Although he was speaking the truth, it did nothing to ease the ache in her heart. “Ye forget that I have met him.”
A sorrowful sigh passed his lips. “Ye only think ye’ve met him. What if that be nae true?”
“It matters nae. He be me father. I cannae explain how I know it but I do.” She took in a deep breath, knowing full well she sounded daft. “My heart tells me there is a good chance he too has changed after all these years. He might regret his decision to toss us aside.” ’Twas the one thing she’d been holding on to for the past year. The one thing that kept her moving forward on her quest to find him.
Aiden took a bite of the dried beef. “It could also be he has a dozen other cast-off children waitin’ for his blessin’ and his last name. Or he could be remarried five times over, with dozens of legitimate children who will fight you to the bitter end. Or he could be dead.”
“Do ye nae think I have nae thought of that before?” she asked as she poked a stick at the fire.
“Apparently ye have nae thought it enough,” he replied, taking another bite. “Or ye would nae be out here in the middle of nowhere with a man who is all but a stranger to ye.”
I have fought my way across Scotland for the past year. I’ll no stop now, when I be only a few short days away from Lachlan MacAllistair.
“I will nae give up,” she told him pointedly. “I do nae care if he wants me or no’. I want to see the man who fathered me.”
* * *
When he saw the hurt in her eyes, guilt bubbled to the surface. It was a long buried emotion and one he could ill afford to feel. Guilt, compassion, devotion toward another being were the things that could get a man killed. Still, try as he might, he could not help but feel sorry for the young woman, as well as question her soundness of mind. Why on earth would she want to see a man who had caused her so much pain and anguish? He’d rather be gutted than ever lay eyes on his own father again.
Chances were good that this Lachlan MacAllistair fellow wanted nothing to do with her. Why would she pursue it, knowing that?
“I will nae take ye,” he told her. The last thing he wanted was to witness her being turned away by the man who was supposedly her father. Or, worse yet, learn her mother had lied on her deathbed.
“But ye promised!” she argued.
“Ye can nae hold me to somethin’ I said whilst drunk, lass.”
Shooting to her feet, she glared at him. “’Twas nae a promise ye made whilst drunk.”
A memory from childhood rushed to the front of his mind. That cold day when she’d come to tell him they were moving again. The promise he had made to always be her champion and to someday help her find her father. “Ye cannae be serious.”
With her hands balled into fists, resting on her hips, she looked mad enough to bite through his sword. “I am. Ye made a promise and I mean to see that ye keep it.”
Slowly, he set the dried beef aside, wiped his hands on his mud-caked trews and looked up at her. “I will do nae such thing.”
“Why nae?” she demanded.
He could not very well explain to her the real reason; he didn’t want to see her hurt. “Because I dunnae want to.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “That is nae a good reason.”
“’Tis as good a reason as any,” he told her as politely as he could manage. “I’ll nae be takin’ ye.”
Angrily, she picked up her blanket and her bundle. “Verra well,” she said through gritted teeth. “I no longer desire your help. I will get there on my own.”
Stomping away from the camp, back toward the stream, she left Aiden Macgullane alone.
Was she completely mad? Did she fully intend on walking the rest of the way alone, without escort or weapon? There could be highwaymen and brigands all about these parts. What if she came upon them or they her? ’Twas doubtful she could defend herself against one man, let alone a band of them.
Why should he care what happened to her? If she were set upon by such men, she would have no one but herself to blame. She was allowing her anger and that deep-seated need to know who her real father was to propel her forward. ’Twas not common sense that guided her. A fool should pay the price for their own actions. Isn’t that what he’d been taught?
Then why the bloody hell was he feeling guilty? Or worried? Or concerned for someone he hadn’t seen in nearly four and ten years? The fact that he did care left him feeling disgusted with himself. He had been trained to be a ruthless, cold-hearted killer. A mercenary of unparalleled proportions. Had they not beaten every ounce of compassion for his fellow men out of him?
He had escaped that life two years ago, had left it behind, along with the identity his masters had given him when he was but twelve years old. His only goal since had been to run as far away from his past and his demons as he could manage. He’d taken up drinking in order to numb himself from feeling anything. And he’d done a good job of it, save for the nightly assault of his dreams.
Until now.
He did care. He did worry.
Bloody hell.
Chapter Three
“Get on the horse,” Aiden ground out, frustrated at her stubbornness.
Ignoring his plea, she continued to traipse through the woods, her bundle tossed over her shoulder, hips swaying from side to side. “I do nae wish to,” she told him.
It had taken time to saddle his horse, repack his meager supplies and change his clothes. ’Twas not difficult to find the object of his consternation. Now he was doing his best to persuade the stubborn woman to allow him to help.
He sat atop his horse as she continued her determined pace. “I told ye ten times now that I be sorry. Now stop and mount.”
“And I’ve told ye ten times ‘nay’. I do nae want ye to feel beholden to me. I can take care of myself.”
He laughed in disbelief. “Aye, I can see just how well ye can take care of yourself.”
A felled tree blocked her path so she decided to climb over it. “What does that mean?”
Loosening his hold on the reins, he draped his wrists over the pommel. “Ye be as skinny as me broadsword. I could snap ye in two with one hand. That tells me ye have eaten well of late,” he said sarcastically. “Ye be what? Nine and ten? Ye should be married and workin’ on yer second bairn by now. But here ye are, plodding through the dark woods, and ye be headin’ in the wrong direction.”
She paused to study her surroundings, her angry glare turning to a look of confusion and doubt.
“Aye, lass. Ye’ve been headin’ south fer the past hour.” He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice.
Lifting her skirts, she turned around to head back the way she’d come.
“Now ye’re headed east. The road ye seek is north and west, lass. Ye keep goin’ in that direction, and ye’ll end up walkin’ into the sea.” Try as he might, he could not help but smile at her predicament. At this rate, ’twould take her a year just to find the proper road. If she weren’t set upon by thieves or brigands first.
Pausing once again, she looked up at the sky. With the dense, tall trees, ’twas impossible for her to tell what direction she was heading. Frustrated, she grabbed a handful of skirt and started off again, cursing under her breath.
Aiden grew weary of waiting for her to realize she could not make it to Allistair castle without him. Pulling his horse along side her, he bent down, wrapped an arm around her waist, and hefted her up, perching her in front of him. The startled, furious glare she gave him made him laugh. A long, full laugh he hadn’t experienced in an age.
“Stop laughin’ at me and put me down,” she snapped.
“I dunnae wish to,” he replied, still smiling. Admittedly, he liked the way she was glowering at him. It made her green eyes dark and, for a moment, he wasn’t so certain he didn’t see the flames of hell staring back at him. That brought forth another chuckle.
“Why are ye laughin’ at me?” she asked. “I see no humor in it. I could have found my way.”
His laughte
r subsided, but he still felt quite amused. “Ye’d have died of starvation before then. Or been set upon by ne’er-do-wells. Or tripped and broken yer neck.”
Crossing her arms over her chest angrily, she huffed. “Ye’re only saying these things to scare me.”
With a shake of his head, he pulled his horse to a stop. “Aye, that be true. Ye need to be afraid of such things or ye won’t survive.”
“I have survived the past year well enough,” she told him, looking at him straight on.
With a quirked brow, he replied in a low, soft tone. “Aye, I can tell by the bag of bones I’m holdin’ that ye have done quite well.”
More angry than wounded, she furrowed her brow. “I did nae ask ye to hold this ‘bag of bones’. I’ve asked ye kindly to leave me be.”
Skinny as she may be, she was still a woman. He could remember well how she felt nestled against him that morn. She was close enough now that the scent of marigold soap was nearly as intoxicating as whisky. He knew without the need for touch that her skin would feel as soft as silk against his own.
For the first time in his adult life, he let common sense give way to desire. Without permission, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. ’Twas even more magnificent than the first time. They were warm and as soft as the petals of a rose. Just a taste was all he wanted, but the moment he felt her melting against him, he knew he wanted far more than one wee kiss.
Stopping before he could do anything else this day that he knew he’d come to regret later, he pulled away.
Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly apart, her cheeks as red as the morning dawn. Oh, she was a dangerous thing, this young woman. He knew it with every fiber of his being.
Her eyes fluttered open a heartbeat later. Instantly, her brow furrowed with uncertainty. “Why did ye do that?”
“Do what?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat.
“Kiss me?”
“Because that I wished to do.”
* * *
Heading now in the right direction, they rode in companionable silence for the next hour, each of them lost in their own thoughts, barely noticing they’d left the woods. ’Twas Rianna who finally broke the silence. “Do ye really think me too skinny?”
“I do,” he replied. “But ’tis nothin’ a few good meals cannae fix.”
A quarter of an hour passed before she asked her next question. “Do ye really think me addlepated?”
“I ne’er said ye were addlepated.”
“But I was goin’ in the wrong direction,” she reminded him. “It must have crossed your mind that I’m not the most brilliant minded person ye ever met.”
“I can assure ye the thought ne’er entered my head.” Nay, his thoughts were far more lascivious and salacious. Her intelligence never once factored into it.
More silence ensued. When next ’twas broken, ’twas by Aiden recommending they stop to eat, stretch their legs, and rest the horse.
They found a spot of open grass at the base of a hill. The sun shone brightly, casting the swaying grass in shades of silver. A clear blue sky, dotted with small fluffy clouds hung overhead. Rianna spread a blanket out carefully, placing her bundle on the edge. While Aiden tended to the horse, she went in search of her comb. When he returned, she was combing through her dark hair.
He thought she looked a most magnificent sight, sitting on the blanket under the warm sun, combing through those long, silky tendrils. For a lengthy moment, he wished he was the comb, for then she could both hold him and he could feel the silkiness of her long locks.
Deftly, she twisted her hair into a long braid and tied the ends with a tiny bit of leather. ’Twas both a treat and agony to watch. If he did not gain a hold on his desire, he’d take her then and there, on the blanket.
“Why are ye starin’ at me?” she asked quizzically.
He couldn’t very well admit he was thinking of divesting her of her clothing and slaking his lust here in the wide-open land. Nay, the truth would get him undoubtedly get him kicked in the groin, so he decided to lie. “Wonderin’ just how mad ye truly are.”
Rianna knew exactly what kind of mad he meant. “I am as sane as ye are,” she told him.
A warm chuckle escaped. “My own soundness of mind might nae be the right way to measure yer own, lass. I’ve been told I’m quite mad.”
With a raised brow of indifference and a roll of her eyes, she said, “Now that I can believe.”
As she began stuffing items back into her bundle, he caught sight of something quite old and familiar. “Ye still have the doll?” he said with a nod toward the object.
Rianna made no effort to hide it. Instead, she picked it up and held it in her hands.
Aiden could remember well the last time he’d seen it. She had come to him in tears because one of the arms had fallen off.
“I can nae ask mum for a needle and thread”, she had cried. “If she finds out I have it, she’ll take it away.”
Aiden consoled her with a pat on her back. “I can fix it, good as new,” he promised. And so he did. Carefully, he had sewn the arm back in place all the while Rianna sat at his feet, watching in awe at what a fine job he was doing. Once he was done, he examined the doll for any other injuries. ’Twas then he discovered something hard inside its body. “What is this?” he asked as he poked a finger inside.
“’Tis her heart,” Rianna explained.
“Her heart?” he had asked. “Dolls do nae have hearts, lass.
“This one does. I think my papa put it there, but I cannae remember,” she told him. “I think he gave it to me the night we left.”
Aiden had heard the story many times that summer. A story that sometimes changed, not through lies, but through misremembering.
He continued to move the object around until he was able to poke it through the goose feather stuffing. His eyes opened wide in astonishment. There, just under the surface of the linen, something … glowed. ’Twas the only word he could think of to describe it. A small yet somehow brilliant light shone from within the doll.
“What is it?” Rianna had asked in a hushed, nearly reverent tone.
In truth, Aiden had no idea, but at the age of eleven, he was not one to admit there was something he might not be a worldly expert on. “’Tis clearly magik,” he said.
“Good magik or bad?” she asked.
Chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, he finally replied. “I say it be good. If ’twere bad, we could feel it.”
Flipping the doll over, he took out his small sgian dubh, fully prepared to cut open the doll to see just what it was that glowed from within. Rianna stopped him. “Nay!” she cried. “Dunnae cut it open!”
“Why no’?” Aiden asked.
Rianna took the doll from his grasp and held it close to her heart. “I dunnae think me da would like that. I am to keep the doll safe until he comes for me.”
“How do ye ken that? Ye canna even remember the man’s name,” he argued.
Rianna looked sad and forlorn. “I dunnae ken how I know. I just know.”
They had argued back and forth for quite some time before Aiden gave up.
“Did ye e’er find out what made it glow?”
Rianna smiled fondly at him. “It quit glowin’ a long time ago,” she said. A moment later, she was looping a finger around a bit of leather that hung around her neck. “’Twas a ring,” she explained. “I eventually wore a hole in the doll and the stuffing fell out. Along with it, this ring.” Gently, she lifted the fabric at her neckline and pulled the leather up and out, where a gold ring dangled in the air.
Aiden quirked a brow as he smiled at her devilishly. “Looks to me as though it be glowin’ now.”
She didn’t believe him until she risked a glance. Rianna’s eyes grew wide and round in utter disbelief. At the center of the dark gold band sat the round ruby. For the past few years it had remained a deep, blood red. Now, however, it glowed a brilliant crimson. Just as it had when they were children.
“Ye should have sold it,” Aiden remarked.
Unable to pull her gaze away from the glowing ring, she shook her head. “Nay,” she whispered. This was the only thing she had left of her father. Or at least that was her belief. If only she could remember more clearly.
At night, she sometimes dreamt of being a wee child again. In those dreams, her father was as real and as warm as the sun. Though she could not make out his face, she knew with all her heart ’twas him. Strong, caring, and kind.
There were very brief moments, in that space between dreaming and waking, when she could have sworn she heard her father’s laugh. Deep, booming … yet it somehow held such merriment, such love of life and the sense of home, it oft brought tears to her eyes.
“If that be a real ruby, ye could live quite comfortably for the rest of yer life, lass.”
Tears burned behind her eyes, tears she would not shed unless and until she was alone. This was her heartache. She would rather starve to death than sell the ring.
Mesmerized by the soft yet brilliant glow, she kept her thoughts to herself. Aiden couldn’t understand the importance of the ring. “I cannae explain it to ye, but I will ne’er sell it. This is my only link to my past.” To her marrow, she believed what she said.
“The past should stay in the past,” Aiden quipped.
With great care, she tucked the ring back under her gown. “Why does the past frighten ye so?” she asked.
He scoffed at the idea, though in truth her comment struck home. Not so much afraid of the past itself as he was of repeating it. “Ye’re daft,” he told her. “Ye’re clingin’ to the past like a drownin’ man to a piece of driftwood. A past ye cannae remember.”
Rianna quirked a brow, his insult not hitting his intended target. “And ye run from it like a man with his trews afire. At least I do nae fear it.”
His jaw clenched tightly. “Some things are best left hidden,” he told her.
“Mayhap if ye dig long enough, ye’ll find a treasure there.”
Angrily, he shot to his feet. “Of this, I can assure ye. There be nothin’ in me past worth rememberin’.”
Ever My Love: The Lore of the Lucius Ring (The Legend of the Theodosia Sword Book 2) Page 13
