by Amy Jarecki
Mara walked up the path, carrying Anne’s satchel. “Are ye ready, milady?”
Anne returned Swan to his perch, ran her hand over his feathers one more time and closed the door. Hanging her gloves on a peg, she turned to Mara and nodded, wiping a tear from her eye.
For the last time, Anne walked the winding trail to the beach. At one time it had seemed such a long path, but now it only took moments to reach the bottom. Two skiffs sat cradled on the rocks as the men loaded them with provisions. When they approached, Calum straightened. “Where are yer trews?” he demanded, his tone far from his usual polite tenor.
“She’s wearing them, m’laird.” Mara lifted the hem of Anne’s skirt all the way to the knee so Calum could see the boots and the hem of the trousers. Anne batted her skirts down.
His hands flew to his hips. “The whole purpose was to travel in disguise.”
“I’ll not be breaking sumptuary laws.” She wouldn’t back down on this. In a few hours, Calum MacLeod had torn down and taken away everything she’d grown to love. He’d shown her she was no more important than the ransom he aimed to collect. She had become a pawn for him, just as she had been for her uncle.
“Aye, but if anyone recognizes you, we’ll all be dead.” Calum snatched Anne’s satchel from Mara’s grasp.
The back of Anne’s neck burned. “Dead, you say? That is an outrageous assumption. Who would possibly recognize me in the Highlands?”
“I provided the clothing I expected ye to wear on this journey. I am chieftain of this clan, and while ye are under my protection, me word is final.” He sliced his hand through the air. “I would have ye no’ forget it.”
The burn from her neck spread up her cheeks. Anne clenched her fists. Her nostrils flared with each puff of air she drew in. The heartless pirate stood before her, setting off to collect his ransom. At last he had shown his true form.
Mara touched Anne’s elbow and peered at her with a smile that looked more like a grimace. “We gave it a try.” She threw her arms around Anne and hugged. “I’m going to miss ye, milady.”
Anne closed her eyes and returned the squeeze, her throat closing. “Ah, Mara, you have become like a sister to me.” She held her at arm’s length and looked upon her warm brown eyes. “Remember to keep track of the stores.”
“Aye, milady.”
“And don’t let anyone slack off in their cleaning.”
“No, milady.”
“Of course you won’t.” Anne hugged her again. “I’ll miss you enormously.”
“And I will you.”
Friar Pat reached out and placed his hands on Anne’s shoulders. “Go with God, milady. He always provides an answer to prayer.”
“Yes, he does.”
Norman stood next to the friar, a smug grin fixed across his pinched face. She gave him a clipped nod. Calum offered his hand to help her into the boat. Anne reached for it, but pulled her hand away. Her gaze trailed across to the second skiff where Bran coiled a rope. “Master Bran, would you please help me aboard?”
“Aye, milady. But I thought ye’d be riding in the boat with Calum.”
“I believe I trust the strong arms of your crew this morning.” She stole a glance at Calum out of the corner of her eye. He frowned like the rough brigand who’d kicked in her stateroom door. She wished he would have looked at her like that during her entire stay on Raasay. If he had, her insides wouldn’t be tearing her apart right now.
She took a seat at the back of the boat. Bran and Ian clamored in after her, and the men on the shore pushed them into the Sound of Raasay. Fast approaching deep water, Anne’s stomach lurched. She looked down at the dark waves beneath the skiff and clamped her fingers on the sides of the boat. How small she seemed compared to this large expanse of water. Anne looked across to the mainland and tightened her grip. They had a long way to row and the boat rocked and listed in the wind.
Swallowing hard, Anne tried not to think of the icy waves beneath her. This was the party that would accompany her to Carlisle—three men and a boy? And what had Calum meant by traveling in disguise? Was she putting them in danger? She did not want to see anyone hurt, and would try to discuss it with Calum when things settled. Besides, if the wind blustered any harder, they might not even make it to Applecross.
Grasping the side of the boat, Anne turned and looked over her shoulder. Mara and the clansmen stood on the shore and waved. The hole in her heart stretched. She had enjoyed every moment with these hard-working, unpretentious souls. She would miss them.
As Brochel Castle became a tiny fortress in the distance, the bottom of the boats scraped onto the sands of Applecross—the mainland. The lead sinking to the pit of Anne’s stomach did nothing to lift her spirits at this first stop of a trudging journey.
Calum and John quickly pulled their skiff ashore then Calum splashed through the water. He lifted Anne out of the boat without a word.
“I could have stepped out on my own.”
“I didna want ye to wet yer skirts, milady.” He kept his eyes forward and scowled as he trudged to the beach. Before he set her down, he whispered in her ear, “Let me do the talking. The English have spies everywhere. If they hear ye speak, ye’ll put us in harm’s way. Do ye ken?”
Anne nodded her head. Calum held his back straighter. There was no swagger to his step. Though she wasn’t completely blind to the danger of traveling in the far reaches of the country, she honestly had not considered she’d be in peril. John had gone to Edinburgh and returned safely, but he hadn’t been travelling with an English lady in his company.
Calum led them through the windblown sea grass to a set of stables. The men had made quick work of saddling the horses when a big Scot appeared in the doorway, a sword in hand. “Calum MacLeod, ye’ll not be taking those horses until ye pay yer rent.”
Calum whipped around and faced him, the two men standing eye-to-eye.
Bran leaned over and whispered in Anne’s ear, “That’s Dougal MacKenzie—they sort of have an arrangement.”
“Och, MacKenzie, ’tis always a pleasure to see yer bonny smile.” Calum slid his hand into his sporran without taking his eyes off the Scot. “I’ve got it right here for ye.” He pulled out a pouch of coins and handed it to the man.
Dougal weighed it with a bounce and slipped the pouch into his sporran. “Yer brother’s causing me kin some consternation to the north.”
“What Ruairi does is nay concern of mine. Raasay no longer answers to Lewis.”
“When next ye see him, remind him to keep his arse in Lewis and off MacKenzie land.”
Calum bowed his head. “I’ll send him a missive upon me return.”
Dougal’s gaze strayed to Anne. He assessed her from head to toe. “And where are ye off to with a fine lassie in tow?”
Wearing her day gown, Anne thought she looked the part of a commoner, but her embroidered dress was a far cry from that of a Scottish woman’s plain kirtle. Her cheeks prickled with heat as Dougal’s glare raked across her body yet again.
“Returning me cousin to her family in Edinburgh,” Calum lied.
“Lowlander, aye? It seems they’re taking on more of the English customs all the time.”
“Aye,” said Calum, motioning for the others to mount.
Bran slipped over and gave Anne a lift. Though a man’s saddle, she tried to sit aside, but Bran shook his head and whispered, “astride.”
Anne had never ridden with her legs either side of the horse. Thank heavens she had worn the trews. Her mother would be horrified to see it. Bran helped her adjust her skirts so they rested across the horse’s rump in the back and gathered in the front, but as they set out, her seat felt decidedly more secure.
Chapter Sixteen
Anne had never seen land so rugged. She wondered how anyone could grow a thistle, let alone crops in the rocky terrain. On the first day, she saw neither towns nor farms and when Calum led them into a copse of trees to make camp she asked, “Is there no inn?”
All th
e men chuckled, and Calum shook his head. “We’ll nay see an inn until we reach Fort William three days hence.”
Anne surveyed the clearing. She’d never slept in the wild before—or in the company of a band of Scotsmen. With no other option, she dismounted. Her legs nearly gave way beneath her and she leaned against her horse with a pained grunt.
“Not used to riding, milady?” Bran asked.
“Most certainly not all day, especially astride.” She tried to walk a few steps. Her legs were wobbly, as if her ankles and knees would no longer function. They all watched her. Afraid she’d look like a ninny, Anne put her hand in the small of her back and stretched. That actually helped. She took a few more steps and the pain in her legs eased.
“It always takes me a few minutes to find me legs after a day of hard riding,” Calum said, gesturing to a clump of grass. “Would ye like to rest while we make camp?”
Though her bones ached and she longed to plop down on the grass and curl into a ball, she declined. “I’d prefer to help.” All the men had been set to task. She wouldn’t sit by and simply watch. “I shall gather some firewood. Besides, my legs still need some stretching.”
“Very well.” Calum loosened the girth and pulled the saddle of Anne’s horse. Calum’s gaze flicked toward her. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable. Anne reached out her hand, but Calum had already turned away. Were they to act as mere acquaintances this entire journey?
She wanted to scream and weep at the same time. But instead, the exercise did much to help Anne to regain her composure and her legs. She made countless trips, hauling in branches and twigs and by the time she dumped the last armload on the heap, darkness had shrouded the camp.
They dined on bully beef and oatcakes. Calum passed a flagon of whisky—another of Friar Pat’s hobbies. Anne took a swig. It burned her throat going down. She sputtered and gasped, trying not to make a show of her discomfort.
From across the fire, Calum chuckled. “Ye better go easy on that. They don’t call the friar’s whisky potent for naught.”
He seemed more relaxed now, though his gaze still darted between the shadows surrounding them. Anne longed to have Calum wander around the fire and sit beside her, wrap his arm over her shoulders and tell her things would be all right. The last time they’d sat at a fire had been only two nights ago at Beltane. She’d been alive with desire for him. And now she had no hope she’d ever feel such passion again.
Anne stared into the leaping flames and let them mesmerize her. Her entire body ached but the whisky spread welcomed warmth through her insides.
“What is it like to be wed by proxy?” Bran asked.
Calum shook his finger at the lad. “’Tis no question to ask a lady.”
Anne stirred the fire with a stick. “There’s not much to tell really.” She glanced up to see four pairs of eyes focused on her, popped wide with great curiosity. She took in a deep breath. “My uncle rode to Titchfield House and bounded into the hall with great purpose. He called us all together—my mother, my sisters and me. Then he said…” Anne swung her fists to her hips and mimicked a deep masculine voice. “Lady Anne, I have found you a husband at last. By royal proxy, I have signed and witnessed a marriage decree that formally weds you to the Baron of Wharton.”
Anne looked across the stunned faces, illuminated by the firelight and dropped her hands to her sides. “I could have died. And once I learned his age, I think a part of me did.”
“How could he do that without yer consent?” John asked.
“When my father passed, young King Edward appointed my uncle guardian. Uncle More left the daily operations to me and took my brother, the heir, to his estate in Loseley Park for his fostering.” She shook her head. “I digress. The king entrusted my uncle with complete power until my brother came of age.” Anne stared into the fire. “I imagine he negotiated quite a good settlement for my hand, otherwise he would not have been so anxious for me to leave Titchfield. The coffers were doing quite well, you see.”
A silent pall hung over the campfire, and Anne stared into the flames. The crackling took her back to the dreaded day when her life had been swept out from under her. She didn’t want to look up and see the pity in their eyes—especially Calum’s eyes.
After a time, Bran tossed a stick of wood on the fire. “Do ye ken My Bonnie Lass She Smileth?”
Anne’s heart squeezed. The boy had a way of changing the mood toward the better. “Yes. ’Tis an English madrigal. How do you know it?”
Bran shot an insecure glance at Calum who nodded. “I heard it in an English pub when we were…”
“That’s enough.” Calum stopped him.
“Will ye sing it with me?”
Bran started the melody. Anne matched his voice with her soprano. On the second verse they broke into harmony. Anne’s gaze drifted across the fire and caught Calum staring at her, his eyes dark and intense, hungry—starving. His full lips parted, and her heart lurched, making her voice warble. She wanted to walk over and let him cradle her in his lap, but she turned her away so his gaze could no longer affect her.
When the song finished, the men applauded. Anne stole a glance at Calum. His gaze had not changed. Why does he have to look at me so? Does he not know it ignites a fire inside my breast?
The flagon of whisky went around again. Anne took a healthy swig and licked her lips, pleased she didn’t cough. Before passing it to Bran, she tilted it back one more time. She needed something to numb the ache in her heart.
When they unrolled their plaids around the fire, Calum placed his beside Anne. “Laird? You cannot.”
Calum rested his claymore between them. “Ye are under me protection and mine’s the strongest sword. I will see to yer safety, milady.” His voice no longer had the harsh tone from earlier in the day.
It was bad enough watching him from across the fire. Now he lay so close, she could feel the heat radiate from his back. The smell of wood smoke and horse mixed with his own spicy scent tortured her. If only she could reach out and touch him—reach out and place her hand on his muscled back—apologize for her tirade on the beach—ask him to cradle her in his arms and tell her all would be well.
***
Calum rolled onto his back and watched the stars. Every night on the trail could not be as draining as this one or else he would be worn to a splinter by the time they reached Carlisle. Did Anne have to challenge him at every turn? Why she could not wear the trews was an act of pure stubbornness. Wearing them under her skirts—what good did that do? Besides, if she didn’t eventually dress as a man, he’d have to come up with another plan. Dammit all.
Calum glanced at her. He shouldn’t have looked. Anne’s hair glistened like gold against the fire. If only he could reach out and draw her into his embrace—protect her from the night and the chill that comes with darkness. But she had become cool toward him since he’d visited her chamber with news of the ransom. He couldn’t hold her aloofness against her. ’Twas the truth that he sought payment for her, and he hated himself for it. Again and again, he wished he could will away her proxy marriage. It seemed false, yet it was a lawful union.
In two weeks’ time, this would all be a painful memory. He couldn’t bring himself to think about what it would be like without Anne at the keep, sleeping in the adjoining chamber. Her smiles, those subtle glances from under her long eyelashes, would all haunt him forever.
Why had he not made love to her on Beltane? Damn his needling, chivalrous streak. He owed nothing to Wharton or the English. Though he could not put his clan in jeopardy—before Anne, the clan had been his only care. Calum looked to Anne and watched her in slumber. Perfection. She was born to be a queen, or near enough to it. His heart formed a lump in his throat. He would do anything to see her happy.
Calum closed his eyes and tried to ignore the rock beneath his back. Sleep teased him throughout the night and he lay on the ground neither asleep nor awake but aware of every nighttime sound echoing around them.
Dawn had tu
rned the sky to violet when Calum heard a rustle in the trees. He grasped his sword, rose to a crouch and peered through the leaves. A buck with a hearty rack of antlers foraged a mere twenty feet away. The camp must be downwind. Without a sound, Calum sheathed his sword and reached for his bow and quiver of arrows.
The deer moved out of sight, but he could still hear the leaves rustling. Easing forward, he crouched in the clearing and waited until his senses were absolutely sure of the beast’s location. Springing up, Calum raced into the wood, his bow at the ready. Behind a tree, the stag’s head snapped up.
Calum let his arrow fly. It hit, embedding into the animal’s shoulder. The deer spun and bolted. Running after it, Calum snatched another arrow. A trail of blood guided him toward the wounded stag. Calum had to finish him. Not only did they need the meat, he would not leave the animal to suffer a lengthy death.
The beast fought against the pain but Calum could tell he was slowing. Calum’s lungs burned and his thighs ached but he pushed up the steep incline. With every step, he gained a bit. He could hear the deer’s breathing crackle. It wouldn’t be long now. The stag turned and faced him with black soulful eyes, as if wanting to see his killer. Calum’s gut twisted but he had his shot. Without hesitation, he released the arrow, hitting his mark with a swift kill. The magnificent beast’s knees buckled and he dropped.
Gritting his teeth, Calum circled the deer. He tapped him with his foot to ensure the stag was dead. Only then did he kneel down and cut out the innards to lighten his load and keep the meat fresh. He hefted the stag over his shoulders. He could hear the camp stirring as he barreled into the clearing and dropped the carcass to the ground. “We’ll have a good meal of venison tonight. Tie him to the pack mule.”
***
The venison was a nice addition to their diet of bully beef and oatcakes and helped to sustain them over the next three days. Anne’s body longed for a soft bed and the warm water of a bath. They rode into Fort William. It wasn’t much of a town, with a single inn situated along a dirt cart path. By this stage, Anne didn’t mind. It was the first likeness of a road she’d seen since leaving Portsmouth. Anne waited with the others while Calum went inside to make arrangements.
