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

by Caine, Carmen

  “Nay, I haven’t,” he said with his hand upon the latch.

  She darted forward then and, staying his hand, pressed her back against the door so he could not open it. “Ye should ponder the matter at length,” she said. Her voice took on a wheedling tone. “Dinna make so hasty a decision—”

  “There was nothing hasty about it,” he said, peering down at her. “Nay, I only delayed in telling ye it would never happen. For this, I am truly sorry. Forgive me.”

  She let her plaid fall to the floor then and desperately ran her hands over his chest.

  Annoyance mingled with pity. “Do ye care naught for your reputation or station?” he asked harshly, his voice rough even to his own ears.

  And then disengaging himself from her searching hands, he kicked the door open and strode out of the chamber.

  “I curse the day I ever heard of you!” her voice followed him, rising in pitch with each word.

  He would have to leave Hermitage and right soon.

  Moving through the dark corridor, he made his way to the hall. There was little light, but he could barely make out the dim shapes of the servants sleeping upon on the floor. Aggravated with himself for falling asleep in that accursed chamber, he settled back against the wall and crossed his arms.

  No doubt Alec had seen Merry safely settled for the night. It would be light soon. With the dawn, he would find them.

  Tiredly, he lay his head back. And then a candle appeared in the hall, shuffling his way. He watched as the priest approached to kneel at his side.

  “Drink,” he ordered, handing Ewan a wooden cup.

  Accepting the cup, Ewan frowned at the noxious brew, and then looked up at the priest. “Alec and the lad, have ye seen them?”

  “Aye,” the priest nodded swiftly and pointed down toward the end of the hall. “Asleep, the both of them. Now drink this, lad. ‘Tis for your health.”

  With a curt nod, Ewan downed the drink and gagging a little, handed the cup back to the priest and watched him walk away.

  He was exhausted, but it threatened to be his usual, sleepless night. Only once, had he slept the entire night through without waking, and that was with Merry at this side. With a smile, he leaned his head back against the wall again, and closing his eyes, thought of Merry as he willed the day to come.

  * * *

  Ewan opened his eyes from sleep, puzzled.

  A shaft of sunlight streamed through the hall window. From the angle of the shadows, it was late morning, almost noon. For a brief moment, his brows collided in confusion and then he recalled the events of the night before.

  He sat up, his head throbbing and feeling strangely groggy.

  “Can ye hear me, Ewan?” Alec’s deep voice sounded by his side.

  Squinting, Ewan turned to see Alec kneeling on the hall floor by his side. He’d changed into a white shirt and a fine plaid.

  “Finally, you’re awake,” Alec said with thin lips. “Did ye tell the lass?”

  “Tell?” Ewan frowned. He must have been drugged. “What happened?”

  “The priest sought to give ye rest. He gave ye a sleeping draught,” Alec explained curtly. And then he drew his brows into a line and asked roughly, “Did ye tell the lass that ye are no longer betrothed?”

  Ewan’s frown deepened. “Aye,” he said. Iona had been furious.

  Alec appeared downright relieved. “Then ‘tis not as I thought,” he muttered under his breath. Standing, he passed his hand over his brow as if confused.

  Still somewhat groggy, Ewan struggled to his feet. “Aye,” he said. “I told her and she wasna pleased. We should leave—”

  Alec whirled and seized his shoulders. “Ach, not Iona, ye daft fool! Did ye tell the lad that you’re no longer betrothed?”

  Ewan arched a brow and glanced around the hall. “I’ll tell her now,” he said mildly, wondering at the cause of Alec’s angst.

  “Ye dinna tell her?” Alec shouted, combing his unruly chestnut hair back with both hands. “Ewan, you’re a fool of the highest order when it comes to women. She’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Ewan repeated, alarmed.

  Of course. If Merry still thought him betrothed, she would not stay. Not after the way they’d kissed in the stables. Most likely, she’d run to Ruan in Stirling.

  Experiencing a jarring sense of loss, he slammed his fist against the wall.

  “Ach, but you’re a fool,” Alec chided softly.

  He could only agree. “And I know it,” he said grimly. He made his mind up swiftly. “We’ll leave Lothar here and ride after her at once.”

  “And the king’s demand that ye bring me to Edinburgh?” Alec asked through furrowed brows.

  Ewan shrugged it off. “We’ll let Cameron settle the matter in Stirling,” he said.

  “The Earl of Lennox?” Alec raised a brow, and then flashed an approving grin. “Aye, the man has a silver tongue and should he fail, we can ask his wee wife, the Countess. ‘Tis well known she holds the entire court in the palm of her hand.” But then his mirth subsided, and his face grew serious. “But should ye ride with that wound of yours?”

  Ewan growled. “Why even ask? Ye know I will regardless.”

  “Aye,” Alec nodded and clasped his shoulder, though he still appeared concerned. “She canna have gone far.”

  But Ewan shook his head. “Ye dinna know the lass, Alec.”

  They took their leave from the priest. Iona was nowhere to be found. And for that, Ewan was grateful.

  A short time later, they were off under the bright sun, galloping for the last time under Hermitage’s forbidding portcullis. Settling into the saddle, he set course, north to Stirling. The impact of the ride jarring his wound, but it was bearable. And he scarcely noticed it. His thoughts preoccupied with Merry. He could not chastise himself enough. Why hadn’t he told her bluntly? He ached to hold her again, close to his chest and bury his face in her hair. He should have thought to tell her the truth.

  The day passed in a combination of worry, elation, and frustration. Worry that they would not find Merry and elation whenever they came upon her tracks or a peasant who had seen her fly by upon the back of her black stallion. But frustration inevitably followed when they realized the distance between them seemed only to be growing.

  It was late when they finally drew rein, the horses winded and spent. Darkness had settled over the woods.

  “We’ll never catch Diabhul,” Ewan grunted, dismounting stiffly.

  “Does he have wings on his hooves?” Alec growled.

  Ewan leaned against a tree to steady himself before sliding down its trunk and resting his head in his hands.

  “How do ye fare?” Alec asked quietly. “Your wound?”

  “’Tis manageable,” he replied, and it was, barely. What he needed was a good week’s rest. But he was unlikely to get it anytime soon.

  They didn’t speak after that, and the night was spent as Ewan spent his nights for many years—awake, worried, and unwilling to close his eyes lest he be caught in an endless nightmare.

  Dawn came, and they set out through the early morning mists once again in hot pursuit. By the time they’d reached a village, the sun had burnt off the haze and they could see the sheep dotting the hilltops surrounding them.

  The man at the alehouse had told them a raven-haired lad on a fine black horse had only just left with the dawn. And after hastily swallowing fish and bannocks and washing it all down with mugs of ale, they were off once more. The bleating of the sheep faded in the distance as they galloped along riverbanks and burns swollen by the recent rains.

  But when crossing the boggy ground with care, they found her tracks leading into an inviting glen.

  At the entrance, Ewan paused to stand in the stirrups and peer ahead.

  “Do ye see her?” Alec asked for the tenth time.

  “Nay,” Ewan admitted tiredly.

  Urging his horse forward, he steered the animal into the glen, which sprinkled with early summer flowers. The road dwindled i
nto little more than a path lined by oaks, and through the leaves, Ewan spied mounds of ancient stones.

  He slowed his horse to a walk.

  “What is it?” Alec asked, coming up behind him.

  “Cairns,” Ewan nodded with a frown.

  He continued forward but slower.

  And then from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a young woman standing near an aged willow swaying gently in the wind. Her long red hair fell over her shoulders, almost down to her knees, and she wore a green plaid clasped with a Celtic cross.

  However, just as quickly as he’d seen her, she was then gone, leaving him wondering if he suffered from battle madness.

  Pulling rein sharply, he searched the old willow, but there was no sign of her.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Alec had fallen behind, and he waited a moment for the man to join him.

  “What is it?” Alec asked once he’d arrived.

  “’Tis odd,” Ewan murmured, shaking his head. “I thought I saw a lass. Red-haired and wearing a green plaid by yonder willow.”

  Alec raised a brow. “Aye, I thought I saw a lass, too, with hair as red as fire, near the trees, but she wore a blue kirtle. When I looked again, she was gone. Mayhap ‘twas a trick of the light.”

  Ewan raised a brow. “Unlikely,” he said.

  “Mayhap not,” Alec shrugged. “But recently we’ve both suffered the company of a spiteful redheaded lass, aye?”

  Ewan tilted his head speculatively to the side and nodded at the willow. A large stone almost as tall as a lass stood behind it. “It could have been a trick of the sunlight, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “That stone, ‘tis reddish of color, aye?”

  “Let’s have a look,” Alec suggested.

  But Ewan stayed him with a hand. “We should just ride on. There are too many cairns here, Alec. It doesna bode well to disturb the bones of the dead.”

  “I dinna believe in spirits,” Alec grunted. Wheeling his horse’s head, he urged the beast to the willow, and after a moment’s inspection, called out, “Ach, there’s naught here—naught but the stones of some old druid circle.”

  Ewan hesitated. Their only chance to catch Merry depended upon speed. They truly had little time to waste. But the fact that they’d both seen a red-haired woman was odd. More than odd.

  “God’s Wounds,” he swore under his breath. And turning his horse after Alec, cantered up to the willow.

  “I’m curious,” Alec said then, and pointed back to some trees not far away. “Give me a moment, aye? I would see if there’s a stone circle by yon pines.”

  He spurred his horse back down the path as Ewan called after him. “Aye, but be quick! I’ve no desire to stay in this place.”

  Tiredly, Ewan took the opportunity to dismount and stretch his legs.

  He was not a superstitious man, but he felt uneasy.

  The stones of the ancient circle had mostly fallen around the willow, only one stood erect. And he was about to turn away from it when he saw them.

  A fresh hoof print. A large one. And another. And yet another leading into the forest.

  With his hand upon his sword hilt, he moved forward cautiously, stepping through the brambles and thickets to scan the damp ground before him. He’d scarcely gone a stone’s throw before he heard the snuffling of a horse and, stepping around the trunk of a twisted tree, came face-to-face with Diabhul.

  He almost laughed aloud, and he would have, had not Diabhul lunged for him.

  He’d just narrowly avoided the horse’s teeth, when he heard footsteps approaching, tramping noisily through the clumps of fern and bracken.

  It was Merry.

  Taking refuge behind the twisted trunk, he waited until she drew abreast of him and then stepping out, banded his arm around her waist and caught her to his chest.

  She opened her mouth to scream and her hand arched up to lash out, but he blocked the attack and locked her arms with his.

  “And ye've led us on a Merry chase, lass,” he said with a smile.

  She relaxed immediately, rolling her eyes at the jest. “Are ye trying to frighten me to an early death, Ewan?” She scowled. “How did ye find me?”

  How indeed? He shook his head. “Fate,” he answered. What else could he say?

  “Well, ye can let me go now,” she said, wriggling a little in his arms.

  He found the way her body moved against his quite pleasant and only smiled the more. “Nay, I’ll not be letting ye go again,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re coming with me, lass.”

  Her spine went rigid, and she lifted her smoldering brown eyes to his. “Staying with ye and your betrothed holds little appeal. Nay, I’ll not go.”

  He suppressed a smile. “Ye’ll be coming with me, lass. And I’ll drag ye kicking and screaming if I have to,” he replied, thinking how it was hard to resist the urge to plunder her lips then and there. Instead, he could only savor the anticipation of the moment their lips would finally meet again.

  “Nay, I’ll just be wishing ye well on your marriage, Ewan,” she was saying. “And I’ll be on my way home—”

  Lifting his hand, Ewan trailed his finger from her forehead, down her nose, and over her lips to silence them. “I’m not betrothed,” he said bluntly. “I never was.”

  She drew her dark brows into a frown. “Pray tell what ye mean by such words, Ewan MacLean.”

  With a shrug, he pulled her closer to his chest, noting with a private smile that she wasn’t quite as stiff as before.

  “’Twas my silence that allowed it to go as far as it did,” he confessed then. “My father grew weary of waiting for me to wed and sought to find me a wife. He chose Iona. I dinna object, ‘tis true, but I thought to die in battle afore it ever mattered.”

  Merry held still, and then her brown eyes filled with a mischievous gleam. “Ye didna have to die to escape her, Ewan,” she chimed sweetly. “Though I do agree with ye that death would have been preferable to taking her to wife.”

  He laughed and brushed an errant curl back from her face.

  She blinked a little at his touch but continued easily enough. “Ach, she’s a devious one,” she said. “But does she know ye’ll not be wedding her? Or have ye left the wee beastie dreaming you’ll be gracing her bed?”

  She raised her hands to rest her palms flat on his chest as if preparing to push him away.

  “Aye, she knows right well,” he answered. He lifted his hand then and ran a thumb along Merry’s jaw. The touch of her skin caused a wave of fierce desire to sweep through him, and he let the glint of lust show in his eyes. “I’d much rather speak of ye, lass. Mayhap, ye should tell me more of this man with the chest of stone, aye?” he lowered his voice and added suggestively, “the one that ye want in your bed?”

  “’Tis not what I said,” she hedged, bristling a little.

  “It best be what ye say,” he growled even lower. “And I’ll give ye no choice in the matter. I’ll be the only man ye ever have, Merry Macleod.”

  Her brown eyes flooded with emotion. “Well, aren’t ye a wee bit arrogant, Ewan? Who says that I want ye?” she asked even as she melted against him. Sliding her hands up his chest, she threaded her fingers through his hair.

  He groaned deep in the back of his throat. “I should warn ye, lass, that if ye continue that, you’re in danger of being soundly, nay, ruthlessly kissed.”

  He let the words sink in, and when she didn’t stop, he lowered his head. He found her lips, kissing her with a soft tenderness that mirrored the emotions he felt toward her in his heart. But he’d scarcely done more than trace the curve of her lips with his tongue when he thought he heard voices on the breeze.

  She moaned in a soft protest when his mouth abruptly left hers. Gently pushing her back, he held a finger to his lips, motioning for silence.

  Men.

  The clash of steel.

  Alarmed, he whirled away and, crashing through the trees, drew his sword as he ran.

  A horse bore do
wn upon him, a dark shape of a man crouched low over its neck, and then the horse reared, and Ewan recognized the man’s plaid at once.

  “Cunninghams!” he shouted, and then with his eyes widening in alarm, he searched the clearing and called out, “Alec!”

  Chapter Eleven – Keen in the Old Ways

  Merry ran after Ewan as he dashed back toward the road, and as they emerged from the forest, she saw a man wearing a Cunningham plaid on horseback galloping toward them. Drawing near, the horse raised on its mighty haunches, its front legs pawing the air. But after its hooves crashed down, the rider spurred on, swerving to avoid Ewan and instead making for an ancient druid circle surrounded by pines a short distance ahead.

  Ewan whirled upon Merry then, pushing her behind him with a protective arm and shouting for her to stay hidden. And then with a litany of curses escaping his lips, he leapt into the saddle of his waiting horse and took off after the Cunningham.

  They hadn’t gone far before Ewan unseated the man, and moving forward in a shimmering blur of steel, engaged him in combat.

  It was then that Merry saw Alec’s sun-burnished head near the ancient druid circle, battling against two men wearing Cunningham plaids. Ignoring Ewan’s instructions, she spun on her heel. Intending to retrieve her bow, she’d gone only a few steps when a man sprang out from behind the large stone tilting toward the willow.

  He moved forward quickly, and she couldn’t make out his face, only that he wore the Cunningham plaid.

  In two steps, he’d closed the distance between them, and grabbing her by the throat, he growled in her ear. “We just want the Montgomery, ye young fool. Dinna make this your fight.”

  Merry’s stomach clenched in fear.

  But then instinct took over, and jabbing her knee up into his groin, she sent the man sprawling back into the ferns. And as he scrambled to his feet, she bolted in the opposite direction.

  It took her several moments to realize that he hadn’t followed. She paused only to catch her breath before sprinting back to the road.