by Aileen Adams
The way he’d held her…
She could still feel his arms around her shoulders, beneath her knees. The rapid beating of his heart. His hot breath…
When she emerged, sputtering and blinded by the hair which stuck to her face, she knew she had to get away from him. Their time together had been a diversion which was beginning to turn far more serious.
“Well, well. It looks as though we found ye at last.”
She gasped, sinking to her knees so the water might cover everything below her shoulders.
And found herself staring at one of her four clansmen, watching from the bank with a triumphant smile.
“Avert your eyes,” she hissed, wrapping her arms about herself.
“Och, I dinna think so.” He crouched, his smile turned predatory. “I willna be taking an eye off ye from now until we reach Ben Macdui, lass. I’ve learned my lesson.”
What could she do? He had her trapped. There would be no running, no screaming for help, for what could Fergus do?
The water’s cold seemed to seep inside her bones.
He would know who she was.
“Where are the others?” she whispered, shaking until her teeth chattered.
“Up and down the bank, searching for ye. We shall meet to make camp, and they shall see how fortunate it was for me to choose this place.”
“No, they shall not.” Fergus bolted from the darkness, slamming into the redhaired stranger, knocking them both to the ground.
He got the upper hand, pinning the Reid man on his back. With one hand around the man’s throat, Fergus snarled, “Who are ye? What business have ye here?”
The man’s eyes met Moira’s for an instant before he choked out, “She ran from us. We were taking her to Ben Macdui, to see Luthais Campbell!”
Moira wished the river would take her away.
She ought to have left him. She ought to have ridden north, away from him and from the clansmen still searching the woods for her.
She would never get another chance.
Fergus released the man’s throat, backing away before turning to her.
She wished the moon would not shine so brightly, casting his distraught expression.
“Moira Reid?”
16
It was a strange sensation.
The way everything suddenly made sense.
It took no longer than the snap of Fergus’s fingers for everything he’d questioned, everything he’d wondered about her, to come together in a single, solid whole.
She had not run away from home.
She had run away from her escorts.
She had only been in the woods as long as she’d been running from them.
Little wonder why she had not wished to be forthcoming about herself, for it would mean revealing her identity.
“Moira Reid,” he repeated, not a question this time.
“She told ye she was someone else?” The redheaded man staggered to his feet, still winded and perhaps bruised from the blow he’d received to his midsection.
“Aye. For I am Fergus MacDougal.” He swallowed. “Her betrothed.”
The man’s mouth fell open.
Then, he laughed, throwing his head back.
Fergus snarled. He ought to have killed the bastard. It would have taken nothing more than a bit of extra pressure on the windpipe.
“So she tried her tricks on ye, as well!” This was the most amusing thing the man had ever seen or heard of, judging by his hearty laughter.
“Aye, I suppose it makes ye feel less of a failure for losing her,” Fergus muttered.
“Fergus—”
He glared at her. “If ye know what’s good for ye, lass, you’ll hold yer tongue.”
Her mouth snapped shut. The lying, deceitful wretch.
He would deal with her once they were alone.
There was still the matter of the Reid standing there. He would wish to take her for himself, to complete the mission he’d been tasked with. That simply could not be.
“Thank ye for helping me see clearly what I’ve not understood.” He held out a hand for the man to shake. “I owe ye a debt of gratitude.”
“You might be certain to extend this to Luthais Campbell,” the man suggested with a laugh not nearly as light as he took pains to sound. He wished for a reward for having performed the task set forth to him.
Fergus forced a smile. “Aye. I will that. When I bring her to him, I shall certainly make it plain that ye told me of her true name.”
The man’s smile faltered. The light left his eyes. “When ye what?”
“When I bring her to my uncle.”
“But—‘tis our task—”
“And you’ve been away from home for far too long,” Fergus reminded him. “If I am already due to visit my uncle, there is no reason for all of us to make the journey. Your clan resides in Aberdeenshire, does it not? Quite a long ride from here.”
The man blinked. He was evidently not much for thinking.
He looked to Moira, still in the water.
“She is to be my wife,” Fergus reminded him, the friendliness in his voice now nothing more than a memory. This man needed to be brought to heel. “She thought she could escape marriage to me. I do not take such slights lightly.”
“There is only one of ye,” the man argued.
“Aye, and four of ye allowed her to escape,” Fergus was quick to remind him. “I know of her trickery. Worry not. I will see to it we’re married, and our clans united. As it should be.”
It became a silent battle of wills, the two of them staring at each other. Fergus dared the man to offer further protest—nearly wished he would, for it would provide a reason to kill him.
“Fine, then.” The redheaded Reid glared at Moira. “It will be enough to know ye couldna make a fool of our clan for long.”
She did not reply. Perhaps she could not, half-frozen as she likely was.
Fergus waited for the intruder to leave, listened for the sound of hoofbeats to signal departure. Only when he was certain of their being thoroughly alone, did he turn to Elspeth.
Not Elspeth.
Moira.
“Dress yourself,” he snarled to the shivering lass. “And meet me at the fire. You will need to warm yourself thoroughly before we set out.”
“S—set out?” she whispered over chattering teeth.
“Aye. It will no longer do for us to spend the night here.” He left her there but did not stray far, standing with his back to the shrubs that he might listen for her movement.
Splashing meant she left the water, teeth still chattering in the cold. Would that she might freeze to death, damn her soul.
Now there was a witness who could tell all who might listen that Fergus MacDougal had found his betrothed. There would be no getting out of marriage with her unless he allowed her to slip away from him, as he knew well enough by now, to never underestimate the speed with which her mind worked.
What was he to do?
“Are ye dressed, lass?”
“Almost,” she whispered.
He was no longer certain whether it was cold or fear which caused her whisper to break as it did.
“Be faster. We have ground to cover.”
She emerged from behind the shrub, eyes downcast. For once, she had nothing to say. No quick remarks, no smirking, just the shame she deservedly suffered.
“We’ll want to eat.” He led the way to the fire, and the venison which had more than likely burned by then. It would be better than nothing.
She sat, eyes still trained on the ground, and accepted the meat which he offered her. He kept one eye trained on her as he ate. When it was clear she would merely pick at it with her fingers, he growled.
“Eat, woman. We shall need our strength.” He chewed hard, needing some way to release his rage. The meat may as well have been tree bark for all he enjoyed it, but there was a point to be made.
“Might I speak?”
“Nay.”
“I did not
wish to lie.”
“Ye are lying now, deceitful wench.”
“That is untrue.” She jumped to her feet which she spread shoulder-width apart. “You know nothing of what I’ve done—but it was what I had to do.”
“Ye had to lie to me.”
“How was I to know you would not take me to your uncle? I went to the trouble of escaping those fools; was I to deliver myself into your hands?”
“Ye all but did just that, lass, as ye tracked me that very evening and the day after!” He stood as well, tossing what remained of his meal aside. It was barely edible, and thus no great loss.
To this, she had no reply.
They stood that way for a long time, staring at each other. She had not braided her hair, and it hung in wet waves about her shoulders and over her chest. Her skin had not dried before she’d dressed, either, and the kirtle clung to her as a result.
He ought not to look at her in such a manner, but it was likely a better option than killing her for having made a fool of him.
“How many times have ye laughed at me?” he murmured, most of the fight gone, leaving weariness in its place. For he was weary, down to his bones.
Her eyes widened. “I never laughed.”
“Liar.”
“That is the last thing I would have done. Why would I? This was not all a matter of trickery, of playing a prank on you. This was my life.” She crossed her hands over her bosom. “Nothing less than my life. There was nothing to laugh at.”
“Ye made a fool of me.”
“Just like a man,” she sneered, her lip curling. “Caring about nothing but his pride. As if that were all that mattered.”
“I am sick of the sound of your complaints about men, as though we were a scourge ye had to rid yourself of. When ye are merely a woman and nothing more.”
A shadow moved across her face, the fire in her eyes dimming.
“Now, thanks to ye,” he continued, curling his hands into fists to spare himself the pang of guilt at her reaction, “we must move. Tonight. We cannot let those Reids find us.”
Did her chin truly quiver? Or was it merely a trick of the fire, the flickering flames casting shadow on her face?
Did her eyes shine with unshed tears, or was it indignation which shone from them?
Was she truly heartbroken at the thought of wedded life with him?
That mattered not, as he still harbored no intention of ever marrying her. In fact, knowing the lass personally made him even less willing than ever to take her as his bride.
He glanced around the campsite. It was preferable to looking at her. “Get everything together. We must ride out.”
“Is your uncle in such a rush, then?” A bit of the old fire had returned to her voice, though it was barely loud enough to hear.
He did not offer reply. Instead, he set about preparing the horses.
She had lied. He had ridden with her all along, and she had lied.
He had all but begged her to come along with him, fool that he was. Even if the Reids had found her, they would not have found him. He might have avoided them.
Damn her lying soul.
17
Moira’s mind raced.
How could she escape him when he would be aware of every breath she drew? He would never let her out of his sight, she was certain of it.
He might even bind her, tie her to him, demand she remain at his side no matter where they rode.
And now that she had brought about his fury and the bitter resentment of wounded pride, he would never treat her well. Any tenderness that might have come about had already died.
Dead before it had the chance to bloom.
She touched her forehead to the mare’s soft neck, a wave of regret mixing with bitterness. He thought he could command her, force her into riding to Ben Macdui.
He was wrong.
No man told her what to do.
She closed her eyes. No man tells me what to do. No man.
Not even him. Not even one who she might have grown to…
“Are ye finished, or are ye merely wasting more of my time?”
Rather than finch beneath his cold, brutal voice, she stiffened her back as she always had while suffering indignities at her father’s hand. “I am prepared, but I must know where we go.”
For if he truly meant to take her to Luthais Campbell, she would break loose the moment she was in the saddle.
There might be no other chance.
“She thinks she deserves an explanation,” he snorted, walking the gelding to where Moira stood. It did little to ease the growing tightness in her throat that he was so much larger than her when on horseback.
The difference was difficult enough when his feet were on the ground.
Regardless, she drew herself up to her full height—what there was of it. “I do, as I shall make the ride with you. I doubt you need me to explain that I have no wish to pay a call on your uncle.”
“There is no need to explain,” he assured her.
He was so angry.
A man such as he might prove quite dangerous when angry. She had no desire to find out just how dangerous.
And yet it was too late to avoid his anger.
“There is no way to put the egg back in the shell,” she whispered.
He blinked; for a moment, the angry mask his face had become slipped, revealing his confusion. “What did ye say?”
She hadn’t expected to say it, and any explanation would sound foolish—even so, she replied, “Something I taught my brothers, years ago. Once an egg’s shell is broken, there is no hope of replacing the egg inside and sealing it up again.”
“And?”
“And that was what I remembered now. I thought to myself that I did not wish to incur your anger, that you might prove dangerous, but it is too late for such considerations. Your anger has already stirred.”
“I see.”
She took a deep breath, holding steady to the mare’s bridle in an attempt to keep herself fully upright as her knees all but knocked together. Kin Reid had never inspired such terror, the sort which soured the inside of her mouth and made sweat roll down the back of her neck.
He had been a beast, but one she’d learned to live with.
She had not cared much for him since she’d been a child, either, which also helped. Otherwise, his treatment would have hurt doubly rather than simply leaving bruises and scratches which faded without fail.
But this man? She did not care for him.
So why did the thought of him hating her leave her feeling sick and broken?
He took a deep breath. “If ye must know, I have no intention of taking ye to my uncle.”
Her heart all but soared. If her feet had left the ground and her body had floated above the trees like that of a bird, it would have seemed natural. “Truly?”
The quaver in her voice gave away her deep gratitude.
“Aye,” he replied, still as angry as ever. “For I would rather swallow fire than marry ye.”
“Something we can agree on.”
He pressed his lips together, cheeks expanding. Then opened his mouth to allow a hearty laugh to escape. “Now that we’re of like mind, let us go. Now. I wish to distance us from the rest of your escorts.”
“Had you explained that from the first, we might already be on our way.” She mounted the mare in haste, then followed him at a trot from the site, to the road beyond.
He looked back and forth, up and down, watching. She held her breath. When he signaled for her to follow, she turned left with him and trotted at his side.
They would not go to Ben Macdui. He would not deliver her to the Campbells.
He did not wish to marry her.
It was a relief, naturally. She told herself it was.
So long as he did not expect to trap her in a life of servitude, she would follow him as far as he would allow.
For now, it was more dangerous than ever to travel alone. If any of the Reid men found her, the next time, the
y would know she had escaped again. They would show no mercy.
She needed Fergus more than ever. He knew it, like as not, the rogue.
They rode in silence with only the moon to guide them. More than once did her stomach grumble in protest, and she wished she might have found the venison edible. There was no telling how long they would continue before stopping to rest.
It mattered not. They would be free. She would be free.
“Might I ask you something?” she whispered after they had traveled untold miles. The moon was much further along in its path across the sky then, the singing of the crickets and frogs down by the riverbank all but deafening at that time of night. Overheard, bats sometimes flapped to and fro, capturing insects.
“So long as ye vow not to argue. I dinna think I have the energy to fight ye now,” he grunted.
“I merely wished to know if you do not wish to marry anyone, or if it is only me.”
He snorted. “And I thought ye were smarter than other women. In the end, ye are all the same.”
“If you have not the energy to argue, you might do well not to insult me.”
He snorted but nodded. “Aye. Ye make a fair point. I ought not behave so. To answer the question, it is all marriage in general which I have no desire to entangle myself in. It makes some happy, I’m certain, I’ve seen it with my own eyes, in fact, but it is not for me.”
This soothed her ruffled feathers a bit.
“You were no more willing to marry me than I was to marry you, then.”
“Aye.”
“Your uncle arranged things without your knowledge, I expect.”
“Aye.” This was a growl.
“You are not fond of him, I suspect.”
“Ye never cease impressing me with your wisdom.”
“I’ve heard he is not an easy man to know.”
“I do not know him,” he clarified. “I have only spoken with him a handful of times in my life. He wishes to align with your clan, but his sons are already wed, and my brother and I are his only nephews. Brice took a wife, leaving me.”
He sounded so terribly unhappy. She could not help but feel for him, though her situation had not been much better. At least he had been able to avoid the man he disliked.
There had been little avoiding her father.
