Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  By the time they stopped a few hours later, Jossalyn was numb inside. She didn’t speak as Garrick helped her down, or as he forced some dried biscuits and meat, along with his waterskin, into her hands. She took a few bites, but the food tasted like sand in her mouth. The water helped rinse away the taste of sickness that lingered in the back of her throat, but she only managed to take a few sips.

  Yet even as she retreated into herself, struggling to comprehend what she had seen back at the glen, several questions whispered in the recesses of her mind. She had let them wash over her as they had ridden hard toward the north, but now they were ready to bubble over.

  “You never answered me,” she said finally, startling both Garrick and Burke, who had sunken into the silence and were leaning over a small fire that Burke had built. “How do you know that it was the English?” For some reason, her mind rejected the idea that her countrymen—former countrymen, she reminded herself—could do such things to innocent people.

  Garrick recovered from his surprise first, but his gray eyes turned hard and flat. “Why do you doubt that it was?” he asked quietly.

  He didn’t say it, but she caught his implication. She claimed to be sympathetic to the Scots, but when it came down to it, she was still English—and always would be.

  She faltered for a moment, unsure of herself. Why did she resist the idea that Englishmen could do such horrible things? She had heard whispered stories of atrocities on both sides, but seeing for herself was different than hearing rumors. “I just…I don’t know how you can be so sure. I have heard before that the Scots raid each other’s lands and even have blood feuds—”

  Garrick spat into the fire, startling her. “Lass, feuding clans steal sheep from each other. They don’t rape and murder women and children,” he said vehemently.

  She jumped and leaned back from him slightly at his tone and words.

  “Easy, cousin,” Burke said lowly, putting a hand on Garrick’s arm.

  He shrugged it off and stood. “If you want the truth, lass, that was in all likelihood the work of your brother and his soldiers.” The words came out cold, but Garrick’s eyes flamed with gray fire.

  She was so shocked at his words that she jerked upright from her seat next to the fire and took several steps backward.

  “Garrick.” Burke’s voice was laden with warning.

  “She wanted the truth, didn’t she?” Garrick said, turning his anger on Burke. “She should be able to face the realities of war—of England’s tyranny over Scotland—before she joins the war effort. Perhaps now that she knows what happens to Scotswomen under English invasion, she’ll no longer want to adopt the Scottish cause. Maybe she’ll finally want to go home to her brother.”

  She closed the distance between them in two strides. Before she knew what she was doing, she raised her hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

  He saw the slap coming but stood still. He deserved it. He was spewing out all his anger toward the English at her, like her nationality was her fault, or that she had caused not only the scene back at the glen but the countless others like it he had seen over the years.

  But it went deeper than that. She had to know the truth—about the war, about the English, and about himself.

  He hadn’t liked the idea of her joining the war effort from the beginning. Though she was a gifted healer and her skills would surely be valuable to the rebellion, the thought of her having to face the realities of their battles against the English disturbed him. She obviously already knew how cruel her brother was. But he had assumed that since she sympathized with the Scots, she understood the low tactics English soldiers and their commanders stooped to in order to control and oppress the Scots.

  But perhaps it was worse than simple naiveté on her part. Maybe she still felt the need to defend the English for their behavior. The thought chilled him, for he didn’t want to doubt her, but twice now she had hesitated when it came to recognizing the cruelties of her brother and the English, and he had to remind himself that blood ties and birth origins couldn’t just be sloughed off with a change of location.

  Even if his doubts about her loyalty were misplaced, the fact remained that she was deeply averse to war and its results—as she should be. Most people didn’t live as close to the violence and death as he did. He was proud to aid the Bruce and the Scottish rebellion in the best way he could—with his bow—but he could no longer deceive himself that the tenderness and strength of one lass could save him from all he had seen and done. He was past redemption.

  It sickened him to push her away like this, to make her see the fact that he wasn’t some knight in shining armor, but he had indulged his fantasy too long.

  He kept his hands clenched at his sides, feeling the sting in his cheek slowly fade. She stood in front of him, panting, her hands balled at her sides as well.

  “Are we done now, lass?” he said lowly. Surely now she would be through with arguing, but more, she would be through with him and the nightmare into which he had dragged her.

  She inhaled sharply through her nose, and then intentionally unclenched her hands. “No, we are not done. We need to talk about all of this further.”

  He had been bracing himself for her rejection, for her to turn her back on him and leave his life forever, with only the faint memory of brief happiness to hold onto during the long, cold nights alone on some mission. That kind of pain would have been sharp, and he was ready for it, but he wasn’t prepared for her to say that they needed to talk things through. Suddenly, he felt the anger and tension leave his body, to be replaced by confusion and uncertainty.

  Burke coughed surreptitiously, breaking the silence that stretched as Garrick and Jossalyn stared at each other. “I think I’ll scout the area. I’ll be gone at least two hours.” With that, he quietly slipped away into the surrounding forest and left them alone.

  “What do you mean, we need to talk?” Despite his surprise at her words, Garrick still spoke in a guarded tone.

  She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry I slapped you,” she said, not addressing his question.

  “I deserved it.”

  “Why do you think my brother and his men were responsible for…for what happened back in that clearing?” She sounded weary rather than angry this time.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling exhausted himself. “They were coming from the east when they passed our camp. They could have come across the cottage as they cut northwest in one of their sweeps.”

  She swallowed, and tears shimmered in her eyes again.

  “It could have been some other band of Englishmen looking to cause trouble and send a message to the Scots,” he said gently, trying to ease her pain. “But…”

  “What? Tell me.”

  “Raef Warren is known to have done similar things elsewhere in Scotland,” Garrick said reluctantly. She didn’t need to picture her brother doing such terrible things to more innocent people, but Garrick had been on Sinclair lands when the English swept through four years ago. They had waged war not just on the Scottish warriors, but also on the small villages and crofts filled with women and children.

  She sat down hard on the ground all of a sudden. “I know he is capable of such things,” she said, her voice pinched with emotion.

  He knelt next to her, struggling to think of something to say or do to ease her suffering. Tears had begun streaming down her cheeks, but she swallowed her sobs, visibly trying to maintain some of her composure.

  “Jossalyn, you don’t have to be a part of this.” To his ears, his own voice was low but slightly strained. “You can still leave. Go back to England and make a new life for yourself in some small village. Or stay in Scotland but don’t join the war effort.” Saying these words was hard, but it was the right thing to do. He couldn’t be selfish. He had to let her go.

  Her face transformed from pained control to shock. “But don’t you see? This is exactly why I w
ant to join the fight for Scottish freedom!”

  He furrowed his brow. He didn’t see.

  Perceiving his confusion, she went on. “I can’t stand the thought of living in a world where such terrible things happen, where the strongest and meanest get their way at any cost. Maybe I am foolish to think the world could be any different than that, but I at least want to try to make it better.”

  He was stunned for a moment by her conviction and strength. She had explained her reasons for wanting to help the Scottish cause before, but perhaps he hadn’t truly listened to her. He had likely immediately started to calculate all the reasons why it was too dangerous for a lass—for a lass he cared so much about—to involve herself, rather than actually listen to her commitment to do what she thought was right. Aye, he would still worry about her, but who was he to try to control her or take away her ability to pursue her sense of duty and justice?

  “I owe you an apology, lass,” he said, lowering his head. “I should have listened to you before when you made your mission clear. I won’t doubt you again.”

  She seized his hands in hers, bringing his eyes back up. Her tears were drying now, and her eyes were wide and bright with surprise. “Do you mean it?”

  “Of course. I was harsh with my words before, but I hope you can forgive me for worrying about you. I just…don’t want any harm to come to you,” he said haltingly.

  Suddenly, she was in his arms. She flung her arms around his neck and slammed into his chest, pressing her face into his shoulder. He nearly toppled backward out of his crouched position but managed to stay upright.

  “And I won’t question your loyalty again, either,” he said into her golden hair. “You’ve more than proved yourself. You saved Burke’s life, and you could have alerted your brother to our location back inside that shelter, but you didn’t. I think I’ve been suspicious of people too long and couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

  She pulled back a little and looked up into his face with those wide emerald eyes. “And what was in front of you?”

  His chest squeezed in a strange but not entirely painful way. Now was the time to speak the truth of his feelings. He had first tried to deny and downplay them, then ignore them, and finally prayed they wouldn’t leave him a broken man when he thought that he and Jossalyn would be forced to part ways.

  “You are the bravest, strongest, most beautiful lass I have ever known.” He let his hand brush against her strawberries-and-cream cheek, soaking in its velvety softness.

  She closed her eyes for a moment at his touch, and he couldn’t read her for a fraction of a second. A flicker of fear stabbed him. What if she didn’t feel the same way?

  But then her eyes opened again, and he was drowning in their green depths. They shone with emotion, but instead of pain, they radiated deep joy. Then, suddenly, a shy smile crept to her lips.

  “Garrick, I have tried for a while now to…not think about you—about us—but I can’t seem to help it,” she said, lowering her eyes as she struggled to find her words.

  “I have been having the same problem, lass,” he said, capturing her chin in his hand and raising it so her eyes met his again.

  “And have you come to any solutions?” she said with a slightly arched eyebrow.

  He felt the corners of his mouth quirk. “Aye, I have, but they all involve things that are not polite to talk about in front of a lady.”

  Her eyes widened, and a rosy bloom appeared on each of her cheeks. He couldn’t help it. A chuckle rumbled in his chest at how enjoyable it was to get a rise out of her. But he sobered quickly, returning to the problem both of them seemed to be struggling with.

  “I have also thought myself in circles about what might lay ahead for us.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I…enjoy your company greatly. But I also want to go to Robert the Bruce’s camp and work as a healer.”

  For some reason, her words conjured an image of her tucked safely behind some castle’s fortified walls, running a keep and busying herself with needlework or some other occupation for ladies. It was all wrong. She would wither like a plucked wildflower if she were kept inside or forced to abandon her healing practice.

  He suddenly realized that she was warning him. She wouldn’t be happy as a lady-wife inside some fortified castle. He had never let himself go so far as to fantasize that they could be together for life, but now that the thought had entered his mind, he knew that they would never have a traditional union.

  Instead of frightening him, though, he felt a wave of hope at the realization. One of his fears had been that he could never have a wife or family because of his work with the Bruce. But with Jossalyn joining him at the Bruce’s camp…

  “Do we have to choose, lass?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to the Bruce’s camp also. And I greatly enjoy your company as well.” He emphasized his words by letting his thumb brush across her lower lip. She shuddered involuntarily.

  When she could speak, she said, “Are you saying…are we saying that…?”

  “You captivate me, lass. I can’t lie to myself or you any longer. I care about you, and I want to…enjoy your company more.” He let all his shades of meaning come through in his voice with those last words.

  It was clear she understood him, for another blush washed over her face.

  “I want that too.”

  Her words struck him, causing his chest to squeeze again. He couldn’t believe he had been able to speak what had been growing inside of him the entire time he had known her. Even more astonishing, she felt the same way about him.

  Her lips parted again, but he was done talking. He needed to feel her, taste her, communicate to her how much he longed for her in a way that didn’t involve words. Without waiting, he brought his mouth down on hers in a searing kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  If Jossalyn had thought that Garrick’s words would undo her with the flood of emotion they caused, nothing could prepare her for his kiss. It branded her, seared her to her core with its passion and intensity. She let herself be washed away in the torrent of sensation and emotion.

  His hands were everywhere at once—in her hair, on her waist, running up and down her back. She registered vaguely that her hands, too, seemed to have a mind of their own. They gripped his shoulders, circled his neck, tangled in his hair as she pulled herself closer to him. Even pressed fully against his chest, with their mouths locked, she wanted more. She wanted to be completely intertwined with him.

  She had tried to deny how much she longed to be with him, and then tried to live with the thought of only having a short amount of time left to be in his presence. But now that they had spoken honestly with each other about their feelings, she was overwhelmed by the strength of her desire. She was tired of denying her true feelings and tired of forcing herself to settle for what little she could have with him. Now she wanted it all.

  She moaned a little against his mouth, impatiently tugging at the ties at the neck of his shirt. She didn’t know how to voice her longing, so she tried to communicate it to him with her body. He seemed to understand completely, for he deepened their kiss, caressing her tongue with his in a sensual rhythm that sent heat shooting through her limbs.

  Suddenly, though, he broke off their kiss. The air flooding against her damp lips startled her, and she searched his face for an explanation. He seemed to be struggling with something, for his eyes were stormy with passion but his brow was furrowed.

  “Lass, there’s still something…”

  Worry crept in at the edges of her passion-hazed mind. He had said that he accepted her goal of helping the Scottish rebellion with her healing skills, and he had proclaimed that he cared and longed for her, just as she did for him. What else could there be?

  “I’m not some courtly knight,” he said with difficulty. “I have done things that may be hard for you to understand, things you may not be able to accept.”

  She felt like a cold bucket o
f water had just been dumped over her head. He had alluded to his work as part of the Scottish rebellion several times, and she already knew that he was a warrior. Was there some horrible secret he was keeping?

  “What do you mean?” she said cautiously.

  He scraped a hand through his loose, dark hair. “I mean that I am a killer and you are a healer, lass. I long for you so badly, but I fear my black soul will sully you.” He sat back on his heels, as he spoke, putting space between them.

  “Have you done things like we saw back at that cottage?” Her stomach twisted at the thought, but she tried to keep her voice level. She could indeed never accept such acts, and if he was saying that he was truly as bad as whoever did those things, she would have been sorely mistaken in her impression of him.

  “Nay!” he said quickly. “I would never stoop so low.”

  Relief washed through her. She could trust her intuition about him. But then why was he trying to put distance between them yet again? They had struggled enough just to be able to voice their mutual feelings. What did he think he was saving her from?

  “But I am not so different from the English, or any other soldier. I have killed mercilessly. I’ve shot men in the back, I’ve hunted them like animals, and I’ve done so without regret.” His voice was tight and low, and his face had taken on a hard, defensive look.

  Suddenly, she realized what he was doing. “So you are punishing yourself for the things you’ve done by trying to convince me that you are evil?”

  He struggled for a moment before speaking again. “I don’t think of myself as evil. I believe in the Bruce’s cause, and I would fight to the death for freedom. But I’m not a hero either. And you deserve a hero.”