by Carmen Caine
She pulled back at that and to his surprise, laughed. “Aye, and that is true enough,” she said, her lips curving into a broad smile.
He attempted to smile in return, but ultimately, the effort failed.
“Let the pain go, Ewan,” she said with a steady gaze. “Let it go afore it consumes ye, lad.”
He didn’t say anything. He merely clenched his jaw. Aye, his jaw ached from the constant clenching of it. ‘Twas a wonder he still had teeth.
She rolled her eyes at him then. “And I may just get angry at ye if ye canna do better than that,” she said, sitting back on her heels and hugging her knees. “Do ye think I know naught of a heart filled with pain and how to let it go?”
He held still. The thought of her suffering stabbed his heart through with a pain akin to a sword wound. He knew well she understood grief and misery. She’d nearly lost her life as a lassie by the hand of one of the cruelest men he had ever met.
Yet here she was, sitting before him now, high-spirited, adventurous. Aye, clearly living life to the fullest.
“How do ye live with the pain of it all?” he asked in wonder. “How do ye live with the memories?”
Merry shrugged. “I dinna think of him anymore. I haven’t in years.” She gave a little laugh as her lips twisted into a dry smile. “Though, it seems my ill-fated marriage is all everyone else thinks of. But I canna mind that. I choose to live in the day I’m in, not in a memory from the past. I’ve learned that each dawn brings with it a chance to experience something new, something exciting that I’ve never done afore. ‘Tis magical really, is it not? A chance to start anew every day?”
And then moving to settle beside him, she leaned her head companionably against his shoulder.
He didn’t speak after that. He didn’t feel the need to.
Looping his thumb over hers, he closed his eyes.
* * *
Ewan woke to the warmth of the sun on his face—not the thin pale sun heralding the dawn, but the hot heat of a lazy afternoon.
“Are ye dead?” Alec’s amused voice asked, accompanied by a sharp jab on the shoulder.
Ewan groggily opened his eyes and swatted the stick that Alec was poking him with to the side.
It was broad daylight.
Startled, he sat up abruptly.
“I dinna think I’ve ever seen ye sleep afore, Ewan,” Alec observed with interest. “Without being caught in the throes of fever, that is.”
But Ewan scarcely heard him. Rising swiftly to his feet, he glanced around in slight confusion. “’Tis late. What happened?”
A short distance away, Lothar and Merry were adjusting the cinches of the saddles. The fire had long died, and the sun was definitely beginning its afternoon descent.
“Ye slept,” Alec answered with a dry chuckle. Leaning forward, he punched him companionably on the arm. “Mayhap ‘tis a once in a lifetime event. Should we name the year for it?”
Ewan passed a hand over his face. There was no fever. He felt well enough.
In fact, he hadn’t felt so well in quite some time.
And feeling almost downright light-hearted, he consumed a pasty and, mounting Diabhul once again, was soon galloping down the road toward Scotland with Merry’s arms clasped firmly about his waist.
An hour later, they crested a rise to see a stone wall running along the border of a forest, and shouting at the top of their voices, they drove their horses on.
They’d arrived.
They were home.
Alec broke into song as they cantered down the road and as Merry joined him, singing loudly in Ewan’s ear, Ewan found himself smiling once again. Ach, ‘twas becoming a habit.
It was a few minutes later when Ewan heard it.
The call of a bird.
But it wasn’t a bird at all.
‘Twas a man’s whistle—a whistle of warning.
With a deep line of worry etching his face, Ewan pulled on the reins and raised his arm for the others to halt.
“We’re being followed,” he announced.
Chapter Seven – There’s No Honor in a Cunningham!
Merry cast an anxious glance over her shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around Ewan’s waist as he guided Diabhul off the road. She couldn’t see anyone, but the forest was thick and dark and provided many places to hide. Watchful and wary, they pushed deeper into the woodlands, pausing at intervals to listen, but there was no further sign of pursuers.
As the sun sank in the horizon, Merry closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Ewan’s strong back. She’d stayed awake far too late the night before, holding his hand as he’d slept and too afraid to move lest she waken him. She smiled wryly. She needn’t have worried; it had taken Alec quite some time to make him open his eyes. But now, she only wanted to sleep, and it seemed ages before they finally stopped.
Moonlight glistened on the water as they splashed through a burn to a fern-filled meadow to make a watchful camp for the night. They spoke little and, after a fitful night, left with the dawn.
The next day passed in the same watchful manner, and some of the next.
They’d just taken back to the main road when only a short time later, they heard the whistle once again.
Urging his horse abreast to Ewan’s, Alec suggested in a low voice, “Hermitage is not far. ‘Twould be safer to travel there.”
“Aye, I’ve thought of it once or twice,” Ewan agreed softly.
But then narrowing his eyes, he nodded his chin at an ancient spreading oak hanging over the road just a short distance away.
Alec waggled his brows in understanding and then wheeled his horse around, waving for Lothar to follow. With a clatter of hooves, the two galloped back the way they’d come.
Merry, curious, was on the verge of asking Ewan to explain when he drew rein under the spreading oak and swung down from the saddle.
“Be quick, lass,” he murmured urgently as he pointed to the clump of trees and underbrush a few yards away. “Hide Diabhul in yon thicket and wait there, aye? We’ve set a snare for our followers.”
He turned to go, but Merry reached down and caught his arm. “Take care, Ewan,” she said softly. “I dinna want to see ye hurt.”
For a brief moment, the corner of his lip lifted in what could have been a smile, and then resting his hand upon her leg in a light caress, he replied, “There’s no need to fret. Now hie ye off and be quick. Alec will lead them here shortly.”
She didn’t need to be told again.
Maneuvering Diabhul into the underbrush was easy enough. He was used to hiding with her. For years, they’d oft evaded Ruan and Bree that way, and within a few moments, she was crouching by the horse’s side, peering through the leaves.
Ewan had positioned himself on a low overhanging branch, and she found him an immediate distraction. From her position, she could admire the clean square line of his shoulders to her heart’s content. There was no denying that the man was a handsome one, from his strong arms to his lean, hard thighs.
And his heart.
She sighed.
How she wished she could ease his burden.
But then Lothar and Alec wandered into view, both slouched in the saddle and conversing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. They had scarcely disappeared past Ewan’s hiding place when a man appeared, riding a white highland pony.
Ewan waited until the newcomer was directly beneath him before dropping from the tree. Knocking the man from his horse, he grabbed him by the hair and thrust a dagger beneath his ear.
“Your name,” he hissed. “Tell me right quickly!”
The man frowned but answered readily enough. “I’ve no quarrel with ye, MacLean. Airril, Airril Cunningham.”
At that, Alec burst out from the nearby shrubbery. “Cunninghams!” he spat angrily. “I should throttle ye with my bare hands.”
“Ye haven’t a prayer at that, Montgomery,” the man replied snidely. “A lily-livered Montgomery doesna have the strength to harm a Cunningham—�
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“Enough!” Ewan cut in crisply. Clenching his jaw in what could only be disgust, he shoved the man aside and sheathed his dirk with a noticeably aggravated thrust. “What cause do ye have to follow us?”
“He followed ye at my bidding,” a new voice answered.
Merry peered to the right to see a young, rail-thin man approach on a white battle charger. He was followed by a dozen or so men. Removing his hat, he brushed his brown hair back from a receding hairline and peered down at Ewan with unsettling blue eyes.
“I wasna certain ‘twas ye, Ewan MacLean, heir to the Earldom of Mull,” he said, slowly articulating each word.
Raising a cool brow, Ewan dropped his hand upon his sword and asked, “And who are ye that ye think to know so much of me?”
The man shrugged and, drawing rein beside Ewan, dismounted.
With a respectful bow, he drawled, “All know ye to be a man deadly with a sword.” His steely eyes dropped to linger on Ewan’s hand still resting upon his hilt. “I and my men mean ye no harm. I’d not be daft enough to cross blades with ye.”
“’Tis wise,” Ewan said with a mirthless chuckle, but he didn’t move his hand. “Dinna think to make an enemy of me, stranger. Mine is not a short-lived wrath.”
“Aye,” the man agreed with a nod, and then sweeping his arm in another courtly bow, he added, “Allow me to introduce myself properly. Hugh. Lord Hugh Cunningham of Kerelaw Castle.”
At that, Alec snorted in derision. “Kerelaw? Have ye rebuilt the place or are ye lord of rubble?”
The men behind Hugh began to shout and swear. A few drew their swords, but Hugh raised an imposing hand, and they fell into a reluctant silence.
With disgust written upon his face, Hugh turned upon Alec, and his tone turned snide as he answered, “Nay, Kerelaw is as it was since your cowardly clan razed it to the ground nigh on ten years ago. But the land is mine still, and we visit the place often in the reminder we’ve yet to avenge such wanton destruction.”
“And do ye—” Alec began hotly.
But Ewan raised his voice to cut him short. “Silence! Now is not the time to settle this feud.”
Alec’s nostrils flared, but he nodded and stepped aside.
With his lips thinning in obvious distaste, Ewan turned coldly back to Hugh. “And why did ye follow me, Hugh? Be quick. I’ve little time to spare.”
“I’ve tidings to share, but I had to be certain ‘twas ye and not someone else,” Hugh replied, sending Alec another look of repulsion. “The last I’d heard, ye were rotting in an English tower thanks to that Montgomery.”
“Aye, and ‘tis a strange turn of events how I ended up there,” Alec observed heatedly.
“Are ye implying the Cunninghams had ought to do with it?” one of the men demanded furiously from behind Hugh.
“’Tis telling you were so quick to think I implied it!” Alec rounded on him.
But again, Ewan stayed him with a hand.
Alec swore under his breath and struggled to regain control. It took a moment before he managed to nod and step back once more.
“Aye then,” Hugh eyed him coldly before smiling at Ewan in invitation. “Come, take rest and sup with us. We’ve mutton and ale aplenty, and I’ve tidings of the prince to share.”
“I’ll not be eating at your table,” Alec interrupted before Ewan could even reply. “’Twould likely be poisoned.”
“Aye, your mug might, Montgomery,” a new voice hissed from amongst the Cunningham men.
Shouting, “Away with ye!” Alec lunged.
But Ewan intercepted him, pulling him back. His muscles rippled in sinuous waves at the effort as he hissed into his ear.
Merry couldn’t hear the words, but Alec fell silent at once, subdued.
And then adopting a firm stance, Ewan addressed the Cunninghams in a voice of command. “Stay your tongues and hold your swords! There will be no bloodshed here. We stand as brothers, fighting for our prince’s cause, do we not?”
Hugh nodded slowly and lifting his hand once again, ordered in a dispassionate tone, “As the MacLean says, so be it.”
“Then let us speak,” Ewan said, eyeing him suspiciously. “We’ll join ye for a good meal, but make it a useful one. I would hear news of Stirling ere I leave your company.”
“I’ll not be joining—” Alec began heatedly.
But Ewan quelled him with a single lift of his brow, and then turning to Hugh, added, “Clan Cunningham has no quarrel with the MacLeans nor with those who travel with them. Aye?”
It was clearly a warning.
Looking grim, Hugh nodded. Once.
And then Ewan whistled, bidding Merry and Lothar to step out from their hiding places, and the entire party set out on a westerly course.
Mutton and ale. Merry’s mouth watered at the thought. It had been nigh on a month since she’d had a full meal, but she wasn’t certain she could eat it, either. Hugh Cunningham’s cold, intense eyes made her shiver. He reminded her of a snake and the kind of person who just might use poison.
They didn’t travel far. At the next clearing, men dismounted, fires were lit, and legs of mutton produced along with bannocks and skins of wine and ale.
Choosing a sunny spot on the grass, Hugh invited them to join him.
As soon as they were seated—Alec, quite reluctantly—Hugh began in a conversational tone, “‘Tis right glad I am that ye escaped, Ewan. We’ll have need of your strong arm in battle soon enough, no doubt. I’ve often wondered where ye learned such skill with a sword?”
Ewan merely eyed him. “What news of the prince and the king?” he asked, abruptly switching subjects.
Hugh didn’t seem to mind. “Just a few days ago, I left the prince at Linlithgow in the safekeeping of the Earl of Lennox. The king has now openly engaged us in battle, or he gave it a feeble attempt, anyway.” His fine nostrils flared in disgust. “He’s a coward, nothing more. At the first sign of danger, he fled, deserting his own men on the field. Aye, he even abandoned the very men he gave as hostages, those he’d sworn to protect.”
Alec sniffed, clearly desiring to disparage the king but reluctant to agree with a Cunningham. He was obviously conflicted.
Merry almost smiled. Instead, she reached over and gave Alec’s knee a sympathetic pat.
“Did ye expect aught else from our sovereign?” Ewan grunted. “James is a fool of the highest order. Where is he now?”
“He slunk back to Edinburgh like a dog with his tail tucked atween his legs,” Hugh answered in a scathing tone. “He’s in dire need of supporters now that your cousin, the Lord Julian Gray, has turned most of his former supporters against him. Lord Gray has a tongue of silver, he does.”
“Aye,” Ewan agreed shortly.
Lord Gray. Merry thoughtfully pursed her lips, recalling the few occasions she’d seen the man. He’d been a dashing, flaxen-haired rogue with the reputation of drifting from scandal to scandal until he’d met a Venetian beauty and had fallen madly in love.
Merry took a deep breath and smiled.
He must have found true love to have changed so.
Cupping her chin between her hands, she dreamily observed Ewan.
Would true love help him to live again? Would he turn back into the laughing, light-hearted Ewan she’d always admired?
Her eyes dipped over his body. ‘Twas powerfully proportioned and lethally hard.
Mayhap she didn’t quite want the same Ewan she’d always admired. Nay, she’d prefer a more passionate Ewan, one who would kiss her until her knees collapsed, one whose hands would touch—she swallowed, suddenly discovering his gaze boring straight through hers.
She tore her eyes from his and glanced away, slightly embarrassed to realize she’d been openly staring.
“Huntly, Erroll, Marishal, and Glamis no longer support the king,” Hugh was saying.
Turning back to Hugh, Ewan replied in a clipped tone, “If Julian has convinced Huntly to abandon the Loyalists then the king is truly doomed. He’ll
not last the summer.”
Hopelessly distracted from the somber tone of his words, Merry permitted herself a small smile and closed her eyes. Aye, she could listen to the soft melodic lull of his voice forever.
They spoke more of battle plans then, and supporters lost and gained, but Merry paid little heed.
Instead, she let her thoughts cavort around Ewan—a bare-chested, ardent Ewan, devouring her with kisses and licking every inch of her skin. She smiled privately and wondered how shocked he would be could he see into her thoughts for one brief moment.
The food arrived then.
And though Alec staunchly refused to take even one bite, Merry found it too tempting to resist. She sat, sipping her wine, grateful for the warmth it spread through her veins as Alec folded his arms and stared straight ahead with a determined set of his jaw.
Finally, Hugh gave a short bark of a laugh and said, “Aye, and I’ve no dispute with ye, Ewan MacLean.”
Ewan didn’t reply but instead reached over and casually helped himself to Hugh’s dirk. Unsheathing the weapon, he balanced it in his hand for a moment and ran his finger along the blade.
They all watched in uncomfortable silence.
“Alec is dearer than a brother to me,” Ewan murmured softly, his eyes still on the dirk. “And I look after those I name as such.”
Hugh gave a stiff nod.
Twirling the dirk, Ewan handed it back, hilt first. “A nice blade ye have. ‘Tis sharp enough to slit a man’s throat quick, aye?” His eyes locked unblinkingly on Hugh’s.
The veiled threat couldn’t be missed.
Hugh visibly swallowed. “Aye,” he said, taking the dirk back and sheathing it quickly.
After a considerable pause, Ewan rose to his feet. “Then we’ll be on our way. I thank ye for the tidings and the meal.”
As Hugh exchanged final words with Ewan, Merry and Alec returned to the horses.
Planting a kiss on Diabhul’s cheek, Merry checked the cinch and then, rummaging through the saddlebags, found a dry bannock from the day before.
Whistling at Alec, she slapped the saddle to get his attention. “Take this,” she offered.
