“No. But he was. And that's why I want to be a soldier. A better soldier than him. Because I wouldn't get killed, like he did. I wouldn't leave my son alone, just because.”
Amalie looked at her hands. Her fingers clenched and she straightened them slowly, trying to give herself time to think. “Son, your father didn't mean to leave you.”
“I don't believe you,” Alex said stolidly. His dark eyes – as dark as shadows, like his father's were – held her gaze steadily. “He was either a bad father, or a bad soldier. I don't know which is worse.”
Amalie swallowed hard. She knew better than to defend Keith's memory. At this moment, her son's pain was more imperative. Berating him would not help matters. “Son, I know you're angry with your father,” she said slowly. “Maybe one day you won't feel like that anymore. I want to help you see matters differently, but I can't make you see it if you don't want to.”
“I'm tired,” he said suddenly. “I want to sleep.”
“Very well,” Amalie said. She stood, her heart twisting in her chest. Lightly, she kissed him on the top of the head. He looked into her eyes.
“Thank you for visiting, Mama. It was good to see you.”
Amalie felt her heart ache. “Oh, Alec! I wanted to see you. I love seeing you.” Feeling her love overwhelm her, overlaid with guilt, she drew him into her embrace. She held him tight. “I'll come and see you after dinner, Alec. I love to talk to you.”
“Me too, Mama,” he said softly. His eyes held hers. She reached out and stroked his hair, that dark hair that was so like Keith’s. She turned away, not wanting her son to see her own tears.
“Enjoy your dinner,” she said, making herself grin. “I'm sure you will.”
“I ate three loaves!” Alec boasted happily. “And Prudence – that's the other healer – she said she'd never seen a lad with such a fine stomach!” He sounded immensely proud.
Amalie laughed. “I'm sure she hadn't, son. I don't think she's used to patients who eat three loaves the day after being injured.”
“Really?” He looked surprised. And flattered.
She grinned. “Really.”
He was still chuckling when she went out.
In the hallway, Amalie leaned against the wall with a sigh. She felt drained. The combination of relief, care and Alec's rage against his father were suddenly all too much for her. She felt as if she might weep. “Oh, Alec,” she said softly. “Your father loved you so. What can I do to show you?”
She sadly closed her eyes. One thing she absolutely could not do was think for a moment of replacing Keith. If Alec was enraged by his father's betrayal – his perceived one, anyway – what would he say about her seeking to usurp his father's place?
“It's out of the question.”
It was only when she'd said it aloud that she realized that there had been a question in her mind. She really was serious!
It's not about the soldier. Not him in particular. It's just that he's the first man I've met who made me think this way.
It had to be. She wasn't about to give her heart to a common soldier, not when she'd been wed to Keith Inverkeith, a powerful earl! She would insult his memory twice over.
“Milady!”
Amalie whirled around as someone whispered urgently behind her. She found herself looking into the soldier's eyes. His were wild.
“What?” she asked, heart thumping. She had never seen someone look so urgent before. “What is it?”
“It's the woods, milady! We have to run.”
Amalie stared at him. The woods? What nonsense was he prating now? “I don't understand...”
“Come! Look here,” he said, taking her wrist.
Before she could say a word of protest, he drew her, sharply, to the window and pointed out of it. She leaned against the sill, straining her eyes. She stared. “They're aflame.”
She felt him nod beside her. She watched, transfixed, as an orange plume of fire ran up the side of a tall tree, blazing like a torch against the black night.
“Yes,” he said at once. “We must leave.”
“But...Marguerite! Alexandra. The servants...” she protested as he led her swiftly back down the hallway, toward the sick-room where Alec lay. “We have to warn them!”
“The watch has already seen the flames,” Bronan said quickly. “They'll take care of things. Trust me.”
Amalie frowned. He stood before her, hand out, eyes pleading. She hesitated.
Outside in the courtyard, she heard the shouts of alarmed men. He was right.
“Milady?” he pleaded. “Please?”
His eyes were pale brown and imploring. His hand reached for hers and the light from the window fell on his hair, sparking in the auburn highlights. She knew, in that moment, that – for whatever reason – she did trust him. She nodded.
“Good. Come, quickly? We must fetch your son.”
She nodded and together they ran into the sick-room. As the soldier bent, grimacing, over the bed, she went to the window. In the courtyard, men were making bucket-chains, intent on putting out the fires. She ran back to the bed as Bronan, groaning, heaved her son upright.
“Hey! What are you...Mama!” her son cried out, catching sight of her. “Who is this? Why is he lifting me? Hey, you! Put me down!”
“He's helping us,” Amalie said swiftly. “The woods are on fire. We have to get away.”
“On fire?” Alec wanted to know.
She nodded. Her son stared at her.
“But how?”
“I suppose it...”
“Raiders,” Bronan interrupted swiftly. “Sorry, milady,” he added over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “But I know it is. They're breaking away from the victorious army. Coming to remote places like this. Intent on looting. I've seen such afore.” He shook his head, sadly.
“Raiders!” Amalie stared at him, horrified. “You mean, they'll raid Duncliffe?”
“If they can, milady, yes. Your friend has a good force of men here, but how long can they last? Against ten, twenty raiders?” He shrugged.
They were in the hallway now, heading down the stairs.
“But Marguerite!” she gasped. “And her small daughter! We can't just leave them!”
“They're already safe, milady,” he assured her. “Everyone here is ensuring their safety. It's us who have to take care of ourselves. It'll mean more people to take care of them.”
“Yes,” Amalie said swiftly, seeing the sense. All the same, as they entered the entrance-way, she looked around, worried. A half-dozen pairs of eyes met hers. She saw a face she recognized. “Brenna! Is the mistress...?”
“I'm here, Amalie,” a thin voice said.
Amalie whirled round to catch sight of her friend in the corner. She heard the soldier strain, and Alec shift in his arms as he almost dropped him. She turned back. “Take him outside, please, Bronan? Marguerite! What's happening...where will you go?”
Marguerite looked tired, and much older than her thirty years. She shook her head. “No need to fret, Amalie. My brother – Henry – lives two days' ride away. I'll take the coach there. Brenna's coming with me, to help with Alexandra.”
As she spoke, Amalie noticed the child's pale, staring face in Marguerite's arms. Her gaze had fixed on Amalie, wonderingly.
“Hush, lass,” Marguerite whispered and kissed her hair as her daughter made a little noise of confusion. “It'll all be well. We're just going off for a bit. Amalie?”
“Yes?”
“Stay safe.”
Amalie nodded. She knew, then, that her friend had noticed Bronan and Alec, who were already heading through the front door, Bronan looking urgently for her. She felt her heart fill with a mix of tenderness and fear. “I will,” she said back, though it was hard to make herself heard, above the din. “You, too?”
“I promise. We'll see each other again soon. I'm sure.”
“I am too,” she called over her shoulder.
“Lady Amalie!” Bronan whispered, urgently, from the door. “No
w. Please? We've not time!”
“I'm coming,” she called.
Heart pounding with apprehension that was almost fear, almost excitement, she whirled around and headed, swiftly, though the door.
The courtyard, which only that morning had been a peaceful haven, was a cacophony of men. Groundsmen, servants, woodsmen...they were all there, running to the well with leather buckets, shouting orders, moving the horses from the stables. The scent of smoke was everywhere. The horses were wild with it. Amalie screamed as a stallion reared above her, shrieking.
“Whoa! Easy, milady,” the man at its bridle called. “You'll get killed!”
Amalie hastily whirled away. Up ahead of her – she had no idea where he got the strength for it – Bronan was carrying Alec.
“Milady! We have to go now! While there's a chance.”
She hesitated a moment longer, turning to look back at Duncliffe. Outlined against the hazy orange of the flame-light, the place was grand and outlandish at once, a scene from nightmare, or an ancient story.
Where will my story lead?
She thought it briefly, and then, urgently, ran to join her son and Bronan.
“Milady!” Bronan called out again. “We need to take a horse. Take the bridle. Please? Easy, now,” he added, gently, to the horse, whose eyes were wide and rolling. “Easy, lass.”
“I can ride,” Alec protested. “Put me down, sirrah!”
“Alec!” Amalie chided, hearing his commanding tone, the use of the dismissive sirrah not lost on her. She held back her anger. The youth was terrified. So was she. She needed to be calm. “Bronan, he's right. He can ride. Put him down?”
“He can't ride alone. Mount up, lad, and let your mother mount behind,” he guided him.
“I don't need to ride with Mama!” Alec protested.
“No. But she might need you to ride with her,” Bronan said swiftly. “I can't keep her safe. Mayhap you can?”
Amalie saw her son's eyes grow round. Two dark pools, they leaped with flame-light, and with wonder.
“You think I can?”
“I know it, lad. Now, up you get! Quick! I have to take a second horse. Before someone sees.”
Amalie nodded. They had no authorization to borrow horses from Marguerite's stable, though she was sure that, if they saw and recognized her, none of the men would prevent it. All the same, though, Bronan's plan to seize them in the confusion made things faster. They had no time to waste explaining themselves.
“Mama!” Alec cried. He swung up into the saddle. She saw his face twisted in pain as he used his arm. At once, she ran to the horse. “Come! Quick.”
“I'm here,” she whispered. Quickly, she stepped up into the stirrup, wincing as she tried the daunting task of mounting with another rider already seated ahead. She gripped the saddle-horn and drew herself up swiftly, wincing again at the strange motion of sitting like a man did, not side-saddle.
“Lady Amalie! You're ready?” a voice called, urgent.
“Yes!” she yelled.
Her horse, who had been still until that moment, suddenly seemed to rebel against the strange newness of two riders on her back. She snorted and turned sharply to the gate. Amalie knew she was about to bolt. “Hang on!” she yelled to Alec.
“I'll try,” he called back. She heard him sob and knew the wound in his shoulder was being stretched as he sat, holding the reins.
“Here,” she said, reaching around to hold him. She suspected Bronan meant them to shield each other. She felt her son lean back against her, the pain in his shoulder slightly alleviated. Her own tension went out and, with it, their horse seemed to calm. Her gait slowed.
“Here we go,” she whispered, trying to soothe the horse, as Bronan had done. “We're almost through.”
They headed toward the gate.
Up ahead, through the swirling smoke, she could still just see Bronan's mount, a pale chestnut horse, riding ahead. She coughed, feeling the smoke start to sting her eyes. The fire was closer now. Was Bronan certain that heading into it was safe? “Bronan!” she yelled, pitching her voice to carry over the chaos. “This way?”
“Yes!” he called back. “It's our only chance.”
Amalie nodded and, straining her arms, back aching, eyes streaming, followed him into the woodlands.
Smoke. Stinging, scalding, it blinded her. She coughed, felt her eyes sting, and blinked back hot tears. She felt Alec start to cough.
“Bronan!” she cried, feeling her horse twist back, toward the gate.
“Milady!”
He twisted around and, as he did, she caught sight of the care on his face. He looked more distressed than she'd ever seen anyone look. Her heart melted with tenderness as their eyes locked, even as her body shrieked in protest and the need for urgency. “Come on,” she whispered, more to herself than to urge the horse, or assure her son.
They rode swiftly ahead.
Amalie kept a grip on the reins, not wanting her horse to get too fast. If the creature panicked, and started to run, they could as like as not all end up dead, necks broken by a headlong leap, or thrown forward over her horse's head. She prayed and clung to the reins and they went onward.
“Mama?” Alec called back.
“Yes?” she whispered, her throat hoarse from the smoke. “What is it, son?”
“Will we live?”
“Yes,” Amalie said fiercely, surprised by her sense of utter certainty. “Yes. We will live.”
“Good.”
They continued.
Amalie felt her eyes stinging with tears. She blinked them back fiercely, knowing that she had to keep sight of the glimpse of Bronan, leading them ahead.
“Bronan?” she called. Here, it was quieter. They had left the maelstrom of men with buckets, men shouting, horses calling, behind. The only sound here was the whisper of wind, and the distant cries of men.
“Yes?” he said softly.
“Where are you leading us?”
“Back along the road,” he said. “There's a track that leads through the forest, back toward Dunradley, a little town. I know it, and I pray the raiders don't.”
“Yes,” Amalie said grimly. “So do I.”
They rode on in silence, broken only by the clop of hoofs and the distant shouts.
“Mama?” Alec whispered, turning in the saddle. “Who's that man? Where's he taking us?”
“His name is Bronan...Ludlow,” she recalled, surprised that she did so. “He's a soldier. He'll lead us to safety.”
“I hope so,” Alec said.
“I do too,” Amalie whispered back, feeling her grip tighten around her son. This close, her torso pressed against him, she could feel his heartbeat. She felt her eyes tighten, holding back tears. “I do, too.”
They rode on through the smoke-dark, quiet woods.
THE PATH
“I hope I remember the way ahead.”
Bronan whispered it to himself. He had to show certainty to Lady Amalie, and her son, but in the silence of the woods, he could admit his concerns.
It was years ago, when last I took this route. And then, I only did it twice. From the manse to Fellbrook and back.
He frowned. The smoke had stung his eyes for so long now that he barely noticed it. He twisted in the saddle, looking over his shoulder. Where were Lady Amalie and her son?
He heard the steady clop of a horse's hoof-beats, and felt himself relax. He saw her horse – a black mare, steady and amazingly unflappable – appear from the trees. “Milady! There you are.”
“I slowed to catch my breath,” she said, as she caught up. “Sorry.”
“No, milady,” he said, voice caught in his throat. “No need to be sorry! I was worried.”
He stared at her. Her hair was a loose cloud of flame around her shoulders. Her eyes had watered, leaving pale streaks on a face darkened with ash. A trail of ash, or mud, showed on one cheek, where she had likely wiped her hair out of the way, displacing the coating of soot on her pale skin. She was, he realized
, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
“Mister?”
Bronan stared as the boy, Alec – he'd heard his mother shout it – spoke to him. He felt surprise mix with pleasure. He'd thought the youth hated him on sight! “Yes?” he asked softly. “What is it?”
He saw the youth's face crease and knew he must find it strange to be addressed so directly by a commoner. He sighed. Looking from the high forehead, the thin nose and the full lips, he could see little of Amalie, and much of who his father must have been.
Upright, he imagined. Proud. Unbending. He sighed inwardly. A lord, through and through. And he was a carter's son!
“You're taking us somewhere safe?” the lad asked. He was trying to sound lighthearted, but Bronan could hear fear there, albeit hidden.
“That's right, lad,” he said, acting a confidence he didn't feel. He hoped to sound reassuring. “We'll head to Dunradley, and there we'll find an inn.”
“An inn?” The boy sounded cheerful. “Will we take dinner? I'm starving!”
Bronan chuckled, impressed by the lad's unconcern. “Of course we will, lad!” he said, again forcing himself to sound confident. “As much as you can eat.”
“They'll never have that much,” Alec assured confidently.
Bronan heard his mother laughing. The sound warmed his heart. “Like as not you're right, lad,” he called over his shoulder, turning his horse to head further down the path. “Like as not you're right.”
He rode on into the woods.
The smoke was clear, here, and the sounds of the firefighters so distant as to be barely audible. He frowned. Why had he not stayed to help the men? Why had he fled? He knew the answer. He had thought only of her, and of her safety.
“Whist, Bronan,” he said. He knew that he was half in love already. More than half in love. He knew, also, how hopeless that was, and he didn't care.
It was better to love than to fight it. That way only led to regrets. This way, his heart might long for her forever, but at least, in some way, he was not denying it.
Better to risk all for love than to risk not loving.
That would be a life more barren than a moor in winter, darker than a sky bereft of stars.
The Highlander’s Widow (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 8) Page 6