by Katy Baker
His curse, she answered herself.
The tattoo was still glowing, his rage thwarted by his refusal to kill the man in the arena. Instead, Cam was channelling the power into pushing his body beyond its limits. How long could he keep it up? His face was pale and his hair stuck to his face in a sweaty tangle, his teeth bared in pain.
She curled her fingers around his. “Lean on me. Take some of the weight off that leg.”
He glanced at her and she thought he would argue but he only nodded. Beth pulled his arm across her shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist, and like this they struggled down the trail.
Cam grimaced in pain at each step but made not a sound. All the while Beth listened for the crash of pursuit, her ears straining to pick out the shouts of men and the pounding of feet. Ahead, the trail levelled out and they suddenly found themselves standing on the banks of a wide river. The water ran high and fast, milky white with run off from the mountains. Its hiss and gurgle filled the air, far more violent than the river she and Cam had fished in only yesterday. Lord, had it only been a day? So much had changed in so short a time.
Cam pushed away from Beth’s support and staggered down to the river’s edge. He leaned over, scanning the turbulent water and then glanced back up at the trail. His expression tightened.
“They’re coming.”
Beth strained her ears and then she heard it: the baying of dogs in the distance. Her blood ran cold. With Cam’s injured leg there was no way they could outrun them. His expression turned determined. He held out his hand to her.
“There’s only one way,” he said. “We have to go into the river.”
Her eyes widened. “Into that? Are you crazy? We’ll drown!”
“Nay, we willnae,” he replied. “I’ll keep ye safe.” He was still holding out his hand. His blue eyes fixed on hers. “Beth, do ye trust me?”
AT HIS QUESTION, BETH hesitated. A shadow of uncertainty filled her eyes. The sight of it cut Cam to the bone. When she looked at him her expression wasn’t filled with the bright hope it had only yesterday. Now it was filled with uncertainty, mistrust. It would have hurt less if she’d have taken a knife to his heart.
Steeling himself, Cam met her gaze and said again. “There isnae another way, lass. They’ll be here in moments.”
She glanced up at the trail to where the sound of baying dogs was getting closer. Then she looked at Cam and pulled in a deep breath. “I trust you.”
She grasped his hand, came to stand by his side. He nodded at her.
“Jump when I say. Ready?”
She bit her lip and nodded. Lord, but she was the bravest woman he’d ever met.
“Now!”
Together they launched themselves from the bank. Cam kept a firm grip of Beth’s hand as they hit the water and the cold tried to snatch away his breath and pull him under. He didn’t let it. Despite the weakness in his right thigh, he forced his legs to kick, to propel him to the surface, dragging Beth with him. They broke the surface and gulped in air, fighting to keep their heads above the swirling maelstrom.
Cam pulled Beth close to him, got one arm around her and swam with the other, kicking powerfully beneath them. The rage of his curse had not abated, it still swirled in his blood like fire but now he channelled it into his limbs, used every ounce of his will to force it to do his bidding, to give him the strength he needed to keep them both alive in this vortex of swirling, grasping, freezing water.
The current was stronger than he expected. It grabbed them, sent them hurtling along with the speed of a galloping horse. Flotsam zoomed past: broken branches, mats of reeds and other detritus that had been washed from higher in the mountains.
Beth clung tight to him, her face pale, gulping in breaths and doing her best to swim with the current. A log slammed into Cam’s shoulder and pain lanced through him, sending his vision white. His grip on Beth slipped and she was torn from his grasp, swept away by the swirling water.
“Beth!” he bellowed.
With an almighty kick, he sped after her. He’d always been a strong swimmer and had spent many hours in the river near Dun Ringill with his brothers. Now he needed every ounce of strength and skill he’d learned under his father’s tutelage. With strong, powerful strokes, he cut through the water, ignoring the burning in his legs, the weakness where blood leaked from the arrow wound. Beth needed him. He would not give up.
She bobbed ahead of him, fighting to keep her head above the water. She was beginning to tire. Cam knew first hand how quickly the freezing water leeched strength from limbs and unlike him, Beth was unused to the cold of the Highlands. Moment by moment her movements were becoming slower, her head dipping that little bit closer to the water’s turbulent surface.
Damn ye! Cam growled at himself. Faster! Ye willnae fail her now!
His lungs were burning and his heart was hammering so hard in his chest that he felt it thundering against his ribs. Still he pushed himself harder. His outstretched fingers brushed the sleeve of her dress for a moment before she was ripped out of his reach once more. He propelled himself after her, his arms pumping, his legs kicking. At last he came within reach and this time his fingers closed around her wrist and he pulled her to him. He held her tight around the waist, boosting her so that her head was well clear of the foaming swell.
With a sob, she threw her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him tightly.
“I’ve got ye,” he called above the tumult of the water. “I’ve got ye.”
Glancing behind, Cam saw a log come speeding towards them. As it rushed past he reached out and snared it, dragging it closer. It was thick enough to bear their weight so Cam supported Beth whilst she threw an arm across it and then followed her example, all the while keeping one arm clamped around her waist. He’d lost her once. He wouldn’t risk it again.
Like this, clinging to the floating log, they were carried along by the river, tossed and turned like two pieces of flotsam. The pain in Cam’s thigh was throbbing like fire and now the muscles in his arms were cramping from holding Beth with one and the log with the other. But he wouldn’t let go.
I willnae fail her, he said to himself over and over again. I willnae fail.
His body alight with agony, his promise to Beth the only thing that kept him focused, Cam lost all sense of time. He couldn’t have said how long they were in the river. It could have been only a heartbeat or an eternity but finally, blessedly, the river began to widen and its flow to ease. The churning white water calmed to a glassy serenity, flowing languidly between broad, mossy banks.
The current swept them towards the western shore and when they were close enough, Cam gripped Beth tightly, kicked away from the log, and swam for shore. Next to him Beth moved feebly but her eyes kept drifting closed.
Alarm spiked through him and he kicked harder, desperation and panic adding strength to his exhausted muscles. Finally he felt his feet touch the bottom and he dragged Beth, semi-conscious, through the shallows, up the shore and onto the grassy sward beyond.
Laying her gently on her back, he leaned over and shook her. “Beth? Beth, lass, wake up. We’ve made it. We’re clear of the river.”
Beth’s eyelids fluttered and she muttered something but didn’t stir. Her skin was deathly pale and, placing the palm of his hand against her cheek, he realized she was freezing. Warmth. She needed warmth, and fast.
With an effort of will Cam pushed his battered body to its feet and stumbled into the treeline, searching for firewood. They had been fortunate that it hadn’t rained in a while—a rare occurrence in these parts—and so there was plenty of dry, fallen wood littering the forest floor. He gathered an armload and hurried back to Beth.
Dumping it to the ground, he arranged it as he’d been taught as a child, with kindling first and bigger sticks ready to feed into it once the blaze was going. He’d lost his saddlebags when MacGregor had taken Firefly and with them, his flint and tinder. He would have to start a fire the hard way. Taking a dry stick he placed
it into a notch on another stick and began spinning it between his palms, trying to work up enough friction to light a spark.
It was slow, gruelling work and he soon had blisters to add to his mounting list of injuries. He ignored them. He could not stop. Not until Beth was safe. His teeth bared in a snarl of determination, he kept at it, flicking his head back from time to time to stop his wet hair dripping onto his handiwork. He kept glancing at Beth but she lay as still as a waxwork doll. Only her shallow breathing showed that she still lived.
Finally a wisp of smoke began to rise from the wood and Cam carefully blew on it, feeding in tiny bits of kindling—a difficult task with fingers that felt as useless as sausages—until a flame took. The heat, after the cold of the river, felt wonderful but he couldn’t rest yet.
He knelt next to Beth. She didn’t stir but her eyelids fluttered as though she was dreaming. Her skin felt deathly cold and there was a slight blue tinge to her lips.
“Wake up, lass,” he said, shaking her. “Ye need to get warm.”
No reaction. Cam rocked back on his heels, thinking. She would not warm whilst she was in those wet clothes. Making a decision, he stripped off his plaid and shirt and laid them out by the fire to dry. Then he quickly unlaced Beth’s dress and wrestled her out of it. She didn’t respond as he peeled the heavy, wet garment away and laid it out next to his plaid by the fire. Leaving Beth in only her under shift, Cam lifted her into his arms. He carried her over to the fire and sat down with his back against a rock, Beth leaning against his naked chest. He rubbed her arms vigorously and then wrapped his arms around her, trusting the flames and his own body heat to warm her.
Cam drew a great, deep breath through his nostrils and let it out slowly. Safe. They were safe—for now at least. He looked around, trying to figure out where they were. He didn’t recognise their immediate surroundings but judging from the position of the sun the river had carried them west—far to the west unless he missed his guess.
Frowning, he squinted into the distance. Along the horizon marched a low line of hills covered in purple heather with a flat expanse of floodplain before them. In the middle of the floodplain winked a loch in the distinctive shape of a tear drop.
Cam’s stomach tightened as realization dawned on him. He knew where he was all right. These lands were ones he’d wandered for most of his life. The river had spat them out right on the border of MacAuley lands. On the other side of those hills lay Dun Ringill, his childhood home.
He hadn’t set foot on those lands for many years, not since the night his curse had taken him. Involuntarily, he glanced at his tattoo. The markings were pale now, little more than a shadow on his skin. But for how long? How long till the rage came roaring back, turning him into a mindless beast? He squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden pain that twisted his soul. A mindless beast. Was that what Beth thought him now? The look of mistrust in her eyes haunted him.
In MacGregor’s hide-out she’d discovered what he really was. Not a good man weighed down by the weight of circumstances beyond his control. Not an honorable man trying his best to keep to the code taught to him by his father. Nay, he was none of these things. He was a fighter. A killer. How could he have forgotten that? He’d done too much to ever hope for redemption.
He glanced again at those hills. His home was so near. Was it coincidence that had brought him this close? Was it pure chance that put him within touching distance of his old life? Within touching distance of the brother who’d somehow managed to break his own curse? It was less than a day’s walk to Dun Ringill. He and Beth could be there by sundown tomorrow.
It’s too late, he thought. I’ve done too much, seen too much to ever go back. The real Camdan MacAuley was the man in the fighting pit, the one Beth looked at with such doubt. Better that she is free of me. Better that they’re all free of me.
He grabbed his shirt and stuck his finger into the pocket, relieved when his finger brushed something hard. Drawing it out, Cam hefted a small leather pouch that contained his money, along with one other important keepsake, the only thing he hadn’t lost when MacGregor took Firefly. Now that his horse was gone, the last connection to his old life had gone too. He hoped MacGregor would treat the stallion well.
The coins inside clinked as he opened the purse and peered inside. And then it came to him. He knew what he had to do. He brushed a strand of hair from Beth’s face.
“I love ye,” he whispered to her softly, even though he knew she couldn’t hear. “More than ye will ever know.”
He’d made a promise and he would keep it. He’d ensure Beth got home safely, even if it tore out his heart.
Chapter 14
Beth was cold. Even the roaring fire burning in the fireplace could do nothing to chase out the chill that seemed to seep into her bones. Hugging her arms around herself, she glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece. Almost 10.30. She hoped her parents were having a good time at the theater. They’d soon be home to tell her all about it. She shifted uneasily, the sofa creaking beneath her. Her parents? She ought to remember something about them, something important. She shivered. This didn’t feel right. Something was wrong.
A knock on the door made her jump, spilling the TV remote onto the carpet. She jumped to her feet and hurried into the hall. Who would be calling at this hour of the night?
She pulled the door open and a frigid blast of the cold January air sent goose bumps riding up her skin. Two police officers stood on the veranda. Something about their expressions sent a chill down her spine. She hugged herself tighter.
“We need you to come with us, Miss,” said one. “There’s something you need to see.”
She followed them to the squad car and sat in silence whilst they drove her somewhere. They pulled up and one of them looked at her expectantly.
“We’re here.”
Through the window she could see nothing but darkness. “Where?”
“You’ll see. Go inside.”
Beth stepped out of the car and suddenly she was back in MacGregor’s hideout. Before her stood the fighting cage and she was sat on one of the benches, watching. She was the only spectator. Inside the cage two men fought but she couldn’t make out their faces.
The bench creaked and she turned to see an old woman take a seat next to her. She had iron-gray hair pulled back in a bun and dark eyes like pools of ink.
Beth blinked. “Irene?”
The old woman smiled. “Were ye expecting somebody else?”
Beth stared at her for a moment. “I’m dreaming aren’t I?”
“Aye, lass,” Irene said with a nod.
Beth turned to watch the fight. Now she could make out the men’s faces and realized they were the same person: Cam. He fought himself.
“Why are you showing me this?” Beth demanded.
“I?” Irene said. “I am showing ye naught. This is yer dream, Bethany Carter.”
The two Cams were circling each other, weapons held ready. Sweat covered each of them, along with a hundred minor wounds that were slowly dripping blood onto the floor. One of the men stood tall while the other crouched. One had a feral snarl on his face whilst the other had eyes full of sorrow. One had a blazing white brand on his arm, the other only a faint tracery of a pattern. But they were both Cam. The different sides of himself, endlessly at war.
“Who are ye going to place a wager on?” Irene asked. “Who do ye want to win? The good man or the bad?”
“Neither,” Beth replied, realizing it was true. “They’re both Cam. Without either, he wouldn’t be the man he is.”
Irene lifted an eyebrow. “Only a few short weeks ago ye wouldnae have said so. Ye would have condemned a man like Camdan MacAuley.”
“Yes,” Beth said. “I would.” She glanced down at the two men circling each other. “But I guess I’ve grown up. The world was neat and ordered when I could separate it up nicely: the good guys and the bad guys. I guess now I realize it doesn’t work that way.” She turned to look at Irene. “We’re the sum
of our experiences,” she said, thinking back on how the loss of her parents had sent her running from her homeland and how it took a man she would once have dismissed as a thug to set her free of that pain. “And I guess I’ve come to realize there is always a different path to tread.”
Irene smiled, her eyes alight with delight. “Aye, lass. There is. What choice will ye make now?”
“I’ve already made it.”
Irene and the fighting pit disappeared and warmth suddenly enveloped her. Something had a hold of her, something hard and solid and wholly reassuring. She knew it would never let her go. It would always keep her safe.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking in the light. A few feet away a fire blazed merrily, sending out delicious tendrils of heat to caress her skin, chasing away the last of the freezing darkness. The warm, reassuring presence at her back remained and strong arms were wrapped around her. After a moment she realized she was leaning against Cam, his chest pressing into her back, his arms curled protectively around her middle.
For a moment she did nothing. She sat there, experiencing the simple pleasure of being so close to him, his smell filling her nostrils, his breathing soft and gentle by her ear, his skin warm against hers.
Yes, she thought. I’ve already made my choice.
He was asleep. His head had fallen back against the rock he leaned on and his eyes were closed. Red-gold hair lay in damp tangles across his shoulders and the dunking in the river had cleaned the cut on his cheek, leaving a neat red line across his cheekbone. He seemed so peaceful, all his cares gone, so different to the man who’d stepped into the fighting pit.
She gently traced her finger tips down the length of his arm.
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. “Beth!” he exclaimed. “Ye are awake! How do ye feel?”
“I’m well. Thanks to you.” She gazed at him. “I knew you’d come for me.”
“Of course I’d come for ye,” he replied. “Ye think I would leave ye to face it without me? After causing ye such hardship?” His voice was bitter, full of self-recrimination.