The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series)

by Caine, Carmen

  Most of the men lost interest then, but Alec’s curiosity only grew. “A holy vow?” he asked. “Do ye—”

  But Ewan cut him short. “Leave the lad be,” he said, casting a wary eye about. “Into the water with ye, Alec Montgomery, and be quick now. We shouldna tarry long.”

  Flashing his customary grin, Alec launched his plaid into the water and dove after it. And for a brief moment, Merry caught a glimpse of his buttocks.

  Hastily, she averted her gaze and turned yet again, only to see Ewan’s plaid fall away leaving him grandly naked.

  “Ye can stand watch, lad,” he said, grimly staring down at her.

  She felt the tips of her ears burn, and it was fair difficult to keep her eyes focused on his face.

  “Aye,” she agreed in a gargled voice. “I’ll stand watch.”

  He turned, and she did allow her eyes to rove over him then, over his bare arms knotted with muscle, his lean hips, and honed legs.

  And with a flash of privately wicked humor, she muttered under her breath, “Aye, I’ll stand watch. ‘Tis a duty that must be endured.”

  “’Tis a pleasant shock of chill!” Alec called, flapping his hands in the river. “Ye dinna know what you’re missing by keeping to your vow, lad!”

  “Let the lad be,” Ewan warned again.

  He stood waist deep in the shallows, kneading his wide bare shoulders. The bands of muscle flexed in his arms as he splashed the water over his shoulders.

  Merry swallowed a sigh.

  The man’s every movement was filled with power and elegance, and even though the morning was quite warm, she shivered. Swiftly checking her cheeks with the back of her hands, she sighed at herself. Aye, she was blushing. ‘Twouldn’t do.

  She stood on alert then, watching for any signs of enemies as the men bathed and washed their plaids. But there was nothing, save the occasional call of a bird mingled with the men’s raucous jests and laughter.

  “My boots,” Ewan’s voice suddenly ordered.

  Casting an involuntary glance in his direction, she saw that he’d emerged from the water. With his plaid draped low on his hips and his wet shirt tight across his shoulders, he was even more seductively overpowering than before.

  “My boots,” he repeated, and pointed next to her feet. “Toss them here, aye?”

  Why was the man so keenly distracting? He was just a man. And she’d seen men with muscles before. Her eyes flitted over him, admiring the way the droplets of water ran down his shoulders, over the brawny, gleaming mass of sculpted chest.

  And then she glanced up into his eyes.

  He was observing her with an unnervingly steady gaze. “Boots?” he asked yet again, raising a brow.

  Hurriedly, she reached down and grasped the boots. Ach, his feet were large, much larger than her own.

  Ewan made a sound of impatience, causing her to fumble and a boot slipped through her fingers.

  “Do ye have butter on your fingers, lad?” Alec laughed.

  But Merry scarcely paid heed. For a moment, she was torn with the desire to tell Ewan who she truly was.

  Would he be angry?

  She glanced up, searching his face and licking her suddenly dry lips.

  His gaze dropped, lingering a moment upon her mouth, but then a moment later she saw his lips move in a ”Sweet Mary!” before he turned away, waving a dismissing hand.

  He was so cold. So removed.

  Annoyed, Merry launched a boot at his head. “Ach, but you’re an ungrateful oaf,” she snapped.

  The boot fell ridiculously short of its mark.

  “Ach, ye throw like a lass,” Alec teased.

  “The sun was in my eyes,” Merry retorted, kicking the remaining boot in Ewan’s general direction before rounding on Alec. “And do ye ever do naught but blather, ye addlepated numbskull?”

  Laughter filled the air with Alec’s among the loudest.

  But Ewan interrupted them in a cold, even tone. “’Tis time we ride. All ye break your fast and be quick about it, or ye’ll be left behind.”

  Draping his plaid over his shoulder, he pushed past them all and disappeared under the trees.

  “Uncommon cruel he is,” Alec said in jest, joining Merry to clap her companionably on the shoulder. “Let’s go, shall we, lad?”

  They returned to the camp, and after a hurried breakfast of half-burnt fish and ale—that set Merry to longing for her usual fare in Dunvegan of oatcakes, honeyed almonds, and mutton—they saddled their horses and left Sowerby Wood behind them.

  They rode hard, skirting Carlisle to the south, and for a time, saw nothing else alive save the occasional hawk in the sky. Ewan rode with ease in the saddle, pausing once or twice to either send a scout ahead or to issue a brusque command to alter course. And by midafternoon, they were turning north once more.

  Merry reveled to be once again upon Diabhul’s back with the wind ruffling her hair. Once or twice, she thought to let the black horse stretch his legs, but, in a commanding voice that sliced the air like a dagger, Ewan called her back, ordering her to stay behind the others.

  “And why do ye wish to run off anyway?” Alec asked, spying her darkened scowl.

  “There’s no harm in it,” Merry disagreed sourly.

  “Truly?” he asked, bemused. “Hard riding makes for an endless, tedious aching of the joints.”

  She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t prevent a smile. The man was charming.

  As the afternoon waned, clouds gathered, and shortly after, a steady rain began to fall. It was a cold rain, one that made Merry dream of a toasty fire and blankets aplenty and suddenly, she was more than willing to be off the back of a horse.

  For a time, they took a smaller road winding through the forest and as the rain turned into a drizzle, they stumbled upon an abandoned thatch-roofed cottage in ill repair. The thickets surrounding it were overgrown but broken near the ground, and the dirt nearby was covered in tracks. Animal tracks.

  She wasn’t the only one to take note.

  “There,” Alec pointed to the droppings and the broken branches. “‘Tis a boar. A small one from the looks of it but enough to feed us all.”

  They all looked at Ewan, hopeful.

  “Aye,” he agreed with a curt nod. “But be quick.”

  Alec didn’t need to be told twice. As one of the men tossed him a bow, several others dismounted, preparing to join the hunt.

  Merry held out her hand. A drop of rain fell on her palm. Most likely, it would be pouring soon. Sliding from Diabhul’s back, she caught up her bow and volunteered. “I’ll go with ye, Alec. ‘Twill be quicker with another archer.”

  “And you’re such a fine hunter?” he asked, his green eyes sweeping her up and down in outright disbelief. “You dinna have any strength in those feeble fists of yours.”

  “’Tis skill that is needed, ye oaf.” Merry rolled her eyes.

  “Silence!” Ewan interrupted then, motioning to his men. “We’ll break into three parties. Two hunting, the remainder stay here.”

  As Merry stepped forward to join Alec, a crash of thunder rent the air, followed by a gust of wind. And as Ewan and another fell into step beside them, the four set off in a westerly direction as the other hunting party took the opposite path.

  They’d scarcely gone more than a dozen paces when a brace of hares darted across their path. And before Alec had scarcely lifted his bow, Merry had let loose two arrows.

  “At least we’ll not return empty-handed,” Ewan said, lifting an impressed brow.

  “Good shot, lad,” Alec remarked, clearing his throat. “I didna shoot as I’m only after the boar.”

  The other man guffawed at that, and Alec merely answered with a good-natured quirk of the lips.

  They continued following the tracks for a time, pausing at intervals to listen. And then from the corner of her eye, a tan blur flashed by.

  Merry whirled, but Ewan caught her arm. “Stay your hand,” he said, “’Tis the king’s deer.”

  T
hey watched the stag bound away in silence.

  And then Merry heard it. The soft grunts of a wild boar rooting in the leaves in search of food.

  “I dinna—” Alec began.

  “Hssst!” Merry scowled, notching an arrow on the string. “Listen.”

  They strained forward, listening, but heard nothing.

  Merry sent Alec a dark look and whispered, “Let’s move to the west, but have a care, will ye? Ye make such a racket the game have all gone, most likely.”

  “I’m only breathing, ye master huntsman.” Alec bristled a bit. “Do ye want me to stop breathing?”

  Merry frowned. “If ye can manage it,” she retorted crossly. “’Twould help.”

  “God’s Blood—” he began hotly.

  But he was interrupted by a squeal as a small black boar burst out of the underbrush and charged straight at them.

  It happened quickly.

  She raised her bow and released the shaft, but the arrow shot wild as both Ewan and Alec pulled her back to safety.

  Breaking free of their protective grips, she stepped directly into the boar’s path and shot two more arrows in rapid succession.

  The boar stumbled, and then Ewan’s man drew his sword and dispatched the beast quickly.

  “Aye then,” Merry nodded in satisfaction. “’Tis a small one, but he’ll do.”

  It was then that she noticed both Alec and Ewan were still standing close at her side, their hands outstretched as if to protect her. Alec’s green eyes wide with concern, and Ewan’s brows drawn into a line. And then it struck her as oddly humorous that she had to glance up at them both. She had to look up at very few men.

  “Beside ye both, I feel strangely delicate,” she admitted with a small laugh.

  They both peered down at her then, and her breath quickened. There was no denying the attraction, and for a moment, she could have sworn that they both felt it, too.

  Alec’s light-hearted manner pulled at her heart, but Ewan’s presence seared her soul.

  But then another peal of thunder broke the silence, and Ewan stepped back.

  “Ye have a keen eye, Moridac,” he said, eyeing the dead boar with approval.

  “But not so much muscle,” Alec inserted with a grunt.

  Merry didn’t speak. She stood to the side as each man grabbed one of the boar’s legs and began to drag it back to the cottage.

  Feeling oddly subdued, Merry followed.

  The sky threatened more rain as they returned, and the waiting men greeted them with claps on the backs and a few “huzzahs”. And as Alec and another hefted the boar’s carcass over the back of a horse, the other hunting party returned empty-handed.

  They set out once again then, down the ever-dwindling road that gradually turned into a mere footpath, when finally, they arrived at the forest’s edge.

  They’d barely left the shelter of the trees before two riders crested the hill, letting out low whistles. Merry recognized them as the men Ewan had sent to scout ahead, but then there was little time to ponder anything more as Ewan suddenly wheeled his gelding about and commanded them all to return to the trees.

  They’d barely reached the cover of the forest before a company of English soldiers appeared on the road.

  Inching closer to Ewan, Merry heard one of the scouts murmur.

  “Too many patrols,” he was saying. “The call has gone out. They want Alec, dead or alive.”

  “I feared as much,” Ewan replied softly.

  They didn’t speak then but watched in silence as the English soldiers cantered down the road and disappeared into the distance.

  When they were gone, Ewan issued a stern command, “We’ll return to the cottage for this night, at least. Be quick, afore the English return.”

  Turning back, they plunged deeper into the forest, and as night began to fall, they stood once more in front of the ruined cottage. The woodlands had grown close to one side, affording shelter for the horses, and after seeing their mounts unsaddled and set to graze, they filed into the small building.

  Entering after the others, Merry wrinkled her nose at the stench of mildew and rotting wood. The interior was dark, gloomy, but the shutters on the windows were still intact. And though rain had dribbled down from holes in the roof to form large mud puddles on the floor, the area near the hearth was relatively dry. There was no furniture left, save for a small three-legged stool and a black kettle turned over on its side.

  “Perhaps ‘tis a plague house,” one of the men muttered.

  Ewan pointed to the opaque mounds of cobwebs in the rafters. “If ‘twas, then it was longer than your lifetime ago, Sean,” he said calmly.

  After a bit of grumbling, they set about butchering the meat.

  Kneeling before the hearth, Merry stacked some wood and found a bit of dry thatching to use as tinder. The fire caught, crackling and spitting sparks, and a short time later, a rosy tint bathed the room as the boar and the rabbits roasted on a spit over the flames.

  Several of the men began a game of dice, and one of the scouts produced a clay jug of wine as the smell of smoke mingled with the scent of roasted meat.

  Leaving Alec to tend to the cooking, Merry settled against the wall, shifting to get comfortable on the dirt-packed floor. With all of the riding, the bandages binding her breasts were coming undone. She’d have to find a way to sneak out and tighten them soon. But she’d have to wait until most of the men were asleep. She couldn’t afford to get caught.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched Ewan as he sat near the fire, alert and restless. The firelight played on his face, giving him a dangerous air. His brow was drawn into a deep frown, and she wondered if he ever allowed himself a smile anymore.

  “They called him a beast in the battlefield.”

  Merry turned to see Alec crouching beside her with his lips lifted into the merest whisper of a smile.

  “Aye, no man can match his fierce reputation,” Alec continued, glancing over at Ewan himself. “A man renowned for his strong sword arm and steeled endurance, he is. Strong as an ox and even stronger willed. Some say he could wield a sword afore he could walk.”

  Merry bit back a sigh.

  ‘Twas obvious.

  While others saw only the hard warrior, unflinching, unmoving, she saw in his eyes the pain, the sorrow, and the burden of immeasurable guilt. She wanted to ease his burden. To touch him. To sooth his cares away.

  Ewan glanced back at them, grim and quick. “And what do ye speak of?” he asked curtly.

  Alec leaned over and tousled Merry’s cropped curls. And after a swift, speculative search of her face, turned to Ewan and replied, “The lad admires ye, Ewan.”

  Merry choked.

  But Ewan scarcely noticed. “There’s naught that warrants admiration,” he replied tightly. And then rising to his feet, he strode to the door and disappeared out into the gathering darkness.

  “Are ye bereft of all sense?” Merry scowled up at Alec. “Can ye not see that he suffers?”

  Alec shook his head in mock dismay. “And you’re a boldly impertinent lad,” he said, stroking the stubble on his chin. “’Tis clear ye revere the man, and rightly so. I only sought to reward your curiosity. But aye, you’re right. We all know he suffers. He doesna sleep.”

  “Aye,” a voice chorused from the shadows. “The screams of the dying haunt his dreams.”

  “Tis the warrior’s curse,” Alec agreed, moving next to the fire.

  “Ewan had the heart of a poet, once,” someone else said solemnly.

  Silence fell then, for a time, and it was only broken by a sudden gust of wind rattling the shutters, followed by the sound of pattering rain.

  And then the meat was pronounced roasted.

  The men began to eat and spirits rose, and as a new dice game began in earnest, Ewan returned.

  Kicking the fire back to life, he shook the rain from his cloak and draped it over the three-legged stool, and then settling against the wall, he stretched his long legs out in f
ront of him.

  Merry cast a furtive glance his way, but his blue eyes were hooded by thick lashes, and half of his face was covered by shadows as he gazed intently at the fire.

  For a time, the room was filled with the laughter of the men at dice, and then a particularly loud protest caused heads to turn as one man good-naturedly accused his fellows of cheating.

  “And you’re a sore loser,” one man judged humorously.

  “Aye, but I’ve naught left to wager,” the man named Sean said. “And I must win!”

  “Ach, but ye do have something of value to offer,” one of the others disagreed with a glint of humor in his eye. “Let me dance with your sister, Christine, aye?”

  “Mayhap my hearing is rusty,” Sean said with a half-growl. “I dinna hear my wee sister’s name upon your lips, did I?”

  But the would-be suitor was not to be deterred. “She’s a lass of almost twenty,” the man replied. “And a bonny one, at that.”

  “Aye,” another man agreed. “With hair like honey and lips ripe for a kiss.”

  “Ye canna speak of her like that.” Sean’s voice took on a serious tone.

  Alec pushed abruptly away from the wall. “And what is it ye look for in a lass, Sean?” he asked, skillfully diverting the conversation to safer territory.

  “I only look for a warm, willing lass, with a generous heart,” Sean answered, his mood softening.

  “A warm, willing lass, but pink-cheeked and pleasing to the eye,” another man chimed in.

  “With the face of an angel,” said one more. “A face that can ensnare ye with a glance.”

  Merry’s lips twitched as she glanced at the men circled about the fire, their lips curved into silly grins. It was fair difficult to restrain herself from bursting out into laughter.

  “Aye, there’s much to appreciate in a lass,” Alec granted in a half-dreamy tone. “Slender ankles and delicate wrists. And the winsome curve of her neck, aye, lads? A generous rump, a sway in her hips, and teeth—”

  “Ach, teeth? Ye speak of a horse, not a lass!” Merry did burst with laughter then, unable to hold back any longer.

  “And what do ye fancy, Moridac?” Alec’s brows quirked in challenge.