“I will talk to them, but they know not to touch ye,” Shaw said. Anger made his voice sound dangerous, especially in the dark. They rode onward, weaving between trees and shadows.
“Has he never spoken?” she asked Shaw. “Mungo?”
“His mother died young, and he had no father willing to claim him. As far as I know, he has never spoken.”
“Was he able to nurse? Has anyone looked inside his mouth?”
“He has a tongue,” Shaw said, still sounding sour. “And I have no idea if he nursed.”
“But is the tongue attached properly?”
“I do not look in the mouths of my warriors,” he said, his large body swaying with the powerful gait of his horse. It was rock hard behind her yet also a soft place to rest. Everything about Shaw Sinclair was a contrast. His shocking abduction of her but his gentleness with Rose. His determination to only help his clan but then his desperate actions to stop the English soldiers from firing on her and the babe.
“Well, I can look in his mouth. A tongue-tie would prevent him from speaking. He would have been born with it.”
“Like the one in your group who does not speak?”
“No. Izzy is physically able to speak and used to. The death of her parents has muted her, although we are trying to help her find her voice again.”
“We? The Highland Roses School teachers?” he asked, sliding his gaze to her. “They care about her?”
“Not just the teachers but the students as well. We are very close, each one finding her place to help the whole.”
“A clan, then.”
“I suppose so. Yes.”
They rode farther without talking. The babe was sleeping soundly, and Alana’s eyes closed and blinked open, her chin nodding forward. Shaw’s lips brushed near her ear. “Ye can sleep, lass,” he whispered. “I will not let ye fall.”
“I know,” she whispered back and then sniffed, frowning. That meant she trusted him. No, she argued with herself. She trusted that he wouldn’t let her fall with the princess. Leaning back into him, her arms around the sleeping baby, Alana drifted into a warm sleep surrounded by Shaw Campbell.
The darkness surrounding Alana lightened to the glow of firelight. She sat before a hearth, its heat radiating out, sending a tingle through her. But then she realized it wasn’t the fire making her tingle, but the large man sitting behind her, holding her to him. Alana tipped her face up to stare into Shaw’s face, so rugged and majestic. She reached up a hand to trace the scar sitting like a border along his hairline. “How did you get this?” she asked, her words like a whisper.
“A fire. It burned me.”
His words sent fear through her limbs. “But that is not a burn mark,” she said. Pain scraped along her head, and she raised her hand to it, feeling the wet heat of blood. She pulled her fingers back, gasping at the sight. Not of blood but of fire, licking up her fingers. Yanking back, she screamed, but there was no escape as the flames surged upward around her.
“Alana? Lass?”
She jerked awake, her eyes flying open to see Shaw’s gray eyes staring into her own. His brows were pinched. “Ye let out a small scream.”
Lips parted, she sucked in breath, her heart pounding as she lifted her hands, but there was no fire. She turned her head to the side. “Where…?” The side of a canvas tent lay a foot away.
“Ye were asleep when I laid ye in here last night. It is dawn and time to rise.” Shaw studied her as he sat back on his heels in the tight confines of the tent. “Alistair rode ahead and said he smelled cook fires. A village perhaps. Somewhere to get the bairn some fresh milk.” He glanced outside over his shoulder. “Logan is feeding Rose the last of the milk we had, and Mungo is making sure your beast has a ration of our food.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes.” She pushed herself up, her hand rising to her head, and she grimaced when she touched the gouge. But her fingers came away without blood.
“It needs to be cleaned, but it will not require stitching. Although ye may end up with a warrior’s scar and make young Rabbie jealous.” His lips crooked upward on one end in a grin.
Alana raked a hand through her tangled hair on the other side, nodding. She took a deep inhale to clear her mind of the nightmare. Glancing up, her gaze fell on the white mark along his hairline. “How did you get your scar? Battle?”
His grin fell away, leaving a blankness. “Nay. Nothing so glorious.” His smile returned, but it lacked happiness. “Acquired when I was a boy.” She watched his jaw work as if it was stiff. “We will leave as soon as ye are up and ready.” He backed out of the tent, leaving her with more questions than answers.
…
Shaw swayed with the gait of his warhorse, Alana riding her own mare next to him as they wove through the dense golden forest. She held the bairn wrapped against her. Without more milk to fill the bairn’s belly, Rose had been fitful but finally fell asleep to Alana’s gentle singing.
Hush, the waves are rolling in, my bairn.
Hush, the winds roar hoarse and deep, my bairn.
Hush, the rain sweeps o’er the knowes, my bairn.
But ye sleep safe in my arms.
The men remained silent as her sweet melody floated on the crisp morning breeze. Alana’s voice wasn’t without fault, the notes off at times, but they soothed the bairn. Her voice soothed him as well, and his men from the looks of it as they rode through the quiet trees.
Their group came out of the woods onto a stretch of moor that led to another forest half a league away. A large hawk flew down, its talons outstretched, wings pulled back to swing them forward. The predator snatched a mouse from the ground, soaring upward, never having made a sound. Robert ran forward as if to catch the bird, but the hawk’s powerful wings shot it up into the sky, and it disappeared over the tree line. This was the hawk’s territory, where he lived and hunted and grew old riding the wind over his land. Envy for a bird. He snorted softly to himself at the hollow feeling.
“Smoke ahead,” Alistair said, bringing his horse up to ride level with theirs. He pointed above the trees where a low haze of smoke rose like a fog. “I spotted several homes before I turned back to get the rest of ye.”
“A village or even a farm will have milk for the babe,” she said. “A wet nurse perhaps.”
Shaw shook his head. “Nay. If we ask for a wet nurse, word could get back to anyone interested in following the princess. She will need to be your own bairn.”
“’Tis good ye wear a ring,” Rabbie said, nodding toward her hand.
Alistair’s face snapped around to Alana. “I can be your husband.”
“I will be her husband,” Shaw said, frowning at his man. Alistair preferred lasses with an edge to them, girls who found his tattoo thrilling and dangerous. Alana was not a lass for him. Alistair’s brows rose before he gave a nod in understanding. “In fact,” Shaw said, “we should enter alone, a small family acquiring food.”
“And lodging,” Alana said, motioning to Rose. “With a bath. I need to wash her.”
“Logan and Rabbie can find fresh milk and get it to me without attracting notice,” Shaw said, meeting their gazes. “And buy bread and meat, as if ye are on your own journey to bring these horses to market. Remove their shoes, with the royal seal on them, outside of town and have the local farrier re-shoe them. Ask if he knows of anyone who would like to buy them.”
He turned. “Alistair and Mungo will remain on the outskirts. Hunt if ye can, but I will also purchase more rations for the rest of the journey.” The men nodded, all signs of the jester gone from Mungo. Still, with Alistair’s skull tattoo and Mungo’s usual act, it was best to keep them away from eyes that would remember them. “Be as ordinary as ye can if ye are seen. We will meet tomorrow morning, due east, just outside the edge of town.”
Alistair grinned, giving the lass a wink. “Don’t know if I have ever been ordinary. Extraordinary is what I am usually called.”
Shaw had the strongest desire to punch him.
“We will come in from the north,” Logan said. “A different direction from the two of ye and the bairn.”
“Leave one horse with Alistair,” Alana said. She looked at Shaw. “For my mother to ride home.”
Her mother and a horse in exchange for her help saving his clan and castle. It seemed a fair trade. Shaw nodded, signaling for one to be handed off. “Mungo,” Shaw said, and the man caught the reins that Rabbie tossed him. A gray mare.
“Thank you,” Alana murmured.
A “thank you?” From a captive. He shoved the small seed of hope down inside and cleared his throat. “As a common man and wife, traveling with their newborn bairn, ye should ride in front of me holding the wee one,” Shaw said. “Your horse can stay with Alistair, too.”
Alana opened her mouth as if to argue.
“If anyone in the town is suspicious of us, and an English troop comes through, they will tell them about everyone stopping in town,” Shaw said before she could reply. “We could send Logan and Rabbie in town to buy some milk and supplies, but if ye want to wash and sleep in a bed tonight, we must act the married couple.”
“Married couples can ride separately,” she said.
After the attack and Alana’s injury, Shaw wanted to keep her as close as possible. For the sake of the mission, of course. “Aye, but it would be more convincing if we rode one horse.”
Her breath came out long as if surrendering. “How will I act like I am nursing the babe? Will you sneak the milk to me up in the room?”
Shaw nodded. “I will either get fresh cow’s milk or find a way to warm it. It will work, and ye can wash the bairn. And yourself if ye wish.”
Her beautiful green eyes lifted, a slight smile touching her mouth. “I could wash?”
“If we find lodging with a bathing tub, aye,” he said.
Hope lit her features, bringing a slight pink to her cheeks and an alertness to her eyes. If it was possible, Alana became even more beautiful. No one moved, and Shaw glanced at his men, who were all staring at her as if they’d never seen a lass before.
Blast. It had apparently been too long since his men had found ease with a woman, for a simple smile was enthralling them. He frowned, his voice gruff. “Your decision, Alana.”
She exhaled in a huff. “Take good care of Rainy,” she said, looking to Alistair.
“As if she were my own, milady,” he said, bowing his head and holding his fist to his chest like some ridiculous gallant knight of legend. Aye, Shaw definitely wanted to punch him. The man jumped down from his mount, striding toward Alana, obviously planning to lift her free of the saddle.
Without hesitation, Shaw dismounted, his two strides taking him right up to Alana before Alistair could reach her. He raised his hands to her waist and heard a low curse behind him.
Alana had already thrown one leg over her saddle with Rose tied to her chest. Her boot tossed around in the air as if waiting for some mounting post to magically appear beneath it. “I have ye, lass,” Shaw said, reaching up to clasp Alana’s waist at the gentle curve inward above her hips. “Watch the wee one,” he said.
He pulled her back against him, setting her down, and heard her say something. “What was that?” he asked, turning, his gaze meeting the frown on Alistair’s face as he took the horse’s reins.
“Bloody hell,” Alistair murmured just under his breath and looked to the horse.
“I said,” she continued as she walked to his horse, “a gentle landing. It is what the babe needs right now.” She bent her head to brush her lips against the bairn’s covered head. “No more throwing you around if we can help it.”
Logan and Rabbie gave a nod and headed north, trailing three horses behind them. Coming to the village to sell them would be a good cover, and they could then use the money to buy food. Mungo and Alistair would stay in the woods with their horses, Alana’s horse, and the addition for her mother. They would hunt for game and watch for encroaching English or suspicious activity.
Shaw lifted Alana and Rose up onto Rìgh and left them to walk over to where Alistair stood with the horses. “Alana and the bairn are my responsibility,” Shaw said, his voice low.
Alistair turned to stare back, mutiny on his marked face. “She hates ye for taking her. Why not give one of us a chance with the lass?”
The idea of one of his men with Alana tightened Shaw’s chest. This was not a place to think about winning the heart of a woman. “I am the chief of the Sinclairs, the one to ensure our clan regains its honor and home. Alana Campbell is for none of us. She hates us all, except for that wee bairn.”
“What if she changes her mind about hating us?” Alistair said, his teeth set in a determined line.
Would Shaw order his friend to stay away from Alana, just because the thought of her with any man made his blood race and his fists clench? He had no right to say anything about the woman and where her heart might wander. “Then the lass may choose whomever she wants,” he said. Shaw bent so that he was within inches of Alistair. “But for now, ye will keep your distance from the woman. This is not a rowdy Beltane festival; it is a bloody mission.”
“That goes for ye, too,” Alistair said, his brows rising in challenge. “We are here for our people, our families, and to revenge sweet Reagan.”
As if Shaw did not know that. He understood his responsibilities as chief and thirsted for revenge as much as his men. His fingers curled into tight fists.
“Not to woo a Campbell lass,” Alistair continued.
Maybe he should punch Alistair, just to remind him who was the chief. Shaw had kicked his arse when they were young men. Perhaps it was time to knock Alistair back down before his cockiness got him skewered.
“If you two can finish your whispering, Rose has woken and needs milk as soon as possible,” Alana said from behind. “We need to get to that village quickly.”
Without a word, Shaw turned, striding toward Alana. With an easy lift, his foot in the stirrup, Shaw rose to sit behind her. He nodded to Mungo. “Keep to the woods and tether the dog to stay with ye if ye must.”
“Stay with the men,” Alana said to Robert, raising her palm toward him in a signal. Mungo hopped down, scratching the dog’s head, and tied a rope around Robert’s neck. “I sure hope he is strong,” she murmured.
Shaw tapped Rìgh with his heels, and the mighty horse walked smoothly forward through the woods. Leaves fell from up high, the wind picking up. He could hear Rose fuss.
“As soon as we reach any sort of home, we need to ask for milk or broth,” Alana said.
“Aye, though it would be best for them to not know it is for the bairn, as ye should be nursing her.”
“Not every mother produces milk very well,” she said. “I have seen new mothers whose milk never comes in.”
“Ye have an ample bosom,” Shaw said. “People will be suspicious if you are not nursing your bairn.”
She tipped her head back to frown at him. “It has nothing to do with the size of a woman’s breasts.”
If a year ago someone would have told him that he’d be discussing milk production with regards to breast size, while holding a beautiful Campbell lass and a newborn bairn, Shaw would have laughed out loud at the drunk fool. But a year ago, he didn’t think he’d have a chance to legally reclaim his clan’s seat.
Girnigoe Castle had belonged to the mighty Sinclairs for three hundred years. After Oliver Cromwell’s men used it and finally withdrew, his drunken uncle, George Sinclair, sold the castle and lands, and even his earldom to the Campbells of Glenorchy in order to pay his debts to them. George, his mother’s brother, had been an abusive fool and drunkard. Shaw had been too young to challenge the bastard at the time, but now that he was a man, he was determined to reclaim all that George squandered away in the name of whisky, foolish endeavors, and cards.
“Some are large, but some are quite small. It is not an indication of milk production.” Alana paused as if waiting for his response, but Shaw had absolutely no response in exchange for
this new knowledge.
She tipped her head back to look at him, and he returned her frown. “I cede to your knowledge of breasts and everything pertaining to them since I have none.”
“Actually, you do.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. Men have breasts. They are just undeveloped. I read about it in a human anatomy book at our school.”
“I do not,” he repeated.
“You have nipples,” she said. “So, you have breasts.”
“Look,” he said, never quite so happy to see a house through the trees. He pressed Rìgh into a faster walk, winding through the forest, the trees clearing the closer he got. The narrow path turned out onto a pebbly road with houses beyond.
Thatched cottages lined the road, leading to a center clearing with a well pump and trough. A blacksmith and farrier were working with a horse to the left, and a two-story common house stood several buildings down from it. Shaw felt the stares as they rode up to the well pump in the middle of town.
“Stay on Rìgh,” he said to Alana and dismounted. The starkness of the cool morning air against him, where Alana had leaned, pulled his focus. Without her warmth, he’d have never noted the cold, but her heat and then absence was…noticed. He led the horse to the trough, pumping the water into it for him to drink.
“The common house might have lodging,” he said, nodding to the second story.
Alana twisted in the seat. “And milk, I hope.”
Tying Rìgh to the hitching post by the trough, he reached up to lift her and the bairn down. She slid toward him, her arms out to rest her hands on his shoulders, trusting him to carry her safely to the ground. She trusted him. It should make him content, knowing the mission would be easier, but it gnawed inside him instead.
They walked together across the village square to the common house, Alana holding Rose close as the bairn whimpered, obviously hungry. “We are being watched,” she whispered as they stepped up to the door.
“Stay close to me,” he replied and pushed through.
The Highland Outlaw Page 9
