“Ye’ll come back soon, will ye no?” Aileen asked softly, her fingers pawing at Fiona’s arm while Ùna wrapped herself tightly around her middle. The twins flanked her, both talking at the same time. She could hardly hear what they were saying.
“I’ll come back as soon as I can, dinnae fash. Jamesina is in charge while I’m gone. Make sure ye heed her or I shallnae be pleased.” She pointedly gave the twins a look.
“We’ll be fine, ye dinnae need to be fashit aboot us.” Jamesina patted her on the back. She lowered her voice, leaning close to Fiona as she flicked a glance at the soldier. “Now be on yer way afore yer guide combusts with impatience.”
Fiona snorted but got back on her horse and followed the man from her home. She looked back once and waved, feeling her heart sink as she left her sisters behind. She had never been away from them for any significant length of time and now, just after her father’s death, it was particularly painful to be parted from them.
Her sisters waved and screamed their goodbyes, running toward her, hands waving. She grinned, waving back just as enthusiastically, letting their exuberance buoy her up.
It will be alright.
She turned toward the front as the gates closed behind them, taking a deep breath as she followed her guide into the unknown, Julieta riding obediently at her side.
“Pick up the pace, we’re already running late!” Mr. Campbell snapped.
Fiona rolled her eyes. This man was so rude.
He turned, meeting her eyes for perhaps the first time. “I dinnae mean tae be brusque wi’ ye but I have my orders and ye dinnae seem tae understand the urgency.”
“’Tis difficult for me to appreciate the urgency, ’tis true. What difference would a day make to a betrothal?”
His eyes widened with surprise. “Betrothal? Ye’re to be wed?”
2
A Journey Fraught
Daividh had been shocked when he laid eyes on the lassie. His body had gone simultaneously cold and hot and he’d felt dizzy. His fingers tingled with the need to touch, his trews felt too tight. But he tried to show nothing.
He had barely registered the presence of the other girl. His mind had been consumed with her untidy red curls, escaping haphazardly from beneath her cap. Her curiously intelligent large clear verdant gaze skewering him where he stood. Her slender frame came almost to his shoulders. If he wanted to kiss her, all he’d have to do was lower his head.
It angered him to feel this way about a stranger and consequently, he was short with her. For a moment, he’d both hoped and dreaded that she was the one he’d come for. Spending two days alone on the road with her would be a true test of his mettle. She was the laird’s niece and no doubt used to soft living. There could be no way she would even consider him.
It made him strangely bitter and bad-tempered. He was ashamed to admit that he took it out on her.
Now as they rode out of her compound, he briefly regretted his behavior but was helpless to think of a way to repair it without revealing his unfortunate reaction to her. He rode ahead, battling his demons, fighting his body’s instincts. On one hand, he wanted to turn his head back and smile at her, reassure her that they would arrive at her uncle’s without problems. On the other hand, he wanted to growl at her for agreeing to go with him without demur.
She was heading towards a betrothal? The laird had no sons. Who did he mean for her to marry? He felt a bolus of bitter bile in his throat as he thought about it.
Why am I so annoyed by this? Could it be because this is a waste of my time and skills?
Daividh nodded to himself, deciding that he had found his answer. He was a warrior, a mercenary, a soldier of war. It was not his job to fetch recalcitrant brides-to-be. Where was the groom? Why could he not fetch her himself?
Who is he?
Daividh found that that question burned him as deeply as the acid in his throat.
“Have ye met my betrothed? D’ye ken who he is?”
The question startled him in its unexpectedness. He turned to her, a sneer on his face. “Ye’re off tae wed a person whose name ye dinnae even ken?”
Her voluminous eyes, as vitally green as a freshly watered garden, stared at him with reproach. He could not look at her for too long for fear he might truly drown in them. He looked away, shaking his head. “Yer kin dinnae even tell me ye were betrothed. How was he tae tell me the identity of yer intended?”
She huffed a breath and he was tempted to look back at her and see her expression but he restrained himself. “Nae need frae all this rudeness. I was just asking.”
Daividh closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get himself in hand. Ever since he’d come into her presence, he had felt off-kilter and disoriented, as if someone had hit him quite hard in the head with the hilt of a claymore. He was still reeling.
It was disconcerting.
It made him even more morose than he otherwise would have been. However, he was Daividh Campbell, the best warrior on Laird Dunavar’s payroll. He would not let his emotions rule him. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the impact of gazing upon her again, he turned and pasted a smile on his face. “Forgive me. Ye’re correct. There is no call fer me tae be rude. I must be more tired than I realized.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly as her eyes widened. “Oh...well...erm, that is good of ye to say. I did offer ye refreshment and rest.”
“Ye did. And please, I am nae trying tae blame ye for my ill-mannered oafish behavior. Just the opposite in fact. I am apologizing frae letting my fatigue affect my nature.”
Her lip quirked up on the left side, and he found his eyes drawn to the lushness of her mouth. “Are ye saying ye’re usually better behaved?”
“Aye. I am,” he said dazedly, his eyes still stuck on her mouth.
What is wrong with me?
He did not want to think that he might be desirous of having her for himself. Not when she’d just informed him that she was betrothed to someone else. For the first time, he understood the need and was grateful for the silent presence of the maid. If they had been alone, heaven only knew what he might have been tempted to do. The lure she represented to him was potent and unprecedented.
He shifted uncomfortably on his seat, trying to find a comfortable position in his hardened state. This will absolutely not do, he thought with despair.
Even without the prospect of her engagement hanging over them, he had nothing to offer her. It was an impossible dream and he had no idea why he should be having it at this time.
Why now? Why her?
Daividh had left his home in the lowlands at twelve years old, in search of fortune and adventure. He was one of six children, a middle child, with no prospects for an inheritance, no chance to join the clergy or apprenticeship, no chance to earn a living through study. That winter had been harsh and the land barely produced enough to keep them alive, let alone trade for other things they needed.
And so when the Watch came around looking for recruits, Daividh volunteered at once. His mother had cried many tears but his father stood stoic, knowing that it was the right thing to do. There was nothing for Daividh in Craigmuir, no hope for the future. Better he tried his fortunes elsewhere.
His time with the Watch had been short but instructive. He had learned to use a claymore, to track, and ride a horse. Pretty soon, the lure of adventure had him changing allegiance, becoming a sellsword for a liege lord on the promise of a share in the spoils of his raids. As his prowess increased, he moved on to lords, to lairds, and finally landed at Dunavar.
Before this day, he would have said he was content with his lot but that was before this woman had come into his life and turned it on his head.
Now he wanted things he couldn’t possibly have and everything was a bumblebroth of epic proportions. He could not understand how things could possibly turn on the head of a pin in such a way, even having lived the life he had.
In his six and twenty years of travails he’d seen friends and family di
e, he had been present at birthings, he had killed with his own hand. For sure, all of those experiences had changed him in fundamental ways. But nothing felt as impactful as looking in Fiona’s eyes.
Daividh was at a complete loss of what to do.
“Will we stop for the night?” Fiona asked.
“Of course we shall. We cannae ride through the night without risk and we arenae sae far behind that we have tae risk it.”
She nodded curtly and turned away. Daividh had the feeling his apology had not had the intended effect.
Fiona watched the soldier from beneath her lashes, admiring the way he sat on his horse even as his brusqueness annoyed her. She was taken aback by his apology, which seemed to come out of the blue. Exchanging glances with Julieta, she lifted a puzzled eyebrow at her lady’s maid, wondering why the soldier was like this. Julieta hid a giggle in her tartan shawl and looked away lest she burst out laughing. It made Fiona smile and she waited with bated breath to hear what else he might say to her.
She was disappointed when they rode on in silence, the soldier fidgeting in his seat as if he might have harbored ticks in his trews. The thought of that made Fiona want to giggle again but she restrained herself with effort. She wanted him to take her seriously and it was clear to her that he did not. Perhaps it was that she was young, just having seen eighteen summers, and he was clearly much older than that.
There was nothing she could do about that except show him that she was capable of comprehending the concerns he had. That she was able to take care of herself. For some reason, she wanted his respect, his kind regard, his admiration. He was clearly capable and efficient, a man of worth.
She was slightly disappointed that he was not, in fact, her intended. Even when his manner was short and he behaved discourteously, she was mortifyingly aware of him. The dangerous grace with which he moved made her stomach twist into knots. The storm in his sky blue eyes made her shiver in reaction, her hands shaking slightly at his piercing glance. His hands were so big and capable-looking, callused no doubt from wielding his almighty claymore.
Even as she frowned and narrowed her eyes at him, pursed her lips, and disapproved of his manner, she could not help but be swept up by his proximity. Her reaction to him was nothing less than shocking and disconcerting.
It must be because I have not seen a man like him in a long time.
Her father kept sellswords when they were younger but his kin, Uncle Donnchadh, had persuaded him to disband them.
“Ye dinnae need them, remote as ye are. If’n ye need any assistance, I should be glad tae send my men tae help.”
Her uncle did not know she had overheard that conversation. Yet when her father had been set upon by brigands on his way home from Dunavar, Uncle Donnchadh’s men were nowhere in sight. He had been alone with just a coachman and tiger. It was a bone she fully intended to pick with her uncle even though she knew that fighting with him would not bring her father back.
“Will we stop for the night?” she asked, tired of being alone with her thoughts and his quiet distant presence.
He turned to look at her, his eyes dark with an emotion she could not name. “Of course we shall. We cannae ride through the night without risk and we arenae sae far behind that we have tae risk it.”
She nodded, feeling disappointed by his answer and his eagerness to deliver her to her intended. She could not fathom why it should annoy her so, but it did.
They found an inn not far from Drummacree which sat about halfway between Braenaird Keep and Dunavar Castle. It was not much of an inn; it barely had stables for the horses and only a few bedchambers behind the dining hall.
Mr. Campbell called for soup and bread for their supper and they ate in relative silence. The room was packed with men in various states of inebriation, who watched them as if they were prey. Fiona could understand why Mr. Campbell was reluctant to speak in such company and why Julieta huddled close, not lifting her eyes from her plate.
When supper was done and the innkeeper led them to their rooms, she was less tolerant when Mr. Campbell insisted on giving them a lecture as if they were still babes.
“This is a dangerous place. Those men out there cannae be relied upon tae be gentlemen and so ye’ll go tae yer room and lock the door behind ye. Ye shallnae come oot until morning. D’ye understand me?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I have no hearing impairment, nor am I a child. Ye cannae tell me what tae do.”
“I can and I have and ye will mind me if ye ken what’s good for ye.” He pointed an admonishing finger in her face, which was the last straw. She stepped back and slammed the door in his face.
Daividh sighed at the door before turning away to head back to the bar. He was so very tired of having to deal with Miss Douglass and her high and mighty ways. In retrospect, it might have been a good thing that they were not meant to be. If she were his wife, he might be tempted to strangle her.
He went back to the bar and ordered another tankard of ale, drinking it in a brooding fashion as he kept an eye on the corridor leading to his charge’s rooms. He would not put it past any of the men to attempt entry.
He managed to finish the tankard without having to fight anyone and got up with relief. He would spend the night outside her door, where he could keep an eye on her. He walked slowly down the corridor and came to a stop outside her door. Knocking softly, he listened for any sound from inside.
Perhaps they have slept already.
He tried the door to see if it was locked and to his surprise, it opened easily. Even more to his shock, the room behind it was completely empty.
3
Fortune-Teller
Daividh froze in the doorway, looking around the room as if he expected Fiona to spring up from the corner and yell “surprise!” in his face. When he realized that was not going to happen, he stepped into the room, eyes narrowed, looking around for any sign as to where they might have gone. He strode to the wardrobe and flung it open, eyes flying about looking for clues. Her bag was still on the floor, unpacked but open, clothes spilling out.
Good, this must mean she has not gone far, he thought with relief.
Or someone took her by force, a more insidious and snide voice interjected. He shook his head in denial. If someone had stolen her away, they would have had to walk down the corridor he was watching. He would have seen them. Just to be sure, he walked out of the room and walked the length of the corridor, looking for clues or signs of a struggle.
Finding nothing, he returned to the room and began to search it inch by inch as he tried not to panic.
I knew she would be trouble the moment I saw her.
He sighed, looking around, trying to see what might be out of place. The beds were still made, however, the blankets were wrinkled as though somebody had sat on top of them. The maid’s bags were in the corner and hanging off the bed was the gown she’d been wearing on the road.
So she changed her clothes.
That was a good sign. It indicated that they had the time and leisure to primp and polish themselves before leaving. There was a shawl strewn on the bed as if thrown off agitated shoulders. It sprawled across the blanket, covering it from left to right. On the floor, beside the bed, he found a silver hairpin that seemed as if it had fallen off someone’s hair.
Hmm, somebody was agitated.
It did not tell him much about where they might have gone. He exited the room and followed the corridor to the other end, where it culminated in the kitchens. He looked around, where the innkeeper’s wife was busy at the fire, stirring a huge pot. In the corner sat a young boy, sucking on a bone, his eyes on Daividh.
Walking toward him, Daividh squatted right in front of the boy. “Good evenin’ t’ye. What’s yer name then?”
The boy ceased his suckling. “Aonghus,” he said.
Daividh nodded. “Well Aonghus, I have a question tae be askin’ of ye. Did ye see twa ladies pass by here? Mebbe alone, mebbe wi’ someone? They would ha’ headed out o’ the
inn?”
Aonghus thoughtfully sucked on his bone before letting it go with a loud slurp. “I seen twa ladies going that way.” He pointed towards the back fence of the inn, which seemed to lead to an open field.
“They were alone? No one was making them go?”
The boy shook his head so vigorously his hair flew back and forth, finally landing in his eyes. He flicked it back with a jerk of his head and resumed his suckling. Daividh got to his feet with a frown. He did not understand what Fiona and her maid would want with an empty field. If nobody was chasing them, and they were not running away, then what were they doing?
He shook his head and spat.
Women…
Fiona leaned against the door after slamming it in Daividh’s face, and sighed. Her chest heaved with annoyance and she closed her eyes, trying to get herself under control.
“The nerve of that man.”
Julieta laughed. “I think he truly is trying tae protect ye.”
Fiona opened her eyes so she could glare at her maid. “I dinnae need any protection.” She moved away from the door, still glaring, “Have I no been in charge of the keep all these years since Ma died? Have I no given orders, kept order?” She was veritably steaming.
“Of course ye have,” Julieta tried in vain to calm her, “but yon oaf doesnae ken that. Ye cannae blame him for tha’. He doesnae ken ye.”
“Aye, he definitely does not. If’n he thinks I’m going tae stay in here like a meek little—”
“Miss Fiona!” Julieta narrowed her eyes before widening them.
“What? He’s no’ my keeper. I dinnae have tae do as he says!”
“But...yer uncle sent him to fetch ye. He’s in charge o’ ye until we get tae Dunavar.”
“I am not a parcel to be delivered from one place tae another. If’n I wish to walk aboot, I shall.”
Highlander’s Tempted Guard (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 2