by Aileen Adams
He very rarely did much to gain trust or respect, if she recalled correctly. Time had not changed him.
She could not resist. “You’re one to talk about what a man does to a woman, Ewan Ross. Do not tell me that group of yours roams the countryside in search of riders in need of assistance.”
Donnan snorted but tried unsuccessfully to hide it with a cough.
Ewan’s gaze remained on the road as he said, “I never bring harm to the women.”
“Ye do not believe that what you do brings harm?” she challenged. “I know that if I were traveling alone, or even in the company of a man who does not enjoy a fight in which he is outnumbered, I would find it quite harmful if ye were to relieve me of my possessions.”
He looked back at her. “It is none of your concern.” There was danger in his eyes.
“Nay, perhaps not, but it does bring me concern,” Donnan interrupted.
“I thought we were to speak of it later, away from her.” Ewan jerked a thumb in her direction.
“I have a name, Ewan Ross.”
“Fenella,” he replied, sounding out each letter slowly, with great deliberateness.
“The pair of ye sound like two squalling bairns,” Donnan muttered. “And I swear on my life, if either of ye blames the other one for starting the quarrel, I’ll knock your heads together.”
“Ye sound like Da.” Ewan grinned
And just like that, Donnan laughed, the anger of a moment ago forgotten.
Fenella observed grudgingly that Ewan could at least get his older brother to laugh.
15
Donnan had the sense that his brother wished to hold back the night, as night meant having to answer for what he’d done.
If Ewan thought he’d get out of doing so, he was a bigger fool than Donnan took him for.
“Do ye recall the time I said lads were better riders than lasses?” Ewan asked Fenella, the three of them seated around a fire over which they’d just roasted fresh hare.
The man had done everything but stand upon his head to get Fenella to smile—or at least to be anything warmer than civil toward him, but she was a stone wall in the face of his charm, and along the way, he tried to lure both she and his older brother into reliving old memories.
It amused Donnan greatly to watch.
She nodded, eyes on the roasted rabbit she picked pieces from with delicate fingers. “Aye. I believe I proved ye wrong that day, if memory serves.”
“Ye did not.”
“I did so, Ewan. ‘Twas ye who fell from the back of that charger of my father’s while ye were trying to show off, and ‘twas your backside your father whacked until it shone.”
Donnan burst out laughing. “That is the way it happened. I remember.”
“Ye still didna prove me wrong,” Ewan insisted.
“I proved that I was not foolish enough to ride a horse twice as large as any I had business riding,” she replied, smirking. “My Da was furious with ye for that. If Clyde Ross had not whacked ye, he would have. Ye were a devil as a lad, and that’s a fact.”
There was sourness in her voice which Ewan finally heard and understood. “Ye did not like me, then. I wanted ye to. Very much.”
He still did as well. Anyone with eyes or ears would know it.
Donnan did not take well to the way his brother looked at her. There was a light in his eyes that went beyond fond memory. He studied her, watched intently as she raised her hand to her mouth to slide in a piece of roasted meat.
This did not bode well.
To her credit, she gave Ewan no encouragement—on the contrary, any man with a bit of sense would have given up long before then. If this was how she treated Angus Cameron, no wonder the man felt compelled to strike her, as he was accustomed to having his way with women and would not have known how to behave otherwise.
Donnan tried to catch her eye more than once, but she was intent on her food and would not be swayed. When the lass took it into her head to hold a grudge, she would not let go for anything.
He had to respect that. Even if the grudge had been against him, and they still had not spoken about their argument prior to running into Ewan and his band of thieves—he would have respected the way she refused to back down.
Angus Cameron would have had a terrible time with her for a wife, he suspected.
Tossing the bones into the fire, he stood, looking down at his brother. “I wish to speak with ye now. We have much to talk about.”
Ewan swallowed hard but stood as well. “Aye. We do.”
“Please, do not go far,” Fenella requested.
As if he would desert her after what they’d been through. If it wasn’t for her requesting they work their troubles out on their own, he would not have left her at all.
As it was, they only walked down to the stream, no more than a dozen paces from the fire beside which Fenella stretched out on a blanket. He imagined she felt a great relief at having Ewan away from her and could relax for the first time since they’d met him on the road.
The fact that his brother had made her even slightly uncomfortable gave him even more to be angry about as they faced each other.
How much had he longed to say to the man? How could he make him understand what he’d done? He was not a child, he ought to know without being told.
Even so, it would give Donnan great pleasure to do the telling.
The moon was half-full, casting more than enough light on Ewan’s face. To Donnan’s surprise, he appeared amused.
“Let us have it, then.” As though this were nothing but a case of settling a misunderstanding.
“Do ye truly believe this is a matter to take lightly?” Donnan asked, unable to believe what he saw.
“I never said I took it lightly. But I know ye have plenty ye wish to say to me, so do say it. I would like to sleep tonight.”
How could he so flippant? This was not a matter of riding a man’s horse without permission. He would not get out of it with nothing more than a beating from his father, perhaps be sent to bed without supper.
Yet he behaved as though this was the same sort of trouble, as though he’d been up to a bit of mischief rather than having destroyed his father’s life.
Before he knew what he was doing, Donnan cocked his fist and landed a blow square upon his brother’s jaw.
Ewan went sprawling, his feet tangling, his body pitching backward and landing in the swiftly rushing stream.
“That is for behaving as though this doesn’t matter.” Donnan glared down at his brother. “How dare ye speak of what you’ve done in so dismissive a manner?”
Ewan shook his head as though to clear away the fog, then accepted the hand his brother offered to help him to his feet. His well-worn tunic, patched in a dozen places, spilled water on the ground when he wrung it out.
“I suppose I deserved that, which is the only reason why I did not strike back,” he warned, his voice a low growl. “Dinna think ye deserve any less.” He touched tentative fingers to his jaw, wincing upon contact with what would surely be a bruise by morning.
“What I did is nothing compared to ye,” Donnan hissed. “Ye know what ye did.”
“Aye. I know it.”
Donnan waited. When nothing further came from his brother’s lips, he said, “Ye might as well sound sorry for it.”
Ewan shrugged. “What do ye want me to say? Aye, I know I did wrong. Grievous wrong. I punish myself every day for it.”
“Ye might do a lot better facing up to the truth of what ye did, and what came from it. Instead, ye ran off and left our father to clean up after ye, as ye always have.”
“I?” Ewan laughed. “I ran off? What about ye? Ye never came home, Donnan, and we thought ye dead. Do ye know what that did to Da? What it did to me?”
“I stayed away to protect ye!”
His laughter was bitter this time, disbelieving. “Protect us from what?”
“From anyone who might come looking for me, that’s what. If I came home, even woun
ded as I was, do ye think there would have been mercy for you and Da? I was a deserter. I left before the fighting was through.”
Ewan’s face lost color, turning pearl white in the moonlight. “What are ye sayin’ to me? Ye deserted?”
“Is that not what I just said?”
“That does not sound like something ye would do.”
Donnan did not answer. Ewan stared at him, his gaze heavy, demanding an answer. “Well? What do ye have to say for yourself?”
“I dinna believe there is any reason for me to say anything to ye. I dinna know why I did it. Is that what ye want to hear? I dinna even remember the doin’ of it. What I remember is waking in a cottage, and I spent the two years between then and now in that very cottage.”
“Ye canna remember running?”
“Not at all.”
“Were ye ill?”
Donnan tilted his head to the side. “Aye. I was out of my mind with fever. That is why I dinna remember.”
“Ye weren’t responsible for what ye did, then,” Ewan announced. “And anyone would tell ye the same thing. Ye didna know what ye were doing, and besides, the war ended when the treaty was signed. We had word ye died in one of the last battles, that ye were gravely wounded and succumbed to the injury. Donnan, they thought ye died, man. Ye could have come home, where ye belonged, and no one would have been the wiser.”
Donnan hated to agree with his brother or even give a moment’s thought to anything he suggested, but he could not help admitting to himself how much sense it made. “For someone who never served, ye seem to think ye understand the way those in command think.”
“There was no longer a war to fight by the time I came of age,” Ewan murmured. “Which ye know very well. And that would have left Da alone, with no one to help him.”
“Is that what ye had in mind when ye left him alone? With your debt to make right?”
They glared at each other from beneath lowered brows, and it occurred to Donnan for a moment how alike they were.
There were ways in which they could not have been more different—many ways, most ways, but they were brothers, both raised by the same man, taken to the same gestures, the same turns of phrase.
The same way of glaring. The same stubborn nature.
“I never intended for him to be the one to pay off my debt,” Ewan sighed, sitting on a fallen log with a thump. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“How did ye think it would be paid, then?”
“I didna think about it.”
“That comes as no surprise to me,” Donnan snorted.
“I mean that. I didna think he would be the one they would come to for the money. That is the truth.” He looked up at Donnan, eyes wide. “Ye must believe me. I was afraid, I admit it. I am not proud of it. I wish it were. Otherwise, I truly do.”
Damn him. Damn his black soul to hell. For doing what he’d done, for saying what he said. For making his older brother want to believe him.
It was so easy to look down upon their father for not being harder on him, for excusing him his entire life.
Yet looking down at his brother, he saw not the grown man who’d made mistakes and wasn’t man enough to live up to the consequences.
He was a lad of ten winters, following Donnan around, mimicking everything he did. Wanting to be a man, though Donnan was hardly that himself.
Perhaps that was why he’d done the things he’d done, the things Fenella still held a grudge over. The cruel games he’d played, the devilish things he’d said.
Because he’d wanted to prove he was capable of it.
Donnan’s heart hardened. Or perhaps he was a lying thief who didn’t have it in him to be honest, to admit the truth of the things he’d done. Perhaps he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong at all.
Donnan did not know what to make of him.
He sat further along the length of the log, leaning over with his elbows on his thighs. “Da is very ill,” he murmured, staring at the ground between his feet.
“Ill? How ill?”
“He will not admit it, of course, but I believe he’s dying. I dinna think he has long to live. I left him nearly a fortnight ago, and he…” Donnan scrubbed his fingers through his hair, sighing. “He looked worse than I’ve ever seen him. Drawn, weak, a shadow of himself.”
He could not see his brother, but he heard the hitch in his breathing. “Do ye think he might already have…?”
“I could not say. But I believe…” He paused before continuing. “I believe it would be a blessing to the old man in his last days if ye would see him one more time.”
“I canna do that.”
“Ye canna be a man?” He turned his head, looking his brother in the eye. “Ye canna do this one thing for him? Just one visit?”
“What if they know I’m there?”
“Those ye owe?”
“Aye.”
He’d been waiting to tell Ewan of this—he could admit waiting as long as he had simply to make his brother suffer. “We told ye earlier about Aleck Gordon askin’ me to find Fenella. We didna tell ye how he vowed to settle the debt ye left behind, that which Da has not been able to pay.”
Ewan’s punch landed on his shoulder. “Nay, ye didna tell me!”
“I didna wish to discuss it before her,” Donnan whispered, nodding toward the fire while rubbing his shoulder. “So, ye see, there is no reason not to go and let him see ye one last time. Ye know he always favored ye.”
“I know of no such thing,” he snorted. “It seems to me ye were the favored son.”
“Because I didna give the man reason to send me to bed without supper two or three nights a week?” Donnan laughed. “It is always the more difficult child who a parent loves best. I know this. I accept it.”
Still, Ewan did not appear convinced. His dark eyes narrowed as he stared off into the woods. “I dinna know if I can face him.”
Donnan’s heart sank in disappointment. “That is between ye and yourself, I suspect.” He stood, brushing bits of pine needle from his tunic. “I need to sleep. I’ve hardly done so in days.”
“Go on, then,” Ewan offered. “I can sit up and keep watch. It is the least I can do for ye.”
“Ye want to do something for me?” Donnan asked. “Go to Da. See him. Make it right while ye can, or ye may regret not doing so.” He turned to join Fenella, then thought twice. “And leave her alone, if ye still wish to repay me.”
“Leave her alone?” Ewan snorted.
“Aye, and dinna test me, brother. I’m to take her home, keep her safe. That is how I can be certain her father will pay off your debt, and our father can go on to his reward with nothing to fear. She already had a great deal of fending off to do when she was in the presence of Angus Cameron. She does not need it from ye.”
“I dinna believe in wasting my time,” Ewan assured him with a knowing smirk. “The lass is already in love with another.”
Donnan opened his mouth to ask who, then snapped it shut. What a foolish trap to fall into. “Ye know not what you’re speaking of,” he muttered instead.
“She’s been in love with ye since we were bairns. Ye were just too daft to notice.”
“Much time has passed since then. And…” He motioned to his face, needing no words.
Ewan merely shook his head. “If ye believe her to be the type who would care about such a thing, ye never knew her. Ye dinna know her now. Stop being a fool, man.”
There was so much Donnan wished to say. He wanted to ask his brother how either of them could expect a beautiful woman to love a man whose face was in ruins. How she would ever be able to stomach the sight of him, how she would bring herself to kiss him—much less to do anything else.
Instead of voicing these worries and so many others, he simply returned to their camp and made his bed for the night.
And in the morning, it was no surprise to find his brother gone.
Fenella, however, was shocked. “How could he leave without saying go
odbye?” she demanded, fists clenched as though she would hit him if he were before her.
Donnan was almost sorry she would not have the satisfaction of doing so.
He shrugged as he went about the business of preparing to set out for the day. “We said all we had to say last night.”
And Ewan was too much of a coward to face him any longer, not when they both knew he would never return home to make amends. He did not have it in him to face what he’d done.
Donnan supposed he could understand, even if he would likely never be able to forgive. For he’d behaved like a coward, too.
And would likely never forgive himself for it.
16
If Fenella could only have one more moment with Ewan Ross, she would have struck him hard enough to turn his face inside out.
How dare he run away, again? Donnan could pretend all he wanted that it meant little, but she saw through him as she’d been able to see through people her entire life.
It pained him in some deep, secret place he tried hard to keep away from others.
He could not know how she’d listened, straining to hear what they said to each other. Her curiosity had been too much to overcome. They’d been downwind, sadly, but she’d heard a bit about their father and how Ewan ought to visit.
She supposed that was what inspired him to leave without saying a word.
There was something else she’d thought she heard, or half-heard, having to do with herself. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep and merely dreamed it.
If Ewan had truly told Donnan how she’d been in love with him when they were children, the man did not show it. He was his normal brusque self when they set out.
Then again, how did a man behave when he found out a woman was in love with him as a child? She would not know.
“He did tell his friends they would meet up in a day or two,” she reminded him in an attempt to be helpful.
He rode beside her, his hood up as it normally was, hiding his face from her. The fact that he still felt the need to hide tore her nerves to shreds. Did he not know he could trust her by now?
