The Saint

by Allison Butler

  The trail heading north to Aberdeen was deserted as he drew even with the well-worn path created by cart wheels, horses’ hooves and weary feet leading into the inn. No cart or horse or man occupied the grounds between the inn itself and the stable. Cal turned off the trail and guided the bay to one end of the stable, where his mount would be out of sight from the inn’s owners and any of their patrons. From inside, a horse’s hoof kicked against hard wood. Without seeing him, Cal knew it was Mungo.

  Cal grit his teeth to silence the grunt that threatened as he dismounted. His side throbbed and once the pain had ebbed like a wave receding from the shore, he checked his dirk and sword were in place. He then strode around to the front of the stable as if his presence here was expected. Hand on hilt, he took a final look about the grounds between the inn and the stable and seeing no one, stepped within the large, long structure that smelled of horse and hay and leather. Only a single lantern was lit and hung to the right of the entrance, but at this hour, it did little good to light up more than the rafter it hung from.

  He stopped to one side and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. When he was sure only horses occupied the building, he made his way to where a familiar horse whinnied softly. His heart double-timed its next beat and then continued at a faster rate. If Mungo was here, Isla was too.

  He released an unsteady breath as he ran his hand down Mungo’s black-tipped nose. After he’d checked his mount for injuries, he studied the nearby animals to see if they were Dalziel and Conan’s mounts and found they were.

  Stepping up to the stall barrier, Cal assessed the level of oats in the trough and from experience, he believed they’d been at the inn for several hours. All the uncertainties that came along with his estimation tightened his gut. Why had Dalziel decided to stop? To rest? To sleep? Was he hungry for food or something else entirely? He’d waited years for his betrothed, only to have her run away to a priory. Had he grown tired of waiting and decided Aberdeen was too far afield and their vows could still be said after he’d made her his?

  His stomach churned and he had to swallow down the bile that rose up and burned his throat. Almighty God! He prayed it wasn’t so. Cal couldn’t promise not to kill the man, whether they were wed or nae.

  He cast a final glance about the stable, and sure no one lingered in the shadows, he led Mungo out and around the stables to stand beside the bay. Now he knew Isla was here, he wanted naught more than to storm the inn and rescue her. But now he’d learned of everyone and everything involved, saving Isla had to be done right, else she’d always be running and hiding and would never find the peace to make the choices she deserved to make.

  The dusty grounds separating where Cal now stood and the doorway to the inn he’d once carried Isla through, pretending she was his wife, remained deserted. Pushing aside the rising want to make the remembered ruse a reality, Cal walked to the closest end of the inn, where they had made their escape the last time. While the door was the obvious choice for entering the inn and Cal knew he must face Dalziel and his henchman before he took his leave, if he could find Isla’s location and her condition beforehand, the knowledge would give him a much-needed advantage.

  The window shutter stood closed, and dredging up hope he wasn’t feeling from the pit of his gut, he reached for the small timbered panel and gently pushed against it. The single shutter opened inward. Cal’s heartbeat pounded in his chest. Was Isla inside this room? He pushed the shutter wide and searched the bed, the chair, every inch of the chamber for the chestnut-haired beauty, but Isla wasn’t there.

  Swallowing his disappointment, Cal removed his sword from its sheath and stood it against the wall inside the room. Dirk in hand in case he encountered any trouble the instant he entered the chamber, he clenched his jaw and lifted himself up onto the window ledge. She might not be present, but the empty room gave him a way inside the inn and an escape route if he needed one.

  Cal wriggled his broad shoulders through the opening, but it wasn’t wide enough to allow him to climb out onto his feet. As he had before, once he reached a certain point, with his thighs resting on the sill, he performed a dive roll into the room. But last time he didn’t have a sword wound in his side. Pain tore through him, worse for not being able to voice his agony, as he ended in a sitting position at the foot of the bed, panting shallow breaths and fighting the blackness dotted with pinpricks of light threatening to drag him under.

  Once he could hear other than his booming heart pounding in his ears, he willed the tightness claiming every muscle to loosen and finally drew a full breath. By the time he’d twice filled his lungs with air and exhaled, the white spots and the hovering darkness had gone. Cal stood and paused a moment for the burning sensation around the area of his wound to subside.

  God’s mercy. If simply gaining his feet left him in such pain, how much worse would it be if he had to fight?

  A door slamming closed had him reaching under the window for his sword, and other than a warm stickiness seeping down over his hip, all sensations or thoughts of pain disappeared. Acknowledging the instincts he’d relied on for his entire life, he drew a confident breath and headed for the chamber’s closed door.

  The dim corridor was deserted and the poor lighting continued the full length of the passageway, telling Cal all of the doors were closed.

  The most distant door led to the room closest to where the inn’s patrons dined. A room where he would put someone if he held them against their will.

  The quiet rumble of voices crept from the dining room into the passageway, but weren’t loud enough to distinguish if they belonged to either Dalziel or Conan. From his present position, his view into the public room was limited and Cal couldn’t see either man or Keddy and Mags, but from the smell of stewed meat and onions and the welcome hint of baked bread, the owners could both be in the kitchens preparing meals for their guests. Cal wondered if Isla was sitting at a table with them.

  Cal sheathed his sword and withdrew his dirk before stepping across the hall and pressing his back against the same wall as the final chamber door. From his new position he could see the thick length of wood separating the hosts from the travellers, as well as one side of Conan’s mountainous form as he sat leaning forward, elbows resting on the table before him. Cal couldn’t see his face, but if Conan were to lean back …

  A pair of costly leather boots and the feet within were crossed at the ankles beneath the same table; the toes pointing in Conan’s direction, and Cal had no doubt belonged to Dalziel. But he saw no evidence that Isla shared the table with them. If Isla was inside this last room, positioned properly, either one of her captors could see her if she attempted to leave. Or if anyone tried to enter. Both men likely believed because Isla couldn’t see, she wouldn’t step outside of the room on her own. And having handed her over to them without any apparent fuss, they had no reason to think Cal would come for her.

  Cal sidestepped to the door and pressed his ear to the panel. Nothing sounded from inside. Finding a firm grip on the latch, Cal kept his gaze fixed on what he could see of both occupants at the table and carefully lifted the metal closure. With a speed that belied his wounds, Cal silently slipped inside the room and secured the door. He released a breath and turned about to search the chamber, only to feel a sharp, pointed object press against his stomach. The slender, steady hands wielding the iron fire poker belonged to the woman he’d come for.

  Fine strands of her glossy dark hair had escaped the single braid he couldn’t see at this moment but had viewed more than his own hair throughout his life to imagine it trailing down the centre of her rigid back now. Her lovely mouth looked hard and her lips thin, but he knew from experience that they were soft and full and awakened cravings with a single kiss. Colour flushed her high cheekbones now as it did when she laughed, mostly at herself. Her lashes were lowered over eyes that could not see who she held captive.

  Cal’s heart filled with a warmth the likes he’d never experienced before.

&nbs
p; ‘I cannae and willnae wed ye, Dalziel.’ Her grip about the poker tightened as if in preparation for his retaliation regarding the words she’d just spoken. But he wasn’t Dalziel and her refusal was like music to his ears.

  ‘I ken my father made ye a promise, but I beg ye to understand …’ She adjusted her footing by rocking from side to side. ‘I’m nae the one for ye.’ She drew a deep breath and released it long and slow, as if speaking her mind had taken more effort than she had to spare.

  Her head tilted to one side before she lifted her chin to test the air. ‘Callum?’

  The whispered sound of his name shot joy straight to his heart. She could not see him but she knew he was here. The iron poker she held dipped.

  She sniffed the air again. Twin lines appeared between her brows. ‘Are ye injured?’

  This time, the question rang a little louder, sounding her concern. For him.

  ‘Are you afraid of nothing?’ His low-voiced words rang with awe.

  ‘Tell me of yer wound.’

  ‘Now isnae the time. ’Tis naught but a scratch. We need to leave.’

  Cal took a step closer toward her as she stepped toward him. He caught her wrist and his heart raced at the feel of her warm smooth skin. She was alive and unharmed. He cleared his throat and removed the iron poker from her grasp and stood it against the wall. Her fingers latched onto his arm and dug into his flesh as if she never wanted to let go. Together, holding one another, they walked to the door.

  Chapter 17

  ‘Going somewhere?’

  Dalziel’s question sent Isla staggering back into the room. Callum’s powerful arm reached back and curled about her, pulling her close behind him. Her palms rested against the hard wall of his back, the masculine scent that was Callum surrounded her, along with the metallic scent of blood.

  ‘Aye, but now you’re here, you’ve saved me the trouble of searching you out.’ Callum’s reply rumbled through his body and into hers through her hands.

  Dalziel made a scoffing sound. ‘Ye expect me to believe ye were coming to find me so ye could tell me ye were taking my betrothed from me? Again.’

  Isla bit her lip at the sound of anger and disbelief that caused Dalziel’s voice to rise in strength and loudness.

  ‘Aye, but I expect much more.’

  Everything about the man, standing like a wall of protection between her and the man her father had promised her to, held still and silent. Were the two glaring at one another? Did they weigh the other’s strengths while searching for weakness?

  ‘What is it ye could possibly expect or hope to get from me?’

  ‘Understanding.’

  ‘Understanding concerning what?’ Frustration coated the words that sounded like they were forced through Dalziel’s clenched teeth.

  ‘Concerning your betrothal to Isla.’

  ‘My betrothal to Isla was an agreement between her father and myself and has naught to do with ye.’

  ‘That agreement changed the day her father died.’

  ‘Aye, precisely when the agreement was to be fulfilled.’

  ‘That was before Thane Beaton asked, nae, begged me to find Isla and take her to her uncle at Restenneth Priory.’

  ‘Ye accuse Thane of breaking his word?’

  Dalziel’s defence of her father warmed Isla’s heart and caused heat to prickle behind her useless eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat and angled her head for Callum’s reply.

  ‘I only share the last wish of a dying man.’

  Isla’s fingers sought to close and clench, but the leather vest beneath her fingers would not give. Her palms slid down until they touched the thick fabric of Cal’s plaid and her fingers curled tight within the folds. She’d heard of her father’s final wish before, the hearing of it for the second time didn’t make it any easier to bear.

  ‘A last wish heard by ye alone.’

  ‘Believe me, I dinnae want to hear it. I was tempted nae to follow it through.’

  ‘Then why did ye?’

  ‘I gave my word. Something that has great meaning for me and from what you’ve said, stands true between men such as you and Thane.’

  ‘A promise is a promise, or at least it was for us.’

  ‘What matters or what a man believes is important often alters when touched by fear or death.’ Isla experienced the swell of Callum’s indrawn breath. ‘Or when a man is given nae choice to begin with.’

  Isla stood as still as stone, holding her breath and waiting for the tirade to come.

  ‘Ye pompous fool. How dare ye. Thane had a choice and he made it.’

  ‘Thane agreed to the betrothal or else he’d have been taken away from the only family he had left?’

  ‘That’s nae how—’

  ‘A blind daughter who needed him as much as he needed her?’

  ‘I would have cared for her as my own.’

  ‘As a daughter or a wife?’

  ‘That’s none of yer concern.’

  ‘What about Morgan?’

  ‘Leave my son out of this.’

  ‘As you have left him out of your life? You were so obsessed with another you had nae time for him.’

  Silence. Nothing. A feeling of heaviness filled the room and lifted the fine hairs on Isla’s nape. Blessed God. What was Callum talking about?

  ‘Ye go too far.’ Dalziel’s voice shook with quiet fury.

  ‘How far would you go for your son?’

  Mother Mary. Why did he poke and prod Dalziel so?

  ‘I would do anything, give everything for Morgan, as he knows.’

  ‘Does he? Prove it.’

  ‘I dinnae need to prove anything. I’m tired of this—’

  ‘I’m certain Morgan is also tired. Tired of waiting for his father to come and release him from the noose about his neck.’

  A roar, one that could be likened to that of a wounded animal filled the chamber. Isla inched closer to Callum’s unflinching form. Her hands moved to his sides. The fabric beneath her right hand was warm and sticky. A chill ran the length of her spine. His wound was much more serious than a scratch. He needed to have the injury seen to. He’d lied. The fool. Was he also lying about Morgan’s whereabouts?

  * * *

  Clenching his jaw against the wave of pain threatening to drive him to his knees, Cal kept his unblinking gaze on Dalziel’s face and waited. The man’s complexion had changed considerably since Cal had opened the door to find Dalziel and his mountainous henchman crowding the passageway on the other side. The hint of red on both of the sun-weathered cheeks had spread to cover the whole of his face and had further darkened. The grey-blue eyes glared back at him.

  ‘Where is my son? What have ye done to him?’

  ‘I’ve done nothing he hasn’t brought on himself. As to where he is, I’ll tell you after you give your word you’ll release Isla from the betrothal agreement and let us leave in peace.’

  Dalziel scoffed. ‘Ye jest.’

  ‘Do I look like I jest?’

  Cal kept his face still and free of the fear and anxiety currently pumping through his blood. His plan had to work. His heart beat faster as he waited, silently hoping and praying Dalziel loved his son more than Morgan believed. More than Dalziel realised. More than Cal often imagined his own father would have cared for him, if he’d known him.

  ‘Ye could be lying?’

  ‘Aye, and Morgan’s horse could be weary of standing beneath the same tree.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I’ve stated the necessary terms.’

  ‘Conan nor I will follow ye.’

  ‘And the agreement?’

  ‘God’s mercy.’ Dalziel’s gaze flickered to where Isla stood behind him. He could feel her heat at his back; her hands rested on his hips, her fingers had thankfully ceased probing his wound.

  ‘That agreement was made between two men for the wrong reasons.’ Cal inhaled a short breath and spoke the next words before he could change his mind about saying them. ‘Isla isnae her mot
her.’ The soft feel of her forehead rested on the centre of his back. ‘Whatever Isla does with her life now should be of her choosing.’

  A lifetime of feelings flittered across Dalziel’s features that bore the lines of the love and loss he’d suffered and the pain that went with it. Cal understood loss and pain and had finally, thanks to Isla’s teachings, understood what it meant to love and the sacrifices people made for the love of another. He’d been so busy protecting himself, he’d closed off his mind and his heart and filled the emptiness by pointing out other people’s faults and ignoring his own.

  ‘You’re wasting time. Morgan was alive when I left him, but I cannae vouch for his wellbeing now. Do you release Isla from the betrothal?’

  ‘Damn ye. Aye.’

  The moment the words were uttered Cal spun on his heel and scooped Isla up into his arms. He ignored her gasp and the piercing pain in his side and turned back to look at Dalziel and Conan. ‘I suggest you stand aside and let us leave.’

  ‘Where is Morgan?’

  ‘I will tell you the moment we are mounted ready to ride. I give you my word.’

  Dalziel gave him one last look and stepped back out into the hallway, where Conan stood watching the entire exchange.

  Cal didn’t hesitate. He slipped into the passageway and headed for the inn’s public room. A surprised Mags stood, brows raised, on the other side of the timber barrier that kept her patrons at bay. He gave her a nod, wondering if she remembered them entering the inn only days before and carrying Isla then as he did now. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then. So much had changed, he along with it.

  He strode to the door, released the latch and whistled for Mungo to come to him as soon as his boots touched the ground outside. Time was of the essence. For Morgan and for him. He truly hoped Dalziel’s son remained precisely where and how Cal had left him. Restrained but alive. He also hoped father and son were honest and found a way to resolve their differences.