Alina was silent and Duncan was looking at her, mild inquiry on his face. Blaine was scowling, and opened his mouth to say something.
“But...”
“I'll do it,” a grave voice said. Chrissie felt her heart make a leap. She cast a dazzling smile. Heath. He had saved her, yet again.
“Thank you, Heath,” Amabel said quickly. “We're indebted.”
“Not at all,” Heath said lightly. “It is I who has the greatest debt.” He was looking gravely at Chrissie, who looked away, feeling her cheeks flush with color. As she walked away, following behind Heath, she could not help thinking that not a little of that blush was joy at having avoided leaving with Blaine.
“I'll still ride back,” she heard Blaine say and her heart sank. “Someone still needs to take your message to Lochlann. And it's safer if both of us go.”
“Very well,” Heath agreed gravely.
Chrissie bit her lip. She couldn't exactly disagree. However, the thought of Blaine riding alongside them with his hooded gaze and his angry manner did not exactly make her joyful.
Or, she thought as she crossed the floor, walking briskly to keep up with Heath, was the sudden pounding of her heart the moment Blaine said he was coming along, not at least somehow important?
She cast a glance over her shoulder to where Alina stood with Aili and Amabel. She wished she could ask Alina about the way her heart flipped over as she walked along quickly, but they were already through the door and she had to hurry. As she walked, Aili raised her hand in a gesture of farewell and benediction.
Chrissie swallowed hard. This was her first journey. She had absolutely no idea where it would lead.
Aili was right.
CHAPTER SIX
A SUDDEN RESCUE
A SUDDEN RESCUE
They reached the stables. Heath became brisk now, his manner curt.
“Mount up first, Chrissie. I'll ride behind. We take Duncan's Firedrake.”
The horse was, Chrissie thought, aptly named. She stared at the pale brown charger, a vast animal with a back like a table, mounded shoulders, and gleaming sides. She bit her lip and put her foot in the stirrup, wincing as she swung into the saddle. She sat sideways on the saddle, but it had not been designed for that. Wincing at the unladylike gesture she had to make, Chrissie stood on the stirrup and got down again, remounting so that she sat astride. Her skirt spread out, covering her legs. Heath was looking into the distance through the doorway, letting her rearrange her skirts. Blaine had no such aversion and watched her.
She narrowed her eyes at him but he did nothing. He didn't seem to have any concept of manners, for he shrugged, as if watching her was forgivable. Then he walked off.
“I'll take my horse, Heath,” he called quietly. “I'm faster with a horse I have ridden before.”
“I imagine,” Heath said lightly. Blaine tensed, and it seemed as if he might strike Heath. Chrissie could only see his back, but she saw the muscle harden. She also saw him clench his fists. She bit her lip, waiting for something horrible to happen.
“I'll fetch him,” Blaine said woodenly. He walked down the rows of stabling towards the end where he had stabled his horse, a dapple-gray Clydesdale with a baleful expression called Bert.
“We need to go quickly,” Heath explained, slipping into the saddle and cautiously reaching past her body to the reins. “So I apologize for any lack of propriety observed. But I must hold you in place, lest you fall off.”
“Oh, Heath.”
Chrissie held her breath as his arms wrapped her. His one hand held the reins, his other hand splayed on her front, somewhere between chest and belly, holding her close to him. She felt her heart thump as he pulled her closer, sheltering her against his chest. How grateful she felt that it was he, careful and grave, who rode here! What would Blaine, rude and dishonorable, have done, holding her like this?
What would he have done? She could not help biting her lip at the thought. As she imagined Blaine's great hand spread on her chest, his fingers tracing her breast, she felt her heart pound and slow warmth spreading up from her womb to her chest and into her throat. He would be so different, she thought. He would not keep his hand so rigid there, taking care to avoid all contact with her breasts or abdomen, but he would certainly let it stroke her, fondle her breasts as she had seen men do, draw her to him...
She shook her head, feeling acute embarrassment. If someone could read her thoughts...
“Whoa!”
They were thundering through the gates now, Blaine close behind them. They crossed the courtyard in seconds, it seemed, and the gate was raised to let them out.
“Godspeed!” Duncan shouted, hailing them over the heads of his men. They had drawn up at the gate, and some were massed on the wall. They were ready to defend their castle against all attackers, it was clear. Duncan looked so brave and gallant there, like the hero of an untold story. Chrissie felt a lump rise in her throat. She prayed Duncan would be safe, so that he could return, safe and well, to Alina. To their unborn babe as well. Let them be safe.
It was too late to think anything else, though, for they were cannoned through the gates and onto the cobbled road beyond. Heath rode eye-wateringly fast, but even so, Chrissie noticed torches on the left and almost screamed, knowing that the forces from the attack were already coming round, already planning to attack the gate.
She clung to the pommel and wrapped claw-like fingers around Heath's knee, praying she would not fall off.
They were riding so fast she could barely breathe. So fast, her hair was streaming back with a whistle from her ears. So fast, her eyes watered. Still, when a hand reached for her, it did not seem to be quite fast enough.
Chrissie did scream, then. She also kicked out at the man who launched himself at them. He seemed to know no fear, though, for he was clawing his way onto the horse's neck, hanging there across her knee. He wore green tartan, she thought, though in the darkness she could barely see it, and he grabbed for her. Wrapping arms around her waist, he seemed to be trying to drag her down.
If any of them get their hands on any of our kind...
Alina's warning, paraphrased, played through her head. The McDonnell were deadly enemy of her kin. If they found out who she was, or anything about her or their destination, she was as good as dead.
The man was hanging sideways, determined, it seemed, to topple her. She could feel herself slipping, dragging Heath with her, who had his arms still fastened. He was fighting to stab the man, trying to control their still-running horse – though how he ran with such weight on his back, Chrissie did not like to think about – and to fight at once.
“Ha!” Heath roared, stabbing at the man's head with his dagger. His aim was hopelessly marred by Chrissie's being in the way and his need to avoid stabbing her, however, and the blow fell slightly short. The man laughed and heaved sideways.
“Off you go!” he roared. Chrissie screamed wildly. She gripped the pommel desperately, praying that she would not drag Heath off with her. If she did, all was lost.
“Heath!” she screamed.
At that minute, something broadsided them. Chrissie screamed. A horse screamed with her, and someone howled.
The man fell away, his grip suddenly slack. The change was so sudden that Chrissie almost fell the other way. She would have fallen, but for Heath who held her.
“Thanks!” he shouted. “Thank you, Blaine. You saved her.”
Blaine. Chrissie stared. They had stopped now, out of the range of danger. Their horse was panting, head down. Chrissie held the pommel, sobbing with remembered fear.
Heath had slumped, his strength drained, arm loosely about her waist. At that moment, the propriety of things mattered not to either of them. They were both panting. Chrissie could feel his heart beating on her back and she could feel his ragged breaths as he drew them. It should have been wonderful, she reflected, were she not as frightened.
She looked up at Blaine. He was sitting on the back of steadfast Bert, an odd
expression on his face and with a bloodied knife.
“Chrissie,” he said, his voice ragged. “You're finally safe.”
Chrissie stared at him. He had saved her. He had killed their assailant, or at least disabled him so that he could not hurt her. He saved her life.
“Blaine,” she said softly. He looked at her, wiped the knife clean, and stuck it into his scabbard. He wiped hair out of his face and stared into her eyes.
“Chrissie.”
Chrissie said nothing. His voice was hungry and raw, and she felt it thrill through her body. Somehow the touch of his eyes on hers was more moving than the arm which entwined her waist. Somehow, the way he was breathing, slow and steady, matched her own breathing and shuddered through her with a wild excitement. The way he said her name excited her.
They sat like that, all three of them, for quite a time. At length, Blaine shifted on his horse.
“We should go.”
Heath, who had said nothing, cleared his throat.
“We should ride slowly. We have another day ahead.”
“Yes.”
Blaine agreed and, unasked, he fell in beside them. Both seemed grateful for the other, for they rode close together. As they rode, Chrissie's leg scraped Blaine's. She drew in a sharp breath, knowing that even the briefest contact with his body made her feel a deep jolt.
She was held against Heath, who held her carefully, as though she were a small babe. She leaned back against him, feeling safe. He was like a brother.
As they rode, Chrissie felt some of the terror of the ride leaving her. They were safe. They were alive. They were on their way home.
She had just discovered something about her feelings. She did love Heath, it was true. However, he did not fill her with a fierce elation.
That was a task achieved most readily by Blaine. Who rode beside them. Heading back with them towards the safety of the castle, Lochlann and home, for all of them, where she would have time to peruse these facts, and think.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHELTER
SHELTER
They rode through the night. Chrissie was exhausted, cold, and terrified. She fell asleep once, only to be woken again as they rode over rougher terrain. They rode slowly, as Heath had suggested they do. She came slowly to awareness, listening to their voices as they rode. The night around was silent and it took a little time for her to become alert, taking meaning from their words. They appeared to be arguing.
“...we should not go straight there,” Blaine was saying. “We should ride to Dunmacreidh. Closer.”
“...and seek hospitality there? We know nothing about them. Besides, that's ten miles east. Too long.”
“Not to stop is stupid,” Blaine said bluntly. “Riding in this cold and rain? A person could catch their death. I won't have it.”
“You scared?”
They stopped moving. Chrissie heard a ragged breath and winced, fearing someone's attack.
“How can you be so thoughtless? I'm thinking of her.”
Chrissie swallowed hard. Blaine had said he was thinking of her. That surprised her. He really cared about her? She always thought he was just being difficult.
Behind her, Heath let out a ragged breath. “Well,” he sighed. “I am at fault. I admit it. You are right and we should stop for the night. I suggest we stop somewhere closer. We could find woodsmen, perhaps, or cottagers. Or free-farmers. That way we will not have so far to ride back to rejoin our road. Safer and easier for tomorrow.”
The tension drained and Chrissie felt herself suddenly weak with relief. She slipped forward and Heath tightened his grip on her fiercely.
“You are right,” Blaine agreed, reaching out to steady her. “We can stop somewhere closer to the roadway. Safer.”
Heath sighed. “I think there are some woodsman’s cottages nearby. We could ask for a roof and stables for the horses.
“Yes.”
They rode on and the rain fell lighter, a soft drizzle that soaked through Chrissie's gown and made her shake. She was so cold. She had never been so cold. She wished she was dead. She felt her mind waver, her consciousness retracting from her. She stopped shaking and started falling forward.
Blaine caught her as she slipped sideways. He rode in beside them and leaned on her, supporting and steadying her as Heath held her against him.
“Hello?”
Heath shouted it and soon Chrissie understood why. They had reached a settlement – or at least, a cluster of houses where, in one, a fire burned. They could see the glow through a window and smell the slow-burning wood.
“Charcoal-makers,” Blaine explained. Chrissie breathed in, coughing.
“We will ask for shelter here.”
Heath held her while Blaine made inquiries. They found a man who said he had room for them. He also had a stable which would – just – accommodate their horses.
“One of ye can sleep in there,” he added, jerking his head at the stables, where the horses seemed relieved to go. Chrissie leaned on Heath, too exhausted to stand on her own two feet.
“I'll go,” Blaine offered. He glanced meaningfully at Chrissie. “Please, take her inside directly, sir.”
Chrissie blinked at his courtesy and, evidently, the charcoal-maker was baffled. He bowed, blinked, and bobbed his head, touching Heath on the arm.
“This way, milord.”
Blaine stayed behind at the stable and Heath led her carefully away. Chrissie turned, feeling worried...Blaine might freeze to death out there alone! She looked straight into his stare; he was looking after them with his face shaped with such a look of longing that it tore at Chrissie.
“Blaine...” she whispered.
Heath seemed not to hear her, but he squeezed her wrist a little tighter, guiding her carefully along. “We'll soon have you inside. You need warmth. Blaine was right. What was I thinking? You're almost frozen stiff.”
He led her in, making solicitous noises, and talking quietly to the cottager, who disappeared outside with a pail, apparently to heat water over the fire. Heath and Chrissie were alone together.
Heath settled Chrissie by the fire. The warmth ate into the core of her and Chrissie thought she might cry with relief. She thought of Blaine and wished he could be here. Wished he could also be getting warm.
“Blaine is safe out there,” Heath said gently. “He prefers it, I think. To being in here with us,” he added meaningfully. He patted her hand. “You should sleep.”
As Chrissie stretched out by the fire, lying on the straw matting there before it, she started to doze almost immediately. Thoughts of Blaine swam before her mind's eye. She remembered that look of longing on his face and felt the jolt of longing she, too, had felt when he was close.
As Heath settled down across from her, his head beside hers on the straw, body facing the other way, she suddenly realized what Heath had meant.
It was easier for Blaine to sleep away from her. If he had been here, he would not have been decorous. Not like Heath.
She could not help a brief stab of utter amazement at that thought. Blaine was attracted to her. Heath was...caring, attentive, mannerly. He also did not arouse in her the same wonder Blaine did. She had, perhaps, the beginnings of the knowledge she had wanted to begin seeking.
She fell asleep to the sound of Heath's breath and woke next morning to the wan gray morning and the scent of smoke and, somewhere, someone singing.
Blaine appeared, seeming wide awake. He had with him a hard loaf.
“Morning to you,” he said, smiling at her warmly. Chrissie stared in alarm, realizing that she looked terrible: her hair was a mess, her face dirty, and her dress all crumpled. She wanted to tell him to go away, at least until she was decently cleaner, but the sight of the bread caught her stomach and made her mouth water with wanting. She recalled she had eaten almost nothing the previous day and her stomach ached for needing some food.
“Blaine,” she said, cautiously. “We have...something for breakfast there?”
&nbs
p; “Indeed, milady.” He chuckled. “We have bread and, somewhere, some hard cheese. At least, I think we do. I pray I didn't eat it on the ride yesterday.” He frowned in consternation and she giggled. “It was all in my saddlebags, so it should still be there unless I finished it.”
“Thank you,” Chrissie said fervently. “How wonderful that you thought to bring something along.”
“Always have something with you, my lady. First rule of battle.”
Heath laughed. “Well, it's close enough, anyhow.” He half-closed his eyes, lean features showing amusement. “Thank you for the provisions,” he added lightly. “Breakfast, my lady.”
“I'm hungry.”
They all laughed. The cottager had appeared cautiously. Chrissie guessed he had been hiding lest they asked him for provisions and she understood his inclination, there was little enough in his cottage, doubtless, to last him for long alone. They could eat all his supplies without really noticing it.
“We should give him something,” Chrissie said, accepting a slice of dark brown bread from Blaine. He nodded and she chewed it slowly, her jaw working. It was hard, but the wheaten taste was heavenly. She closed her eyes, sure she had never eaten such wondrous meals.
“We should,” Blaine agreed.
“I have some coin in my saddle-pouch,” Heath nodded. “Second rule of battle: never go anywhere without cash.”
Blaine roared with mirth and Heath smiled shyly. Chrissie giggled at their joke and accepted a small piece of hardened cheese.
It was wildly salted and she chewed it slowly, wincing as she swallowed and it burned her throat, bracing herself for the churning ache it would probably cause once she had swallowed it. Heath saw her expression and found her a stoup of water, which she drank gratefully. She sopped the bread in the water, glad it made it easier to chew.
The Highland Hero (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 5
