by Carmen Caine
He found Bree almost immediately.
She sat with Merry at the farthest table close to a window, appearing miserable. He suppressed a sigh. The lass detested him, that much was plain. There was little point in wooing her. He flushed, wondering how he could have even considered such a daft scheme.
It must have been the wound.
In any case, ‘twas for the better. He had other, weightier matters to consider, such as the damage he’d inflicted on the clan. He could not think of Robert’s death, not yet. Disheartened, he swung his leg over the bench and took his seat opposite her.
“Forgive me,” Bree said, as he sat. Her voice shook nervously.
He blinked, surprised, but said truthfully, “There is nae need for that.” He shrugged.
“No, that is not true. You have been very kind to me,” Bree continued earnestly, the color high in her cheeks. She didn’t meet his eyes, instead she trailed her finger back and forth on the surface of the wooden table. “I had no cause to speak to you so, especially since I haven’t thanked you as I should… for… what you have done. You have rescued me more than once and…” She faltered uncertainly.
In spite of his best efforts, his pulse quickened. His dark thoughts disappeared. Almost of its own accord, his voice deepened, and he leaned forward with a suggestive whisper. "Aye and what is the proper way to… thank me?”
Merry began to tap on the table loudly, giving a long, loud sigh of boredom.
Bree appeared a little confused, but said firmly, “I… thank you.”
He took a deep breath, relieved at her innocence.
Her company obviously addled his wits. One moment he was ready to return her to Domnall, and the next, he was flirting with seduction. He clearly needed space and time to think. Sitting there was a mistake. Standing abruptly, he gave a gallant bow and said, “Aye, then I’ve been thanked, and there’s nae harm done. We leave at dawn; be sure ye rest well.”
Merry was frowning at him. He reached over and tousled her hair; he’d have to deal with her later. Right now, he wanted to be gone. He ducked to join Simon and several others a few tables away and distracted himself with their company long into the night, long after he saw Bree and Merry settling to sleep in the corner. Finally, scant few hours before dawn, he sprawled across the table and slept, exhausted.
All too soon, Simon was shaking him awake as the soft morning light filtered in the hall.
He staggered to his feet, bleary eyed and still tired.
“Aye, lad,” Simon said with a knowing grin. “Ye’ll sort it out soon enough.”
Ruan squinted and replied, “’Tis too early to speak in riddles, Simon.”
“I’ll wager neither of ye slept well.” Simon punched him lightly on the shoulder and nodded with his chin.
Following the man’s direction, Ruan spied Bree peering out the window.
She yawned, stretching her neck, seeming somewhat sad. The desire rippled through him, to sweep her in his arms and assure her all would be well. Only, he could not promise that, and he was highly uncertain she fancied hearing him say anything. Belatedly, he realized he was staring and hadn’t answered Simon.
He turned, but the man was gone.
Isobel arrived, and Ruan sat on the edge of the table, absently swinging his leg as the others gathered their things. They had oatcakes and fish along the way, and after he’d given his thanks for the hospitality, he led them out into the crisp morning air.
Clouds hung low in the west and the wind was rising.
It promised to be a wretched day.
Bree and Merry huddled in the back of the boat, plaids drawn against the biting wind and Simon refused to let him take an oar. The shore was scarce over a stone’s throw away, so he didn’t insist. It was just as well, his shoulder was still sore.
Simon quickly led them to the stables.
Ruan dipped his head under the low door, entering, as Simon pointed to three beautiful mares.
“Lady Elspeth insisted ye have these,” he said with a smile.
They were stunning animals.
“These be far too valuable,” Ruan said. He shook his head. “I canna accept them.”
“Aye,” Simon replied with a laugh. He handed the lead of the first to Merry. “She told me ye’d say that and that I was to tell ye she’d forever be in yer debt for saving the laird.”
“Ye saved the laird?” Merry danced sideways, her black eyes snapping with interest. “From which clan?”
“I saved the laird from a chicken bone… hardly worth the horses,” Ruan frowned.
Merry was rightfully disenchanted. She led the mare out of the stable, chattering to Simon. “Three? Does that mean I ride my own?”
“Nay,” Simon answered. He tossed Ruan a couple of bridles before following her. “Ye’ll ride with Isobel, ye canna manage one of these beasts on yer own yet, I’d wager.”
“How much would ye wager?” Ruan heard Merry’s impertinent reply.
He smiled.
“Merry!” Isobel warned.
Ruan chuckled. Simon would lose. Merry was one of the best horsemen he’d ever seen. Still smiling, he stepped around the front of the mare, almost tripping over Bree.
“Ach, lass, what are ye doing here?” he asked, catching his balance and pulling up short.
“Simon said you needed help,” Bree said. She stepped back quickly. “He said your shoulder…”
Ruan peered through the open door to see Simon walk past, grinning widely. He suppressed a sigh. Apparently, only he could see that the lass detested him. “Aye, well, ye can ready your horse, then.”
He tossed the remaining bridle, but instead of catching it, she instinctively raised her arm to cover her face. It fell to the barn floor with a jingle. They both reached for it at the same time, his fingers brushing hers. She straightened, stiffly, tugging the bridle free from his grasp.
“Ach, forgive me,” he said, feeling a little remorseful. “I did nae mean to frighten ye, then.”
She was standing close.
The heady fragrance of lavender rose between them. He wondered how she always smelled of it and began to feel much more than simple remorse. It was difficult to step away, but he did. He returned to his task, but watched her hesitantly approach the mare with overt reluctance.
She apparently didn’t like horses.
He patted his mare’s withers absently. He smiled, a little, as Bree pushed the bridle at the mare’s nose, as if the animal would bridle itself.
“Ye have to open her mouth, lass,” he said, finding himself by her side, grinning. “Like this.”
He reached around, nicking the bridle from Bree’s grasp and expertly slipped it over the animal’s ears. It was only then that he realized he was too close, arms virtually encircling her. The back of her head tickled his chest. She twisted, clearly expecting him to step away, but he was strangely rooted to the spot. Her brows creased in confusion, and as the silence between them lengthened, he wondered if she could ever put her distaste of him aside.
“You’ll not be kissing me again,” Bree said at last, lifting her chin a little.
It was Ruan’s turn to be surprised. Tilting his head to one side, he murmured, “Odd… that ye’d be thinking of a kiss.”
“I wasn’t,” she answered, flustered. Her cheeks were turning pink. “I… I…”
“Yes?” he pressed, as a small flame of hope kindled in his heart; what if she were only shy? Could it be that she hated him less than he feared?
“Nothing,” she said, turning her head to the side. She moved to leave, as if expecting he’d let her go.
He knew he should, but instead, he leaned close and whispered, “I think ye want another.”
“No!” she squeaked. Placing her hands on his chest, she half-heartedly attempted to push him away.
Ruan didn’t move. Her actions were far too fascinating.
“I don’t want to be kissed and forgotten!” she said with difficulty. This time, she shoved him, in earnest.
He stepped back, caught slightly off-guard, but quickly seized her wrist and yanked her back into his arms. Sweet Mary, Isobel had been right. He was an ignorant fool. “Who could kiss ye and forget?” He asked softly. “Aye, I kissed ye, and I’ve thought of nothing else since.”
Bree’s lips parted in surprise.
“Aye, I’ve kissed many, lass, but yours was the first that ever terrified me.” He slid his hand up her back, pushing her closer. “That is why I haven’t spoken of it.”
She blinked and her brows crinkled, “Terrified?”
“Of what ‘twould be like to lose ye,” he whispered, revealing his innermost fear but no longer caring. “I don’t want to let ye go, lass. Do ye still want this marriage annulled?” If she pushed him away, he’d suffer a pain beyond imagining, but she didn’t. Instead, she melted. He lifted his thumb, lightly tracing her cheekbone.
Then, he felt a swift kick on the back of his knee.
He leapt back, startled.
“What are ye doing?” Merry pulled him away from Bree, her small face a mixture of anger and fear. “Did she fall off her horse?”
“Ach, but ye are slow in getting these horses ready, lad,” Simon bellowed loudly, obviously in a kind warning that he was entering the stables. “I’ll lend ye a hand.”
Bree took advantage of the commotion to escape, but he already knew Isobel had been right. He should try harder with this one. He just might win her heart, and he might yet prove worthy of it. Mood soaring, he made quick work of the horses and led them out of the barn.
“Ruan lad, give a hand here,” Isobel called, pointing to her horse.
He obliged, lifting her into the saddle.
“Thank ye, love,” she said, pursing her lips. “I’m thinking we should head for the blacksmith afore leaving.”
“Blacksmith?” Ruan raised a curious brow.
“Ach, we need to get ye a pair of hot pincers to pull out those eyes and tongue of yers, lad,” Isobel replied with a chuckle.
Color tinged his cheeks, but his heart was too light to do more than send her a mildly exasperated look.
Chapter 19: The Unexpected Confession
Bree didn’t know what to think. Ruan’s unexpected confession, the soft gentleness of the man, his touch of tenderness had thrown her emotions into a state of turmoil. Surely, he was not toying with her. If he were, she’d gladly find her knife, wherever the infernal thing was, and cut his heart out. The thought startled her. She no longer recognized herself, but it felt right.
Simon offered a friendly hand to toss her onto her horse, and she wondered if she should tell them she’d never ridden on her own before. As she landed in the saddle, the beast snorted, and she clung desperately to its mane. It bolted a few paces before Simon deftly caught the reins and handed them to her with a wide grin.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Ruan swing unaided into the saddle, saying his farewells. He was obviously healing well. The man was distracting. His carved lips, expressive eyes, and the way he’d held her close filled her mind, but then the horse beneath her moved and all other thoughts fled.
She’d always hated riding horses.
Desperately, she tried to control the horse, but it didn’t appear to notice her attempts.
Isobel and Merry trotted past, followed by Ruan, and she was relieved when the beast fell into line, but they had hardly left the village when it appeared to change its mind. It ambled after the others for only a short distance before stopping to nibble a withered tuft of grass, blithely ignoring her feeble tugging of the reins.
A burst of wind ripped through the glen, followed by scattered drops of rain.
“Move!” she growled for the fourth time, kicking the beast with her foot.
It finally twitched an ear and snorted, but continued to chew. Even that minute of a response was progress, and she smiled, pleased, but was disappointed to discover it had merely detected Ruan’s return.
“Ye have to be firm with a horse, mo ceisd,” he said, reining to stop beside her and reaching over to cup his hand over hers.
Bree blushed furiously, feeling out of depth. His touch felt like fire. “She is ignoring me,” she managed to mumble, refusing to meet his eyes.
“The more fool she,” he squeezed her hand softly before leaning back to swat the beast on the rump.
The horse lurched forward, flattening her ears, but dutifully trotted as long as Ruan rode behind to prod her forward. They joined the others, and Ruan again took the lead forging ahead to scout the road, but never straying far.
As soon as Ruan left their company, the mare sauntered to a stop. Bree prodded the animal in vain, but there was no doubt it was a creature of the most perverse nature. It had known from the start exactly who was in charge. As long as Ruan remained out of sight, it frolicked down the road enjoying its freedom to the fullest, prancing where it willed and helping itself to every tasty tidbit to be found, whether it grew on the next hill or in the opposite direction. As time wore on, it began to scratch its back against the trees, though Bree was certain its true intention was to rid itself of the nuisance of a rider.
It began to rain, in earnest.
Isobel and Merry offered advice, but when Ruan returned late in the afternoon, she was on the verge of tears. The mare had wandered into a thicket on the steep side of the hill, nearly scrapping Bree off into the middle of a gnarly tree. She held up her arms, protecting her face from the branches whipping past but more to cover her eyes from the precipice plunging beneath her only a short distance away. She was certain the beast was now plotting the best way to kill her.
“She thinks she is a mountain goat!” Merry’s chirping laugh rang in the drizzling rain.
Bree shut her eyes tightly as the horse continued its perilous climb.
“Just hold on, lass,” Ruan called out gently, a decided note of amusement in his voice. In moments, he’d joined her to extricate the beast from its precarious location, taking the reins from her cold fingers, and tying them to his saddle.
Once on level ground, Bree allowed her eyes to open. She glared at the horse, wondering how she could possibly devise a suitable punishment for the beast.
It serenely ignored her.
Isobel eyed the grey clouds grimly, talking of snow.
“Inchmurrin is a fair distance,” Ruan said. “We still have far to ride this day.”
Isobel groaned, refusing to budge. “’Tis too wet, lad, and even though ye care nae to remember it, yer wound is nae fully healed.”
Bree huddled in her wet plaid, ignoring their conversation as their voices rose and fell.
Finally, Ruan sighed. “Ach, we’ll go just to the hill, though we should press on to the village.”
“Nae if we catch our deaths getting there!” Isobel grumbled.
They forged on, and as darkness fell, stopped before the shadowy shape of an abandoned croft. Only a small portion of the roof remained.
Bree slid wearily from the saddle, stiff, sore and barely able to move.
She was entirely unprepared for the sharp hoof lashing out, planting itself squarely on her shin. She pitched forward, sprawling in the mud, gasping in pain to lie where she was, thoroughly wet and ears aching.
Ruan’s strong arms lifted her to her feet, and then her temper flared.
Shaking free of his grasp, she tripped over her wet skirts to stand in front of the obstinate mare and began to shout. The beast’s ears flattened as she informed it of its black heart and the fact it was only fit to be fed upon or worse. She racked her brain, thinking of all the uses for horseflesh, ranging from simple hides to boots, at times hopping on one leg as pain radiated through the other, shouting until her voice grew hoarse.
Gradually, she became aware of Merry laughing, and then Ruan slipped his arm around her waist, and half carried her into the derelict building.
“Ye forgot armor,” Merry said with a giggle. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten horse, what does it taste like, Ruan?”
&nbs
p; “I’ve never eaten one, my Merry wee lass.”
Bree could hear the smile in his voice. “That horse is evil!” she said, voice trembling.
“Aye, she is uncommon creative,” Ruan said with a chuckle, holding her close in the darkness longer than necessary before letting her go. "I'll find something to burn."
It took some doing, but a fire finally sputtered, casting an eerie light upon the black stones. Isobel doled out more oatcakes and herring, but Bree stared at hers with little appetite. She sat by the fire, watching the steam rise from her plaid as it dried.
When Ruan returned with the fourth armload of wood, Isobel insisted it was enough.
“We’ll nae need more than that, love. Sit before ye catch ill!” She fussed with worry.
It had been an exhausting day, in all respects, but Bree was entirely sure she wouldn’t rest if Ruan chose to sleep next to her. Everything seemed to be changing between them. She wanted to drive him away and throw herself in his arms at the same time. It was confusing.
Accepting his bannocks and herring, he joined her by the fire, stretching out at her side. As his thigh brushed hers, she stiffened, but he didn’t move away and oddly, she didn’t, either. To slow her rapid pulse, she focused her attention on Merry; the child had fallen asleep with her head resting in Bree’s lap. Gently, she smoothed her raven locks as Merry smiled in her sleep.
No one spoke; they simply listened to the fire crackle and hiss at the occasional raindrop seeping through the damaged roof.
Time passed, and as the temperature plunged, Bree’s ears began to ring. As her chin drooped in exhaustion, she felt Ruan’s gentle hands pulling her down to rest her head on his warm shoulder. His voice rumbled comfortingly beneath her ear.
She fell asleep, feeling warm and safe.
The dawn was cold, but dry, as Merry jumped to her feet, waking them all with, “Ruan, can I ride the horse, please?”
Bree opened her eyes as the warmth beneath her cheek heaved.
“Ach, Merry,” Ruan groaned, sitting up slowly. “Can ye at least wait until the sun rises?”
