by Diana Cosby
His hold eased, and then he began to whisper in Gaelic. By their soft flow, they were words meant to soothe, but they spilled out raw with heartache. On a shudder he grew quiet.
Mon Dieu, she must not fail. “I am so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.
“You need to go back to where I asked you to stay and wait. Once I am finished here, I will come for you.”
“I will not leave you here alone.”
Colyne lifted his head. Tears filled his eyes and anguish carved his face. “You will—”
“Non,” she interrupted, furious Renard had used her as a pawn to put Scotland’s freedom at risk. “You will not face this alone. Do you think this does not affect me?”
He released a raw breath. “You should have stayed beyond the knoll.”
“Why?”
“These are my people.”
“They were slaughtered! Innocent people cut down in cold blood.” She caught his hands, needing him to understand this act of savagery was as devastating to her as it was to him. “If you think I will stand by and not help you bury them, you know little of me.”
He drew her forward, his eyes burning into hers. “I have tried to. . . I am sorry. I am so sorry.” Colyne claimed her mouth, demanding, taking, shattering her with the intensity of his kiss. But beneath the anger, she tasted his grief. This wasn’t about passion but need. To know there was still good left within the world.
Without warning he released her, and she stumbled back. “Colyne,” she said, breathless, her lips still tingling.
He held up his hands, his face pale with shock. “I should nae have touched you.”
“You—”
Anger stormed his eyes. “I had nay right!” He dropped his hands and stalked off.
Grief swept her. All he could see was his wrong, not the man devastated by loss. Marie ran in front of him, forcing him to halt. He glared at her, but she held her ground. “I understand,” she said, her mind still warring against the horrors around her. She pressed her fingers on the side of his face, his tears warm against her hand.
Colyne flinched, but he didn’t move away. “You understand naught.”
“I believe you are a man of great compassion. People you love have been murdered. You grieve. How could you not?” Marie stroked the back of her hand against his cheek as tears streamed down her face. She’d not believed the situation could worsen, but it had. “You knew them.”
He turned away, but not before she witnessed him wiping away his tears.
“Oh, Colyne.” She stepped closer, unsure how to console this compassionate warrior, or if she even could.
“I would never hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Let me help you.”
His gaze searched hers. “Why is it you are never what I expect to find?” He closed his eyes and then drew her against him.
For a long while he held her, with their hearts torn, their grief a living thing, but in their unity they found strength.
And within his embrace, Marie understood that the situation between them had changed. After this moment, no matter how much each wished to remain distant from the other, they could never be strangers.
However much the thought of leaving him hurt, she found solace in the memories she would have of this gallant man, a man of honor, determination, and great compassion. He protected those he loved. Wept for those he lost. Compared to Colyne, those who had pursued her in the past, men whose greed dictated their lives, were but empty shells of humanity.
He brushed a tear from her face. “Come.” He turned toward the devastation.
Without question, she followed.
For the next several hours they worked to bury his friends, the crackle and hissing of burning wood as the fire raged, a macabre backdrop.
With a blackened shovel, Colyne heaved the next pile of dirt atop the shallow grave. Emotions choking him, he forced himself to continue. By God, his friends would be buried with honor.
A short distance away, Alesia walked toward the gutted crofter’s hut, now a charred skeleton consumed by flames. She halted. A gasp escaped her as she collapsed to her knees, and her hand closed around the shredded remains of a doll. She clutched the doll against her chest, great heaving sobs wracking her slender frame.
Understanding her grief, fighting his own demons, Colyne dropped the shovel and strode to her. He knelt at her side.
Without hesitation she turned into his arms. “This is all so senseless.”
“Aye, ’tis.” The bloody bastards. There were nay reasons good enough for this senseless slaughter. But that wouldna stop King Edward in his quest to conquer Scotland.
“There now, lass.” Colyne rocked her in his arms, her tears warm upon his neck, and he found comfort in holding her, a comfort he’d nae experienced since Elizabet.
An ache washed through him at thoughts of Elizabet, and he shoved them aside. She was out of his life, forever. As for Alesia, through the sharing of a tragedy, they’d formed the beginnings of a friendship, one that would last days at most.
She sniffed. “I am sorry.”
The path of tears trailing through the dirt and soot on her face made his heart ache, but the determination in her eyes left him in awe. Surrounded by death, like a beacon in the night, this one woman offered hope that he could push aside his anger and grief over losing those he loved, including Elizabet.
Mayhap he’d been correct when he’d first seen Alesia and thought her a fairy from the Otherworld. “You have naught but earned my pride,” he said, humbled by this woman who could give so much of herself for a country nae her own.
Another tremor shook her, but she didna turn away beneath his probing gaze.
Colyne stroked his thumb across a smudge on her cheek. Who are you? he wanted to ask. He believed she had nae walked into his life without reason. Whatever the cause, fate’s hand had played a role. More so as this was the second time she’d aided him. He looked down.
Her fingers clutched the ragged doll. Her breath hitched. “This must have belonged to the little girl. I—”
“Shh.” His hand trembled as he withdrew the battered toy and laid it within an unscathed bowl. He wrapped her fingers within his own. “Come.” He stood and drew her with him. “Little more remains to be done. Gather your belongings and then refill the water pouch. I will take care of the rest.”
She hesitated, her expression grief-stricken, but the resolve to continue as strong.
“There is an outcrop of rocks at the edge of the forest. Once I am through, I will meet you there. Please, I must finish this alone.” Their burial a final farewell to friends whom he’d loved.
Alesia nodded. Her breath hitched as she turned and walked away.
As she neared the forest, Colyne reached down and picked up the blackened doll. With the scorched shreds of the child’s toy in his hand, he stared at the woman who for the first in a long time had made him think of another besides Elizabet. Why? When Alesia slipped from view, on a rough sigh he set the doll in the bowl and then immersed himself in finishing the last of the grisly tasks.
Marie scanned the forest as Colyne led her through the thick weave of trees. She inhaled the clean, sweet scent of the earth, rich with a blend of bracken, mint, sorrel, and other familiar herbs. After the stench of death, she savored every untainted breath.
She stepped over a stone, and then glanced toward Colyne. His skin was pale and his face taut with grief. With how close he’d been to the deceased, it would be a long while before the scars of this day could begin to heal. She couldn’t ease his burden, but mayhap she could take his mind from his pain. Or at least try. “Where are we going?”
He stared straight ahead.
She continued on, hoping to strike up a conversation. “You grew up within these woods?”
Colyne looked over, his eyes clearing a degree, but sorrow lingered. “Aye. At times we would sneak out when we were supposed to be practicing with our swords.”
“We?”
�
�My sisters, my brother, and I.”
“Your sisters were allowed to practice with swords?” She could envision her father’s fury if she dared such. Not to mention the commotion among the gentry such a brazen act would incite.
A shimmer of a smile curved his mouth, then faltered. “Do you find the idea of a woman learning to defend herself provincial?”
“Not at all.” The idea of wielding a blade held its own appeal. “It is only that I have never met a man who would let his daughters train with weapons.”
“You never met my father.” Pride reflected in his eyes. “He was an unconventional man.”
Indeed, if anything like his son. “Your mother approved of this activity?” she asked, curious to learn more about his family.
Grief shadowed his face. “She never had a say. While giving birth to my youngest sister, she died.”
Her chest squeezed. “I am sorry.”
“ ’Twas a long time ago. I barely remember her.”
“But you loved her.”
A stick snapped beneath his boot. He glanced toward the leaves trembling overhead in the late-afternoon breeze. “Aye.”
The trees began to thin, and she hurried forward and fell into step at his side. “My mother died in a fever when I was young. I have no memory of her, not even the faintest gesture or the tenderness of her voice. Only the whimsical memories my father shares when he speaks of her. Yet, I find myself missing her greatly.”
Tenderness softened the sadness in his eyes. “ ’Twould seem we have something in common.” The rush of water drew his attention. “We are almost there.”
As she walked, the churn of water intensified; around her, a bed of moss cushioned the ground. The downy softness gave beneath her slippers.
“Watch out.” Colyne caught a broken limb bent low before her and moved the branch aside. He gestured her forward.
“My thanks.” Marie stepped from beneath the branch’s shadow and halted. With reverence, she took in her surroundings.
Illuminated by the golden rays of the late afternoon sun, a stream spilled over a shallow ledge and poured into the small loch. On the far bank, where the current slowed, a bed of reeds peeked up, while lilies, along with the moss and yellow flowers, nestled amidst a cloud of heather to rim the water’s edge.
Emotion welled in her throat as she turned. “ ’Tis wondrous.”
As he watched her, Colyne’s eyes softened, then he gave a rough sigh. “ ’Tis. And necessary. After this day, we both need to bathe.” He strode to a plant thick with pink flowers and tore off several leaves, returned, and handed them to her. “ ’Tis soapwort. Crush them as you wash. They will produce a lather and help remove this day’s grime.” A hint of a dimple touched his mouth. “As a healer, I believe you would be knowing that.”
Touched by his chagrin, she gave him a gentle smile. “I do, but it does not take away from your thoughtfulness.”
For a long moment he stared at her. Desire trickled through his gaze, then resignation. He stepped back. “Do nae take too long. Though we have seen nay one, ‘tis possible English knights are about.”
Though soft, his cloaked warning shattered the illusion of peace around her. Marie scanned the rugged hills framing the gentle setting with a wary eye. Though embraced by serenity, danger existed, a fact underscored by this day’s carnage.
He pointed toward where a shallow ledge extended from the top of the knoll. “I will be over there, keeping watch for anything suspect.” With the stealth of a predator, he slipped into the woods and out of sight.
Thankful for his guard, she turned her attention to her disheveled state. With a grimace, she peeled off her stained garments and then stepped into the water, appreciating the cool slide after working through the rancid heat of the afternoon.
Taking a gulp of air, she dove deep. When Marie surfaced, she burst from the water, then swam with long, sure strokes toward shallow ground.
Halfway to shore, she tread water. She made out Colyne’s outline as he stood on an outcrop overlooking the loch, which allowed him a clear view of the surrounding area as well.
Heat spread over her face. If he glanced in her direction, he would see her naked. Her body tingled with awareness, and the cool temperature of the water did little to douse the warmth sliding through her body.
Unsettled by the desire Colyne aroused, she swam toward shore. For the first time in her life she’d met a man who knew neither her title nor her role in life, and yet he’d offered her not only his protection but his friendship.
No tricks. No schemes designed to charm her into a marriage for personal gain, even when she refused to tell him of her reason for traveling to France.
Or was his easiness a cover to shield his own secrets? Did he believe if she viewed him as nonthreatening, she wouldn’t question him further about the men who sought him?
On edge, she dove deep and then resurfaced. Exactly what was he hiding from her? What fate had befallen him to the point where men chased him with lethal intent?
Marie dismissed any thoughts of villainy on his part. Since he’d first awoken in the cave, he’d demonstrated over and again that he was a man who valued fairness. Somehow, for reasons he refused to share, he’d become embroiled in a dangerous situation.
As much as she wanted to believe he was loyal to Scotland’s cause, without knowing for sure, in matters of trust she must proceed with caution.
“Alesia?”
Colyne’s use of her second name was a blunt reminder of her deception. Neither could he discover her father was King Philip.
And if he did? Enticed by the promise of a royal tie and wealth, would greed flare in his eyes, as with most men when they learned of her station? Or would respect and honor remain there instead?
Marie hated her doubts, but life had taught her to be wary of men. Except for her maid and the knights assigned to guard her, she lived alone in a coastal village, far from her father and the court crowded with false smiles given only for self-gain.
She preferred her simple life in a small house by the sea, found satisfaction in working alongside the healer to aid those with simple means.
Until she’d met Colyne.
Now, an emptiness she’d never experienced unraveled inside. He made her want, not only physically but with a yearning to share more than a few days of her life with him.
“Alesia?” Colyne called again.
Frustrated with the unwanted emotions he made her feel, she swam until her feet brushed against the smoothed rock. “I am going to wash out my clothes,” she said, thankful for the distance. “ ’Twill take but a trice.”
“Nay, lass. I have set a clean gown behind the rocks near where you entered. It was spared from the fire, so I brought it along.”
She glanced toward where his voice echoed, surprised by his kind gesture. How many men would have done the same?
Or cared?
Not that it mattered. They each had their own lives. Even if she longed to know more about him, to grow closer, time, as fate, stood against them.
Chapter 5
Colyne stood near the edge of the cliff, the air alive with the vibrant song of crickets and a gentle breeze sliding across the land. Yet he found little peace.
A short distance away, embraced by moonbeams, Alesia stared at the sky. From her solemn expression, she too was lost in thought. How could she nae be? The horrors of finding Stephano and his family murdered earlier this day haunted him still. Bedamned the English bastards.
“Colyne?”
The rawness within her voice nursed his guilt. He should have ensured she’d remained shielded from the carnage the English troops had left in their wake. Though horrified by the gruesome sight, she’d lent a hand, helping to bury those he’d loved.
“You are tired. Go to sleep. I shall keep watch.” His voice broke at the last. With a hard swallow, he stared at the hills of the Highlands he so loved, a home he would die to keep free.
The light scrape of slippers upon stone aler
ted him of her approach.
“I have made a bed for you against the cliff.” A part of him yearned to offer her succor, while another wished to seek comfort in her arms. He frowned. Either would be an unwise decision. Secrets shadowed her eyes, guided her response when he asked questions of her past, or of those who pursued her.
She halted at his side.
Her warm scent of woman and lavender melded with the freshness of the night, and his body hummed with awareness. God help him, he wanted her. But to turn to her now, to take advantage of the loss still haunting them both would be wrong. “You need to try and rest.”
A long moment passed. “I am sorry for your loss. It is hard to lose someone you love.”
“My thanks.” Through half-lowered lashes, Colyne watched her kneel and pick up a weathered rock.
On an unsteady sigh, Alesia stood. She rolled the stone within her palm. “Will you tell me about the girl who owned the doll?” she asked, her question unraveling in a fragile whisper.
Moonlight shimmered through tears trailing down her cheeks.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I only wanted to talk to you, to try to find a way to help you, as I know the family we buried were your friends. Sometimes it eases the pain when you . . . But I know you want to be alone.” She turned and cast the stone.
A splash echoed from below.
A sword’s wrath. Though he grieved for those he loved, she hurt and needed his strength. And damn the circumstance, he would be there for her. “Alesia?”
With a sob, she stepped into the circle of his arms.
Colyne drew her close, finding solace in her touch, hope in her presence, and a rightness he’d never expected, more so than he’d ever experienced with Elizabet. Confused, he held her, unsure what to make of this realization.
Her tears dampened his neck.
“ ’Tis fine, lass.” Murmuring words to calm her in Gaelic, he cradled her against his chest until her sobs stilled, her breathing calmed, and tremors nay longer shook her body. He stroked her hair, unbound from its earlier braid.
“Her name was Katherine.” The happiness of the child’s memories flooded him. “A wee lass. Hair black as midnight. Green eyes that danced with devilment. But a heart—” his throat tightened—“a heart filled with love.”
