be the protectors, and they were granted lands by the king and sworn to be his men.”

  Molnar nodded. “Then the king of England claimed the right to our country and gave us his names. He thinks he can give and take our lands at his whim.” The old man spat against the wall. “England.”

  Aedan looked for a hole in the conversation, so as to steer it away from any more spitting. “Molnar, I need to ask some information of you.”

  “And give some in return, I hope.” Molnar nodded in Anne’s direction. “I’ll want to know what your lass is doing here.”

  His lass. Something stirred in Aedan at that thought. To belong to someone, and her to him. It might feel very like this. Sitting together at the hearth of an old friend, listening to stories and sharing information.

  Or it might be more like Anne’s parents. Or his parents, God forbid. His mother had belonged to his father in the sense that she was his property, and he never let her forget it.

  Aedan would never have a wife in that sense, and he hated any man who would, including his sister’s intended husband. A man wholly after his father’s own heart.

  “Are you well?” Anne’s whisper caught him off-guard. Aedan looked down at his hands and saw his knuckles and fingers were white. So vivid had been his imaginings.

  “I am,” he whispered back. To Molnar, he said, “When I was last at the castle, I heard of the escape. I assume you have also heard.”

  The old man nodded and turned the spit. “Forty-two men escaped, as I am told, but some of them died at the hands of the soldiers, so it’s likely not as many made it to their camp.”

  Aedan was amazed at the accuracy of Molnar’s knowledge. “Those were the numbers I heard as well. And the Sheriff sent a company after them.”

  “Aye, this morning if I’ve heard it right. But if we know the renegades as we do, they’ll have numbers far outweighing those from the prison, and those who aided them.”

  Anne stiffened beside him. “Still, they’ll be outnumbered.”

  Aedan tried to contain his own worry. And guilt. “They’ll be gone,” he promised. Broccin had gone back to warn them. They could have been back in Scotland well before nightfall.

  They could.

  “I can offer you more about the escape from the dungeon.” Aedan nodded to Anne. “From a first-hand witness.”

  Molnar’s eyes widened.

  “But we’ll need some very specific information in return.”

  The old man touched the side of his nose and winked. “About your mother, no doubt.” He pointed to Anne. “And you won’t have heard, I’m sure.”

  Anne started from her chair. “Please, tell me about my mother.”

  Molnar shrugged his shoulders. “Information is valuable, my lady. I do not believe you have firsthand knowledge of the escape, so if you don’t mind, I’ll have your story first.”

  *****

  Anne felt the heat of the fire more than even when the cold had still been biting at her back. Both Molnar’s and Aedan’s eyes fixed on her with silent expectancy.

  “What if my story doesn’t prove to be worthy?” She looked between the two men, but Aedan finally placed his hand on hers. That warmth burned hotter than the fire.

  She couldn’t ignore this thing building between them any longer. If the old man hadn’t been watching their every move, Anne would have had Aedan back on the ground where they’d left off that morning, harlot that she was. Granted, he may hate her for trying to escape. He may resist her.

  And yet since they’d entered the old man’s home, he’d shown a care for her that heated her whole being, from toe to crown.

  Anne stared at his big, strong hand covering hers and a giddy, silly feeling bubbled inside. Happy. She was happy. Which helped fortify her, because the tale she had before her was not one she relished having to recall.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Molnar. I’m just thinking of where to begin.”

  “Begin, as they say, at the beginning.” The old man crossed his legs and rubbed the piece of cloth between his fingers as he listened.

  She began where her brain began. The first time she saw Aedan. Or for public consumption, when Aedan brought the injured William before the Sheriff. She left out her thoughts about Aedan, but did admit to thinking William might have been Broccin.

  Aedan laughed at this. “I wondered why you spoke up so quickly.” He pinned her with that dark, intense gaze. “At first I thought you fancied the man.”

  “Oh no.” She returned the laughter. “William was sweet, and helped me a great deal, but…” But it was you I fancied. She heated and flickered her gaze to the cave wall. She couldn’t admit that.

  “He died in the escape,” she added, as though that might be the reason for her unease.

  “Anne.” Aedan’s pliant tone did much to assuage her own guilt about William.

  “Story, story!” Molnar called out, breaking the moment between them. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, my dear. Tell it in the right order, or I’ll never guess if you are telling the truth.”

  Anne continued with the details of William’s injury and Aedan’s excuse of leaving the store room. She paused, wondering if she should tell the whole truth about her collusion with William.

  By God, she’d stabbed the man that morning and he was still speaking to her. He appeared to have a different definition of loyalty than she did.

  She told of her conversation with William and how he knocked Aedan unconscious. A tiny flicker of disappointment shadowed his face like an extinguishi
ng flame. At least he had believed, at the time, that she was innocent.

  He motioned for her to continue, rather than acknowledging her silent apology. So she told of her mother’s thwarting, the engagement announcement, and the events of the next morning.

  By the time she reached their initial escape, she was so caught up in the story, she felt her voice take on a dull tone and she was lost for a moment in the red-orange glow of the fire.

  Without thinking, she recounted her sister’s return, her running into the courtyard, and in as few words as she could muster, the Sheriff’s attack.

  Like every previous moment she’d tried to recall his movements, the whole experience moved in slow moments and each shame burned new in her memory.

  By the time she told of Broc’s saving her and her waking up in the back of the cart, both Aedan and the old man had stopped nodding, moving, breathing.

  She blinked and her omission, the night of the Sheriff’s true attack on her, caught in her throat. A tear came to her eye, thinking of what it would be like to unburden herself. To tell someone. But she couldn’t. Aedan would never see her as herself again.

  “You’re leaving something out.” Molnar’s voice was almost sing-song-y and it grated on her. “I can see it on your face. Something that made you want to help those men.”

  “It can’t just be because the Sheriff deserves it?” she asked, hoping her humor would deflect his questions.

  “Ah, but why would you think he deserved it?”

  Anne fidgeted with her fingertips, pretending to check her nails, but Molnar grunted.

  “You saw something, or you know something that made up your mind.” Molnar nodded to Aedan. “When you trade in information, my girl, you start to know when it’s being withheld.”

  A weight lodged itself on Anne’s chest. “Some information is better not shared.”

  “And yet, you told us that he nearly killed you.” Molnar clucked his tongue. “It must be good, this story you’re withholding.”

  She fixed her gaze on the fire, hoping Molnar would stop asking if she simply stopped talking. But he prodded her again.

  “A juicy morsel, no doubt.”

  “Not something I wish to discuss.” Anne tried to force all her will into the words. “Suffice to say it was horrific enough that I would rather escape with criminals than stay in that house.”

  Molnar’s mouth hung open and Anne tried to impart the gravity without saying the words. He nodded.

  Glancing up at Aedan, Anne could barely make out any emotion on his face. He glowered into the fire and refused to meet her gaze. The old man spoke first. “I apologize, my lady, for ever doubting you or your honor. I can see that you are not only telling the truth, but that you have been wronged in a most unseemly way. I will say a prayer for your retribution.”

  He turned the spit again and set the cloth down on the floor away from the fire. Molnar took Anne’s hands in his and stared into her eyes.

  “Your lady mother is Milene de Cheyne, yes? The Countess?”

  “She is.”

  “I have heard that once the Sheriff learned of his new bride’s capture, he at once named you a lost woman, and your mother was invited to return to her home.”

  Anne breathed a heavy sigh. She had been hoping for as much. She turned to look at Aedan, but Molnar pulled her back with their joined hand before she got a good look at him.

  “This will not be easy for you to hear, my lady, but the Countess, having already secreted away your dowry, offered the Sheriff your sister in your place. Elena, is it?”

  Anne’s heart nearly stopped beating in her chest. The painful squeezing feeling was what she imagined would happen when you were about to die of your failing body’s surrender.

  “Yes,” Anne whispered, still unable to catch her breath properly. “Her name is Elena.”

  “You’ll be pleased to know that nothing has been settled yet. The Sheriff awaits your return before he solidifies the contract over your sister. The soldiers he sent have been ordered not to take your life, but to return both you and any noblemen they might capture.”

  Anne nodded, thankful. She wished she had the faith to assume the man was lying, but this sounded all too much like her mother. She should have come back for Elena right away.

  “How do you know all these things?” she asked.

  Molnar thumbed his nose again. “I have friends in the Sheriff’s house. They provide me with news and food, and in response, I provide the same.” He reached behind the spit and pulled a handful of dark mushrooms, opening his hand to let her see their intricate differences.

  Anne offered a small smile and turned to comment on the plentitude of the hermit’s mushrooms, but Aedan’s face was somber and he looked still as a carving.

  She put her hand on his arm, but he did not move.

  “Aedan.” When her words still did not produce any action, she spoke his name again. “Aedan.”

  The hermit turned the spit again and stashed the mushrooms. He poked Anne’s arm. “Will you fetch something for me, dearie? Just outside the door, there’s a sack of roots I picked this morning. Would you bring them in so I can peel them and make a nice mash?”

  Anne kept watching Aedan’s frozen face and finally nodded her head. She gathered her skirts and hobbled through the cave. When she reached the door, she tried to grab the side and shove, but the infernal thing wouldn’t move.

  After several attempts, she sighed and turned around, running her nose and face right in to Aedan’s chest. She didn’t move at first, her heart thrumming at his nearness. He reached to the side of her head and her breath quickened.

  But instead of kissing her, he pulled the loose hair from her neck and yanked off scarf she’d tied around her neck to hide the wound and the bruising.

  He stared down at the exposed skin and every hair stood to attention. A chill shot straight through her. She tried to push his hand away, but his strength exceeded hers so completely, she could barely even make him move at all.

  After gaping his fill, he released her hair and stepped back. “Would you ever have told me?”

  Anne heated under his scrutiny and tore the scarf out of his limp hanging hand. She felt the tender skin where the bite remained and the scab that had formed over it. He touched the side of her neck, where the bruises from the brute’s fingers would have been.

  She closed her eyes and tried to forget the hurt etched into the lines on his face. “You didn’t need to know.”

  “Didn’t need to know?” He pounded the wall beside him. “This is the most important thing.” His words dripped with derision. “Do you think me such a monster that I would rejoice in your being treated like that? Am I so heartless in your eyes that you would think I could take joy in his hurting you? Using you? Or that I would ever let you go back to him? Or allow your sister to be used like this?”

  Her gaze clouded with tears. “Yes, clearly I am hiding my secret shame because I think you would find joy in it. And I wouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction of my humiliation.”

  The tenderness in his expression startled her. She’d expected anger as a response to her own, but he looked as close to tears as she felt herself.

  He reached for her, but she couldn’t take his hand. The tiniest contact with him in that moment, and she might lose all control.

  “Anne. It grieves me that you were forced to endure such a horrendous monster.” He didn’t lower his hand and the invitation of such caring contact lured her like a fish to bait.

  She wanted nothing more than to sink into his strong arms and forget all the cares in the world. But she couldn’t bring herself to let that happen. Not with Elena in such danger.

  “I haven’t even told you the worst part.” The tears gathered in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks with each blink. “I’d heard a rumor that he… he killed his first wife. That he beat her until he killed her and then, to cover it up, he… threw her off a turret and claimed she fell.”

  Aedan’s ou
tstretched hand curled into a fist and he shifted from side to side. “I doubt that’s the worst part. And yes, I’ve heard a similar story.”

  “All I can see when I close my eyes is my body pitching down to the rocks from the tower.” A sob racked her body and she doubled over. “Only now, it’s Elena’s face I see. Oh, God, Aedan.”

  He caught her in his arms and held her to him. The warmth and strength of his body brought her a safety she hadn’t even known she could feel. Like the two of them could fight any battle, show down any enemy.

  His hand smoothed her hair and he rocked her from side to side, soothing her with hushed whispers. She couldn’t stop the sobs, but they were easier to sustain with him holding her up.

  “I see now,” he said, “you can never return to that place.”

  She sniffed and pulled away, looking up into his clear face. A dark stubble had begun to grow over his unscarred skin, making him appear older. She feathered her fingers over the prickly bits and he took her hand in his, kissed it, and held it to his chest.

  “But I must see Elena safely out of that city.”

  “You will not be setting a foot in Berwick.” He held her hands together and the memory of them being tied flew up, unbidden. He certainly had ways of forcing her compliance.

  “But, Elena…”

  “Leave Elena to me.” Aedan kissed the tips of her fingers. “When you told that story, all I could think was that Simon Alcock might get his hands on you again, either to keep you or to kill you. And I couldn’t bear either of those lives for you.”

  Anne’s heart expanded inside, as though his words filled a hole she hadn’t known existed. She opened her mouth to speak, but he placed a finger on her lips.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Anne. And I’d prefer you didn’t try to convince me that you feel anything for me. I know what I am, and I know who you are. But I promise you that, if you let me, I will never stop protecting you.”

  Anne smiled and looked up at him through thick lashes. “That sounds suspiciously like declaring your intention, Aedan Donne.”

  His smirk was half annoyance, half entertainment. “We’ll talk about that later. For now, I want you to know that I will find a way to rescue your sister.”