“You’ll be in need of something to put on these wounds. They’ve already begun to become infected,” Davina fretted.
“William has something for them. Do you think he’s all right out there?” Shana looked to Drew.
“Och, he’ll be along any minute now. Dinna ye fret; he’s one of the fiercest men I know.”
Shana reminded herself of the man he’d killed for her, the one they’d left by the stream beneath a pile of leaves. He could handle himself.
Though he’d only been one man, that mercenary who’d tried to kidnap her. And he had been distracted when William crept up on him. What if more than one man approached William on the road? What if he’d been waylaid by a group of Stuart men, or he’d been unable to approach the house because someone had been watching?
What would she do without him? How could she possibly survive without him? He was the only reason she was still alive and fairly well, and he still had not arrived. She would never impose on these good people and put them in harm’s way. She would have no choice but to go off on her own when her feet were healed enough to walk on them.
It would be slow going, for certain. There would be nothing and no one to protect her. Even with Davina’s gentle hands on her feet and ankles, she felt utterly alone.
Minutes later, Rufus entered through the kitchen door with a basin of water—and William.
Only when their eyes met, and he smiled did she release a deep sigh.
11
The house was quiet, the other men sleeping where they normally did—in smaller outbuildings scattered over Rufus’s land. Davina was in the room she shared with her husband after having made up a bed for William in the front room, where he and William sat with a flagon of ale.
“It seems we’ve both come a long way since last we saw each other,” William smiled, raising his mug in silent salute. “I recall how eager ye were to bury your sword in the belly of Ian MacFarlane, and the next thing I knew ye were to be wed. I thought I’d be coming to your rescue when the law got hold of ye, but instead, I stood by and watched ye marry the man’s sister.”
“Aye, though we dinna speak much about him, ye ken. She doesn’t like it.”
William nodded in understanding. From what he remembered, MacFarlane had already been all but dead by the time Rufus shot him. “He got what he deserved.”
A corner of Rufus’s mouth pulled up. “Aye. I suppose we all do, don’t we?”
“That we do. Though I have to wonder what I did to deserve this, then.” He snickered. “My mam was always warning me that I might one day have to manage somebody as difficult as myself. She said she prayed I would one day have bairns as wicked as I was, and that she would take great pleasure in knowing they were bedeviling me just as I did her.”
“Was she right, then? She is not a wee bairn, I’ll grant ye, but does she make ye suffer?”
“She does at that. Sharp-tongued, stubborn, like as not to lead herself into certain danger with that temper of hers. She never misses the chance to disagree, to tell me I’m wrong in very nearly everything I think, say and do. And she’d rather light herself on fire than admit she’s wrong or take instruction.”
“What brings the two of ye together, then, eh?”
William looked over his shoulder to where she slept near the fire. Black curls spilled over the pillow, like ink, shining in the light of the flames. She shifted a bit, eyes closed, murmuring to herself. She was asleep, most certainly, for if she were awake and merely pretending to sleep for the sake of listening in she would lie still, silent, perhaps holding her breath that she might hear better.
Even so, he kept his voice low, leaning closer to his friend. “Came upon her as she was being held captive by the Stuarts.”
Rufus blinked, his brows rising. “Ye took her from them?”
“She did help me quite a bit, ye know. And she hardly begged me not to.”
“Ye know that won’t matter to Jacob Stuart when he finds ye took what he believes to be his.”
“She didna belong to him.”
“Ye hardly need to convince me.” Rufus sighed, glancing at her before continuing. “Why did he have her? She’s gypsy, no doubt.”
“Dinna call her that. Trust me. It isn’t worth the danger to your health.”
Rufus nodded. “I will keep that in mind. But she is.”
“Half. Her mother. Her da, on the other hand, was a Scot.”
Rufus’s brows lifted higher. “I see. I imagine she’s one of the raiders I’ve been hearing tales of, then.”
“Aye. There’s a price on the heads of her brothers, though I dinna believe the law knows of her. They would not expect a lass to be part of it—not even one they have a low opinion of, as they do of her kind. Which we both know.”
“And Stuart had her…”
“To lure her brothers and collect the bounty.”
Rufus’s barely-muffled laughter came as an unpleasant surprise.
“What do ye find so amusing about that? It’s a monstrously cruel thing to do, treating her as if she were no more than a horse to be bartered.”
“I’m laughing at myself.” Rufus wiped away a tear which rolled onto his cheek. “For I did the same thing. We have not spoken of what exactly brought Davina and myself together, so of course ye can be forgiven for not knowing that I was just as monstrously cruel as Stuart is.”
“What do ye mean, man? Ye aren’t the same sort of man.”
“But a desperate man does desperate things. I wanted to use Davina to get to her brother. Stuart wished to use the lass to get to hers.”
“Aye, but Ian MacFarland stole your land and murdered your kin. Jacob Stuart only wants to collect the bounty on the heads of outlaws. Not nearly the same thing, so ye might do well to stop trying to compare it. I refuse to believe you’re the same sort of man who would hold a woman captive in a cell.”
Rufus’s eyes hardened, as did the line of his jaw. “He did that, eh?”
“She was covered in filth. I canna help but believe her, just as I did then. And she was… stricken with terror. Eyes wide, wild, shaking. How could I leave her behind?”
“What do ye intend to do with her now?”
“Take her home. To Richard. He’ll protect her.”
“What makes ye believe he’d do any such thing?”
“He’s a good man.” William stared hard. “Do ye not believe he would be so generous as to extend his protection?”
“I dinna know him as ye do, having been friends since ye were wee lads and all. Ye would know much better than I ever would. If ye believe in him, I believe as well.”
“I do. He sent me to find her, in fact.” He shook his head then, waving his hands. “But that means little. Ye would never understand if I explained it, and I dinna wish to keep ye talking like this into the night. I know ye have a great deal of work to do about the place.”
“Aye, it’s kept me busy. All of us, in fact. The land truly went to ruin in my absence—or, should I say, in my brother’s absence.”
William heard the disdain in his friend’s voice. “Ye still haven’t had word from him, then. After all this time.”
“I suppose he doesn’t know he can send word at all. He doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t know what I did to take back our land. Perhaps he’s… given up entirely, found a new life and new happiness in the New World.” He shrugged. “It means little to me now. It’s time to move on.”
“I would love nothing more than to stay here and lend ye my back and my arms and my strength, but…”
“But perhaps it is not a fine idea for ye to stay longer than ye need to.” Rufus grimaced as he said it, but that did not change the fact that he was correct.
“I canna blame ye for wishing to protect what’s yours.”
“If it weren’t for Davina…”
“I know it, man. Ye dinna need to explain to me. No man in his right mind would call ye a coward. Not after what I saw ye do in battle, and now after how ye strove to take back
what belonged to your family.”
“I would fight again if it wouldn’t mean leaving her on her own should the worst happen.” Rufus snorted. “Though knowing my wife, she would be right there beside me with a pistol in one hand and a dirk in the other.”
From what little he’d seen of her thus far, William believed this.
“I think she might be carrying my bairn,” Rufus confessed.
“Ye dinna mean it!” William clapped his shoulder.
“She hasna said a word of it, mind ye, but I’ve caught her more than once running a hand over her belly and smiling—sort of staring off, far away, ye ken? Perhaps she waits to be certain.”
“We should not have come.”
“Dinna say that,” Rufus growled. “Tis glad I am ye did. I know you’re safe here.”
“But ye aren’t safe.”
“They dinna know you’re here, nor will they. And now, I’ll be asking ye to go to sleep, man. Ye look about ready to fall from your chair.”
“I feel that way, too.” William went to the bed which Davina had made up on the floor.
“We do have another room for ye to take your rest in, man.”
“Aye, but I would rather stay here. ‘Tis warmer by the fire.”
Rufus merely smiled, but offered no reply. He was wise enough not to offer a challenge to this. “Good night to ye, then. I hope the floor is not too hard for ye.”
“I shall sleep well.” And he would, knowing they were safe for at least one night.
And that she would be well.
When they were alone, he went to her. The poor thing was just as tired as he, in need of a solid night’s sleep. The light from the flames played over her face, relaxed now except for a frown which wrinkled her brow.
He ran a gentle hand over her brow in hopes of soothing her. What troubled her? Memories of the cell? Or imagined danger?
Real danger? Knowing they were still days from Munro land and therefore days from safety? He did not know if she even believed they would be safe when they arrived, as she didn’t know Richard and had no reason to trust him.
Or anyone.
What had she gone through? He recalled some of what she’d spat at him that first night in front of the fire. How angry she’d been, how filled with hatred for not only him but everyone who’d persecuted her people.
He had ceased thinking of her as “other” or “different.” When had the change occurred? He knew not. He only knew they were more alike than they were different.
His touch made her stir, made her frown deepen. He barely had time to withdraw his hand—guilt-ridden, like a lad who’d been caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t—before her wide, dark eyes fluttered open.
“What is it?” she breathed, still half-asleep though she struggled not to be. When she began pushing herself up, he eased her back down.
“Ye seemed like ye might be having a difficult dream.” It was a lie, or at least partly a lie. He hadn’t gone to her because she seemed to be having a nightmare. He’d gone to her because she was there and because she was beautiful and he’d needed to touch her.
How unfortunate.
“I suppose I was at that,” she admitted. “I’m glad ye woke me before it got worse.”
“I do what I can,” he smiled. “How are your feet? Do they pain ye?”
She moved them slightly, then shook her head. “No, they feel much better. Thank the Mother for that. I did not wish to tell you how they hurt.”
“Lass.” He took her face in his hands—gently, barely touching her, just enough to hold her still. “I need ye to promise something. And I need ye to mean it.”
“What is it?”
“I need ye to be truthful. Always. If ye are in pain, or ye are hungry or anything. Ye need to tell me. We must trust each other. Until we reach our destination, we are all we have. I must know ye will speak up when ye are in need.”
“Why do you care?” The question had no sharpness, which was unlike her. Perhaps it was their surroundings, or perhaps there was something in that salve which soothed more than just her wounds. Or she was simply tired and warm and comfortable for once.
No matter the reason, she was not challenging him. She simply wished to know why her well-being meant anything to him.
He patted her cheeks, allowed one hand to stray over her soft hair before pulling away. “I shall tell ye another time. I swear. Now, it would be best for us to sleep while we can.”
Her eyelids were already heavy, so it came as no surprise when she nodded in agreement. “Where will you be? If I need you?”
His chest clenched tight at the question. When she was not consumed with being strong, brave, hard, she had many winning ways which would have gutted him entirely if he gave them the chance.
He could not do any such thing. He had to be strong.
The first step was putting more distance between them, which meant going to his own makeshift bed and settling in. “I’ll be here when ye wake and through the night. If ye need me.”
She mumbled something that sounded like it might have been an offer of thanks, but sleep was already well on its way to overtaking her by then. A good thing, since waking her had been a mistake.
Caring too much for her was a mistake.
She was the last thing he saw before closing his eyes, and he told himself it was because she was his responsibility. Nothing more.
12
“He left me there to die.” Davina shrugged. “It feels like a lifetime ago, though it was hardly half a year.”
“What happened to your brother?” Shana whispered, unwilling to wake William. She’d woken up before dawn, unable to fall asleep again, and had found Davina already working in the kitchen. The front room was still quiet except for the sound of his breathing, heavy but even.
Davina kneaded dough on the table, flour everywhere, looking both, content at her work and troubled by her memories. “He died,” she whispered. “Just outside the house. He was very ill.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be.” Davina shook her head. “It was a difficult time, to be sure, but it was for the best that he went when he did. He wanted to. I tell myself so, whenever I recall that night. Since then, we’ve all worked hard to build the farm back up to what it once was. Rufus is happy, Drew has a purpose. Clyde feels as though he has a family again; he’s never spoken the words aloud, mind ye, but I feel it. Alec and Tyrone are longing to be on their way, I can tell, but they wish to be of service. I cannot imagine needing them much longer. I shall miss them.”
“But you shall soon have someone else to take care of,” Shana whispered with a shy smile.
Davina’s eyes flew open wide. “How did ye know?”
“I could see it in you. It’s something I’ve always been able to tell—born in me, I suppose. My mam used to be able to tell as well. Women would pay her to tell their futures, you see, and men at times. But mostly women. Men do not much like to admit they believe in such things.”
“Little wonder,” Davina snorted. Her cheeks colored, her eyes lowered. “I have not told Rufus as yet.”
“I will not say a word.”
Davina gave her a grateful smile. “Your mam was a seer?”
“Och, nay,” Shana chuckled. “Da was a Highlander. Mam traveled through with her family, and that was how they met. His family did not much care for her. I have never met them, though he insisted I keep his name. I never met him, either, at least not that I can remember. He died when I was very young. Mam, when I was fourteen summers.”
Davina clicked her tongue in sympathy. “You’ve had a difficult time of it.”
“My people have as a whole.”
She nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line, her hands working the dough with an expert touch. Shana watched her through the steam rising from a cup of hot tea. “I must admit something,” she whispered without looking up from her task.
Shana waited.
“I was uncertain when I saw ye here,
in Drew’s arms. I had never met anyone like ye before, ye ken, though I’d heard tales. I admit I recalled those tales when I saw ye, and they worried me for a moment. But only for a moment. I must apologize for that.”
“I recognized the look on your face. It was surely not the first time I’d seen it. I’m accustomed to it by now, I suppose.”
“I dinna want ye to believe I would… imagine anything about ye…” Davina shook her head, scowling. “I dinna know how to say it. Only that it occurred to me that anyone Drew felt deserved his aid could not be a bad sort. After all, he believed I deserved his aid—well, not at first, ye ken, but he grew to like me and trust me. He’s a good man, as is my husband, and I trust their judgment. Which was why I knew ye ought to be welcomed here. But if I made ye uncomfortable in those first seconds…”
“I understand. Truly.” Shana offered a smile to assure her hostess. “You’ve been very kind. I slept well for the first time since before the Stuarts took me.”
“A terrible thing,” Davina murmured. “Dreadful. Men who care for nothing but collecting gold and building their fortune, no matter what it means to others. I know too well about that.”
They had a great deal in common, it would seem.
Davina put the dough aside to rise before wrapping two loaves in a piece of linen. “What is that for? Will the men take it with them as they leave for their work?” Shana asked, warm and cozy and comfortable. It seemed natural to ask about this woman’s life, a life she herself would very much have enjoyed living.
An impossible dream, of course, seeing as how she was not welcome anywhere.
“Nay, ‘tis for ye,” she smiled. “I know William will want to leave now, and while I would like to have ye here—if only to have another woman about the place, as I am hopelessly outnumbered—the longer ye stay, the greater the chance of being caught.”
And of bringing danger upon the heads of the household. Shana could hear what the woman would not say, and she could not pretend she didn’t understand. Davina was expecting, which meant she had more than herself to fear for.
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