The Rogue

by Allison Butler

  The horse’s hooves crashed back down onto solid ground. Her gaze flicked up to Rory’s face. He was tiring. She could see it by the strain creasing the flesh beside his mouth and hear it in his laboured breaths. She needed to hurry.

  She eyed the bridle about the horse’s head. If she could reach it without being trampled, she could hold the horse still while Rory dismounted.

  ‘Stay back, lass,’ Rory shouted.

  Keila ignored him, focusing on the bridle. She lifted her arms only half as high as she had before and started forward. ‘Shh, I won’t h—’

  Large hands caught her about her middle, cutting off her words and eliciting a high-pitched ‘oh’ instead.

  ‘Nae a good idea, Keila,’ the injured stranger said in her ear. He lifted her with ease and set her behind him.

  Shivers rushed from where his warm breath tickled her ear right down to where his large palms released her waist. She stared at his broad back as he advanced toward the rearing horse. Bonny saints. Now she had two men to worry about. She wanted to tell him to be careful, but didn’t want to further agitate the horse. The horse might be his, but it seemed too scared to listen to anyone. He was already injured and his body hadn’t yet had the chance to begin healing. If the—

  ‘Rest easy, lass,’ Moira said, stepping up beside her and clasping her forearm.

  Keila lips firmed atop each other. ‘I told him to stay inside.’

  ‘I asked him to help.’ Keila frowned, and although she wanted to look at Moira, she couldn’t look away from the stranger walking toward the agitated horse. ‘I thought you might need help saving the silly old fool.’

  Keila’s gaze slid up to Rory’s ashen face. ‘If he’s come to help, he needs to do so now.’ The determination on Rory’s face had slipped and his expression now appeared worn. He wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. Hurry, please.

  ‘Stop your worrying, Keila. They’ll both be fine.’

  ‘He’s already hurt.’

  ‘He lifted you without any hardship.’

  The skin at her sides still tingled from his touch. Aye, he had. Stronger than you look, he’d said of her when she’d helped to steady him. Perhaps his injuries were less painful than they looked.

  His hands reached out toward the horse and he spoke in a soothing tone, but the words were lost to her in the fray.

  The horse ceased rearing, but a fearful look still glinted in its large eyes and it sucked in rapid snorting breaths through its nose, as if it couldn’t find enough air. The same powerful hands that had settled about her waist and moved her behind him now held the leather bridle and gently stroked down the length of the animal’s nose.

  ‘Shh. Now would be a good time to dismount,’ he said, speaking in the same soothing tone as he spoke to Rory.

  Rory made good use of the horse’s change in demeanour by jumping from the saddle to the ground with a guttural grunt.

  Keila wanted to rush to his side to ensure he was alright, but not wanting to scare the horse again, she remained where she was and beckoned the elderly man with her hands. Her eyes darted between Rory and the horse, but the moment Rory was within arm’s reach, her attention fixed on him. She closed the small space between them and grasped one cold hand. ‘Are you hurt, Rory?’ She curled one arm around his back.

  Rory gave her fingers a slight squeeze. ‘Nae, lass. Just glad to be standing on God’s blessed ground.’ His face still looked ashen.

  ‘A man of your age shouldn’t be anywhere but on the ground, else you’ll find yourself beneath it,’ Moira mumbled loud enough for both her and Rory to hear.

  ‘Keila lass, did I mention I thought the beast had a temper to rival Moira’s, but now …’

  ‘Aye, and well you should remember it, you old fo—’

  ‘Now you’ve let each other know how worried you both were, let’s get you inside, Rory,’ Keila said, steering them between the stable and ale shed toward the back of the house.

  ‘What of the lad and the horse?’ Rory asked looking back.

  Keila turned in time to see the horse lower its dark head and rub it against the injured stranger’s chest. The sight warmed her own. ‘They’ll be fine, Rory.’ She turned back and was pleased to see colour returning to Rory’s cheeks. ‘Let’s get you inside.’

  ***

  Adair stroked his mount’s neck and looked into his nervous brown eyes. Demon didn’t like anyone to ride him except Adair. No one else ever had. ‘’Tis good to see you, lad,’ he said softly. It was also a relief the old man hadn’t been hurt or killed.

  Dair shifted slightly so he could see where his host and her companions were. They’d just reached the back door leading into the kitchen, and he watched all three disappear inside. The tension tightening his gut at giving himself away at the sight of his horse eased. But the concern pinching a particularly painful nerve at the base of neck at the sight of Keila walking toward Demon’s deadly hooves continued to needle and prick.

  Although he’d reached her in time and set her behind him out of harm’s way, the thought of what might have happened to her turned his gut and the food he’d recently eaten along with it.

  She was safe. Nae one was harmed.

  His next breath was too deep and long and caused him to catch his breath. He exhaled slowly between his teeth until the piercing pain about his ribs eased.

  Demon’s dark coat ran smooth and warm beneath his hand. He hadn’t lost his mount, as he’d believed, but his relief was shadowed by confusion. Adair searched his surroundings and his gaze settled on the cluster of large Scots pines a short distance from where he stood. If the attack had been to rob him, why hadn’t they taken Demon or the sack of his belongings secured to his saddle? Why hadn’t they removed his dirk from its leather sheath? Or had they captured Demon and his loyal mount had escaped them? Or had they tried, but leaving Demon untethered as he always did, given his mount time to flee along with Adair’s belongings? How had the old man ended up with him, and who was he?

  He slid the dirk from its saddle sheath and slipped it into his boot. Catching up the dangling reins, he turned his horse about and led him to the larger of the two outbuildings and opened one of the double doors. Dawn’s light lit upon a cart a small way within and several stalls to the left. He led Demon inside to the empty stall closest to the entrance and released the reins. ‘Rest and mind your manners, lad,’ Dair said glancing at the two pairs of curious eyes peering at them from the third stall. He lifted a pail of water and set it beside the small trough of oats inside the open stall, and with a final stroke the length of Demon’s black nose, he headed for the house.

  As he neared the door they’d all disappeared through, a wave of relief washed through him for pretending to not remember who he was. Was the old man part of the attack? Were all three involved in some way? They seemed to share a close bond, which for Dair meant that if one was involved then all of them were. Until he uncovered more about each of them and who had attacked him, he’d go on with his ruse of forgetting who he was.

  He reached the door, and without thinking he paused to knock. He stood and stared at the wooden panel, wondering if he should have simply walked inside. The door opened, and through swollen eyes he searched Moira’s face. Her expression appeared to be a thoughtful one as she looked at him for long moments before asking him in. ‘Come.’

  Adair entered the kitchen and found Keila pushing a wooden cup into the older man’s weathered hand. They both looked up at his entrance.

  ‘’Tis good to see ye’re whole and hearty, lad.’ The grey-haired man lifted his cup. ‘What’s yer name?’

  Dair stared at the older man and then sent his gaze on to both the women watching the exchange.

  ‘I only ask so I can thank ye for saving my hide.’

  ‘He has nae memory of his name, Rory,’ Keila said into the stretching silence.

  This was Rory? This was the man who’d found him on Keila’s doorstep? This was the man Dair had worried over?

  �
�Then it seems we have done each other a favour,’ Adair said, but Rory only frowned. ‘Keila told me it was you who found me knocked senseless three days ago.’

  Rory’s frown cleared slightly. ‘Well then, here’s to returned favours.’ He drank from the cup and lowered it. ‘And don’t worry about not remembering yer name. I forget things all the time.’ A small grin split his face. ‘It’ll come to ye, lad. Give it time.’

  Dair couldn’t help but take an instant liking to Rory.

  ‘You still have your meal to finish,’ Moira said, reminding him he’d left it unfinished at her bidding.

  Even though he’d lost his appetite, he returned to his seat and sat down beside Rory.

  ‘Where is the beast, lad?’

  Dair lifted the cup Keila had just refilled before him. ‘I put him in the stable.’ He took a drink and swallowed the ale.

  ‘I’m just relieved you weren’t hurt, Rory,’ Keila said, filling the older man’s cup from a second jug.

  ‘Nae more relieved than I, lass.’ He drank again and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘But I cannae remember the last time I rode a horse. Or had so much fun.’ He grinned and took another drink as if toasting his success.

  Moira scoffed and looked up from the carrot she was drying. ‘I can’t be sure if it was the sound of galloping hooves that woke me or you screaming like a lassie.’

  ‘Ah, Moira, ye have a grand sense of mirth,’ Rory said with a bigger grin.

  Dair looked to Keila and saw a small smile light her bonny face.

  ‘I looked out my window and saw the simpleton trying to tame the beast,’ Moira said, slowly shaking her head. ‘I came downstairs and found your guest hovering about the kitchen.’ Keila’s gaze left the older woman and found him. Dair returned her direct look. ‘I asked him to help the old fool,’ Moira finished.

  Keila stared at him a moment more before her gaze dropped to the carrots she was arranging in a wooden box.

  ‘Ah, so it’s my gratitude ye want, Moira?’ Rory said, with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘You know where you can put your gratitude, Rory,’ Moira said.

  ‘The same place ye’ve suggested I put it many times before,’ Rory said with a chuckle. ‘Ah, lass, ye wound me.’ He turned to Adair. ‘Enough of me. We need to give the lad a name until he remembers his own.’

  ‘I can think of a few fitting names in the meantime,’ Moira volunteered quietly.

  Dair looked across the trestle at her, wondering if she were thinking of the chamber pot she’d emptied for him or finding him eavesdropping by the window.

  ‘I think I’ll call ye Mac,’ Rory said quietly.

  Moira’s gaze left Dair and went straight to Rory, as did Adair’s. The old man sat beside him, searching his battered face, all trace of mirth gone from his. Adair was aware that Mac was son of. Something fierce and sharp sliced crossways inside Adair’s chest. He was someone’s son, but didn’t know who had fathered him. And from the sorrowful expression Rory now wore, it appeared the older man either shared Dair’s lack of knowledge regarding who his father was or else Rory had had a son and lost him.

  ‘Aye, Mac suits ye,’ Rory said, confirming his choice before the women offered a single name.

  ‘A good choice, Rory,’ Adair said. ‘My thanks.’ He looked away from the older man and drank from his cup. But a lump of unwanted emotion had taken hold in his throat and he couldn’t swallow past it immediately. He looked down at his trencher and stared at the remaining piece of cheese and heel of bread, knowing he’d have no chance of swallowing either down at this moment. He looked up. A mistake, as his swollen gaze collided with Keila’s green eyes.

  Sadness swam in the emerald depths, but he glimpsed something else he couldn’t name. She broke their locked gazes and peered down at the carrot in her hand. ‘Aye, a good choice, Rory. Mac it is.’

  The need to shift both his focus and that of those within the room prompted Adair to speak. ‘The horse you were riding is mine, Rory. His name is Demon.’

  ‘Your horse’s name is Demon?’ Keila said.

  ‘Aye. You sound surprised.’

  ‘You spoke the name aloud moments before you woke. I thought …’

  ‘You remember the beast’s name,’ Moira interrupted. ‘Yet don’t ken your own?’

  ‘’Tis good you’ve remembered something,’ Keila said, frowning at Moira.

  ‘Aye, Mac,’ Rory agreed. ‘It’s a start, lad. I had to bring yer horse back here as my Netti doesnae like them. Fell off one years gone and never walked again,’ Rory said, slowly shaking his head.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Rory. I hope Demon didn’t frighten her more.’

  ‘Ach, Netti does well enough, Mac. She keeps herself busy baking and weaves her baskets and the lassies here sell them at market. I’m just well-pleased bringing him back helped ye remember something.’

  ‘Who brought who back?’ Moira mumbled.

  The older man straightened on his stool. ‘Aye, well. Demon’s a smart one for he knew where to find ye, Mac. I’m sure ye could mount the beast and he’d likely take ye home.’

  ‘That’s the first clever idea you’ve ever had, Rory,’ Moira said, collecting something from a timber shelf on the wall and offering whatever it was to Adair. ‘This was inside your vest. You should have it now, in case you take Rory’s grand idea to heart and leave.’

  Dair looked at the small leather pouch Moira placed on his palm. It was still filled with coins. The realisation dulled the sting from the dragon’s wish to see him gone. Whoever had attacked him hadn’t beaten him to steal his money. His fingers curled over the coins. ‘My thanks for washing my clothes, Moira.’

  The older woman gave him a regal nod and turned to the younger woman she was protecting. ‘It’s time you got some sleep, Keila.’

  Keila looked from him to Moira, the dark circles of fatigue beneath her eyes having no impact on her beauty.

  ‘Aye,’ she said wiping her hands on the cloth. ‘But only for a few hours.’

  Adair wondered if her lack of sleep hit her with a brutal force now she knew Rory had survived his mishap.

  ‘Aye, lass,’ Moira said.

  ‘And you’ll wake me if you need me?’

  ‘Of course, lass,’ Moira replied.

  ‘Sleep well, Keila,’ Rory added.

  Aye, rest well, Keila, Adair wanted to say but thought it best to simply offer her a nod.

  ‘There is still much to do,’ Keila said, heading for the inner door.

  ‘And we’ll manage well enough until you wake,’ Moira added. ‘Now go.’

  ‘I’ll see you all soon,’ Keila said, and disappeared into the other room.

  ‘She looked ready to fall asleep on her feet,’ Rory said.

  ‘Aye,’ Moira agreed. ‘She was up all night preparing the ale, but she’ll be fine with a few hours of sleep.’

  ‘What’s left to do?’ Rory asked.

  ‘There’s much to be done, and only today and tomorrow to see it finished.’

  Dair needed answers but knew he’d not get them all at once. Even if Keila hadn’t mentioned that Moira didn’t trust easily, he’d figured it out. He needed to earn her trust or else he knew she’d tell him naught. Rory, on the other hand, would be freer when it came to giving information away. Adair loathed the thought of taking advantage of the older man’s self-confession about forgetting things, but he consoled his guilt by telling himself he needed to find out who had beaten him and why.

  With the return of his coin, he now knew the attack wasn’t a robbery and he’d also discovered the closest inn was a full day’s ride away. Surely too far to just happen upon Keila’s doorstep. The more he learned, the more he felt the attack on him wasn’t random, but personal. And whoever it was either wanted him dead or close to it.

  He rose from his seat and met Moira’s wary gaze. ‘What can I do to help?’

  Chapter 6

  Keila slowly drifted from the deep nothingness of sleep to wakefulnes
s, the smell of vegetable broth scenting the air. Her stomach rumbled. She raised her arms above her head until her knuckles brushed her timber headboard, and lengthened her body into the most satisfying stretch she’d ever experienced. Her last sleep had been in the chair she’d moved to the healing room doorway and seemed like a lifetime ago. Her bed, while not fancy, was much more comfortable.

  Blinking her eyes open, she caught glimpses of the long shadows painting the walls of her small room and her mind conjured an image of Mac leaning against the kitchen doorway. Before she’d returned his clothes. A smile hovered about her mouth. Had he managed to find some sleep too? The thought of him sleeping in the healing room, his long body stretched out on his pallet beneath where she now lay, set her cheeks aglow.

  Long shadows? Her eyes snapped open and she bolted upright in her bed. Her gaze flew to the window on the far side of the room on the opposite wall. Muted light filled the slim gaps around the shutter’s closed edges.

  Just bonny! She’d climbed the stairs to bed early this morn and slept most of the day away. Regret tightened her belly. She still had so much to do.

  She tossed back the heavy coverlet and threw her feet over the edge of the bed to the cool timber floor.

  ‘I was coming to wake you.’

  Keila turned to the narrow stairway beside the window and watched Moira walk toward her. ‘Now, when the day is all but over.’

  ‘Aye.’ Moira pursed her lips. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’ She held out the wooden cup she carried. ‘Nae sleep will only make you ill and I haven’t the time to care for you. There’s too much to do.’

  It took Keila a moment to ease her frown before she accepted the warmed ale along with Moira’s explanation. ‘Thank you.’ She had been tired. ‘How is Rory?’

  The effort it had taken Rory to keep his seat while the horse bucked and jumped about would be taxing on anyone’s body, and Rory wasn’t a young man.