“We need to go,” Brodgar said. His hand rested on hers.
Barra looked down at where his fingers, warm and strong, slick with sweat, touched hers. Her heart almost stopped. She looked into his eyes.
“I cannot,” she whispered. “I must stay.”
“Barra,” he whispered. He made her name an allegory of longing, the syllables of it warm and sweet and soft as the lightest touch. She shut her eyes, the word more pain than the ice water that soaked into her boots and skirt or the cold that ate at her fingertips.
“Brodgar,” she murmured. “I should…”
Before she could say anything, the sound of feet on the path made them both turn around. A man in mail burst into the clearing, his face a mask of rage.
“Barra!” Brodgar screamed, launching himself across the gap and between her and the soldier. Barra watched as the man twisted to bring his sword down on Brodgar. He was a tall man, vast and well-built and Barra felt her breath choke her as the strike, bright as silver, fell swiftly.
She felt her heart stop as Brodgar, with lightning speed, blocked it. Metal rang on metal. He was no longer fighting with the dagger, which lay on the leaf mold, but had unsheathed the long sword.
Barra tried to breathe as she watched the two swordsmen circle each other. She was torn between horror and awe, for she had never seen anything quite that beautiful before. She watched as Brodgar swung his sword left, then, at the last minute, twisted back to stop the other man’s blow. The blades struck, making sparks.
She watched as both men stepped back. Brodgar was panting, and it was clear he was exhausted. His steps were slower than before.
The big swordsman was wearing armor – whether it was leather or metal, Barra couldn’t tell, for the dim light of the fallen torch was not strong enough to see that – and he was fresh. He moved lightly on his feet, his narrowed eyes following the steps Brodgar took.
Heart thumping, Barra knelt to pick up the dagger. She barely knew why she did it, but she felt better when she held the cool metal in her hand.
As she watched, Brodgar rushed the man. His body bent forward, he charged him, sword held level. The taller man bent forward and at that moment, Brodgar dropped to one knee. The level sword blade sliced across the taller man’s stomach. Barra almost screamed for horror, but the taller man had seen the blow and jerked to the side. His sword arced down on the spot where Brodgar had been.
The move left the man off balance, and he crashed forward. Brodgar got to his feet. The other man found his footing and twisted around to face him. His eyes were narrowed in rage.
Barra screamed as the tall swordsman charged at Brodgar, but the latter stepped aside, just avoiding the blow. Brodgar was unarmored, and that seemed to lend him lightness of foot, which was good as Barra could see how he was tiring.
He brought his sword up to crash into the blade of the other swordsman, and, in a flurry of sparks, he twisted it around and brought it up to the other man’s throat.
As the other man dropped to one knee, a gesture of surrender, a shadow moved in the tree line.
“No!” Barra, screaming, lost all sense of time or place. All she knew was that there was another man behind Brodgar, leaving him unguarded and exposed to the strike. Shouting incoherent words, she fell on the man.
She had a dagger in her hand and she brought it down into his arm. The man screamed and, fingers abruptly numb, he dropped the sword. It was only as he crashed to his knees and Brodgar turned to face them that Barra, falling over as her assailant crumpled to rest, realized what she’d done.
She had just charged a swordsman with a dagger and survived.
“Barra!” Brodgar said, grabbing at her wrist. “Let’s go!”
They ran, arms linked, into the woods.
Recovery
Brodgar felt his chest ache. He had been running for longer than he could say and, before that, he’d been fighting with his heavy sword and dagger. He had been in three fights in a single evening and he was almost too tired to think.
“Barra,” he panted. “We…stop.”
He leaned on a tree, afraid that if he sat down, he would never be able to get up. His legs were shaking with exhaustion, his lungs heaving and his sides aching. Barra sat down.
She looked up at him, cheeks white, eyes huge. Her shoulders were rising and falling and she was clearly out of breath. He watched her brush sweat dampened hair away.
“Brodgar,” she whispered. “Why are we here?”
He took a breath. “We’re the armed resistance.” He coughed and spat. The thought made him grin – he was anything but threatening right now.
“And those were the English?”
“The scalawags must have been spying,” Brodgar nodded. He felt his heart ache. If one of his men had betrayed them…He stopped. If one of their men had betrayed him, he was likely dead. Greer had only brought two men with him and, of them, he thought Greer and one had escaped. He thought it was typical of the English to murder the man who had informed them.
“Brodgar,” Barra whispered. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“You can’t go back.”
He wished he could do something, but unfortunately, there was no way to take her back to the farmhouse. At the same time, though, he didn’t want to leave her there. He would not be able to come back and he hated the thought of not seeing her.
He looked down at her. Here in the woods, the light from the torches was far away. He could only see the paleness of her face in the snow-reflected whiteness. Her soft cheeks were flushed, eyes huge.
I still long to kiss her.
Even now, with the aches of fights and the fury of fighting still running through his blood, he could feel nothing but longing.
“Brodgar, I can’t stay.”
He shook his head. “We’ll get you back to the farm one day.”
“My father…” she said, then her posture straightened. “I am here and I will go back one day.”
Brodgar nodded. Her face stiffened with determination and his heart ached for her. He had to make a fist to stop himself from reaching out to ruffle her hair. He remembered how she had fallen on the man who sought to attack him. He took a deep breath. He hadn’t even thanked her.
“You saved my life,” he said.
Barra shook her head. “You saved me, too.”
“Maybe,” He grinned. “But I would have died doing it, if not for you. It’s not the first time you saved me. More like the third.” He felt his heart twist. It really was, and all he’d done for her was brought trouble to her doorstep.
“The second,” she grinned. “You wouldn’t have died the first time.”
He laughed. “Probably not. But you saved our men, and I owe you my livelihood as well as my life.”
She chuckled. “Nonsense,” she said, and he thought her voice sounded sad. “You had no need of being saved.”
“Barra, stop it.” His voice was gentle, but he could hear the intense feeling. “You know that isn’t true. Now, come on. We should go further.”
Barra got to her feet, though he noticed she didn’t look at him directly. He helped her up, but she tensed at his touch on her arm and he let his fingers fall to his sides, feeling hurt.
You are getting what you deserve. You’ve let her help you, care for you, rescue you! And all you do is ignore her.
He heaved out a sigh. His knee ached as he put his weight on his right foot. His shoulder was stinging. He couldn’t feel his fingertips, and he was grateful for that. Tomorrow, his whole arm and every finger would be aching.
I need to have more time to practice.
He had not died in either of the fights, but he knew how close it had come in both. He had suffered for the lack of time spent practicing and he knew he couldn’t take many more risks.
“Will we stop?” Barra asked.
He looked down at her, feeling sudden compassion. “As soon as we find shelter, lass.”
She must be exhausted.
“Barra, you n
eed warmth.”
She looked up at him and her blue eyes held a look of defiance. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t say anything, but looked around, wishing they could find something.
“There must be something,” he muttered. A charcoal burner living in the woods, out of the way of the townsfolk so he could light his fires and burn wood without complaint. Or a lean-to or a woodsman’s cottage…
Brodgar found himself staring at a wall. Made of logs, nailed together and reinforced with boards, it was some sort of lean-to. He rested a hand on Barra’s, halting her.
“A shelter,” he hissed. “See, there? In the trees.”
“Good,” Barra whispered. “I’ll start a fire.”
Brodgar nodded, but patted her shoulder. “Wait here,” he whispered. “I’ll see if there’s anybody there.”
He caught her eye. She looked skeptical and he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t exactly shown himself to be useful, had he?
Taking a deep breath, hand on the hilt of his sword, he quested forward.
The lean-to proved to be stocked with logs, which left space enough for somebody his height to lie flat on the floor. It was covered with leaves, and he kicked them aside, exposing some dry ground that was not frozen. He nodded to himself. They could shelter in here without freezing.
“It’s safe,” he called through the door.
Barra came to join him.
“We can take turns to be on watch,” she said.
Brodgar felt his cheeks lift in a smile. Would she never cease amazing him? He had recruits with the resistance who would have never thought of that. “We needn’t,” he said softly. “But thank you. It was a good idea.”
Barra looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I don’t like the thought of being set upon in my sleep.”
He shook his head. “I’ll keep watch. When the fire’s died down, I’ll sleep.”
“You need to rest,” she protested, but, he noticed, as she dragged some kindling into a pile she leaned back against the wall, eyes shutting slowly.
Brodgar lit the fire, using the flint and striker he had in a pouch at his belt. He placed scraps of kindling into the spark until it caught, then looked across at Barra. Her eyes were shut, and she leaned back against the wall. Her hair was tangled around her shoulders, a shade paler than the soft skin of her face. She looked like the most beautiful thing he could imagine.
“Barra,” he whispered.
Despite his exhaustion, longing flared in his body. He felt his eyes move down the pale length of her neck, down to the ties of her dress. He could see her pale skin through the gap below the ties and he ached to kiss it, to undo the ties and feel her soft breasts in his hands.
“Stop it,” he told himself firmly. He was already aroused, and there was no point. He was not going to take advantage of Barra, who trusted him. He might as well put some wood on the fire and wait for it to burn to embers.
He found his eyes moving back to her, despite his best efforts to focus on the crackling logs. He winced as his loins throbbed. His eyes were focused on her bust, rising and falling with each delicate exhale.
Gritting his teeth, gripping his fingers, he looked down into the fire.
“Stop it,” he told himself again. There was no good in sitting about feeling sorry for himself. He was stuck here for the night and he should be pleased he was alive.
If it wasn’t for Barra, I’d likely be dead.
He nodded, remembering that disturbing fact. He recalled how he’d twisted around, hearing her shout aloud. He had been in time to see her fall on the enemy, grappling with him, before, using the confusion created by her attack, he’d dragged them away.
Now, here he was, alone in a forest with a woman.
He gripped his fingers more tightly together. His eyes wandered up her body from her feet to her head, lingering on her curves. It looked as though she had risen from bed, for the gown she wore was thin and shapeless, tied loosely at the neck. He thought she must be very cold, and was glad that he had lost his cloak, for it was draped around her shoulders, keeping her warm.
He found his eyes resting on her curves again, and his loins throbbed. He wanted so much to take her breast in his lips, kissing what he imagined was a delicate nipple.
His eyes drooped as his mind wandered and he felt himself falling into unconsciousness.
Dawn woke him. The light was pale gray, and shone onto his eyelids, making him blink. The fire was out.
“Blast it,” he swore. His body was impossibly stiff. He reached over, wincing at the cramping of his hand. His palms were bruised, every finger a mass of pain.
Trying to grip the striker was almost impossible. When he struck it again, this time making a spark that landed on the moss kindling, he felt eyes on him.
“Barra,” he said.
“Brodgar.”
Their eyes held. He felt strange, like the blue depths were tugging on him, drawing him towards her with some irresistible power. He turned away.
“I’m lighting the fire,” he murmured. “I have a loaf for breakfast.”
Barra nodded. “Good. One of us has something.”
He nodded. There it was again, that strange distance, a gulf that had grown between them. He had made it, and he knew he had. Yet now, he wished with every part of him that he could heal it again.
“I can scout a bit?” He stood, then grimaced and almost fell as his knee lit up in agony.
“You’re wounded. Don’t go,” Barra said firmly. “I am not wounded. And warmer.” She made as if to stand.
“Barra, don’t,” he said, and was surprised by the intensity of his words. “Wait. At least have some breakfast. I just want to see if there’s a stream. We could do with water.” Why was she so cold, so efficient in everything but so utterly without feeling for him?
“Yes,” she agreed.
He felt her eyes on him again, as he started to pile wood onto the fire. They were fortunate in their cache of logs, but he didn’t like to think what would happen if whoever it belonged to were to catch them here. They would have to move on, and soon.
When he looked up from the fire, he found her watching him. She hadn’t thought he would notice. Her expression was soft, and a small smile touched her lips. His heart melted.
“Barra, I…”
“I’ll fetch dry leaves,” she said, standing up. “We have no more kindling.”
Her cheeks were flushed and he thought she was embarrassed. He wished he hadn’t caught her watching him. He wished, more than ever, that he knew how to bridge the gap that he himself had made between them.
“I found some twigs…” Barra said from behind him, her voice trailing off. Her concentration was elsewhere.
Brodgar sat up, frowning. What was she staring at? His eyes followed hers to the back wall, where, the night before, he had propped his sword. It was there now, the blade glinting dully silver in the morning light.
He twisted around, wanting to grab it and hide it, but he knew that would only draw attention. He reached, instead, for his bag.
“Here’s bread.”
She nodded and sank down against the wall, holding her hands to the flames. She was two hand’s length away from him, just out of reach. He looked down and focused on the bread, breaking the loaf in two.
“Here,” he said.
“Thank you.”
She took the half he proffered her. Their eyes met. Her blue eyes were soft like pools of snow-melt. He felt his heart lurch. In that moment, all he wanted was to take her in his arms. He looked away, heart aching. He knew that she would not wish him to do that.
“It’s good bread,” he said, tearing off a piece and chewing.
“Thank you,” Barra observed with a cool tone. He looked up, grinning.
“I know. You made it.”
She let her lips lift with a smile. It was the barest acknowledgment of friendship. The shared laughter of yesterday was as distant as memories of springtime.
He swallowe
d hard. Why could he not simply talk with her as easily as he once had?
I am too close to her, and too unable to act on it because of my accursed family.
He couldn’t take a farmer’s daughter as his wife. He was remote enough from his father, and that would make the gulf unbreachable. All he could do was try and distance himself from Barra, but that was difficult.
“I can fetch water,” Barra murmured.
“Stay and eat,” he said, and he couldn’t stop the gentleness in his tone. “You are exhausted.”
She raised a brow. “And you aren’t?”
He grinned. That was typical Barra – irrepressible and uncompromising. She was also, as usual, quite correct. “Yes, I am.”
She nodded. “Well, then,” she said, breaking off a piece of the loaf. “I suggest we eat, then we both go in search of water. And your companions.”
“Aye,” he nodded, and felt his stomach twist unhappily. If any of his companions were alive, and, even more, if he could still trust them, they ought to find them soon. Time was running out. He looked at her and was surprised to see sympathy in her eyes.
“You should rest.”
He nodded. “I feel like all my bones are broken.”
She chuckled. “I’m sure, lad.”
He felt his heart twist. It was that easy kindness, the care irrespective of his rank, that made Barra so exceptional. So utterly unlike anyone he had ever known before. Among his family, there was never anything granted for love, never a deed that did not expect payment, a kindness that came without a condition. They were pitiless and conniving, the McIlvors.
And Barra gives her smiles and her concern without hesitation.
He looked at his hands. They were bruised and scarred. He flexed his fingers, feeling the bruises throb.
“Barra,” he murmured, looking up into her eyes. “You saved me. I will make sure, one day, your kindness is repaid.”
Her sky blue eyes went hard. “I need no payment.”
Protection By Her Deceptive Highlander (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 5) Page 4
