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

by Caine, Carmen

  Alec paused.

  “And what would ye say, Alec?” Ewan asked, noting the man’s reluctance.

  The highlander waited a moment longer, but then expelling a breath, shook his head, and along with Lothar bundled out of the door.

  As soon as they’d left, Ewan rounded on her. “Are ye mad?” he asked.

  “Mad?” Merry repeated. Anger reflected in her dark brown eyes. “I came to find ye something to wear so you wouldn’t be caught dead in your plaid!”

  “Ye could have been killed,” he retorted, his words clipped.

  She scowled at him, and then her eyes fell, noting his shirt was still open at the neck. His throat and collarbone were distracting. Glancing away again, she grumbled, “Ye seem to have difficulty in thanking me.”

  “Thanking ye?” he repeated through clenched teeth.

  She stiffened. “Aye, ye should thank me for saving ye, and for riding to find safe clothing—”

  “Ye’ve shown naught but a lack of foresight this entire time,” he interrupted tersely.

  At that, her anger erupted anew. Throwing her shoulders back, she planted her hands on her hips. “I used to hold ye in the highest esteem, Ewan MacLean, but I see now that you’re an ungrateful wretch!”

  “Am I?” he grated. “Do ye have nary a care in the world then? What would Ruan say of ye?”

  With her brown eyes flashing passionately, she retorted, “I may be a lass, but I’m not helpless. Ruan taught me to ride and shoot an arrow, ye daft oaf. And I’ve been practicing with him for years to learn to wield a dirk properly. He saw to it that I’d never have to wait to be rescued from the clutches of a cruel man again!”

  At her allusion to the past, Ewan went still.

  They stood there, breathing heavily.

  And then turning on his heel, Ewan approached the door, pausing with his hand poised over the latch. “Let us quit this place afore we are caught,” he said, but his voice had softened.

  It wasn’t an apology but more an unspoken peace offering, and with her anger melting, she stepped out behind him into the afternoon sun.

  They’d scarcely left the alleyway when Ewan suddenly stepped sideways. And curling an arm about her waist, he whirled her back. She fell against him, her soft breasts colliding with his chest, as he pushed her around the corner of a low stone building and back against the wall.

  “Hssst,” his hot breath brushed her cheek as he whispered. “Dinna move.”

  She froze.

  Voices advanced, the voices of English soldiers, and it seemed an eternity before they’d passed.

  Merry held still with her hands upon Ewan’s chest, and then all at once, she was conscious only of the awareness growing between them.

  He seemed to feel it too. For a moment, his fingers lifted as if to touch her face, but apparently thinking better of it, he let his hand fall to his side instead.

  She felt a small wave of disappointment.

  But then his gaze locked upon hers and she felt herself drown in the intensity of his blue eyes, an intensity that made her shiver.

  It would be so natural to reach up and to kiss him. Already, her lips were only a hair’s breadth away from his. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth. Silently, she begged his lips to cover hers, her heart rioting at his nearness. Aye, she wanted to kiss him. And she wanted to touch him, every part of him, from his head to his toes.

  He shifted then, and with his lips dangerously close to her own, he whispered, “We should be going now.”

  His voice was low, sending desire rippling through her.

  She didn’t move.

  And neither did he.

  The silence between them lengthened.

  And then slowly, he lowered his head and pressed his lips against her forehead in a chaste kiss, not the hot passionate devouring of the lips she’d wished for.

  He stepped back then, and taking her wrist, returned to the street.

  She blew her bangs out of her face, catching her breath in her disappointment.

  Neither spoke as they left the town, and after each had retrieved their horse, they made their way to the agreed upon meeting place.

  Alec and Lothar were there, waiting by the river with a sack of provisions. And with little more than a brief exchange of greetings and an explanation to Merry that they’d broken into smaller parties to evade the soldiers, they urged their horses north toward Scotland.

  Merry followed, depressed.

  She hadn’t returned the kirtle as she’d planned. It hadn’t been her intention to steal from an innocent soul. And she’d revealed her secret to Alec. Aye, she’d also essentially lied to Ewan—or had avoided telling him about her encounter with the English soldiers, anyway. And he hadn’t kissed her as she’d wished.

  Aye, nothing ever went according to plan.

  With darkening thoughts, she trotted behind the others, growing grumpier with each step north.

  The going was difficult. The roads were muddy from the recent rain, slowing their progress. Tall sloping trees clothed each side of the road, dipping and swaying gently in the wind for mile upon mile. But fortunately, they met no one on the road, and as the sun sank on the horizon, they found a grove of rowan trees clustered closely, forming a natural shelter.

  After seeing Diabhul tended, Merry joined the others by the small fire.

  “Eat, lad,” Alec ordered, tossing her a hard loaf of barley bread and a dried fish.

  “Thank ye,” she murmured, tossing her saddle down and sitting upon it.

  He only responded with a grunt.

  For a time, no one spoke, and the crackle of the fire and the occasional call of an owl were the only sounds to be heard.

  Tearing off a large bite of bread, Merry chewed in silence and gradually became aware that she was staring at Ewan from under her lashes.

  He looked tired as he sat kneading his shoulder and staring into the flames, his food untouched at his side. The outline of his toned shoulders and powerful thighs made her heart skip a beat before pulling with sympathy. He was clearly suffering. She wished she could wipe his pain away.

  “And does Ewan have horns growing from his head, lad?” Alec’s amused voice quipped.

  Merry jerked, biting her lip in embarrassment as both Lothar and Ewan glanced up.

  “Ye seem to be watching him with such a marked interest,” Alec continued. “Mayhap even a bit dreamily—”

  “Ach, now,” Merry interrupted, leaning over to swat him on the knee. “I was but thinking. I didna pay any heed in which way I was looking, ye daft fool.” She followed her words with a dark scowl of warning.

  “There’s no need to take offense,” Alec replied with a careless shrug, but there was a roguish gleam in his eye. “Aye, I swear the lad's as sensitive as a lass at times.”

  Merry’s eyes widened in alarm.

  But he merely pretended to yawn. And then with an infectious grin, he asked, “Then what shall we lads speak of? How shall we wile away the time afore we sleep?”

  “Need we speak at all?” Ewan asked with a sharp look of disapproval.

  “And why not?” Alec challenged, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “Shall we speak of what we lads love the most? Horses, lasses, and little else, aye?”

  Baffled over the man’s intention, Merry furrowed her brows.

  “I’ll agree to that,” Lothar spoke suddenly, startling them all. He scratched his blunt nose and said, “I say we ride to the nearest town where the whisky flows freely and a man can find a woman to trade her charms for—”

  “Enough!” Ewan ordered crisply and Alec coughed in alarm as they both cast sidelong glances in Merry’s direction.

  She hid a smile, amused at their protectiveness.

  But the exchange was enough to silence Alec then, and they were each left to their own thoughts.

  Clearing her mind, Merry watched the fire for a time before snuggling deeper into her woolen cloak. Lulled by the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of
the leaves overhead, she finally drifted off to sleep. She woke up once or twice in the dead of the night to see Ewan illuminated by the moonlight, still sitting by the dying fire, watchful and vigilant. It was at once comforting and sad to see. He seemed so cold, remote, and so very far away.

  Dawn broke, and Merry opened her eyes with her stomach growling, voicing its dissatisfaction. But the scent of meat was heavy in the air. Someone had gone hunting as two plump pheasants roasted over the renewed fire.

  Nearby, Ewan lounged against a tree, absent-mindedly running his strong hands through his flaxen hair.

  Covertly, she watched him.

  Why hadn’t he kissed her? She’d wanted him to. Surely, he must have known that. Had he refrained for lack of interest? Or, heaven forbid, did he have a lass waiting for him somewhere?

  The thought soured her mood considerably.

  “And a good morning to ye, lad,” Alec’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  Frowning, she sat up to see him lazily wiping one of her own arrow shafts with a handful of grass.

  “I used your bow,” he explained, nodding at the pheasants. “I didna think ye’d object to waking to a wee bit of fresh meat.”

  “Aye,” she agreed, rising to her feet.

  “’Tis a smallish bow,” he commented, stooping to pick it up and heft it in the air. “’Tis almost the same as my wee sister, Catrona’s.”

  From the corner of her eye, Merry could see the outline of Ewan’s strong jaw as he tilted his head to listen.

  Striding up to Alec, she twisted his ear. “I need a hand with Diabhul,” she muttered harshly and with a toss of her head.

  He fell into step beside her with a grin.

  “And what are ye up to?” she growled, once out of Ewan’s earshot. “I thought ye were a man of honor.”

  Alec folded his arms and eyed her from head to toe. And then something entered his eyes—something Merry could not quite identify.

  “I’ve not betrayed ye,” he said in a serious tone. “I dinna even know who ye truly are, lass. Tell me, what is your name? Where do ye come from?”

  Merry blinked, taken aback by the switch of subject. “Ach, I canna trust ye, ye daft fool,” she snapped and inexplicably feeling shy, she waved her hand and stepped back. “I only ask that ye keep your word, aye? I’ll be going now. I’ve Diabhul—”

  He caught her by the arm then. Gently. “Tell me—”, he began.

  But then Ewan’s deep voice called them both, and seizing the excuse to leave, Merry twisted free and fairly ran back to camp.

  Shortly after, they departed, heading north to Scotland once more.

  And this time, Alec intruded upon Merry’s thoughts for a time. What was the man playing at?

  She watched him curiously.

  He was in a particularly cheerful mood, singing and whistling until Ewan barked for him to stop. He obliged. But it wasn’t long before he began to whistle under his breath again, gradually growing louder until Ewan finally threatened to gag him.

  “We canna draw eyes toward us, Alec. Has your good sense left ye?” Ewan rebuked sharply, annoyance simmering in his blue eyes.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve had any sense, I fear,” Alec replied with a smile and then turning toward Merry, sent her an all-too-knowing wink.

  But then she was too distracted by Ewan to give him much more than a cursory glance. Aye, Ewan was a beautiful man. Powerful. Striking. He sat tall in the saddle, the lithe line of his thigh drawing her eye, and she couldn’t help but admire the wide set of his shoulders. Aye, authority sat well on them.

  He must have felt her eyes upon him, for he turned to search her face, but she quickly looked away.

  He then ordered them all to quicken the pace. “If we ride hard, we might yet reach Scotland afore sundown. Let us make haste!”

  They continued their journey, meeting no one on the road. And as the morning waned, clouds heavy with the threat of rain filled the horizon. By the afternoon, the high, gusty winds brought with them another rainstorm. And upon reaching the river, they discovered the foaming, swollen waters had washed away the bridge, rendering the crossing impassable.

  Ewan retreated the group at once to the forest, and they dismounted under the eaves and watched the sheeting rain.

  “And is there no other bridge?” Alec asked impatiently for the third time. His mood had darkened with the passing of the day.

  Ewan threw him an exasperated glance. He’d already answered the question several times. “We’ll lose a day’s ride at least, but we have no choice. We’ll head east on the morrow,” he grunted, wiping the rain dribbling down his forehead with the back of his arm. “But we’ll travel no more this night. ‘Twould be too treacherous.”

  Leading them to higher ground, Ewan pushed through the low-hanging branches, finally finding a suitable place to rest for the night.

  Wet and cold, Merry dismounted, and in spite of the dampness surrounding them, Ewan started a fire as Lothar silently distributed the last chunks of stale barley bread and bits of dry cheese.

  No one spoke for a time. They were cold, tired, and still somewhat hungry, but as the fire began to burn brighter, their spirits rose.

  With a wordless question, Lothar pointed to Merry’s bow, and at her nod of permission, the quiet Frank picked up the weapon and disappeared into the gathering gloom.

  “Let us pray he finds a deer,” Alec drawled, absently scratching the bridge of his aquiline nose. “I’d devour it all, and the king’s men wouldna even find a single hoof to hang us for the poaching of it.”

  Merry smiled.

  Even Ewan’s blue eyes crinkled around the corners in amusement.

  And then Alec yawned and, catching Merry’s eye, said in a teasing tone, “I’ve been wondering, lad. Do ye shave every day? There’s not a whisker on ye.” He flashed a conspiratorial smile.

  Merry scowled, irritated. “Nay,” she nearly growled. “It pains me deeply that I canna grow a beard.”

  She cast a quick glance Ewan’s way, only to see his white teeth flash in what could have been a smile. But he turned away before she could be certain.

  “Well, there’s no great pity, lad,” Alec continued unrepentantly. “The lasses prefer a man clean-shaven. ‘Tis less of a prickly kiss, I’ve been told.”

  “Aye, ‘twould seem so,” Merry agreed as she watched Ewan somewhat distractedly. She had yet to see him truly smile. Or laugh.

  “Then mayhap I should start shaving more regularly, aye?” Alec was saying. “There’s a lass I would wish to see me as a braw man. Aye, she has the bonniest brown eyes this side of the Forth.”

  Ewan’s shoulders tensed at that.

  “The Lord Warden’s daughter?” Merry teased with a yawn, grateful the conversation had steered away from herself.

  “Nay,” Alec said in a light tone. “A much lovelier lass, to be sure. One who could melt a man’s heart, even if it were made of ice.”

  The look came into his eyes then. The same look she’d seen before. And this time, she knew what it was.

  Desire.

  “Nay, feelings of love are best kept at bay,” Ewan’s deep voice rumbled. “There’s naught to be gained from rekindling those slumbering flames.”

  Growing all at once uncomfortable, Merry sprang to her feet. “I saw wood sorrel not far away. ‘Twill sate our hunger until Lothar returns.”

  “I’ll go with ye,” Alec volunteered. “We’re still in England. I’ll stand watch.”

  Merry frowned but, shrugging her shoulders, tramped into the surrounding wood with her annoyance growing with each step. And when she was satisfied Ewan could no longer hear her, she whirled around to face Alec.

  “I dinna care for the way ye keep secrets, Alec Montgomery,” she said, her brown eyes flashing, and then mimicking his voice, she added, “Do ye shave? There’s not a whisker on ye!”

  He merely looked down at her with an easy smile fixed upon his lips. “Ach, there’s no harm done,” he protested. “But I�
��ll not anger ye. Tell me your name and I swear I’ll stop.”

  She snorted. “I’ll hold ye to it,” she snapped. “Moridac. My name is Moridac.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Your true name, ye wily lass,” he insisted.

  “Make yourself useful, ye daft oaf,” she replied instead, kneeling to yank some wood sorrel growing in a cluster near a fallen tree.

  “Aye, I’ve made my share of mistakes,” he said, his voice suddenly soft. “But I’ve lost interest in my scandalous ways.”

  Merry laughed outright. “Aye? And for how long? A day?”

  He didn’t share her laughter. Instead, he knelt beside her and, locking his gaze with hers, began pulling foliage from the ground. “What twist of fate brought ye here?”

  She met his eyes steadily and then pointed to what he held. “Stay your hand, ye fool. ‘Tis vetch you’ve picked. Even your horse knows to stay away from that!”

  “Ach, they’re both green,” he replied with a lazy smile, and slowly, he reached over to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.

  She held still a moment.

  But then, standing abruptly, she spun around, only to collide into a broad, solid chest.

  Chapter Six – “Take My Hand”

  Not really stopping to consider why, Ewan strode through the damp underbrush after Alec and Merry. He arrived just in time to hear Alec declare that he’d lost interest in his scandalous ways.

  Ewan paused, intending to shamelessly eavesdrop when Alec reached over and brushed a bit of Merry’s hair back from her face.

  A response rippled through Ewan. A response he was unprepared for.

  He swallowed. Hard. There was no denying it.

  ‘Twas a hot wave of jealousy.

  From the very start, Merry had stirred his blood, and it was only worsening with time. Her humor, her daring spirit, and her loving heart wove a stronger net around him by the day. He’d almost kissed her in the village. That still astonished him. He’d wanted to taste her lips again, slowly, in a soft lingering touch of sweet abandon. It had taken every ounce of his strength to install a brotherly peck upon her forehead instead.

  He knew he was not the right man for her. Nay, Merry MacLeod—his dearest friend’s wee sister—deserved an honorable light-hearted man to match her loving, high-spirited ways, not a battle-weary warrior with haunted dreams.