He would have thought she regretted his touch, except that when they mounted the horse again, she leaned back into his embrace and allowed him to press a kiss to her beautifully pale throat.
They made good time, and before Will would have liked, they were back on the road, Carlilse just visible in the distance.
Isobel’s eyes stayed fixed on the city, and when they’d been almost a mile on the road, she finally spoke.
“If your word means so much to you,” she said, her voice gentle, thoughtful, “why do you let them use you as a spy?”
Will’s arms tightened around her, and he kissed her shoulder. It was not an easy question to answer. It was his duty, but as she’d said the night before, duty meant less than honor.
His duty bound him to finish his mission, even after such a delay.
His honor bade him return to the Scottish army with Isobel, to ask her father for her hand.
It was not such an easy choice to make.
About half a mile from the city, Isobel reined in the horse.
“You should go,” she said. “I can’t bring an Englishman along with me.”
“I’ll wait for you here,” Will offered.
“But your mission,” she said, shaking her head.
“Perhaps I won’t finish it.” He didn’t know if he would. Holding her now, the warmth of her body against his, the softness in her voice, it was not so easy to simply leave. He raised his hand to her chin, turning her face back to his, and kissed her slowly before sliding from the horse.
“And perhaps you will,” she finished for him. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. If you’re here….” She trailed off, and Will wished he had a concrete plan to fill in for her.
She shook her head. “Goodbye, Will.”
“Farewell, Isobel,” he said, watching her go with a heavy, bewildered heart.
#
Isobel put off leaving the next day as long as she could.
It was mid-morning before she rode her horse back out of Carlisle, onto the northern road. Finley had been easy enough to find, and she’d spent the night on the floor of his kitchen, though he’d offered his bed none too subtly when she said she needed to rest before going back.
She was in no rush to leave, truly. She had no illusions about what would be waiting for her down the road: a long ride back to the camp and no company to sweeten it.
The memory of Will’s hands on her skin, his lips tasting her, the hot stretch of his cock inside her…. None of it was tainted by the way things had ended. She would hold the sweet pain of that memory her whole life, she was certain.
But Will was an Englishman, and he had the loyalties of his countrymen. She knew he would not be waiting for her.
She set her horse to a gallup, wanting to shorten the road as much as possible, so she almost missed the figure sitting on the rock about half a mile from the city, elbows on his knees, chin in hands.
The horse saw him, though, and pulled himself up short, nearly tossing Isobel from the saddle.
“That eager to leave me behind?” Will asked sliding off the rock with a too-pleased grin.
“I...I didn’t expect you’d be here,” she admitted.
Will approached the horse, laying a hand on its flank and stroking gently. “I thought about what you said. About turning spy. I hadn’t ever thought of it as breaking my word. I’ve given no Scot my word.” He looked up, and she met his eyes, almost frightened of what she would see in them.
“Except you. I gave you my word not to run.”
“You needn’t keep it now,” she said softly, surprised by his determination on the matter.
“Then I’ll give it again,” he said, reaching up to pull her from the saddle, setting her on the ground in front of him, his hands on her hips. “Isobel Darrow, I give you my word not to run from you. For all my life.”
She was smiling. She didn’t remember starting to smile, but she was. Her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, and she raised herself up on her toes to kiss him.
“Well,” she murmured against his lips. “We shall see what the word of an Englishman is worth.”
THE END
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1.
Pulling the string taut on his bow, Killian quietly stepped out from behind the large oak and stilled his breathing. He narrowed his eyes on his target and exhaled, letting the string go. The arrow flew slightly to the left, whizzing through the undergrowth and hitting the dark, brown buck square in the side of the neck. The animal howled in pain and twitched a few times before thudding to the ground. Killian approached it just as quietly as he had slain it and made short work of cleaning and butchering the carcass. As he was working, he gave a prayer of silent thanks to the creature and the nourishment it would provide to him and his camp. He was a very spiritual and patient man, despite his hot-blooded tendencies in battle.
Making a shallow grave in the forest for the remainder of the animal and covering it with twigs and soft moss, he took another moment to kneel before the grave, then strapped his supplies along with his bow and arrow on his back. He traversed the terrain quickly, as he was sure of his footing and completely at home trapesing through the dense forest branches and thick undergrowth. He climbed up the hills easily. Killian was smaller in stature than some of his military counterparts, but he was extremely strong, his shoulders taut and muscle-toned from years of training and work with his bow. His back and core were rippled as well. He practiced training rituals ever day, as well as breathing techniques, as it helped him in steadying the bow when facing an opponent. His long, black hair hung by his face and partially obstructed the view into his eyes. They also were partially covered by his cloak, which he oftentimes used as a battle technique as well; if an enemy couldn't see your eyes then they couldn't anticipate your next actions.
As he reached the top of a hill, he paused briefly and placed his weight against an ancient oak tree, allowing his breath to come out in puffs for a moment. He was making good time and would make it back to their camp right at dusk. Killian was a man of the people, yet even though he possessed a vast amount of leadership skill he never boasted or bragged about his prowess. He found that it helped to catch enemies off guard if he was underestimated. He was a deep thinker, but never said much; he preferred mainly to defer to others and listened to their stories. He found that people often would reveal their true natures when they were left to speak about themselves. His keen observation skills and patience had often saved his life in some tougher battles. He was the perfect choice for the mission they had recently undertaken because he didn't look like the type to wear his status on his sleeve in the army. He never gave up his secrets or his strategy easily.
Continuing his trek back to their makeshift campsite, he wondered how others saw him; he assumed that they only saw a brute-like man with stringy hair and wild eyes, yet there was so much boiling under the surface that no one bothered to see. It was a mixed blessing because, while it was good for strategy, it often was a downfall in matters of the heart. He was mistaken for an oaf or an ogre who only gave into his baser instincts, when deep down there was so much more he wanted to share with the right woman. As he saw the campsite on the horizon he smiled. Had he found a woman who finally understood all that his soul held? He certainly believed so.
Seeing Katherine sitting with her arms crossed in the distance, he marveled at her radiance. Even in the fading light of the dusk, she had an ethereal glow about her. She was not what he had expected, but exactly what he seemed to need. She was bred to be a proper English lady with manners and culture, speaking of things nob
lewomen spoke about such as teacups and crocheting, yet he knew that under the surface Katherine had a wild side that only longed to roam the countryside and go on adventures. She was tall and wispy with long, blonde tresses. She was graceful in her movements, yet her bone structure was thick. Her eyes were grey, almost the color of forged steel, and they hid much passion, he had discovered.
He felt a great sense of comfort in the fact she could be left alone with his best friend and first officer, Langley. They had become close and felt a kinship, almost like brother and sister. Continuing toward the campfire, he couldn't help let a broad grin cross his lips. He was pleased he was able to bring supplies to the campsite. When he was in the forest and his muscles ached from making the hike, or when he was standing in a cold downpour, waiting for the perfect moment to attack an enemy, he only had to stop and think of Katherine to feel as if he had purpose again. From the moment he saw her and caught that glint of passion in her grey eyes he knew that she was his companion. Readjusting his supplies, he pressed onward and could feel the warmth of the fire. He would be grateful to have some time to rest while the evening meal was being prepared. Langley walked over to him and greeted Killian first, taking the supplies and his gear from him. Langley then stepped away, separating the hides and pelts from the different cuts of meat that Killian was able to procure.
Taking Katherine into his arms, Killian felt the warmth of her fair skin and her heartbeat against him. He breathed in her scent and lovingly stroked her hair. Feeling its softness against his rough fingertips, he shut his eyes. No matter how far he traveled, he would never forget the way that her hair felt like fine silk. He would never forget the feeling of completion when he felt her chest rise and fall with his own. Taking her face in his hands, he touched his lips to hers in a kiss. The kiss was soft at first, tender and gentle, then quickly deepened as he wanted to impress upon her how much he missed her during his time out hunting. Above everything else, though, Killian wanted to make certain that, if he should perish at some point in the night, as was a possibility in any warrior's life, she would have the memory of his kiss.
Exiting their embrace he looked into her joyous eyes, and it gladdened his heart when he saw her eagerness to welcome him home. Speaking in a rich Gaelic tongue he looked down at Katherine and simply said, “My love. I have returned. Thank ye for welcomin’ me home.”
2.
Katherine felt Killian's arms around her and sighed comfortably. She was glad to welcome her warrior back to their tiny camp. She was once a noblewoman and used to the finer things in life, but upon seeing Killian for the first time, she knew that he had the power not only to sway her heart but to change her entire existence. She recalled the first time she laid eyes on him. He was pretending to be merely a foot soldier standing guard at a meeting where her father was holding peace talks. The talks were not going as planned, and tensions were high. She had never seen such a beautiful man. She admired the way his long, dark hair fell over his shoulders and the swoop of his neck gracefully juxtaposed against his hardened shoulder muscles. His jaw muscles were tight, and though his lips were locked in a poker face while standing guard, Katherine couldn't help notice their thickness. She imagined how good it would feel to have those lips on hers.
To any other woman he would have been just another foot soldier, but Katherine sensed something special about Killian. She looked into his deep blue eyes and saw not only something wild and untamed, but also saw softness and a bit of sadness. She knew that many of his people were already killed in the skirmish. She also knew that the war was not going to end well for his people, as she often heard her father curse their entire race in the interest of profit. Her father and his vast number of loyal followers, including his army that numbered in the thousands, were going to reclaim the land no matter what the cost. As she attempted to steady her breathing, she certainly hoped that this particular soldier lived through the battle.
Katherine felt Killian stir and realized that she had gotten lost in her memories. There was much to be done to prepare for the evening. Before she allowed Killian the opportunity to rest she pulled him closer to her and whispered in his ear. She was learning a bit of his native Gaelic and knew that pleased Killian deep down. He was proud of his heritage and was glad she wanted to share that with him. She kissed him on the cheek, saying, “Killian. Welcome home my love. Will you stay?”
“Aye. I will stay a fortnight, and many days thereafter. I will stay until your ghost drags me kickin’ and screamin’ away from your corpse.”
“I wouldn't have it any other way. But who says I'm going to be the one to go first?”
Pointing at Langley, he chuckled and walked over to sit by the fire with his friend. “Well, ye have to put up with this one more than I do. He's goin’ to put ye in an early grave.”
“I don't mind him. I think it's you who's going to be giving me the grey hair and crow's feet. You are an impossibly difficult man at times, my love. “
“Aye. A difficult man who ye would not be without. Besides, I don't care if ye do have the grey hair or crow’s feet. As long as there is breath in your body that means I have someone I can call home.”
Katherine noted the use of the word “someone” as opposed to “somewhere,” and smiled. In his own way Killian had a way with words. As she began unpacking the fillets and cutting them into smaller strips to prepare with a few potatoes and salt and pepper she managed to find, she observed Killian and Langley talking by the fire. Both men appeared jovial, but Katherine knew their joy would not last long. Her father's army was vast and it was coming for all of the Scots, not just them. They would find Killian and Langley and murder them. Katherine shuddered and grew cold inside thinking of what fate would await them if they were caught or captured. Even the bravest warriors had their limitations, and these brave men would surely be the type of solider her father would want to make an example of.
She finished preparing the meal for roasting and set the pan on the roaring fire, immediately hearing the sizzle and crack of meat. Killian had outdone himself this time with his hunting skills. She gave a silent nod of thanks to him for providing the meal. She knew it was not easy work, but one day she hoped to learn how to hunt properly so she could do that part of the household work as well. Killian was different from almost any man she had ever met in that regard. He passed no judgment or placed no emphasis on her gender when jobs needed to be completed. He would gladly take the help from whomever offered. She thought this made him wise.
Sitting down on the log seat beside him in front of the fire, she laid her head on Killian's shoulder. The pair stayed that way for quite some time, watching the flames dance and listening to the stillness in the air. Katherine closed her eyes and felt his warmth throughout her body. “Look,” he said, pointing upwards to the stars. “There's Orion. That means it is a good night to be a warrior and I must certainly agree with him. We will all rest well this night.”
“That we will, my love. That we will.”
3.
The King roared at his head of security while standing outside in the palace gardens. “What do you mean she's gone?! You will find my daughter and you will find her now, or it's your head on a pike outside these walls! Do you understand me?!”
The knight knelt humbly in front of him, then raced off to collect his troops to begin the search party. King Stefan ran his hands through his hair and shook his head in frustration. He walked back into the castle cursing himself. He should have known better, had better insights into his daughter's mood. Opening the castle doors and walking to his study, he looked down at the map of the countryside. Recalling the day the opposing army was there to discuss a peace treaty, he remembered Katherine's body language as she sat up higher in her chair, never taking her eyes off of the soldiers in attendance.
Out of the corner of his eye he had seen his daughter making eye contact with the soldier, and she blushed slightly. She was quiet at dinner that night. They sat around after eating their mutton chops an
d Stefan decided to broach the subject with his daughter. “So, Katherine, what do you think about the current state of affairs with the Scots?”
“I know we need to acquire their kingdoms and towns, but you know that I don't like the notion of war, Father.”
“Ah, you have always been my delicate flower. You know just as well as I do that war is essential sometimes.”
“I just hate the thought of you and the rest of the family going into battle. Even though you are proficient in fighting, I don't know what I would do if anything should happen to you.”
“Don't worry, my Katherine, I already have a plan set up for you in case something terrible should befall me. You'll be taken of regardless of the situation, though I do so wish for you to have a husband before I expire. Are there any prospects I should know about?”
Katherine paused and took a bite of her dessert, a blackberry pie, and looked at her father. She was suddenly aware of the worry lines in his forehead and his grey hair. He was growing old before her eyes and wanted nothing more than for her to be happy.
“Not that I can speak of at this moment. I really haven't been considering anyone.”
“You know that if you do find someone, you can always talk to me about it.”
Kathrine stood up and kissed her father on the forehead, saying, “I know. If someone should come up, you'll be the first to know.”
“I certainly hope so. Just be sure he's a proper Englishman and I'm sure he will be fine.”
AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) Page 77
