Their eyes met.
“On the other side of the border,” she finished with a sinking heart. “It would appear as though we are moving forward.”
He shrugged his wide shoulders, though he was frowning when he did. It seemed this troubled him as much as it troubled her. “Verra well, then. It canna be more than another few days to the border, can it? Once we pass Edinburgh, it would be rather easy going.”
“We?”
He blinked. “Of course. I would go along, would I not? Are we not all going?”
“Eventually, once the location is secured, and I know it is safe and will suit our purposes.” She skimmed the message again. “It seems there is an abandoned castle close to the border which might be the perfect location. But it is in poor condition, or so I’m told here.” She tapped the parchment before setting it on the table, her head aching.
To start again. They’d worked so hard here, and now she was being called upon to take yet another building falling to rack and ruin and turn it into something serviceable.
“I suppose we had best leave soon, then, to have things settled by the time the snow falls.”
She looked up at him, barely able to stifle a laugh. “You do not seem to understand. I will need you here, to oversee the girls and maintain their safety. I can manage, especially if this castle is as near the border as I’m told.”
“Ye canna imagine I would allow ye to go on your own,” he grumbled. “I will not hear of it.”
“I do not recall asking what you will and will not hear of,” she sighed. “And I do not have it in me to argue the point at this time. I will go. You will stay. That is where the matter ends.”
“It is not.”
“Yes. It is.” She stood, slapping her palms to the wooden table as she did. The room was small, but serviceable, with nothing more than the round table and a handful of chairs, which she used for private conversations with the girls. She’d first met McTavish here, as well, and could still recall the way he’d sputtered at her suggestion his wine had been poisoned.
How could six months seem like an eternity? So much had transpired since then.
Yet here they were, having what seemed to be the same argument they’d always fallen into. Whose word was law? Who set the rules?
There were times when the man seemed determined to test her, and to destroy any goodwill which had built between them.
Such as this very minute, in which he glared from where he stood by the window. Dark eyes gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. It was easy for her to forget what a dangerous man he was, with the two of them now being so well-acquainted.
She remembered then, and recalled how simple it had been for him to disarm her. Just a thumb pressed against the fleshy part above her wrist and she’d been helpless.
“I am going with ye, and I will not hear any more of your arguments,” he warned. “So dinna waste my time with them.”
She had no recourse but to bite the side of her tongue until the desire to scream at him passed. They had been getting on so well, too.
Once she no longer wished to murder him quite so fervently, she murmured, “I do not wish to leave the girls unprotected.”
“If ye dinna believe they can protect themselves—”
“You know very well what I mean,” she was quick to add before he had the chance to remind her of how much more difficult their lives were about to become, once they went out on their missions. She did not need to be reminded.
“We should not be away for more than a fortnight. I would imagine we’ll return once ye know this castle is what ye need it to be.”
“I suppose…” She frowned, still unconvinced.
“Why can these lairds or whoever it is not inspect the castle themselves?” he asked, his face stormy. “It seems to me ye have already sacrificed enough. Now they wish for ye to cross into England and put yourself in further danger.”
“That is the sort of work I have always done,” she murmured with a shrug. “It is what they ask of me, and it is what I must do.”
“Mary can look after things here while we are away,” he said. “Ye know she can. She is the one I trust most, and not because she is my kin.”
“I know. I trust her as well, and I know she would not take advantage of her position.” She chewed her lip, tapping her fingers on the table. He left her with little further argument to be made, which frustrated her so. She wished she might tell him it was impossible, that he could not and should not accompany her.
But the fact was, she did feel a sense of peace when she imagined him joining her. Few would dare approach her with him alongside. They would have to use caution when traveling, especially once they’d crossed into England, for he was sure to be remembered. But he had managed to return to the convent without attracting notice, had he not?
He was no fool. And he would not be refused.
If only she did not get a prickly sort of feeling when she imagined them on the road together. Not entirely unpleasant in itself, but unpleasant when she considered what it might mean.
She simply needed not to consider it, and that was that.
“All right, then,” she decided, jumping to her feet. “I suppose we’d best spread the word to the girls and tell Mary she is about to take my place for a short while. When can you be ready to leave?”
“Dawn, if need be.”
Naturally, he was accustomed to sudden travel. She nodded firmly in spite of the way her insides quaked. “Fine, then. Dawn it is.”
16
“It has been far too long since I have been in a city.” Ailsa hardly sounded pleased when she said this, elbowing her way through the crowds milling about the streets near the Edinburgh harbor.
He grunted, placing a hand upon her shoulder to pull her to a stop. “Allow me.” If he left it up to her, a slip of a thing who hardly came up to the shoulders of most of the men around them, they would spend all day in the out of doors without ever getting anywhere.
With him leading the way, however, it was much simpler to clear a path. Even the largest, most menacing man tended to step aside when presented with Clyde’s sheer size. All that was left was for Ailsa to follow.
“You are certain the horses will be safe in the stables?” she asked, a bit breathless after trotting to keep up with his long strides. He normally shortened his stride while walking with her in the convent, but there was no time for accommodating her now.
“Of course they will. We paid the man, did we not? That is how things are done in large towns and cities.”
“I know.” Yet she appeared perturbed nonetheless, lines appearing between her brows as she pondered. “I was unaware there would be so many here now.”
He understood all too well what she meant, for he’d been a bit surprised, as well. There was a festival taking place just outside the city, much to their surprise. Tradesmen, merchants, everyone with anything to sell and many more who hoped to make merry had gathered around Edinburgh just before Clyde and Ailsa’s arrival.
They might have moved on, but he wished to send word to the farm. It had been six months since he’d seen or spoken with Rufus and he would have been ashamed of himself were it not for the fact that secrecy had been key. He could not have sent word from the convent, and knew not how to send a message through Ailsa’s unknown, nameless benefactors.
“It will not take long to find someone riding north who is willing to pay a brief visit,” he promised as they made their way through the tightly packed crowd, all of them on their way to the outskirts of the city where tents were visible even from Clyde’s position.
“I certainly hope not.”
“Och, lass, must ye always be so sharp?” he asked. It was easy to be lighthearted toward her now, outside the convent and its ever-present walls barring them from the rest of the world. He was in the sunshine now, having spent half his day on horseback, and felt much better for it.
He was always in better spirits after having been out of doors for some time, enjoyi
ng the countryside. It was in his blood, in his bones. Even working like a dog on the MacIntosh farm was a joy when it meant being out in the fresh air.
“You seem to be in a fine state,” Ailsa observed from behind him, amusement in her voice.
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean you remind me of a lad on his way to his first festival, imagining the delights he will enjoy when he arrives.”
He laughed at this description. Truly, he felt nothing of the sort. Yes, he was in a fine state now that he’d been out and away from the convent. But he was certainly under no childish misunderstanding of their situation. He knew full well what was at stake, and how important it was to protect the woman walking behind him.
Perhaps that had something to do with his attitude, as well. He had someone to protect, a way to feel worthwhile. Now that his students at the convent had come along so well in their training, his nature led him to crave a new challenge.
And if he had ever encountered a challenge in his life, Ailsa Dunne certainly was one.
“We shall pay a call at the inn,” he decided, lifting an arm and pointing to a long plank-walled structure sitting across from the harbor and separated by a wide, muddy road. “Perhaps we should have luck there.”
“So long as it does not take a great deal of time,” she warned.
He scoffed, glancing down at her to find her glaring up at him. In the sunshine, her hair glowed with gold and auburn lights, even a copper tinge. A clue as to the nature of her temper, he supposed. “We have all the time we need. Ye know as well as I that Mary has things well in hand. We have nothing to fear for them.”
“I do not fear for them. Not at the moment, at least.”
She had never admitted to fearing for the girls before, and he told himself to ask her about it at another time, when they were alone and better able to speak. He knew by now that she had never been blessed with children, that her husband had died before they had the chance. It seemed to Clyde that she had come to think of all of the girls as her daughters, though they were not so much younger than herself.
He thought it said a great deal about her character, so that she took them all so close to her heart and fretted over their well-being. No matter how insolent or self-possessed she tried to appear, there was still a great deal of feeling in her heart. He thought that spoke well for her.
“We have no rooms.” The harried, exhausted-looking man they encountered upon first entering the inn announced this before being asked.
Clyde and Ailsa exchanged a look. “We did not come to inquire after a room,” she explained far more sweetly than he ever could. “My companion wishes to send word to his kin outside Inverness, and we hope to someone here would be riding in that direction and be willing to deliver a message for him.”
The man appeared relieved, his frown lessening, though he still had little time to discuss the matter. He waved a distracted hand before hurrying away, calling out over his shoulder, “Ask for yourselves. I have no time.”
Ailsa’s eyes widened, and she grimaced up at Clyde. But he was grateful to her for having dealt with the man, for he knew he tended to make people nervous without intending to.
“Inverness? Did someone mention Inverness?”
Clyde’s mouth fell open at the sound of a familiar voice, and he turned to find none other than Drew MacIntosh elbowing his way out of a crowded main room in which many men were taking their midday meal. He had not looked up to find Clyde standing before him yet, but when he did, the man’s smile was nearly enough to light up the room.
“Well, I’ll be hanged! Rufus!” Drew called out behind him before clasping Clyde’s arms in a tight grip.
“Rufus? He is here, as well? What are ye doing here?” There were too many questions to be asked all at once. Clyde thought his heart had never been gladder than it was at that moment.
“What do ye think, man? We are here for the festival. I have furs to be traded, and Rufus was of a mind to trade for several head of cattle. But that is neither here nor there.”
Meanwhile, Rufus caught up to them and looked and sounded just as delighted as Drew had. “We were beginning to think we would never see you again!” he exclaimed, clapping Clyde on the back.
“I had only come into the city to send word myself.” Clyde chuckled. “Ye see, it was not possible to do so before…” He looked down at Ailsa, who replied with a silent look of warning.
Do not say too much, that look told him, and he knew she was correct.
While he trusted the men with his life, they were not alone. Besides, Ailsa would surely not trust them, as this was her nature. He could appreciate her caution, though he felt it was a bit out of place at the moment.
After all, if he trusted them and she trusted him, what was the problem?
He knew better than to ask, at least not now.
“I have told ye about these men,” he reminded her by way of introduction. “This is Rufus and Drew MacIntosh. It is on Rufus’s farm that I have lived as of late, and Drew is his cousin. We served together on the Guard for a time.”
“Has he told ye yet that I’m the only man who ever managed to best him in a brawl?” Drew offered this with his usual charm, extending a hand to shake in greeting.
Ailsa smiled in spite of herself. “Did you, now? I would like very much to hear that story.”
“And you will. Several times, I would wager.” Rufus dipped his head in acknowledgment. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss…”
“Ailsa.” That was as much as she would tell them, and they seemed to accept this. At least, they did not ask for anything more.
“Are you staying the night in the city?” Drew asked.
Ailsa was quick to shake her head, but it was Clyde who spoke. “We are on our way elsewhere,” he explained, choosing his words with care. “As I said, I had only come to the inn find a messenger.”
“At least take a meal with us,” Rufus offered. “Truly, it has been too long.”
He looked to Ailsa, who seemed to understand without being told that there was no use in arguing. Besides, they were not in such a great hurry. He was certain she was wrong to rush them so. An extra few hours would certainly do no harm.
They sat together, then, with Rufus calling for stew, bread, and ale.
“Tell me of everyone,” Clyde urged. “The bairns. How are they?”
“As mischievous as ever.” Drew laughed, which Clyde imagined had more to do with Owen than with the others. “I have four cats wandering the house at all times, Liam insisting he is old enough to break colts, and Owen insisting he is old enough to help.”
“And what of Moira?”
Drew’s expression softened. “The very sweetest thing ye ever did see, always wishing to be of help to Anne. My wife,” he explained to an unknowing Ailsa. “Owen and Moira are my sister’s bairns, but she died more than a year ago. Liam is my wife’s brother, barely more than a lad.”
“And what of Anne?” Rufus prompted with a grin and a wink Clyde’s way.
“Dinna tell me.” Clyde laughed. “Is she?”
“Can ye imagine a bairn calling me Da?” The men laughed uproariously. “Aye, we are to have one of our own by the time winter has passed.”
“And what of wee Fiona?” Clyde asked, turning to Rufus.
“Already wishing to get into everything, and her not even a year of age yet.” He rubbed a hand over the top of his head, rueful and prideful all at once. “I dinna know what to do with myself at times.”
He missed them so, missed being with them and watching the young ones grow. How he would have enjoyed watching Rufus driven to distraction by his daughter.
It had never occurred to him until that moment that he might not ever return to stay for good. That his work might mean living away from them for years to come. He had always imagined returning at some time, but when would that time be?
For there was no telling how anything would go. Whether more girls would be sent to them for instruction and training.
He supposed they would, especially if their work was successful and the girls they had trained so far were able to complete their missions.
There was a chance it would never end until long after he was dead and gone, and he did not know how to feel about this.
Ailsa kept the men talking, asking questions, likely as a way to avoid answering their questions about her. She was highly skilled at this, and he let her go ahead while he brooded over these new, unanswered questions.
There was nothing in his life, nothing that truly belonged to him. Nothing but the land in which his family now rested. It was not as if Drew’s bairns were his, nor were Rufus’s. Their lives would go on without him. Why should he be intent on returning to them?
Especially when it would mean leaving Ailsa alone.
He watched her with his friends, giggling behind her hand at Drew’s stories and Rufus’s dry comments. She knew how to laugh and enjoy life when she allowed herself to do so. Would that she might have the opportunity to do more laughing, though he could not imagine such a time.
And the knowing of it caused a tightness in his chest which he could not explain.
A great commotion caught their attention, and the four of them turned as one to find a handful of men hurrying inside. They were soaked to the skin, and a gust of wind blew in before one of them could close the door.
“Sudden storm.” One of them grimaced, wringing out a soaked tunic. “’Tis blowin’ hard out there.”
“Oh, no,” Ailsa groaned. He knew without looking that she was frowning, and without asking that she was already blaming him for having held them back so that he might spend time with his friends.
“Were ye planning on spending the night out of doors, then?” Rufus asked with a knowing wince.
“Aye, we were at that. Perhaps it will blow over.” He glanced at Ailsa, whose expression was stormy.
“We have two rooms,” Drew explained. “Ye might take one for yourself, Ailsa, and the three of us can share the other.”
“Aye. It will be cramped, I wager, but we have done worse.” Rufus grinned. “What say ye?”
A Highlander's Second Chance: Highland Temptations Page 12
