“Thanks,” she said.
Their eyes met again. Bonnie saw gentleness there, and sorrow. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
His eyes stretched wide. “Whatever for, lass?”
“For this…” she waved a hand at the largess she’d been given. “And for your help. In the street.”
He shook his head again “It’s nothing, lass,” he said gently. “Nothing that any sensible person wouldn’t have done.”
She almost choked. What he’d said seemed preposterous. Nobody she knew would ever have thought of doing what he’d done! He called it sensible? When it seemed so uncommonly chivalrous as to have come from some sort of tale of ancient clansmen?
“No,” she said, swallowing her mouthful.
“No?” he raised a brow.
“What you did wasn’t…ordinary.”
He frowned at her and then, rapidly, started to laugh. It was her turn to frown again. He was reacting remarkably strangely to what she’d said. She frowned and then his laughter subsided.
“Och, lass,” he said between chuckling. “I reckon my da’ was right when he said my brains had gone soft. You’re right – nothing I do is quite up to being ordinary.” He was still laughing when she realized how he’d taken her words. She felt her cheeks go red.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said, feeling annoyed, almost, that he’d misunderstood. “I meant…It was nice.” Why did he have to make her say it? She went even redder.
He stared at her. For the second time that morning, Bonnie noticed the language difference between them and felt frustrated for the pair of them. Why didn’t he understand anything she said?
When she saw him blink rapidly, she realized that perhaps the meaning was all too clear to him. She wondered why her words affected him so deeply. Soldiers were strange mixes, she reckoned. All brute strength on the outside, and inside as mad as a cork fishing sinker. She reached into her pocket to pull out a handkerchief.
“Here,” she said.
As he took it from her, their fingertips met. He blinked again and she felt the same mix of curiosity and impatience she’d felt earlier. Impatience at herself, this time, for the touch jolted through her as if she’d touched hot copper. She frowned at herself.
He’s a man. They’re dangerous, all of them – no matter how they pretend. You don’t want to trust him.
She looked at her feet. Her stomach had stopped aching for the moment, and she chewed another mouthful, more slowly this time. The loaf had diminished considerably in size and she felt less hungry. She looked up at him shyly.
“Should we go?”
He looked back at her. When his eyes stared at hers, she felt a similar shock as she had to when her fingertips touched his. The feeling warmed her stomach and flared outwards in radiant lines. She felt uncomfortable. It felt good. She had never felt like this for anyone before.
He nodded. “If you like. I saw some trees out there. Perhaps we can find them?”
She frowned at him again. Why was he luring her out of the city? If he got her alone in the countryside, the inevitable outcome she dreaded would follow. At that moment, a pickpocket ran out of the inn, followed by a furious group of servants. Sounds of general brawling followed as the servants ran into a group of traders and knocked over their wares. As the fight neared them, Bonnie shrugged.
“Best if we do get out of the city, sir.”
As the brawlers poured onto the street a mere inch away from them, he grabbed her hand and together they ran for the gap in the wall. As they reached it, he shouted four words over the riotousness.
“I’m not your sir.”
She ran beside him, feeling winded, until they reached the trees. Then, hands on knees, she stopped, breathing rapidly.
“I don’t know who you are, sir.” Her inquiry was said with a trace of acidity. What else did she have to call him by? He’d never told his name.
He was leaning on a branch. When he looked down at her after his breath returned to normal, his lips lifted with a grin. “That’s true,” he said. He held out a hand. “I’m Arthur. Surnamed Radley. At your service, lass.”
She frowned. Was he mocking her? His expression seemed genuine – his smile warm, his eyes a little wary, as if he wasn’t sure whether she would take to him. She felt her fears recede slowly.
“Hello, Mr. Radley,” she said. That seemed the appropriate thing to say. He looked at her, eyes shining. She felt a bit uncomfortable. He seemed to be waiting for something, but she had no idea what it might be. She frowned. “What?”
He smiled gently. “What are you called?”
“Bonnie,” she mumbled. She looked at her feet, feeling slightly silly. She had never actually introduced herself to anyone before. She had never met anyone who asked her for her name. her clan was McGregor, but her family belonged to the branch using the surname Argyle. She wondered how much detail to give him, and shrugged. “Bonnie of clan McGregor.”
The less he knew of her, the better. That would make it easier to hide if she had to run away, later. If her life had taught her something, it was that invisibility was a great help.
“Well, Bonnie McGregor,” he said, touching the side of his head in a respectful way. “It’s grand to meet you. Now, I suggest, if you don’t mind, that we head into this forest a bit. It’s going to rain and I have a feeling we shall find a bothy or something if we go further in?”
It was an invitation, not a command. He held his hand out to her, and his face had that mix of sweetness and uncertainty. She felt her heart slowly melt and she nodded, hesitantly at first.
“Alright,” she said. “If we’re going to go, we’d better…”
At that moment, an arrow rattled through the trees overhead.
Arthur responded instantly. His arms around her, he threw them both to the ground. Bonnie, not understanding at first, screamed. He whispered into her hair.
“Sorry, lass! It was an arrow. Best if we get down and roll away.” As he said it, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled sharply sideways. They tumbled down the hillock together, gaining speed as they headed towards a stream. Feeling the cold seeping up from the water, Bonnie held her hands out and pushed sharply against a boulder.
“No!” she shouted. She didn’t know who she was shouting at: the man who held her, the soldiers, or the inexorable force that was pulling them downhill. Like this fall, her life seemed to have suddenly slipped from control. That was very frightening.
Her hand shot out and she clung onto the boulder grimly. The weight of the man was crushing her shoulder, but she held on even though she thought that her arm might be dislocated by the rolling form on top of her. After a second, Arthur jammed his arm against the boulder and they came to a messy stop at the bottom of the hill. The cold seeped up from the river with a fine layer of fog. They hadn’t reached the water though, but stopped a few inches from it.
Bonnie looked up, realizing belatedly that the man was lying directly on top of her. His weight crushed her breasts. His leg lay along hers. She felt a sudden panic and pushed at him, knowing how futile it was to try and fight him.
He stared into her eyes. The softness in them was replaced, swiftly, by horror. He rolled off her and shot upright, brushing the dirt off his trousers.
“Sorry, lass!” he barked. “I didn’t mean anything…I…” he trailed off. “Sorry. I had to get us lying low.”
“Yes,” she said. She rolled upright, brushing the dirt off her clothing. She felt her cheeks heat up. It was strange, but the horror that she felt in being trapped under him had been brief, and had been followed by a strange sense of rectitude. She felt right lying there with him. His touch didn’t repel her. Having his face beside hers had not scared her. In fact, it had filled her with more of that tingling feeling. “Let’s go.”
“I think it would be sensible,” he said slowly, “if we follow the water…That way, we’ll be sure to find somewhere to settle, and we’re out of the way of whoever that was firing arrows abou
t.” He jerked his head up the hill, to where the sounds of horses hoof beats could be clearly heard.
Finding nothing to question in that suggestion, Bonnie nodded. “Let’s go,” she agreed.
They headed along the bank of the water. It was wider than a stream, but not a river. It was, Bonnie decided, one of the tributaries of the Forth, the river which ran through the town and met the ocean here. She felt her boots sink into the mud, and wished that they could walk somewhere that wasn’t so waterlogged. The leather of the boots was worn as it was, and the wet would soak straight through, rotting it.
The soldier looked down at his feet too, and she seemed to read the same thoughts going through his mind. He looked at her and shrugged. “My boots are ruined as it is,” he said. “Here. You walk this side.” He stepped back so that she could walk on the drier ground.
Bonnie stared up at him. If he gave her one more shock in the few hours since they met, she would run away and vow never to see him again. She’d almost rather take her chances with whatever vagabonds roamed the countryside. A man who fed her, and saved her from arrows and walked with his toes in the water, so that she might walk dry, was too strange to begin to understand.
“Sir?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Bonnie frowned up at him. The noise of the waters and the riders were too loud, she guessed. He hadn’t heard her. She jogged his hand. “Sir? Arthur?”
“Aye?” he bent down, brow creased with a frown.
“Where do you come from? I mean, what part of Scotland?”
“Aberdeen.”
“Oh.”
She stored that information in her mind for later. The men in Aberdeen were clearly, she thought, insane. What sort of man would rescue a girl, twice, and feed her, with no intent to do her harm? This man was utterly unlike anybody she’d ever met before.
They walked along a little further. Bonnie felt her legs getting tired. The path she was walking on was far drier than the one where he walked, but, even so, her feet sunk into the mud and walking was quite trying. As they reached the bend in the river, she stopped. The sound of riding was getting further. The woods were falling silent. Somewhere overhead, she heard the clatter of wings. A cuckoo flew through the treetops, giving a startled cry.
“They’ve gone.”
She said it more to herself than to her companion, but he cleared his throat anyway. “Aye,” he agreed. “That’s the last we’ll see of them for a while. Reckon they were here chasing outlaws. The woods are full of people desperate for anything they can get hold of. Blasted war.” He spat.
“War?” Bonnie frowned up at him. The word was strange. She had no idea why he used it. Wasn’t the raid on her family’s croft just that? Raiders from some other part of Scotland?
“England.” He spat again. “Bloody King Edward.”
Bonnie frowned again. He was saying words she understood – the more she heard it, the more she came to remember the Lowland Scots she’d learned from Brodgar Culver, the trader who passed through and stayed in a croft with them all winter. However, the meaning was opaque.
“Why King Edward?” she asked. The last Bonnie had heard of anybody in such lofty heights was of the Scots king, who was believed dead. He’d died in a riding accident, a few years ago now, as far as she could recall. Of King Edward she’d heard nothing at all. The Highlands were a law of their own, ruled over by chieftains. The nobles who nominally ruled over the Lowlands had no jurisdiction in those places.
“He’s the blackguard who’s sending men in to burn and pillage.”
Bonnie took this news in and felt a twinge of alarm as she did so. That meant that what had happened to her village was not something out of the ordinary. Rather than just the lands near to the town of Stirling being dangerous, it seemed that the whole of the country was unsafe. She felt a sudden chill inside.
“That means that…” she bit her lip, unable to find words in his language – in any language – to express what she wanted to say.
“It means we’d be best to try and get you home, lass,” he said gently. “The lowlands are no place for a lass alone.”
She felt her throat tighten at his words. “I don’t have a home,” she whispered.
His eyes widened and then narrowed as she saw him take in what she’d said and recognize the truth of it. He nodded.
“Well, then, lass,” he said gently. “We’ll find you somewhere that’s as safe.”
Bonnie frowned, feeling the strange sensation that had hovered around her heart fall into it suddenly, like the stones of a cliff, crumbling. She swallowed hard, trying to sum up what she felt into a sentence.
“You’re different,” she said.
He took her hand, and his brown eyes shone gently as they looked into hers. “Thanks, lass.”
They walked together into the woods.
A Second Look
Arthur stared at Bonnie. He felt his heart twist as if with a physical pain. Her dark eyes held his, seeming huge in her dirty, pale face. She had said more in those two words than they’d said to each other all morning. He shook himself, not knowing what to say next.
“Um…we should go,” he said.
His throat was tight and he cleared it sharply. He felt frustrated with himself. Why was it that he felt like this the moment she was near him? He recalled how it had felt to fall on top of her, the soft sensation of her breasts, crushed to his chest, making his loins tighten painfully.
Whist, man, his brain told him sharply. The lass’s terrified. You can control your urges.
He bit his lip and looked at his feet. It was true. Whatever had been done to the lass had made her afraid of men. He was not about to prove himself the equal of the men who had done that to her. All the same, it was impossible not to think about the tug of longing that he felt when she stood closer.
“Let’s go,” she agreed. “You reckon it’s safe up there?” she indicated the top of the slope with a nod of her head.
“I reckon,” he said cautiously. “Best if we go slowly. I’ll scout the land.” He took a few steps up to the bank and stopped at the top, looking around. When he looked down at Bonnie, she’d stopped a few paces behind him, her eyes taking in every move he made. He felt guilty suddenly. He’d frightened her with his talks of warring. He should have left her to understand the situation however she had understood it before.
He gestured for her to wait a moment, then stared into the trees. He could detect no movement there, but he wanted to wait before they took any risk. If they were soldiers who had any sense at all, they would have outriders. It would be all too easy for outlaws to ambush them if they didn’t.
If I was one of the outlaws, right now I’d be running alongside with a bow or slingshot…
He stopped mid-sentence as an outrider, dressed in heavy mail and with a sword drawn, came out of the tree line. His horse – a big one, with vast hoofs – churned up the soil, spraying it in clods that rolled in their direction. Arthur suddenly realized how exposed he was here. If the horseman had as much as turned his head, he would have looked straight at him.
Count to twenty, his mind told him. If another one comes out, wait for a minute or two more.
He stayed where he was, wishing he was invisible. The sound of hoof beats dwindled and faded. Nobody else appeared following the man. Arthur counted for a minute, then turned to Bonnie.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Bonnie nodded. She hitched up her skirts – they were torn, Arthur noticed, the edges soaked in mud – and walked up the slope. She slid a bit at the top and Arthur took her hand, steadying her. The touch of her fingers was like hot coals – it seared into every part of him. He took a steadying breath and held her hand, leading her up the slope.
They walked through the trees. The line of hoof prints was clear to see, churning the forest floor and leaving a row of half-circles indented deeply in the mud. Anybody could have followed that trail, and Arthur reckoned it made sense to follow it at a discreet distance. Wherever
those men had come from, there was clearly food and stabling, so it must be a barracks or a small village. They could find somewhere to rest for the night there, he was certain of it.
He tapped the bag of coins strapped to a loop on his belt and walked on along the path, feeling confident that they could reach the town before nightfall. He had the spare loaf and the bread rolls wrapped in a kerchief, the knot clasped firmly in his right hand. They wouldn’t starve today.
“I reckon that wherever those soldiers were,” he said to Bonnie as she drew up alongside him, “is somewhere we could stay.”
Bonnie held his gaze firmly. He could see the idea frightened her, but he could also see that the thought of it made sense to her. She nodded.
“Let’s go.”
Arthur felt a strange tightness in his heart as she placed her hand on his arm and together they proceeded into the forest. He thought about what the feeling might be as they went along the grassy path, following the tracks of the horses. It was honor, he thought. He felt honored that she trusted him.
Together, they followed the tracks. The rain started, and Arthur worried that the tracks would be washed away, but the marks were deep in the mud and following them remained easy even through the falling rain. After about half an hour’s walk, they reached a cluster of small wooden buildings. They weren’t meant for people to stay in, Arthur guessed, but most likely to shelter animals that farmers might drive up onto the meadow nearby.
“Looks like this is where we can stay,” he commented to Bonnie. She looked up at him and cleared her throat.
“How do we know they won’t return, though?”
He bit his lip and thought a moment. It was a good question. Why hadn’t he thought about it himself? In a moment, he realized. “They didn’t stay here overnight,” he replied.
An inspection of the inside of the shed made the reason plain, the space wasn’t big enough to house both men and horses, nobody had bothered to clean it out and there were no signs that anybody had recently made a fire there.
The Highlander's Honorable Savior (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 4) Page 4