by Aileen Adams
Though he had done more than his share of thinking on the matter all through the night, and his own feelings on the journey were more than a bit muddied.
Drew emerged from the inn, barely favoring any of them with a grunt before mounting. He had spent the night with his face in a cask of ale from the smell of it, not to mention the surly look about him and the bleary, red-rimmed eyes.
At any other time, Rufus would have made a point of bringing attention to his condition. He might have taunted him, spoken loudly, described any sort of foulness simply to enjoy watching his cousin turn green.
Now, he simply nodded in greeting and did what he could to ignore the man.
Was this what they had come to? With Kenneth gone, never to return, Drew was indeed the closest thing Rufus had to a brother. While they may have fought over the years—sometimes using fists, sometimes even handier weapons—they had never sat in stony silence.
The reason for the rift between them emerged moments later, looking refreshed and more lovely than she ever had. It was as if the sun had just broken out from behind the clouds, and Rufus detested himself for the way his pulse sped up at the sight of her.
“Ye slept well, then,” he observed, helping her into the saddle before swinging up behind her with a reminder to himself to keep his distance.
The memory of her enticing form in a soaked linen sheet, hair dripping on her bare skin, had haunted him once he’d closed his eyes and attempted to sleep. Sleep had been a long time coming thanks to her.
Not that he would have missed the sight of her for anything in the world.
Still, he’d had a difficult enough time of controlling his body when he was half-dead of exhaustion had had not yet intruded upon her bath. Now? He might do very well to wad up a cloak and wedge it between them.
“I did sleep very well,” she smiled, a charming breathlessness about her. “And ye?”
“Well enough.” He wondered what she would think if she knew how much of his sleep had been sacrificed to images of her.
They set off, riding northwest, no more than three days from home. It was home, after all, even if Kenneth did not believe so anymore. He would make it so. He would reclaim the land and everything on it for Clan MacIntosh.
For was that not what he was meant to do?
He pondered this throughout the morning, keeping to himself even when the others spoke. Drew remained mostly silent as well, leaving Rufus to wonder what went on in his head. What was he thinking?
Who was he blaming?
The answer came at an unexpected moment, when they’d stopped to rest themselves and the horses around midday. All except for Drew, who remained in the saddle.
Rufus went to him, glancing at the others while doing so. Clyde stayed near Davina’s side, as he’d taken to doing, while Alec and Tyrone set about skinning fresh hare and muttered good-naturedly about how they would miss the stew they had only just enjoyed last night.
“What is it?” Rufus asked his cousin, one hand on the gelding’s neck. He patted it, prepared to grasp the reins in an instant should Drew take it into his mind to ride off.
“I’m leavin’ ye.” There was no preamble, no argument offered. Simply the announcement that he would take his leave.
Rufus told himself he had been expecting this, though that did nothing to ease the bitter sting of betrayal. It was natural, or so he told himself, to feel as though his cousin had betrayed him. “We were in this together,” he reminded Drew, straining to hold his emotions in check before exploding in a mixture of rage and disappointment.
“Och, we were, but that has changed, and ye know it even if ye dinna wish to admit it. This is no longer a matter of ye wishing for revenge on the man who killed your mam and da. Ye think more of her than ye do of them, and I canna hang about and watch it happen another minute longer.”
“I wish ye didna see it that way. I dinna understand what ye mean. I still intend on killing that bastard, and I intend to take back the land and the house and everything he took from my family.”
“Are ye certain?” Drew jerked his head in Davina’s direction, where she sat beside Clyde. The two of them spoke quietly together, with Clyde’s mouth twitching in the closest thing to a smile Rufus had seen from the man yet.
“Why would I not be? She has nothing to do with it.”
“Nay?” Drew leaned down, eyes narrowed, smirking. “Then why did ye allow Ronald to get away without payin’ for what he did?”
Rufus searched for a response, but there was none to offer, and they both knew it.
Drew straightened with a sigh. “Just as I thought. Ye allow the lass to tell ye what to do without even knowing ye do it. I suppose I canna blame ye. She isn’t entirely a bad sort.”
“Ye used to get along with her. I believed ye liked her more than I did.”
“Perhaps I did, at first, before she twisted ye up inside and turned ye into someone I hardly know.”
“Ye know me, man.”
“I did once.” Drew backed the horse away, out of Rufus’s reach, then turned north. “Good luck to ye, cousin. I hope ye give Ian MacFarland everything he deserves and more. But forgive me if I canna risk watchin’ ye fold like a cowardly woman before him, all because his sister does not wish for him to die.”
“Any other man would die for saying that,” Rufus called out to his retreating form.
“I dinna believe ye,” Drew replied over his shoulder, chuckling in his customary manner. “Ye say it, but I dinna believe it. Not when there’s a MacFarland roaming free this very day.”
Rufus watched him leave, wishing he would stay and knowing there was nothing to be done to make it so. Drew would go his own way. He always had. A man could not be forced to stay where he did not wish to be, or to witness that with which he did not agree.
No matter how much others might wish for him to.
“Where is he going?” Tyrone joined him, staring off to where Drew had just disappeared around a bend in the road. No more than a footpath, truly, but Rufus knew it would widen into a proper road before long. Where it would lead his cousin was anyone’s guess.
“Away,” Rufus told him. “Away from us. I dinna know where. He no longer wishes to be part of this.”
Tyrone’s face flushed deep red, verging on violet. “Coward!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the trees, sending birds into the air with a great rush of wings.
“Nay, nay,” Rufus murmured, taking his friend’s shoulder and leading him away. “Though I believe there is something the rest of us need to speak of before we continue on. I will not have any secrets or resentments plaguing us. We must act as one now.”
“How can we go on without him?” Tyrone snarled, tendons standing out on his neck, the muscles beneath Rufus’s hand bunched and strained.
“We can and we will,” Rufus assured him while assuring himself. The truth was, their numbers were part of their strength. Five men riding to his ancestral home were more powerful than four, no matter how few men waited for them there.
He had seen leaders in battle who must have known the odds were against them, yet who had led their men bravely, with conviction. That was what made a true leader, he supposed. Standing before one’s men and telling them the battle would be won even if the truth was much grimmer.
“Where is Drew?” Alec asked, wiping his hands as he stood over the small fire which roasted their dinner.
He could not help looking to Davina for a brief moment before explaining. “He is going his own way. He decided he ought not be with us now.”
She spoke first. “Because of me. He left because of me. I knew I ought not have stayed.”
“Ye have no choice in the matter,” Rufus growled, then immediately regretted both the tone and his words. He tried to explain, “Ye are still our captive, remember. I dinna recall telling ye to go.”
“He blames ye for not killing Ronald. I knew it.” Alec slammed one fist into the other palm. “He wanted the man’s blood. He could all but taste it.�
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“The killing of the man was not for him to decide,” Rufus reminded all of them. “It was for me. This is my fight. I called upon ye because William told me ye were the best, that if I wished for vengeance and to restore things to their proper place, I ought to bring ye along. Yet I will not ask ye to fight alongside me if ye no longer believe in me. Ye are free men, able to come and go as ye please. I will not hold ye here.”
“Fine words,” Tyrone snorted.
“I mean them. Ye are free to go, if ye please. I would not have a bunch of half-hearted men fighting alongside me for anything in the world. I would rather fight on my own if it came to that.”
“Aye, and I believe ye would.” Tyrone clapped him on the shoulder, now smiling. “I’m with ye, as I have always been. Not for the gold ye promised, but because I wish to see things set to right.”
“Aye, the same goes for me,” Alec agreed with a firm nod.
“And for me,” Clyde added, standing. It still came as a surprise at times just how much larger he was than the rest of them, and they were all rather large men. “I lost my woman, my bairns. Lost ‘em to men like Ian.”
Rufus stared at him, speechless. This was unexpected. Tyrone and Alec gaped at him as well. Only Davina spoke. “What were their names?”
The man’s eyes widened as if in surprise. Had no one ever asked him? Perhaps not, if he rarely spoke of it—or at all. “My wife was Janet. We had a son, Neill, and a wee daughter named Maggie.”
He sat down with a thud, staring into the fire. “Tis important, ye ken, to punish those who would kill the innocent. My family was innocent. As was yours,” he added, glancing at Rufus before returning to the fire.
Davin sat beside him, placing a hand over his. Were the moment not so serious, the sight of her small hand against his large one might have inspired snickers. She may as well have been a child.
It occurred to him that Clyde looked at the lass as a daughter. All along, he’d suspected the man held a different sort of feeling toward her. It would explain his protective nature, after all. Instead, he protected her in place of those he had not been able to save.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, touching her forehead to his arm. They sat that way for a while, the only sounds coming from the flickering fire, the flare-up when juices from the rabbit struck the flames. What was there to say?
Rufus knew he could count on those seated around him, and that would need to be enough.
25
Inverness was the final resting place before reaching Rufus’s home. Or what had been his home. What would again be his home.
They arrived at nightfall, coming to a stop before reaching the town. Lights glowed in the distance, a hundred lanterns and fires shining through windows. The promise of hot food and a warm, soft bed. Or at least a bed more comfortable than cold, hard earth.
“I would rather not continue on,” he explained as he dismounted. “The house is no more than two hours’ ride from town. Someone could easily warn Ian we’re closing in.”
While she did not need his assistance in leaving the saddle, Davina accepted his hands at her waist without protest. Strong hands, holding and lifting her with ease. They brought to mind memories of the day they’d almost drowned together. Of his boldness and bravery, his lips on her forehead as he vowed to keep her alive.
And he had. She had not died that day, thanks to him.
With her feet on the ground and her hands on his shoulders, she looked up into eyes which seemed to study her. He was too close, to be sure, the heat of his body seeping into her tunic, yet he did not back away. Nor did she.
His jaw worked, tightening, muscles twitching in his cheek as he struggled with something. What was it? Whether he ought to touch her this way, his hands still holding her? Whether he ought to do more than simply stand there? Whether he ought to kiss her?
She gulped. Yes, he should kiss her. She sent him a silent affirmation with her gaze, lowering her lids. It would not take long, would it? A second, no more. Long enough to satisfy her curiosity, for she had for days wondered what he tasted like.
His lips parted, and her mouth went dry at the sudden, startling realization that yes, he was going to kiss her, she would finally have the chance to give in to what she had never dreamed of wanting from him…
“I’ll water the horses,” he announced, releasing her. She swayed in place, off-balance both in body and spirit.
Instead of brooding, she found the nearest tree and took care of her needs behind it, all the while cursing herself for looking like a fool. There was no one to blame but herself, all but panting over the man like a female canine in heat.
But their time together was drawing to a close. Everything seemed more urgent. Important. The last chance at… something. What was that something? Making him fall in love with her?
Impossible, and ill-conceived at best. He would never love her.
She was not even sure that she loved him. Sometimes, whether or not she liked the man was a question worth pondering. He was disagreeable, stubborn, full of himself.
Handsome. Brave. Strong. Clever and even amusing when the mood struck him.
Why did he have to be a MacIntosh?
There was a stream nearby which she supposed flowed out of Moray Firth. They would arrive in the morning. What would happen then? Would he leave her beyond the walls lining his land? Tell her not to come nearer? Did he expect her to stand idly by, her heart in her throat and her stomach in knots, waiting to know whether he’d made it out alive?
Did he intend to bring her along at all?
The fact that he was there at the stream, alone save for the horses, gave her the courage to ask.
“What’s to become of me, then?” She knelt by the water’s edge, making a show of splashing her face so as to avoid looking at him. The water cooled her flush of embarrassment, and she ran her hands over the back of her neck to cool that as well.
How she had not burned up in his presence was a mystery.
“What do ye believe ought to become of ye?” he asked.
“I could not say. I have been your captive for so long, I know not what to do with myself now.”
He snorted. “Och, lass, ye have not been my captive for lo these many days, and ye know it as well as I.”
“What does that mean?” She ventured a look his way, wishing the trees did not crowd in on all sides and shade his face as they did. There was no seeing whether he meant what he said when she could not see his eyes, his mouth. Was he smiling? His voice did not give it away.
“I suppose I stopped thinking of ye as a captive a long time ago. That is what I meant. We stopped behaving as we did at first, have we not?”
“Aye. That is true. Why have I never been allowed my own horse, then?” she challenged. “Why, if I was not your captive, did I need to ride with ye?”
“I did not say I trusted ye entirely,” he snorted. “Merely that I no longer felt the need to bind ye or snarl at ye as I did before. And ye have not shown the sharp side of your tongue nearly as much as ye first did. Besides,” he added, and his voice lowered with new meaning, “it was rather pleasant. Riding with ye, I mean.”
Her skin flushed hotter than ever, the pounding of her heart nearly enough to make her sick. She feared she might fall into the stream face-first if she did not get a hold of herself. The memory of his sculpted body, fresh from the river, mingled with that of his arms around her and his eyes upon her linen-wrapped form. Yes, it had been pleasant to ride with him, his firm chest at her back, his thick arms on either side. Cradled between his muscular thighs…
“Ye dinna share my opinion,” he murmured when she remained silent.
“Och, nay, nay,” she whispered, shaking her head before once again applying cold water to her burning skin. Her entire body held a heat she had never known, as though she’d lingered too close to a blazing fire and singed herself. Only the heat came from within rather than without, starting at her core and spreading through her like she was nothin
g more than dry kindling.
“Ye do share it, then?”
“I do,” was her tart reply on hearing the teasing note in his voice. “And I would have let ye know otherwise.”
“Aye, lass. I’ve no doubt ye would.”
She watched from the corner of her eye as he hobbled the last of the horses, leaving them to chew happily on thick, rich grass growing near the stream. She could barely breathe. He was coming closer. What should she do? What would he do?
“Davina.” There it was again. The way he spoke her name. Touching her without placing a hand on her body. Caressing her, stroking her, leaving her breathless and wanting more. All by merely saying her name.
She stood, legs shaking. “Rufus?”
“I must confess something to ye. I—I have never said anything of this nature before, and I dinna know how well I shall manage it. I hope ye dinna think less of me because of it.”
Was it true? Could it be? Because oh, she loved him. She’d loved him ever since the day at the river when he saved her, risking his life for hers. When she had come to on the riverbank and gazed up into his face, all mud-covered and relaxed in exhausted sleep. She had begun to love him then, and that love had grown when he awoke so weak. Needing her as she had needed him. Leaning into her, trusting her to keep his secret on the ride to Killiecrankie.
“Ye can tell me anything ye wish,” she whispered over the lump in her throat. Never in all her years had she dreamed of this happening to her. Finding love, and with one such as the man standing before her. The sort of man she’d never known existed.
She could just make out his face in the darkness, the shape of his shoulders and arms. Memory filled in the rest, for she had memorized every bit of him long since. Would he reach out? She steadied herself, bracing for his touch.
“I—I dinna know what to do, now that Kenneth is no longer here to take his rightful place.”
Never had she fallen from the dizzying heights of joy so quickly. “I see,” she whispered, straining to conceal her disappointment. Once again, she’d allowed him to mislead her, though this was no fault of his own.
