I Left My Heart in Scotland

by Samantha Holt

  She scrabbled back and pressed herself up against the fabric of the tent. If the guards had let him in here, they likely did not care what he did with her.

  “I mean you no harm,” he said, offering his hands out in a placating manner. He knelt beside her. “The men have been summoned to fight. There are few around. The battle will end this day and it is likely we face defeat from what I hear tell of. We shall be leaving soon.”

  Ceana blinked at him.

  “You must escape now. Do not wait. Get as far away from here as possible.”

  “W-why are ye helping me?”

  “In spite of what you Scots may think, we are not all barbarians.”

  “That is what ye think we are, do ye not?”

  “We fight for our king, naught more. ‘Tis a job. I am a musician. I have no wish to see men dead but I must earn my coin where I can. Most of us fight simply because we have no other way of surviving.”

  “Och, men are fools.”

  “That we are. Now you must flee. Do not stop until you are safe.”

  Ceana eased to her feet. How far she would get, she knew not, but mayhap she’d find a settlement nearby and someone would take sympathy on her. The thought of days travelling alone with nothing but her memories of Blane created an empty ache inside her but she had to return home. Her sister and mother needed her.

  “I thank ye. What is yer name?”

  “Reynard.” The young man said with a shy smile.

  She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “God shall reward ye for yer compassion.”

  “I think ‘tis too late for any of us. God will not look kindly upon these deeds.”

  “Yer a good man, I am sure of it. God will have mercy.”

  “Go,” he urged.

  Ceana lifted away the flap of the tent and took a breath. She let her eyes adjust and listened carefully. Reynard was right, the camp was almost deserted.

  “Sweet Lord,” she whispered.

  She flew to him and wrapped her arms about his bared torso. It was him, she’d recognised that dark hair and strong build with ease. Sweat and what she suspected was blood greeted her fingers. His chest rose and fell with rasping breaths, reassuring her that he lived yet. Easing back, she lifted her hands to his face and cradled his swollen jaw.

  Blane jerked his head away from her when she touched his mouth.

  “Ceana,” he croaked.

  “Aye, love.”

  “Jesus Lord. Yer alive.”

  “I though ye were dead. I thought they’d killed ye.” She dropped her head to his chest and held back the tears.

  “And I ye. I should have known ye were too strong to let them kill ye.”

  “We must leave, Blane.”

  He groaned. “I cannae. I’ll hold ye back and ye are no big enough to untie me.”

  “I willnae leave ye.” She lifted her head and eyed the pattern of his face. She wished now she could make out his expression.

  “Ye must.”

  “Never.” Ceana wrapped her fingers around his neck. “Never.” She stretched upward to try to find the knot in his bonds. Ceana tugged. Pulled. Fought with the ropes.

  “Ceana,” he snapped, breaking her frantic battle. “If the English catch ye again, ye will put yer father in danger. Ye cannae do that, and I cannae outrun them or protect ye in this condition. Ye must leave.”

  Ceana drew in a breath and held it. Her father. He would likely be in the midst of battle now. But the Scots were winning were they not? She had a potential army at her disposal if she could find them. Somehow, she had to save him.

  Voices made her heart jolt and she came onto tiptoes to kiss his swollen mouth. “I love ye,” she murmured. “Always.”

  “And I ye. I’d take a beating all over again for ye, Ceana. Yer a lass worth dying for.”

  Her throat clogged. “Dinnae say that.”

  The voices came nearer. “Go,” he urged.

  She gave him one last kiss and fled, darting between the tents. She moved with purpose in spite of the pain rattling through her bones. When this was all over, she would likely need days of bedrest but until Blane was safe, she would not even consider resting.

  Ceana found a few remaining horses, tied up not far from the edge of the camp. She had to dart into a tent to avoid being spotted. She peered out and could make out the movement of the men as they strolled past. Riding was going to be dangerous. She’d never been on a horse before. Too dangerous.

  But Blane needed her help. And fast.

  Listening intently for footsteps, she edged up to the horse, palms out. Cleaning out the stables meant she knew well enough how to handle one. But to ride one?

  She allowed the animal to nuzzle her palm and she whispered reassuring words to it. “I’ll need yer help. Ye’ll have to be patient with me.”

  Using a bucket to aid her up, she found herself atop the animal. Taking a heavy swallow, she grasped its mane and let it adjust to her slight weight before giving it a light jab with her heels. The horse took off, away from the encampment and to the north. It was likely a seasoned war-horse and knew well enough where it was intended to go. She only hoped they did not arrive in the midst of battle.

  She couldn’t say how long they rode for. Only that each hoof beat echoed the hammer of her heart. It was exhilarating and terrifying. If only Blane could see her. He’d be proud of her courage. And terrified for her too likely. She allowed herself a smile. He was alive. He’d been beaten and injured but he was alive, and she intended to keep it that way.

  “Woah there.”

  She tried to draw the horse to a halt as they came upon a group of men. Ceana squinted into the distance and recognised it as another encampment. But a Scottish one this time.

  The men managed to persuade the horse to slow and finally stop, then aided her down.

  “Are ye harmed, lass?” one of them asked. “Did those Sassenachs harm ye?”

  She shook her head. “I must get a message to my da.” Though she tried to wriggle away, the man held her arms fast.

  “Ye’ll no’ get far. The English are in retreat. Bruce has driven them back. The men are returning and ‘tis chaos.”

  “I need to speak with him!”

  “Aye, aye, lass, calm yerself down. We’ll find him. What is his name?”

  “Chief Donal of the Malcolm Clan. I am his daughter—Ceana.”

  “Rest a wee while, lass,” he told her, handing her over to another Scot. “See to her, Alan.”

  Though tempted to protest, Ceana was aware that these men would have a better chance of finding her father in amongst all the fighters gathered here this day. She eased down onto a makeshift wooden bench and accepted a skin of water. She gulped it down, spluttering as water hit the back of her dry throat. Pausing, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before taking a more careful swallow.

  The man who had aided her onto the bench remained standing in front of her. “Can I get ye anything, lass? We've a surgeon if ye need one.”

  “I am no' harmed.” Her body might be bruised but she hadn't seemed to have broken anything though her toe panged every now and then from where she'd stubbed it against a rock. One of the lads at home had once done the same and fractured it. There was naught that could be done so she ignored it. “We are winning?”

  “The English have gone into retreat,” Alan told her. “The king abandoned them and they are in disarray. Our men follow.”

  She released a long breath. “And our losses?”

  “Small in number. Yer father will be well, I am sure.” He bent a little and she suspected he was peering intently at her. “What happened to ye?”

  “There were English mercenaries raiding up north. They took me and my...betrothed. He is still in their hands.”

  “Ah.”

  A figure pushed through the small audience she seemed to have gathered and the heaviness in her chest released. She recognised the walk of the figure. “Da”

  He strode over and gripped her arms, drawing her to h
er feet. “Ceana, what the devil are ye doing here? 'Tis no' safe.” He paused and held her back. “By God, what happened to ye?”

  “I was captured, Da. But 'tis no matter. Are our men with ye?”

  “Some. A few have joined the pursuit of the English. Ye were captured? How? Where is cousin Bram?”

  “I dinnae know. He never arrived. They tried to take Kate so I offered them myself.”

  “Och, and ye escaped.” A grin stretched his face. “I knew I was right to leave ye in charge.”

  “I had aid, Da. A brave man. He came to rescue me and is being held at their encampment now.”

  Her father scowled. “Who is this man to ye?”

  “It doesnae matter.” Ceana was not going to explain to her father that she had offered herself up to Blane without his consent. “But he protected our people. We owe him.”

  “So ye wish for us to march into an English camp and rescue this stranger?”

  “Aye.”

  “Are there many English there?”

  “A handful. They were waiting for the rest of the army to return, I believe.”

  Her father snorted. “That 'twill no' happen. They'll either be dead or captured or gone. They are in disarray now their king has left them.”

  “We must go back to him.”

  He shook his head. “I always was too soft on ye.” He twisted away from her and barked an order for the men to make ready. “Stay here and we’ll bring this man to ye.”

  “I’m coming with ye.”

  “Foolish lass, yer going nowhere, and that is that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When the leader—Guy, he learned—returned for him, Blane could only grin foolishly at him. Ceana was alive. They could do anything they liked to him and it didn’t matter. Ceana lived.

  The camp was near deserted but apparently the small group of mercenaries thought it worth their time to finish him. While the rest of their men gathered up what goods they could find, Guy and another man turned their attention on him.

  “Our king, the honourable and bold Edward, has seen fit to desert us. Now the army is in disarray. What a fine job it is that we are here to ensure nothing of value is left behind.” he grinned at his friend. “And I do believe I promised you a slow and painful death.”

  Blane smirked, though the movement sent pain through his mouth. “The Scottish army will be upon ye soon. Then ye’ll know the true meaning of a slow and painful death.”

  “They’re too busy chasing down the rest of the men. So ‘tis just you and us.” He grinned and drew out the dagger still encrusted with Blane’s blood. Guy had taken the time to carve a few harmless but painful cuts into his abdomen and no doubt intended to continue on with the task. A little pain didn’t scare Blane.

  “Ye should untie me and fight me like a man.”

  He smirked. “I’m not a fool and I have little intention of fighting you. Just killing you.”

  He brandished the blade and Blane caught the glint of sunlight on his before he swiped it savagely across his face. The cut was superficial but it stung. He hissed out his pain.

  This time Guy pressed it to his side. Blane tried to keep his breaths regular but he saw his chest move up and down frantically as the knife dug into his side, releasing a stream of blood. The agony struck quickly and intensely. His vision grew dark around the edges.

  His breaths rasped in his ears, the pound of his heart grew intense. He’d intended to close his eyes and picture Ceana but a sound broke through the noise in his skull. Guy turned.

  “Damnation.” Guy spun away and withdrew his sword, putting his back to Blane.

  It took a moment for Blane to focus on what was happening. Highlanders. Some on horseback. They came swinging at the few Englishmen remaining so quickly that they barely had time to lift their swords. A horse broke through the clash and his heart near jumped into his throat. Ceana sat astride the beast, clinging to its mane. Her hair streamed behind her and she looked utterly free and beautiful in spite of the state of her garments and the bruises on her skin.

  She managed to urge the horse to a clumsy stop and dismount with such haste that he feared she’d take a tumble. He glanced to Guy to see he was occupied with the ensuing battle. Ceana strode over and she lifted a dagger.

  “I-I can cut ye free,” she said, breathlessly. “B-but I fear cutting ye.”

  Blane shook his head. “I trust ye.”

  “Aye.” She clasped the dagger and fingered the ropes binding him to the wood. She had the blade dangerously close to his underarm, but he’d been telling the truth, he trusted her. He noted the sweat on her skin and the way she continued to breathe heavily.

  “Take a breath, lass. I love ye.”

  She nodded and gave the blade a quick tug. He felt the ropes loosen.

  “And again,” he urged.

  She did so and he gave one hard pull before the ropes rent and he could lower his arms. Ceana flung herself against him and sobbed into his neck. Tears soaked his skin and he couldn’t help but be grateful for them. To feel the proof of her love for him warmed his heart.

  He took the blade from her shaking hands and eased her back. The Englishmen were dead—all except Guy. He had eased back toward them and clearly intended to make an escape. Blane confronted him.

  Guy lifted his sword. “Move, highlander, or you’ll taste my blade in your gut.”

  Blane smirked. Given fair odds, he could defeat this man. He’d already fought him and knew well his movements were that of a well-trained knight. Whereas Blane’s were that of a vicious highlander, born and bred on the battlefield.

  Guy made the first move and Blane stepped aside, snatched his wrist and twisted so the sword dropped from his hand. With the dagger in hand, he stepped forward and tore it across his throat. He gasped and his eyes bugged in shock. Blane held him until he saw the life expire from him before pushing him down. Ceana bundled herself back into his side.

  An older highlander came forward and eyed them both. “Ceana here says ye protected the keep. It seems I owe ye my thanks.”

  This was Ceana’s father. “And I owe ye mine.”

  “We are even then.” He glanced at his daughter again.

  “I should like to ask one more thing of ye, sir.”

  Ceana’s father tightened his posture. “And what would that be?”

  “For yer daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  Ceana squeezed him tightly while her father’s eyes narrowed. Blane lifted his chin and tried not to swallow. He’d faced Sassenachs and wolves but nothing made his heart hammer quite as much as this moment because not even his own life was more to him than Ceana. Nothing ever would. He’d found something to live for.

  Epilogue

  “Wildling.”

  The words sent a shimmer of excitement down her spine. She turned in the direction of the voice and smiled as a hand came to her cheek. Blane’s palm was chilled but it still sent a delicious swirl of warmth through her.

  She heard the rattle of his pin and stomp of boots as he came closer. Iciness radiated from him. The winter had been harsh and she didn’t like the thought of him being out in the snow but Blane would never shirk from his duty to the clan. As her brother and father’s most trusted man, he had become a valuable and highly regarded part of the clan. Of course, no one would feel as she did about him.

  Ceana pressed her cheek against his plaid and felt the cold roughness of the wool. “I missed ye.”

  “’Twas only a few days.”

  His body told her differently. He held her close, as though it had been years instead of days.

  “Ye saying ye didnae miss me then?”

  “I miss ye always,” Blane murmured in her ear. “I miss ye whenever ye are no’ by my side.”

  She smiled when he pressed a kiss to her neck and she heard his inhale. His cheek was rough, and she curved a hand across his jaw. It had been four summers since their marriage and yet she could never tire of simply being held by this fierce warrior—a ma
n who made her feel like so much more than a near-blind woman. Blane had made her a wife and a mother, aye, but he’d given her more courage than she’d ever thought possible. She now had the courage to trust in this man.

  “Has Bella been good for ye?”

  She nodded. “She is with mamaidh in the hall.”

  “They are both causing mischief no doubt.”

  Ceana laughed. Their daughter and her mother seemed to be kindred spirits. “Aye, of course. Would ye expect anything else?”

  “I’d be disappointed if they weren’t.” He smoothed his hands up and down her back and slotted her close. “Och, I missed lying beside ye, wildling.”

  “I can tell.” She leaned up to kiss his chin and then his lips, just briefly. She’d been anxious for Blane to return for more than one reason and she couldn’t let him distract her from telling him the news. “Fraser and Kate are set to marry once the snow has cleared.”

  “If yer trying to stop me from wanting to take ye to bed in the middle of the day, I can tell ye now, lass, it would take more than a bit of gossip to keep me from dragging ye to our bedchamber and having my way with ye.”

  “Aye, I wouldnae expect it to either. Anyway ‘tis nae gossip,” she scolded.

  “Oh, aye, I’m happy for them both. I shall bestow my best wishes upon them…after I’m done with ye,” he said, a slight growl in his voice that made her stomach tighten with anticipation.

  “Ye cannae take me to bed now. ‘Tis nearly suppertime and ye, my bold warrior, need a bath.”

  He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Ye saying I smell, lass?”

  “Ye do indeed.”

  “Och yer a demanding lass, are ye no’? Very well, we’ll eat, I’ll bathe, see Bella to bed and then yer no’ leaving our bed for the rest of the night.” Blane brought his mouth to hers but she shifted back.

  “I have other news.”

  “If there are more marriages happening, I can tell ye now, I have little care to hear about them when I could be kissing ye instead.”

  “’Tis nae about marriages.”

  “Ceana,” he warned.