by Sabrina York
The next morning was just as beautiful as the previous days had been. Daniel headed out of the inn after a filling breakfast with the plan of making it to Moulin before sunset. That was probably a bit ambitious of him, but if he didn’t make it, he wasn’t above setting up camp beside the road and sleeping there. The innkeeper’s wife had graciously packed him up a collation of food he could nibble on the way.
His steps stalled when he spotted the boy and the white mare waiting for him next to Hunnam in the stable yard.
He should have known better than to feed a stray.
And lord love a duck, he looked like a stray. Judging from the hay sprouting from his unruly curls, he’d slept in the stable loft. Judging from the smell clinging to his filthy clothes, he’d paid his way by mucking out the stalls.
It annoyed the hell out of Daniel that he knew this. He knew this because he’d once done the same.
That the boy was nibbling on an apple core—that had clearly been over-nibbled—while Daniel was suffering from an overfull belly after an obscenely decadent breakfast, didn’t help. Guilt did not aid digestion. Nor did the outrage that came fist in glove with the certitude that said guilt was undeserved.
He owed the boy nothing. Nothing.
Fixing his features into a ferocious glower—so the pest would know better than to send any hungry looks in Daniel’s direction—he heaved up into Hunnam’s saddle. He set his teeth when the boy followed suit.
With a curse, Daniel flicked the reins and Hunnam charged forward.
It was a shame he hadn’t been paying attention—or at least holding on better—because the lurch dethroned him. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost his seat. Not the first time Hunnam, in his exuberance for a run, had tossed him into the dust. But it was probably one of the more humiliating times, on account of the fact that he’d been in the process of trying to appear superior and remote.
To his credit, the boy didn’t laugh. Indeed, he hopped off his mare—with annoying ease—and offered Daniel a hand. It was a ridiculous prospect because Daniel was easily twelve stone and the boy was…a twig. The hand was slender and fragile. But it would have been churlish to refuse.
He allowed the boy to help him sit up, but no more than that. He needed some time, at any rate, to manage the blinding pain. It wasn’t just the pain in his backside either. His leg sent up a hellish howl too. The mortification didn’t help.
He shouldn’t have had such a large breakfast. It threatened to come up. He found his hat and slapped it against his thigh to remove the worst of the dust and he glared at Hunnam, who pranced in the yard making sounds that sounded suspiciously like snickers.
At length, the agony subsided and he levered himself to his feet. He wanted to slap the boy’s hands away, but the truth was, he appreciated the support. The last thing he wanted to do was tip over again.
Once he was steady, he whistled to Hunnam, who trotted over, still snorting his amusement. He shot the beast a glare and grabbed the reins. And then, because it was the polite thing to do, he nodded to the boy and said, “Thank you.”
He did not say, “Please follow me for the rest of the day,” but he might as well have. Because the boy did.
About two hours in, Daniel blew out a heavy breath and pulled up on Hunnam’s reins. To his complete and utter aggravation, the boy stopped too. So he wheeled his mount and faced him head-on as such nuisances should be faced.
“Are you following me?” He attempted the query to be a bark, bold and bothered and befitting a formidable soldier of the Scots Greys.
Apparently, he’d lost his touch. His edge. His dire ferocity.
The boy grinned. It was a disarming grin with dimples and everything, and it did something to him, something deep inside him. Nudged at his soul. Urged it to awaken from its frozen slumber. It was a pity it was often cranky upon awakening. “Well? Are you?” Definitely cranky.
The irritating grin broadened. “In that I am behind you, yes. I suppose I’m following you.” It annoyed him, that cheerful response. More than it should have. The voice that had not dropped. The trusting eyes. The smooth column of a neck that had no inkling how close it was to being throttled.
“Well, stop it.”
The boy waved a hand at the guiltless road. “We’re both traveling north it seems. It only makes sense to travel together.”
Daniel’s fingers tightened. “I prefer to travel alone.” He deserved to travel alone.
“It would be safer to travel together.” The mare shuffled closer, as though it were she who was frightened of the barren landscape surrounding them. Of the trees that could harbor any number of robbers. Of the hummocks that could, at any moment, rise up to trip them.
Without any urging on Daniel’s part, Hunnam tossed his head and greeted the female of his species with a lascivious whinny.
Daniel yanked on the reins. Hunnam reared up, then rolled his eyes back and pinned Daniel with an equine glare. He entertained the very real prospect of being tossed again. This time on purpose. He shifted his annoyance to the boy, the boy who was far too trusting. “Where you came to the conclusion that I am a safe companion is a mystery.” People who rode with him ended up dead. It was a known fact.
The boy blinked and Daniel was struck again at the clarity, the innocence of those eyes. “You fed me.”
As simple as that.
As devastatingly simple as that.
He should never have weakened. He should never have shown any mercy.
God protect him from tender emotions. And hungry boys.
“Why did you choose me to torment?” Of all the travelers on the road, how had he been the lucky one?
A slender shoulder rose. “You remind me of my brother.”
Hell. “How so?” However so?
“You’re a military man.”
“I most certainly am not.”
“You were.” A simple, incontrovertible truth. “I can trust you.” And that, a folly.
“I am no’ a man to be trusted.”
“You fed me.” Did he need to harp on that one failing so?
With a grumble that sounded suspiciously like a snarl, Daniel urged Hunnam forward. His shadow hurried to catch up.
They rode in silence. It was pleasant. It was nice. It was quiet. He had no idea why suddenly, out of the blue, he opened his mouth and spoiled it. “So you come from a military family?”
Surely he didn’t care. Surely he didn’t want to know more about this sad, vulnerable urchin.
The boy bobbed his head. “Aye.”
Daniel studied his person. Smallish for a soldier, still, he asked, “Do you intend to enlist? When you’re grown?”
The boy’s lips curved, some secret jest. “The war is over,” he said.
“There will be other wars.” Probably. Just not for Daniel. He was ruined for military service. Forever. And what else did he have? Who the hell else was he? What was he?
A groom? For the remainder of his life?
“I think no’.” A slender shoulder lifted. “I doona fancy myself of the disposition to kill.”
“It comes more easily than you could imagine.” Flesh separated like warm butter. Blood flowed. Men fell. And after a while, one could forget what the fall of a saber would mean to the poor sod on the other end of it. One could forget that they were men. That they had wives and mothers and children. That they had lived well, up until now.
One could even justify it with a well-worn lie. Something like, It is either him or me.
War was full of well-worn lies.
Far too late, Daniel discovered he too was not of the disposition to kill. He never wanted to kill another thing. Not ever again.
He found his thoughts, his memories, his horrors discomfiting. Maybe that was why he extended a conversation he had not wanted in the first place. “Was your father in the service?”
He shook his head. “My brother.”
“Your brother is military?”
The lad glanced away. “Was. He…d
ied.”
“I see.” Occupational hazard.
“In Belgium.”
Daniel’s heart skipped a painful beat. “Belgium?” So many had. Lost their lives there. “He fought at Waterloo?”
A sigh. “That’s what the letter said.”
Ah. The letter. Daniel had written his share. He hated those damned letters.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” It was a patent pleasantry. And an empty one. And the words hurt like hell. Like gravel in his throat.
Large eyes lifted to meet his. He ignored the welling dampness. Dampness was irrelevant. “He was my only family. He was all I had.”
Hell. Why did he suddenly feel responsible for this boy? This lad? This child? Had he written the letter that had changed Pippin’s life? Did it matter if he had or not?
Hell.
Hell and damnation.
Enough of this. He didn’t want to travel with someone. Traveling with someone made him responsible for their safety and he did not want the onus. He couldn’t carry any more guilt. And staring down at that woebegone face made something inside him lurch, twist in an aching way.
No. He did not want a traveling companion. And certainly not this one.
He flicked the reins with more vigor than was necessary and Hunnam bounded forward. When the boy followed suit, annoyance prickled at Daniel’s nape. “Must you follow so close?”
The boy blinked. “We are travelling together.”
“We most certainly are not.” He ignored the flicker of pain that flashed over that woebegone face, and pressed on. “I told you. I prefer to travel alone. I doona want conversation. I doona want companionship. And I certainly doona want to feed you.” The boy’s mouth opened, most probably to issue some irritating rebuttal, but Daniel didn’t allow it. “For God’s sake, leave me alone, boy,” he said in a feral growl. “You are a nuisance.” And then he gored Hunnam in the flanks and pounded down the north road, leaving the guttersnipe in his dust.
Well, Fia sniffed as she watched the great grey disappear around a curve. That was rude.
But then, hadn’t she expected as much?
Her soldier had been nothing but surly from the start. He’d made no secret of the fact he didn’t want her companionship.
Fine. Just fine. If he didn’t want her to travel with him, she wouldn’t. She tried not to be discouraged at the thought. Despite his grumbly attitude, she’d enjoyed his company—or his presence at the very least, as he hadn’t been terribly companionable. And for some reason, she’d liked him.
She urged Blaze to catch up, but she was careful to make sure she stayed out of his sight. He stopped for lunch at the inn in Ballinluig and Fia stopped as well, to rest her mount. As Blaze drank from the River Tummel, Fia leaned against a tree stump and ate an apple.
She loved apples, but they did become tiring when one ate nothing else. She’d shown great restraint last night when Daniel had handed her his plate. She’d eaten only half and then carefully wrapped up the bread and some of the chicken for later. She had no idea when she would have the opportunity to eat again. Some of the innkeepers were happy to give her chores in exchange for a spot of food and a place to sleep, but many others were irritable and annoyed at the request. Beyond that, between Moulin and Newtonmore, there were not many inns.
Hopefully, there would be plenty of orchards.
She leaned back and closed her eyes and let the heat of the sun warm her skin. She hadn’t slept well the night before. The hay had been scratchy and since being robbed, she hadn’t been able to fully relax. Every noise had awakened her. Her muscles ached from mucking out the stables in Clunie and her stomach was empty—apples notwithstanding.
She hadn’t expected traveling to be so exhausting. It discouraged her to think how far there was yet to go. And apparently, she would be making the journey alone. It would have been so nice to have a companion.
When Daniel didn’t emerge from the inn for some time, she sighed and gathered her reins, mounted Blaze and continued on the north road.
She tried to ignore the trickle of trepidation, twined as it was with a deep, abiding disappointment.
He did not want her company. She wouldn’t force it upon him.
The boy had stopped following him. Finally.
Or perhaps he’d taken the crossroads at Ballinluig. Each time Daniel glanced over his shoulder, there was not so much as a hint of him.
Something curled in his belly. He’d become used to that occasional flash of white when he peeked over his shoulder. It had amused him. More than it should have. And, if he were being honest, it had soothed him a little to know he wasn’t utterly alone on this road.
But now the boy was gone.
It was foolish to miss him.
Daniel had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was a nuisance—
Heat crept up his neck. Had he? Had he really?
What kind of man did that? What kind of honorable man saw someone in need and ignored him? Nay, rebuffed him. Granted, there was something about the boy that poked at a festering wound in his soul. His vulnerability, his trust, his resemblance to Daniel’s closest friend, now dead. But that was no excuse for Daniel’s behavior. His mother would have been mortified. Indeed, she was probably looking down on him from heaven and shaking her head, as she had done when he was young and foolish and thoughtless. She would expect better of him. And he should expect better of himself.
He was tempted to turn around and ride back to the inn, to find the boy and feed him again. And he would have, if he hadn’t acquired another traveling companion at the Ballinluig inn.
Ennis Campbell had sat next to Daniel at the rough table and struck up a conversation. He’d been pleased to discover the man had served with the Inniskillings Dragoons and in that, they had much in common. They were also both traveling north. It only made sense to travel together.
After a congenial chat and a satisfying meal, they set out together on the road to Moulin. It occurred to Daniel, as they drank and talked, that he’d been solitary for far too long. It was rejuvenating indeed to laugh and joke with others, to remember what it was like to be alive. What it was to be well.
He wasn’t sure why it was so healing, this traveling, but it was. Maybe because it gave him things to think about other than how much his spirit ached. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of Lennox all day, he had. His friend was rarely far from his mind. The guilt of his death was never absent from Daniel’s heart. But the opportunity to help someone else, as he had helped that boy, though in very small ways, did ease the sting.
Could it be that was the secret to dealing with unbearable pain—finding small ways to ease it in others?
He should have invited the boy into the inn. He should have fed him again. Daniel hadn’t missed the sight of him leaning against the stump by the river…eating a damn apple. How easy would it have been to wave him over? Invite him in?
Yet he hadn’t.
Now he was having second thoughts. Regret for losing what had been a tolerable companion. Guilt for being so irascible, for certain, but there was more. For failing the boy. Just as he had failed Lennox.
It didn’t help that he and Ennis passed from the open road surrounded by fields into an apple orchard. As they rode through the fragrant shadowed road, desire rose within him, and not just for apples. Desire, perhaps, to be a better man.
It was probably too late for that, but he couldn’t evict the thought.
Daniel’s attention stalled, mid-regret, as he caught a flash of white through the trees. His heart skipped. His mood rose.
Was it…? Could it be…?
Ah yes. It was.
A white mare.
He slowed his mount to scan the orchard and Ennis slowed beside him.
Blast. He didn’t see the boy. Where was he? Had his horse thrown him? Was he wounded? Lying on the ground broken and bloodied? Heat rose on his neck. God, he hoped not.
His companion cleared his throat, capturing Daniel’s attention.
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br /> And then something else captured his attention. Something that caused his pulse to skitter, his muscles to lock.
The smile, certainly, with which Ennis presented him. It was cold and reptilian at best. But it was the pistol, pointed at Daniel’s chest, that absorbed him. He’d stared down the barrel of a pistol before.
He did not care for the sensation.
He also did not care to be robbed.
“Get off the horse.”
Daniel gaped at him. Ennis intended to steal his horse? Hunnam? His friend? The charger that had kept him alive on a French battlefield when men were falling around him like flies?
Hell no.
He growled in response. His fury blossomed. The soldier within him arose and he unsheathed his saber with a singing hiss. A pity his pistol was in his bag, or he would have reached for that.
Ennis chuckled and eased his mount back, out of reach of the blade. “I have a pistol,” he said, by way of a mocking reminder.
Did he have any idea? Any clue how quickly Daniel could charge? He was a cavalryman. He’d killed before. And any man who thought to steal his horse deserved to die.
“Come now, Sinclair,” Ennis said cheerfully. “Get off the horse. I will shoot you to have him.”
“Do you know what they do to horse thieves?” he snapped. They hung them. That was what they did. Ennis would be lucky to live that long.
“Aye. I do. But they’ll never catch me.” He grinned. “They never have yet. Now. If you please.” He waggled the pistol. “Dismount.”
Anger, frustration and a hint of panic skirled through Daniel’s soul. He couldn’t allow this man to have Hunnam. He knew he could charge but a bullet would travel much faster than a horse. Besides which, he couldn’t take the chance of Hunnam being shot.
The best thing to do was to engage in the pretense of giving over his horse…and then, if he could, retrieve his own pistol. If Ennis took off with Hunnam, Daniel could always whistle him back.
His mount was exquisitely trained.
Daniel prepared to dismount, but before he could, a round, red missile whizzed past his head and smacked into the weapon. The impact caused Ennis to squeeze the trigger and the pistol fired into the trees. The retort was deafening in the peaceful calm of the afternoon, but not so deafening that Daniel didn’t hear a high-pitched cry.
