“Here we are. Almost here. Look at the woods. Aren't they lovely? Not much longer. Here we are...”
She was tired, her mind falling into a fog of exhaustion as she rode, lips murmuring even though she was half asleep. The sounds of the hunt were fading, the woods pale pewter around her, the moonlight soft on her eyes.
Moonlight?
Alina blinked.
Moonlight!
They were facing a thin patch of trees, on the edge of a vast moorland. The trees had thinned, the canopy interspersed with openings through which the light shone.
“Moonlight!”
Alina shouted it, elated. She looked out over the moorland, painted in grays and blues on the ink black night sky beyond. The crickets shrilled and chirped in the long, wet grass. The wind was still. Somewhere, a fox called.
Alina smiled, feeling tears run down her face. “Thank you,” she whispered aloud.
Thank you.
They were out of the woods. She could find her way from here. She could, if the pursuers spent their time riding around the forest, find the way home.
Home. It was later when Alina thought it. She and her pony had been riding across the moors for what felt like hours. The terror of the pursuit had left them both soaked with perspiration which had cooled, and here on the moorlands, the chill gnawed at them, making Alina numb and weary. She thought about how cold the pony was, she had already decided that she would return home with her, and she would make sure the last years of her life were ten times better than the first, in thanks. The thought was a hazy one, on the edge of sleep, dreaming of Lochlann castle...home.
She rode in her sleep. The pony, she was sure as she jarred awake, was also asleep. Home seemed an impossible vision, something she had dreamed of, not somewhere concrete and real and a day and a half's ride away.
“Home,” she whispered to the pony. He shifted his ears, seeking her voice. He plodded on resolutely the way they were headed.
Alina felt herself slowly fall back to sleep, head nodding. She was thankful for the years of riding practice, and for the lessons – entirely unorthodox – in riding astride. She would have fallen ages ago else.
She was asleep, thinking of the man-at-arms who had taught both her and Amabel to ride, eyes twinkling, praising them in their smallest efforts, when she felt something change.
She heard a bird mutter sleepily to himself somewhere in a gnarled tree.
She looked about.
The moorland was gray with morning, the earliest hour of sun. She thought she recognized a hill on the horizon. A great mounded shape, brooding there like a bear. She knew it from the road from Lochlann.
She bit her lip, and then patted her pony.
“I think its morning,” she whispered to him. “And I think I know where we are.”
He huffed a reply, seeming to understand the sense of her words. They continued on.
Alina felt more awake now, listening as one bird and then another joined the dawn chorus. The air was cold – a terrible, bone-numbing cold – and somewhere a faint breeze bent the tussocks.
Alina sighed, feeling a smile stretch her face. Somewhere a fox yipped to her cubs. Then, as Alina felt her heart lift, the pony stopped.
She bit her lip, feeling sudden misery.
“No,” she whispered urgently. “You can't stop now. Not when we're so close! Please. Don't. Don't do this to me...”
She looked up, biting her lip, feeling tears start to flow.
That was when she saw it. The road. White in the early light, it lay across the moorlands. Perhaps fifty paces away.
Feeling her heart soaring, Alina rode towards it. It was the road to that would lead to home.
Joining the road took a little persuasion. Alina dismounted and led her mount a little way, praying that the hunters had gone back to the castle during the night. The wet grass soaked the hem of her skirt, making it heavy. Her cloak was wrapped around her and it trailed in the wetness, snagging, sometimes, on stone, grass, or gorse. Alina sighed. Their progress was slow, but it was nothing compared to the joy of no longer being lost.
“The road's up ahead,” she told the pony. “And when we get there, we'll find an inn. Somewhere safe. And you'll have hay and bran mash and warmth and we'll be able to rest for a little while. Then we'll continue on home.”
She talked as they walked, spinning pictures of warmth and friendliness and home. She had to believe them too, though she spoke to the pony, encouraging him.
We will reach home, she told herself. We will. We will. Not too long, now.
She took no notice of the nagging doubt that told her inns were dangerous and best avoided, that said they had no time to stop, that told her they were both exhausted and would never make it to an inn in time, before they perished of exhaustion and hunger and cold. They were at the road, now. All they had to do was follow it.
We will reach home. We will. Not too long, now.
She walked on, step by aching, tired step. They were both cold, and Alina could feel how the dew soaked through her boots, her toes numbed to nothing. At least on the road they could not get wetter.
We will reach home.
She closed her eyes and walked along, feeling the cobbles rough and uneven under her shoes, twisting her ankle as she walked. She led the horse, eyes closed, knowing where they were by the feel of the stone below her, the sound of the hoof beats on cobble, the scent of dew and the cold wet-stone smell of the road below her.
Her boots were starting to slip. She hung onto the pony's bridle, feeling her legs start to give way.
She cried out, biting her lip.
I will not fall. I will not stop. I will reach home.
She slipped then, and fell.
No!
She felt tears soak her face, warm over the frozen skin of her cheeks. She blinked her eyes furiously, biting her lip. She lifted her hand to cuff the tears away. She looked up.
There, on the moorland, just off the road, was a rider. He was perhaps sixty feet away, but even from here she could see the golden brown of his hair, his height, the long dark cloak he wore.
“Duncan?” her voice was a whisper. How could it be? Could it..?
“Duncan!”
She shouted it, trying to stand. She got to her knees.
The pony, seeming to know she needed help, nudged at her gently. He had his head down and she held the reins and then dragged herself upright, holding onto his leg for support. She stood, leaning on the pony, shuddering and elated.
“Duncan!” she screamed it, using every last drop of energy in her body. Beside her the pony started and huffed. He did not bolt though – too tired, and used to the sound of her voice.
She breathed in, smelling his warm, musk scent.
She looked at the horseman. He had turned. He had seen her! She raised a hand. She waved.
“Duncan!”
“Alina?” he shouted her name. “Alina! Alina!”
As he rode closer, he recognized her and she recognized him. That handsome face, that hair, the long nose, lean body, firm posture! It was him!
“Duncan!” she whispered. “Duncan!”
He reached her and reined in. His own horse was almost as tired as her pony, she thought, seeing him stand, head down, panting heavily. Duncan slid off. His face was gray, his hair wet with rain, eyes ringed with darkness. He smiled at her.
“Alina!”
His cheeks wet with tears. Alina swallowed hard and wrapped her arms around him firmly.
They stood like that for what seemed like forever, her body warm against his firm, hard chest, his warm arms tight around her.
Alina felt her heart soar, cheeks stiff with smiling, heart slowed.
He kissed her then, his lips warm on her cold, hard ones. She smiled and felt her whole body warm and relax, held close against him.
“Alina,” he said. He stroked her hair then looked down into her face, stroking it with his long, warm fingers. “You're safe. You're here. I can't believe it.”
/>
“Duncan,” she said firmly. She could not think of anything else. He was here. They were alive, safe, and free. They would go home.
He wrapped his arm around her, draping his cloak to cover her, too, lending her shivering, frozen body another layer of warmth. He took the reins of his horse, who was recovering, and of her pony, and together the four weary travelers walked, slowly and wearily, along the road. Alina, feeling Duncan's arm around her, her own arm wrapped around his lean, firm waist, felt exhausted, aching, and as happy as she had ever been.
Duncan had found her. They were free. They were going back home.
CHAPTER THIRTY
RETURNING HOME AGAIN
RETURNING HOME AGAIN
As they walked, Duncan told Alina the story. He had come home, successful, from Inverglass and found her missing. He had left almost at once and, taking the hunting party, he had set out to find her.
Alina looked at his stricken face and could not help her voice wobbling as she replied. “Oh, Duncan! I am so, so sorry. I wanted to be there. I couldn't be. I thought...I had to...” she couldn't speak, the tears were flowing. Now that she was safe, out of the grasp of that man, all the terror flooded into her and she felt it block her throat and root her to the spot.
Duncan was beside her in an instant, arms around her, voice tender.
“Hush, dear. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I won't care what it is. I love you. I love you, Alina.”
She sighed, her sobs subsiding to soft hiccups.
In the gentle rain, their mounts walking a little behind them, she told him. How she had ridden to warn him of what she thought was wrong. How Camry had captured her, and the threats he had made. When she had finished her tale his face was dark.
“I cannot let this go unpunished.”
“Duncan...” Alina rested a hand on his chest. “It is well. I am safe. We will marry. No one can hurt me now. I want to forget. Let me forget? Please?”
She was tired, her voice cracking on the last word, close to tears.
Duncan let out a great shuddering breath. He stood with his fists clenched for a long moment, face changing from anger, to hurt, then to acceptance.
“Of course,” he whispered at length. “For myself, I would not rest until I have obliterated that man and every trace of him. But I understand you have been hurt enough. If you wish it, we will leave matters as they are.”
Alina sighed. A great relief washed through her. She had not realized how deeply it worried her that Duncan, or her uncle, would seek retribution. That would make her pain a thing of public knowledge, add more humiliation to what she had already received. Make it harder to forget. This way, the whole event was something that need have no bearing on her, unless she chose it to. She did not, at all.
They walked on in silence for a few moments after that, each lost in their own thoughts. At length, Alina turned to him, dark eyes shining.
“You mean you brought a whole host out to find me? That we'd be safe on the road?”
Duncan chuckled. He stroked her long hair, wet from dew and rain. “Of course I did. We can call them now, if you would like?”
“If they're with us, can we risk stopping at an inn?”
Duncan chuckled. “I certainly hope so,” he said. “It would be good to have breakfast.”
Breakfast. Alina closed her eyes, letting her mind drift in the wonder of that. Visions of fresh bread and porridge, boiled eggs, cream, and butter, swam before her.
“Call them?” she asked faintly, looking at him with wide eyes.
Duncan laughed. “Of course.” He drew out the hunting horn of Lochlann, and, setting it to his lips, let it sound, high, clear, and brilliant.
As they waited, men appeared out of the woods.
Alina recognized all of them – loyal woodsmen and hunters all, owing loyalty to her family. When she saw them she felt her legs go weak. These were her people. Almost family, and as protective. She was safe.
“How long until we reach the inn?”
He laughed. Looked at the sun where it showed fitfully through the clouds, just burning off the mist from the moorlands.
“Perhaps twenty minutes. Will you manage?”
Alina snorted. “I will manage anything.”
The pace of the horses was gentle and Duncan, who had ridden all the previous night himself, soon found himself nodding asleep in the cool morning. By the time they reached the inn, he was asleep in the saddle.
“My lord?” a voice asked in Duncan's ear.
“Where are we?” Duncan asked, still unsure what was going on. Beside him, he heard someone huff a soft laugh. Alina. He would know that laugh anywhere.
He turned and looked at her, forgetting all the unimportant things like where they were or why they had stopped. She was with him. That was enough.
“We're here, sir,” Joe explained patiently. “The Fir Tree Inn.”
“Oh.” Duncan cleared his throat again, feeling suddenly foolish.
Around him, the men dismounted and trooped into the inn. Duncan slid out of the saddle and stood at Alina's horse, lifting her down.
She chuckled and slid from the horse, landing in a heap in his arms. They both laughed. The weight of her body was soft and warm against him and, before Duncan even knew what he was doing, he had kissed her.
He moved back and they stood gasping, looking at each other like they were the only man and woman in the world. Just then, they were.
“Milord?”
Duncan whipped around, feeling shamefaced. He couldn't quite remove the grin and Doug, one of his men, grinned widely. “Yes?”
“We ordered eggs, sir. Ham. And six loaves. You think we need more?”
Duncan felt his stomach rumble. “Mayhap,” he agreed.
Alina giggled. They both laughed.
Breakfast was a merry time. Duncan and Alina sat together side by side on the wooden benches, surrounded by the men, grumbling, laughing, and eating vast quantities of eggs and loaves. The informality was a relief after hours of sitting tensely beside Alina at formal luncheon or supper, wishing he could reach out to her and knowing he could not. Here, her hand was beside his and they sat together, legs touching, fingers twined.
As Duncan watched, Alina ate her first eggs, looking a little green at first. She put a hand to her belly and closed her eyes quickly.
“What is it, dear?”
“I think I'm going to be sick,” she said promptly.
Duncan squeezed her hand. “Only eat what you can, dearest. I can call them to bring gruel, if that would be easier?”
“No, no,” she waved a hand and grinned at him. “Once that lot has settled, I'll have an appetite as good as any of you here, trust me.”
He grinned. He did trust her. She proved herself right, doing ample justice to the innkeeper's fine stew, oatcakes, and fresh loaf. The only dark spot on their horizon was the thought of telling Uncle Brien.
What if we're wrong?
Duncan had not voiced his concern to Alina, but it still plagued him. What if their guess was wrong: about the pearl, and the question, and all it meant? I'm not sure I have the energy for another challenge. And I will not leave her side. Not again. Not ever.
The light slowly wore on towards afternoon as they rode. Duncan's forbidding thoughts faded as the sun came out and then the day slowly fell towards dusk. He and Alina talked as they rode, cozy thoughts of him.
“...I am so excited to see Amabel again soon,” Alina said softly. “But I think we should travel to Dunkeld. Amabel must not ride far...not in her condition.”
“Condition?” Duncan wrinkled his brow.
“Amabel is expecting a child, Duncan,” Alina said.
Duncan stared at her. “She is? But...But then Brod...” he trailed off. The news was amazing. Broderick, his stern, strict older brother was about to be a father? He shook his head, grinning.
Alina was laughing at him. “Your brother is going to become a father. Yes. And you, my dear Duncan, are an uncle. Or
you will be, God willing.”
“Uncle?” He stared at her, a bemused grin stretching his face.
“Uncle Duncan. Doesn't it have a nice sound?” Alina said, grinning teasingly.
“And Auntie Alina,” he pointed out.
Alina blushed. Duncan had never seen her do it, and it was spectacular. He smiled.
“Sorry,” she said, voice surprisingly teary. “I just hadn't thought about the fact that when we wed, we'll be uncle and aunt twice over! I am going to marry you, Duncan.”
Duncan laughed. The thought hadn't fully sunk in either. Though they had lived the last months wishing for it, working for it...the fact that it was true now, a reality, had not really penetrated into his head either. The full implications of it.
“I know,” he whispered softly. “I can't quite believe it either.”
“We have to tell Uncle Brien as soon as we get back,” Alina said firmly.
“The minute we get back,” Duncan promised.
They rode in silence a long while, both scanning the horizon without having discussed it. When Duncan saw Lochlann Castle appear, he turned to her.
“There it is!”
“Home!”
They had both shouted it at the same time, and they started laughing.
“I'll race you,” Alina said, already nudging her horse into a trot.
“I'll catch you!”
Joe and the other guards stared at them, but Duncan did not care. He was so happy. They both laughed and, among laughter and delighted yells, they took off, chasing each other across the hill.
They reached the castle just as dusk began to fall. They walked in briskly, side by side. Duncan stood straight and tall beside Alina and she had the sense he was a hero, coming home successful. She shook her head at her foolish notions. I'm too full of old tales myself, so I oughtn't to chasten Uncle Brien for his gallant notions, she thought. All the same, the spark of happiness would not die down.
Together they marched up the stairs to the turret room, and Duncan knocked.
“Enter.”
The two looked at each other. Alina nodded and Duncan grinned at her, though he looked extremely nervous. He opened the door.
The Highlander’s Challenge (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 18
