by Baker, Katy
“I am no liar,” Ross growled. “I told ye the truth. I dinna have any siblings. My brother—my twin brother—is dead.”
The words dropped between them like stones. Lia stared at him. He had a twin?
“Now ye know,” he snapped. “Perhaps ye will leave me be.”
He picked up the brush and returned to grooming Traveler. For a heartbeat Lia stood there with no idea what to say. What could she say? But then annoyance flared. Would she ever get the truth from him?
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
When he glanced up at her she continued, “Is that why you shoulder the blame for what happened to Caillin’s father? Because you blame yourself for your brother’s death?”
Lord, that was something she well understood. She lived with guilt every day. Would her father have had a heart attack if she hadn’t driven his business to the brink of collapse? It was a question that gnawed at her constantly.
His expression went dangerously blank. “Leave it, Lia,” he warned.
But she couldn’t leave it. “Why won’t you tell me the truth?”
He whirled to face her. Moonlight fell across his face and Lia saw rage glinting in his eyes.
“Ye want the truth?” he yelled, taking a step towards her. “Ye already know it! How many times have I warned ye? How many times have I told ye that I am not a good man?” He took another step and Lia shrank back from him, suddenly afraid. “Why must ye forever push it? Ye want to know what happened to my brother? I killed him. That’s what happened. Caillin Drummond is right to hate me: he sees me for what I really am. A murderer.”
Lia’s heart began to thump in her chest. She stood frozen, staring at Ross as the implications of his words crashed around her like the waves of a storm-lashed sea. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. But she knew from Ross’s cold, hard expression that it was.
She backed away a few steps then spun on her heel and fled into the night.
Chapter 12
Lia stared into the dying embers of the fire, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them as the first gray light of dawn began to creep through the windows. She’d barely slept. Her eyes felt grainy, her limbs heavy, and her thoughts turned endlessly, defying her every attempt to calm them.
When she’d fled from Ross last night, she’d come straight to Archer’s cabin. Ross hadn’t followed her. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed about that.
I am a murderer.
The words went round and round in her head as she stared into the ashes of the fire. He’d frightened her last night. For the first time since she’d met him, she’d been afraid of him as he revealed a wilder, darker side.
Ross had a brother, a twin brother. A brother he’d killed.
There was a light tap on the door. Lia spun to face it, heart leaping into her mouth. Part of her hoped it was Ross, another part hoped it wasn’t.
In fact, it was Maggie who poked her head inside. She glanced at the pallet that had clearly not been slept in and then at Lia.
“Ye are supposed to be resting,” she said with a frown. “How long have ye been awake?”
Lia shrugged. “Sorry, Doc. Couldn’t sleep.”
Maggie crossed the room and crouched in front of Lia. She carried her leather satchel full of medical supplies.
“You haven’t brought anymore of that poppy juice have you?” Lia asked with a wince. “It’s like drinking battery acid.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “I dinna have the first clue what ‘battery acid’ might be. But no, I willnae be giving ye any more of that, not with ye and Ross riding out this morning. Ye wouldnae be able to stay in the saddle.”
She took hold of Lia’s chin and began turning her head this way and that, examining the lump on Lia’s forehead. Lia pressed her lips into a tight, flat line and bore these attentions in silence.
“The swelling has gone down,” Maggie pronounced, sitting back. “Have ye had any more headaches, blurred vision?”
“No,” Lia replied. “Not since yesterday. I feel fine.”
“Good. Then I’ll tell Ross ye are fit to ride.”
Lia nodded. She climbed to her feet, collected her few sparse belongings and followed Maggie out the door.
Although it was barely dawn, people were already up and about in Deepvale. The smell of cook fires wafted through the clearing and as Lia followed Maggie towards the corral she saw people chopping wood, carrying buckets of water, or visiting the latrines. Some called greetings to Maggie which she returned with a brief nod.
They found Ross and Archer at the corral. The two men were deep in conversation and didn’t see Maggie and Lia’s approach.
“Ye should go south,” Ross was saying to Archer. “Come the spring more patrols will be sent into the forest. Ye canna fight them off.”
“Can’t we?” Archer snapped. “We’ve survived this long haven’t we?” Then he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Aye, I know you’re bloody-well right. But where would we go? Beyond the borders of this forest there isn’t any safe place for us. You know every one of us would face the bloody hangman’s noose.”
Maggie cleared her throat and the two men turned abruptly. Ross’s eyes flew to Lia. He looked haggard, with dark circles around his eyes. Hadn’t he slept either?
“Lady Lia,” Archer said with a courtly bow that belied his rag-tag appearance. “It was an honor to meet you. Have a safe journey.”
Lia tore her eyes away from Ross and smiled at Archer. “Thanks. To both of you. I appreciate your help.”
Maggie briefly squeezed her arm then she and Archer stepped back, giving her room to mount Traveler. A shiver of trepidation went through her as Ross’s gaze fell on her. He said not a word as she approached Traveler and grabbed the saddle horn. Suddenly Ross’s hands gripped her waist and he boosted her up. Lia gripped the saddle horn tightly, sitting straight-backed and tense as he swung up behind her.
He barked a brief farewell to Maggie and Archer and Lia let go of the saddle horn long enough to give them a wave. Then Ross kicked Traveler into motion, sending him cantering out of the glade and into the gloom of the early morning forest. He didn’t speak but Lia felt Ross’s presence behind her like a thunder cloud.
She wished she could think of something to say but didn’t know how to break the wall of silence that had grown between them. She yanked her thoughts away from him and instead concentrated on what lay ahead. In a few short days they would reach Dun Ringill. Soon she would finally find a way home. Soon she would be back in the twenty-first century, leaving Ross MacAuley behind. She ought to be relieved about that. By his own admission, he was a murderer.
So why did the thought of leaving him make her sick to her stomach?
ROSS RAISED HIS HAND in farewell as he and Lia rode away from Archer, Maggie and the outlaw camp. His old friends watched him go in silence and he wondered if he would ever see them again. It was a hard, difficult life living out here with danger at every turn. And if the MacGregor sent patrols into the forest...
He shook his head, not finishing the thought. He scanned the woods. There was no sign of Caillin or any of his band, for which Ross was grateful. After last night’s altercation he'd half expected the youth to come pick a fight, but he seemed to have taken himself off somewhere to lick his wounds. It was just as well. Ross had no desire for another confrontation.
It was an overcast day and a stiff breeze made the fir trees moan and whisper as they picked their way carefully south. Lia, stiff-backed and tense in front of him, said not a word.
Ross ground his teeth. He longed to say something, anything that would break this icy tension. But what could he say? She finally knew the truth about him. How could he expect things to remain the same after that?
"Have ye eaten?" he asked at last.
She glanced at him over her shoulder then shook her head.
He pulled Traveler to a halt, twisted in the saddle to rummage in one of the packs and pulled out a piece of co
ld pie wrapped in muslin. He held it out to her.
"Here. Ye havenae tasted pie until ye've tasted one of Maggie's."
Her eyes flicked to his and then away. She took the pie. "Thanks."
Say something, a voice in the back of his mind urged him. Talk to her.
He opened his mouth, but the words died on his tongue. Instead he clucked to the horse and they carried on moving.
Over the last few days he’d sensed things changing between Lia and himself, something growing that he couldn’t put a name to. Last night had been wonderful. Holding Lia in his arms as they danced, moving in time with her as though they were the only people in the world. He'd almost kissed her.
What would have happened between them if Caillin hadn't returned and ruined it all?
He scowled. No use thinking about that now. It was done with. Over. She knew the truth and was disgusted, as she ought to be. And besides, they would reach Dun Ringill in only a handful of days. Then he would hand her into his family's care and ride away. By Lord’s Day she would be gone from his life as surely as if she'd never been there.
That thought sent a hot rush of anguish through his stomach which he clamped down on mercilessly. No. He would not allow himself to feel this way.
After several hours of steady, careful riding, they reached the edge of the forest. Ross reined in the horse and sat staring at the vista that met his eyes. Lia leaned forward in the saddle.
"The sea!" she breathed.
Beyond the forest lay a few miles of open scrubland dotted with small, stunted shrubs that battled against the ever-present wind. Beyond this the scrubland gave out into a thin strip of sand and then the endless expanse of the ocean. Its gray waters spread all the way to the horizon, whipped into white breakers by the wind. Even from this distance Ross caught the cries of seabirds and the tang of salt in the air.
It brought back memories. He had grown up by the sea, been in it as much as out of it when he'd been a lad, and the sound and smell of it took him hurtling right back to his childhood.
He stared out at the roiling gray waves. Then his eyes moved south along the coastline to where it disappeared into a haze in the distance. Somewhere out there, too far away yet to see, lay Dun Ringill. His home. Apprehension clenched his gut. He did not expect a warm welcome.
He kicked Traveler into a trot, crossing the scrubland towards the sea. They would make better time following the shore so Ross guided the horse across the dunes and then turned him south along the shoreline.
They traveled for two tense and uncomfortable days. Eventually the shoreline began to rise into the series of cliffs that marked the coast north of Dun Ringill. This area was sparsely populated. With no pasture or farmland available in the poor soil and the sea too rough for fishing, it was largely untouched, wild and untamed and populated only by sea birds. Ross breathed in deeply of the clean air, letting it settle into his lungs. He had always loved this part of the coast. He and his brother had often come on camping trips up here, living off what they caught in the tidal pools.
They were traversing a cliff top when something suddenly caught Ross's eye on the beach below. He pulled Traveler to a halt and squinted into the breeze. There. Strange markings marred the beach, ridges across the sand as though something had been beached there and then dragged out to sea.
He frowned. No fishing vessel was big enough to make marks like that.
“What is it?" Lia asked, speaking for the first time in hours. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure," Ross replied. "But I want to take a closer look."
He guided Traveler to the cliff edge and then down a switch back trail to the beach. Once there, he pulled the horse up, handed the reins to Lia, and jumped to the ground. Placing his hand on his sword hilt, he looked around but the beach was deserted in both directions. He padded across the wet sand and crouched next to the marks he'd seen from above.
They were broad and deep, the mark of something large and heavy being dragged across the sand.
Something like a ship.
"Over here!"
Lia was crouched by the base of the cliff, examining something on the sand. Ross joined her, squatting to get a look at what had caught her attention. The dark, dead remains of a campfire. And a little further on another and then another. They filled the area, at least twenty of them. A good number of people had been camped here, carried in a ship.
He turned to look out to sea and his foot scuffed something in the sand. Crouching, he brushed the sand away and picked the object up. It was a knife hilt. The blade had broken off, and the hilt had been discarded. Carved from wood, it bore the swirls and coils that were unmistakably of Irish design.
His blood ran cold.
Lia approached him. She reached out her hand as if to touch him but then thought better of it.
"What is it?"
"Raiders.”
Lia paled slightly. "Raiders? You mean outlaws like Archer and his band?"
"Nay, lass. I dinna mean like them. The raiders that come from across the sea come in force and with one goal in mind: murder, rape and plunder. Archer said there had been raids along the coast this summer but it's autumn now, the sea too dangerous to cross. What are they doing here?"
Lia glanced at the remains of the campfire then out to sea. "They're long gone. This campfire looks several days old at least."
"Aye. But it shouldnae be here at all. Come, let's get out of here."
They mounted and carried on their way. Ross urged the horse to as great a speed as he dared on the treacherous trail and as they moved, he scanned the landscape continually, searching for the telltale sign of sails on the horizon or more evidence of camps along the coast. He saw nothing. There was no trace of the ship that had left those gouges on the beach nor of the crew who'd manned her.
They traveled for several hours, stopping only to rest the horse and have a quick bite to eat from Traveler's saddlebags. Lia spoke little and only to answer perfunctory questions and Ross didn't know what to say to draw her out.
As the sun began to fall towards early evening, they passed into MacAuley lands. These were lands that Ross recognized, the people that lived in them either members of his clan or closely aligned by ties of marriage or duty. They passed through crofts and villages, rode across farmland and through pasture.
Finally, they rounded a headland and in the distance spotted a sight that Ross had never thought to see again. On a headland that jutted out into the sea like a pointing finger, rose a castle. Its walls and turrets, its battlements and its pennants were as familiar to Ross as his own breath.
Dun Ringill. Seat of the MacAuley clan and the place from which his father, Laird Logan MacAuley, wielded his power.
It looked no different to when he'd rode out of the gates all those years ago. And yet it seemed smaller somehow, as things from childhood often did when revisited as an adult.
Lia stirred, the wind billowing her hair against his cheek. "Is that it?"
"Aye," he replied, his voice hoarse. "We'll be there within the hour."
"Dun Ringill," she said as if trying the word on her tongue. "Wow. It's magnificent. Like something on a postcard."
He didn't answer. Dread grew inside him as they drew closer. He was not looking forward to the confrontation with his father. They had parted on bad terms, both having said harsh things. But his father was an honorable man and he would not turn Lia away, even if she was brought to him by the renegade son who'd caused such pain to his family.
They were riding through one of the many villages that surrounded Dun Ringill when Ross spotted a man carrying a pitchfork over one shoulder crossing their path ahead. He hailed the man.
"Hoi! What news from the castle? Is the laird receiving visitors?"
The man looked up. A farmer by the look of him, his clothing was mud-stained and he had bits of straw in his hair.
"The laird isnae there, friend," he replied. "Lady Thea is in charge. She might receive ye if ye have business with the clan."
"Where is Laird MacAuley?" Ross asked. "And lord's Camdan and Finlay?"
This close to winter it was highly unusual for his father to be away. It was a busy time dealing with the harvest and storing food and fuel in preparation for the harsh months ahead.
The man shrugged. "I dinna know where they've gone but Lord Camdan rode out with the laird. Lord Finlay and Lady Thea are in charge up there in the laird’s absence." He squinted up at Ross. "Ye look like a fighting man to me. If it's work ye are after, ask for Lord Finlay. He's always looking for good scouts."
Ross nodded. “My thanks.”
They rode on.
The sun was starting to sink beneath the waves when they finally reached the gates of the castle. They stood open, a steady stream of people coming and going. Sudden nerves wriggled in Ross’s belly. He wanted to be gone from here. There were too many memories, too much pain.
"Wait!" said one of the gate guards as he made to ride through. "State yer name and business."
Ross looked at the man in surprise. Surely, he knew who he was? But, of course, why should he? It had been many years since Ross had been the darling of Clan MacAuley. No doubt he'd changed much in that time.
"I have business with Lady Thea," he said. "My name is Ross."
"Is she expecting ye?"
"Nay, she isnae."
"Then ye canna come in."
Ross ground his teeth in annoyance. He hadn't ridden all these miles to his ancestral home to be turned away at the damned gate!
"Now listen here—" he growled.
"I dinna believe it!" said a voice from behind. "Am I dreaming? Or have I drunk more whisky than I realized? It must be one or the other because that looks like my wayward nephew!"
Ross turned slowly. His uncle Finlay stood behind him. He looked no different to the last time Ross had seen him. Tall and lithe, he had dark hair falling into waves onto his shoulders and keen green eyes that always seemed to see far more than he let on. There was a bow slung over his shoulder and several of his men stood behind him. They'd obviously just returned from a scouting mission.
