A Highland Sailor: Highland Heartbeats

by Adams, Aileen

  She swallowed hard, looking over her shoulder and waving once more as they departed. The deacon brought the cart around in a wide circle, beginning the journey back to Thrushwood.

  Her heart was heavy as she sent up a silent prayer that all would be well when they returned. They were both too good to suffer for what they’d done.

  “What is it, lass?” Broc asked, slowing his pace so the two of them might ride abreast. “You look as though something’s upset you.”

  A sharp, barking laugh erupted from her. “I cannot imagine what it might be. Perhaps the way we escaped the village. Or the way I’ll never see my home again. Or the fear in my heart over what might happen if Randall should find out the deacon spirited us out of Thrushwood under his nose.”

  Broc didn’t look offended, in fact, he seemed to take much of what she said in stride, no matter the ill humor with which she said it. “That’s natural, I suppose. I fear for them as well. We can only hope Randall will be too concerned with finding out where we went to remember having crossed paths with him. Or that he’d assume a deacon wouldn’t be involved in such a plan.”

  She squared her shoulders, knowing there was little she could do about what happened in Thrushwood. She was heading on to a new life. “Of course. We can only hope.”

  And she did. She did most fervently.

  It was only mid-afternoon then, the longer days of late spring giving them more than enough time to distance themselves from Thrushwood. She took a deep breath, hoping to clear her head and rouse herself somewhat. Two straight nights spent without sleep were beginning to take their toll, it was one thing when they were excited, barely escaping their enemy, but another after the excitement had eased.

  “I’ve never been this far from Thrushwood in my life,” she admitted, taking in the sight of the foothills up ahead. They were thickly forested, but the road they traveled appeared to cut its way through those trees. A single, brown line in the middle of so much green.

  “Really?” Broc sounded impressed with this.

  “I suppose you had already been around the world by the time you reached my age,” she chuckled.

  “Perhaps not the entire world, lass, but I had seen a thing or two.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. “Och, when you have a home life worth staying home for, there’s no reason to travel as I did.”

  “You didn’t have a good life?”

  “I know others had worse,” he amended. “Derek and Hugh, their father was a brute. They ran off as young men, determined to be rid of him. Sarah and Heather, I told you of them?”

  “You spoke of Sarah,” she replied, searching through her sleepy, foggy brain. “I don’t think you ever spoke of Heather.”

  “They’re sisters,” he explained. “I first made their acquaintance after they’d wed the laird and his brother, but before they came under the protection of the Duncan clan, they were terribly ill-used by a brutish stepfather.”

  She shivered, rubbing one hand against the other arm to soothe the gooseflesh which had sprung up there. One thing she had never suffered, and she was grateful for it.

  Even so… “I wouldn’t say that I had a loving home life,” she murmured. “Not after my father’s passing.”

  He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Och, lass, I could sew my own mouth shut at times. There’s a reason I so often stay silent; I can’t seem to avoid saying the wrong things.”

  She merely smiled. “No need to feel sorry for saying what you did.”

  “I had forgotten how lonely things were for you and your sister,” he murmured, still apologetic. “I must admit, I thought she was daft when we first met.”

  Beatrice laughed, nearly to the point of needing to bring the horse to a halt. “Yes, well, I’ve sometimes held the same opinion.”

  * * *

  Beatrice blinked, not understanding what Broc had just announced. “Outdoors?”

  “Aye, lass.”

  “You wish for me to sleep outdoors.” As though saying it again would make it easier to understand.

  “Aye. What did you think we would be doing?”

  “Spending the night at an inn, of course!” The way he spoke, as though she were a dolt for assuming something which to her seemed like common sense. “I’ve never spent the night out of doors, I think I should warn you.”

  “Not that it matters,” he muttered. They were both short-tempered and had grown increasingly so over the course of the long ride.

  Not only had she never left Thrushwood prior to that day, but she had never ridden for so long at a stretch. Her thighs and backside ached terribly, along with her shoulders and back after sitting for so long in the saddle. What she craved more than anything was a soft bed.

  It wouldn’t even have to be soft. A simple bed would do. Indoors. With a pillow and blankets.

  Instead, Broc led the way as they left the road and followed the sound of running water. The sun was on the descent, glowing red and orange and gold, painting the countryside and crowning the tree tops. They were majestic in the sunset. It all was.

  Had it not been for her terrible mood, she might have enjoyed it.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I don’t know the name,” he grumbled. “We’re going to the water. We need to drink, as do the horses, and I need to bathe.”

  She was glad he was ahead of her, unable to see the way her face burned. He was going to bathe? Not in front of her, she hoped.

  You’re being silly and childish, she chided herself. Even at the point of exhaustion, which she was at that moment, there was still a voice in her head to direct her. He wouldn’t have her watch. He’d maintain whatever privacy he could.

  As would she, since she was also in need of a bath and a clean kirtle after the long day they’d passed. It was the least bit of comfort she had to look forward to, as her night would be passed in the open air, under the starry sky.

  The thought pleased her slightly when she imagined the prospect as such, then again, she’d likely fall straight to sleep before she had the chance to look at a single star. There had been several instances on the road when she’d nearly nodded off in the middle of the ride.

  The mere smattering of trees which she’d observed from the road became full-fledged woods the further they rode. The sounds of animals—deer, squirrels, rabbits—were almost as soothing to her as a lullaby. She recognized them, knew them.

  “You all right back there, lass?” Broc asked as his black gelding led the way.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to turn around to find you asleep and falling from the saddle.”

  “I said I was all right,” she snapped.

  Why did he insist on speaking to her that way? One moment, he was kind and thoughtful, the next, he treated her as though she were no better than an infant.

  Rather than glaring at the back of his head, she looked down at the ground and picked out the flowers she knew. Toadstools grew at the bases of the trees, telling her they were closer than ever to water which moistened the rich soil.

  The sun’s golden rays fought to display themselves between the trees, sending beams shooting down to the floor of the woods. It was a reminder to her that God was all around, and she need not be afraid.

  Though she would never have shared her thoughts on the matter with Broc, afraid he would think her daft, as he put it. He hardly seemed the God-fearing type and would likely laugh to himself, if not aloud.

  “There.” He came to a halt, pointing ahead. She could hear it, louder than ever, the rushing of a stream. The sound was like music to her ears, suddenly, she was terribly thirst and felt unbearably soiled.

  He led them onward, to a clearing several dozen feet from a bend in the stream. From where she sat, her back against the trunk of a rough-barked tree, she couldn’t see past the bend thanks to the thick growth of bramble and flowering bushes which grew along the banks.

  “Do you wish to refresh yourself?” he asked, taking the horses in hand.r />
  She smiled to herself at his attempt to be discreet. “I do.”

  “Do it, then, while I tend the horses.”

  “You won’t watch?” she asked.

  “Do ye truly believe I would watch, lass?” He shot her a disgruntled look.

  “No…” Still, she hesitated, and he took notice.

  “Beatrice.”

  He rarely said her name, choosing to refer to her as “lass” instead, and she took notice.

  “I forget at times that you’ve not known many men, or many people, at all.”

  “That’s true.” There was much more to it, but she was far too tired to explain. And he didn’t need to know.

  It seemed as though her sister had already told him enough.

  “Not everyone wishes to take advantage of ye, lass.”

  “I know that. Thank you.” She rose with a groan, her body having already stiffened after only a few minutes on the ground.

  His sigh was heavy, that of a man who considered himself greatly put upon. “Don’t wander too far away,” was all he replied. “I’ll call to ye, to be certain you’re safe.”

  She only nodded, too tired to speak much anymore. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter where they slept, after all. She could easily have fallen asleep against the tree if Broc hadn’t suggested she bathe.

  The soil was soft and fragrant on the bank of the stream. Would things smell the same in Scotland? A silly question, of course. And yet her imagination wandered as she removed her shoes, her stockings. She untied the corners of the bedspread, moving the food Frances had packed off to the side before retrieving the soap she had brought along.

  It would be a wise idea to dunk her kirtle in the stream, too, she thought as she removed it. Gooseflesh spread over her arms once she was down to nothing more than her underdress, a quick glance over her shoulder told her Broc was nowhere around.

  What else did she expect? Her mother’s teachings had made a deeper impression than she’d guessed, or so it seemed. Nothing he’d done had given her any reason to doubt his sincerity.

  And yet there she was, behaving as though he were no better than Randall himself.

  She drew a deep breath, gathering her courage before stepping to the cool, running water. She’d bathe with the thin underdress on, she decided, unwilling to shed every stitch of clothing even if she trusted her traveling companion. There was still something vaguely sinful, at least in her mind, about being nude in the open.

  She worked quickly, relishing the sensation of clean water running over her legs, squatting so that it might come up past her waist. There were rocks all around her, one of which she leaned against to keep her balance. The stream rushed over the rocks as it had for years, wearing them smooth.

  Once she was clean except for her hair, she unwound her braid and tipped her head forward, allowing her hair to dangle into the water.

  Her hand slipped from the slick rock.

  She fell forward, face-first, too quickly to catch her balance or even cry out. One moment she was crouching in the stream and the next she was scrambling for purchase, the water sweeping her away as her hands shot out for something to hold onto.

  Panic took over, the air rushing from her lungs and leaving her desperate for a breath of air. She must not breathe in. She had to get her hands and knees under her, somehow, and get her head above water.

  Every instinct she possessed forced her to draw a breath. She would die if she didn’t take a breath! She had to breathe!

  Something grabbed her around the wrist, pulling hard, twisting until she was certain the bones would snap. But she was out of the water, sputtering and coughing with her hair plastered to her face.

  “Lass! What happened? I didna think you would swim!”

  Broc. He’d saved her from drowning.

  She used her other hand, the one he was not holding, to peel the hair from her face and open her eyes. They were not very far from where she’d opened the bedspread. It had felt as though she’d been underwater for much longer, that the current had taken her much farther.

  It must have been the effect of panic, of the desperate need to take a breath. She hadn’t been in the water for very long at all.

  “Thank you,” she sputtered, still breathing hard. “I slipped.”

  “So I can see,” he grumbled. “I heard a splash and called out for ye. Good thing I was close enough to reach you quickly.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Good thing.”

  It only occurred to her in that moment that she wore nothing but a soaked underdress which clung to her otherwise naked body. She wrenched her wrist from his hand and crossed her arms over her chest. “Please, I need a moment to dress.”

  He cleared his throat, she was looking away, ashamed, or else she might have been able to tell from his expression what was going on in his mind. What must he think of her?

  “I’ll wait for ye by the fire I built,” he offered. “It might grow chill during the night, and both of us drying out.”

  She only nodded. There was little else she could bring herself to do.

  24

  She’d had a close call, to be sure. Broc reminded himself how shaken she must feel when she returned to the camp he’d set up for them.

  “You can rest there,” he advised, pointing to the saddle he’d propped up against a birch. “It’s not as good as a pillow, but it’s better under the head than the hard earth.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. “And there is plenty of food which Frances packed for us. Bread and cakes.”

  His stomach rumbled in appreciation. “Aye. Ye had better take what ye want now, while I’m washing, or else you’ll risk my eating all of it when I get back.” He tried to sound cheerful, but it didn’t seem to matter to her just then.

  Her modesty had been grievously injured, much more so than her body. He spied a few scrapes on her hands, which she’d likely earned while trying to gain a hold of the rocks beneath the rushing water. Otherwise, she appeared to be in fine shape.

  There was a deeper pain than the physical, he knew. His heart went out to her, even as his irritation stirred. Why did she have to be so hard headed? This was the same lass who’d rushed into the barn with a dirk tucked into her garter, ready to free him and ride off on a horse which wasn’t hers.

  And yet the fact that he’d made out the shape of her body caused her such terrible pain. He couldn’t make sense of it.

  “I’ll go now,” he said, spying the last of the sun’s rays as the glowing ball sank beneath the horizon in a blaze of color, wishing to finish before it grew dark. “Rest here.”

  She merely nodded, sitting on the saddle blanket which he’d spread before the tree.

  What a strange lass. Like two different people in one body. She could be brave, almost recklessly so. She could stand up for herself against strangers. She could take great risks to save a stranger.

  And yet, she had all but closed up on him. She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  Well, she had the right idea about at least one thing, whether or not she had intended to do so. He washed his tunic and trousers in the stream, crouching on the bank, before submerging himself in the cool water.

  It was rather slick in spots. No wonder she’d fallen in.

  He finished quickly, careful to keep his head dry so as to not disturb the poultice—that, plus the tincture, had provided great relief—and shook out his wet clothing before putting it back on. It would dry quickly enough while he sat before the fire.

  How would she behave when he returned? Would she continue avoiding him? As though they had meant nothing to each other thus far?

  He could almost feel the touch of her hand on his as they’d hidden in the cart, covered with straw. That very morning, he’d looked into her eyes and all but fallen under her spell. If given the chance, he would have declared his love for her then and there.

  How had everything changed so suddenly?

  He didn’t get the chance to ask, for she was fast as
leep when he found her. She’d drawn half of the blanket over herself and was curled into a ball, as though even in sleep she felt the need to protect herself.

  “Sleep, then,” he whispered, daring to reach out and stroke the hair which seemed to glow in the light from the fire. At least he could touch her in that simple way while she was asleep.

  * * *

  By the time they awoke, it was already well past dawn and into the morning.

  Broc opened his eyes first, jumping in surprise when he realized he’d slept for hours and left them both vulnerable as a result. He hadn’t intended to do so, had only wished to rest lightly for a short while.

  It seemed his body had other ideas.

  Everything looked as it should, they’d gotten lucky. The fire had died out long since, and the horses chewed on grass around the base of the trees to which he’d tied off their reins. Even the remnants of the old woman’s cakes waited to be eaten. He’d saved what he could, knowing they’d both be hungry once they woke and fairly certain the lass wouldn’t take well to the idea of freshly skinned rabbit to break her fast.

  It appeared as though she hadn’t moved an inch during the night, still curled into a ball on her right side, facing him. The blanket was still drawn up around her chin, as he’d been sure to leave it before closing his eyes, and the sounds of her soft snoring were as steady as they’d been hours earlier.

  “Beatrice.” He covered the glowing remnants of the fire with dirt, stamping it down with his foot. “Beatrice. It’s time to move on.”

  She stirred, letting out a groan of dismay.

  He bit back a smile.

  “What? It’s morning already? I didn’t hear…” she paused to let out a yawn. “…the rooster.”

  She thought she was still on the farm. “We’re halfway to Silloth, lass. No longer in Thrushwood.”

  She sat upright, eyes wide, hair a tangled mess about her face. She’d fallen asleep before it was dry, and it had stuck itself to her cheek, reminding him of the way she’d looked when he pulled her from the stream, in fact.