Brodgar shut his own eyes. He had meant no insult. He knew, as he looked into her face, that he had made a terrible misjudgment. The coldness in her face frightened him.
He opened his eyes again. She had turned her back, brushing pine needles out of his cloak. He cleared his throat.
“I should scout the way ahead.”
“No need,” Barra said. She stood, shaking the cloak out to remove the last traces of debris. “I know where we are. The East Road is that way. We can join it – if it’s safe enough.”
Brodgar huffed out his cheeks. He felt a fool. He thumbed over one of his bruised knuckles. “At least somebody knows where we are,” he murmured. He looked up at her. Her face had softened a little, though she still was not looking directly at him. There were leaves in her hair. He ached to brush them out.
“You’ll be able to lead us out of here,” Barra murmured. “And back to the farm.”
Brodgar swallowed hard. He couldn’t go back – not only because of the increased likelihood of ambush, or the risk that somebody had disclosed his use of the place to the English. It was essential to move North as fast as possible, to plan a raid on the encampment. If he was going to do that, he had to find his men.
He stood up, wincing as his joints cracked. His feet were a mass of pain, his knee throbbing where he’d fallen and it had twisted. He had no idea how he was going to walk, but they had to get out of here soon.
“I can’t go that way, lass,” he said. He couldn’t look at her as he said it. He risked a glance at her face. It was neutral. When her eyes met his, he couldn’t read the expression in their pale depths.
“Leave me at Edinburgh, then.” Her tone was flat. “I’ll take shelter with the Holy Sisters.”
“Lass…” Brodgar felt his heart twist. He didn’t want that to be her fate! He understood then exactly what he had done.
By taking her away from her home, he’d ruined her chances with another man. If he himself could not help her, he had abandoned her to a life of homeless wandering and almost certain death. Yet how could he help her, and not cast away everything he owned?
“I can accept my fate,” she said. Her voice was unreadable as her face. “But I ask you to accompany me that far. That, at least, you can do.”
“Lass…”
“And somebody ought to find some water. We’ll not get far without drinking some.”
Brodgar looked away. He knew in that moment just how much strength she had. If he had been faced with his life being decided for him, he had no idea what he would have done.
“But my life has been decided for me,” he muttered, heading up the slope towards the stream.
He was the son of an earl and his destiny was as plainly written as anyone’s: serve the family, or die in poverty.
In some ways, he had no more choices than she did.
Disclosure
Barra walked along the forest path. Her feet were cold – so cold she had forgotten about them – and she held the cloak around her to hold in the warmth. The earth under her feet was slick with rain. She trudged on along the path, glad that she had her outdoor boots on.
“Not too far until we reach a village,” Brodgar said. He stopped, pointing through the trees.
“Aye. Good,” Barra replied. She followed the line of his gesture with little interest. She was too hungry and too tired to care much about it.
Brodgar turned and held out a hand. “Lass…let me help?”
She looked at him. He had the sense to drop his hand. They walked on in silence.
While she followed him, Barra thought about the conversation of the morning. She had always known that Brodgar was selfish and arrogant, but she had not thought his selfishness extended so far.
Why should I follow him all the way to Edinburgh?
She looked away, feeling her belly twist sourly. She knew why. If she didn’t, what option did she have? Walk back to the farm, through woods alive with soldiers and dispossessed, desperate men? She would be lucky to last a day.
So now, she thought grimly, I am trudging along to a life of dreariness.
She shook her head. Being shut in a convent was not for her. She was sure it had its benefits for people who chose it, but she loved the forest, and the farm, and she wanted a life full of simple joys.
As she looked up, watching Brodgar walking along the path in front of her, she felt her cheeks heat up. There were other things, she thought, glancing down his shapely back, that she wanted, too. She also didn’t want to shut herself away from them.
“Should we rest?” he asked, turning to face her.
Caught in the study of his muscular back, Barra blushed. “I can keep on.”
“Good,” he replied. His eyes met hers warily. She didn’t break the contact, but held his eyes with hers. He looked away first.
They carried on walking.
Barra was surprised by the effect that even that level of contact had on her. It felt like his gaze rippled down her body like a stone in water. She shivered, but it wasn’t because she was cold. The woolen cloak was, at least, warm.
And he has a sword and fights like a soldier.
She recalled watching him that night. In the midst of the danger, she had been unable to ignore the skill he displayed. His body, lithe and quick, showed his training clearly. This was not a farmer who had only recently lifted a weapon. This man had trained at arms his entire life.
When coupled with the quality of his cloak and weapons, the skill told a very different story to the one he’d furnished her with. She frowned.
Why has he been lying to me?
It was an uncomfortable feeling, one that made her mistrust him more. Just what was it that he was hiding? She wished she knew.
“We’ll take the left path – it should lead down to that settlement we saw.”
“Aye,” Barra agreed wearily. She was unused to people telling her what to do – her own father had never done so, raising her according to his own rules. The only rule he seemed to believe in was kindness – everything else was up to your own instincts. Having Brodgar tell her what to do grated harshly.
But I do need to follow him to Edinburgh.
She took the left track, wincing at the slippery mud. She kept her balance, following him down the path with an annoyance borne at least in part of her discomfort and hunger.
“Not too long now,” he said. He turned and looked at her. His eyes were bright and hopeful. She felt her heart soften to him.
Grinning, she nodded. “And we’ll have to wash ourselves in the horse trough before they’ll let us in,” she added. “I don’t think any innkeeper’s going to let us tread this muck about his taproom.”
Brodgar grinned. In this unguarded state, he had a playful charm that was irresistible. His brown eyes lit up, his thin lips expanding to a wide grin that tugged at her.
“I have to agree.”
She laughed. “We’ll see who can get themselves clean fastest. The one who’s through the door first gets to decide what’s for lunch.”
“Grand!” Brodgar grinned. “That’s me.”
“I would nae be sure,” she called as she gathered her skirts in her hands, ready to run. She saw a slippery spot coming, and stood back as he, with ill-fated haste, attempted to run across it.
He slipped and fell, grunting in surprise. Barra felt a laugh building and could not stop it.
“I suppose I lost the bet,” he said with a wry smile. He tried to get up, his trousers fouled with mud. Barra took his hand. His eyes held hers, and there was humor there, if also some discomfort.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’ll need to clean up somehow.” She added, glancing with some dismay at his trousers, which were stained and wet with mud.
“I’ll have to get new trousers,” he said. His lips twisted as he tried to dust himself off. Barra stared up at him in open-mouthed surprise.
New trousers were something that could take months to make – if one counted the making of the wool,
the weaving and the sewing together. Here he was, so unconcerned? Who was he?
As if he realized, belatedly, that he’d said something odd, he looked away. “Come on,” he said, shifting his belt to keep the mud-fouled trousers up. “It’s almost midday, and I’m starved.”
Barra nodded and followed behind him silently, mind whirling with thoughts.
They stopped at Lychley, the small village they had spotted, and took lunch at the inn. Brodgar managed to exchange his stained, but fine wool trousers for a rough, albeit dry, pair of the innkeeper’s. He winced as he stepped out of the upstairs room where Barra waited.
“These things are blasted uncomfortable,” he said with a wry smile.
Barra wanted to smile too. They were coarse cloth and they were not made for a man as tall as Brogan was. The legs came to his ankles, and the belt was tight at his waist, striving to hold them up. He looked acutely uncomfortable and it made her want to laugh, though she wouldn’t have dreamed of affronting his dignity.
“They’re dry,” she reminded him.
He grinned. “About the only good thing going for them, but aye.”
They were both laughing as they left the inn.
As they walked along the path back to the woods, a pack filled with bread and cheese they’d bought for lunch on Brodgar’s shoulders, he shook his head, turning to face her with a grin.
“I hope that innkeeper knows he’s just made a bargain.”
Barra laughed. She was surprised that, in spite of everything – the hardship, the horror and the exhaustion – she was happy.
“I’m sure he does,” she laughed. “I’m sure he does.”
The day was crisp and cold, the path fortuitously free of snow. The sun came out, transforming the world to glowing white and then, as the day turned to evening, to soft gray-blue. They stopped at nightfall at another town.
“Brodgar,” she said, as she lifted a tankard of ale. She was pleasantly sleepy, the ale and warmth in the taproom soaking into her bones. It was the first time all day that she felt safe. She wanted to ask him a question, but was not sure how to start.
“Aye?” he asked. He, too, looked sleepy. He was leaning on the table with one elbow, his eyes drooping. He blinked himself awake.
“How long have you been fighting?” she asked. “I mean, with the Resistance,” she added. She saw the look of suspicion cross his face. She wanted, so badly, for him to tell her his story, but at the same time she knew that the more she tried to extract if, the less likely he would be to tell.
“Since last year,” he said, wiping a strand of dark hair out of his eye. It hung down to his collar, in thick chestnut-brown strands. In the firelight, it glowed softly, a few shades lighter than his dark eyes. In this light, they were almost black – still pools of mystery.
“When Dunbar fell?” she asked.
“Not quite,” he nodded, lifting the tankard of ale and drinking a big mouthful. “About a month or two after. My uncle…” he trailed off. Barra saw his eyes focus on the table, avoiding her gaze. She waited, hoping he’d continue.
“My uncle did nae want to be involved,” he said. He was still not looking at her, but staring into the fire. “I had to do something…I couldn’t leave such violence unanswered. I decided to raise my own troops.”
“I see,” Barra nodded. She was starting to believe that Brodgar was far more than just a yeoman farmer, unusual though those were. He fought with a sword, had money at his disposal – he had bought the meals and provisions without effort – and he spoke of leading troops, not of joining the resistance.
“My uncle’s a difficult sort,” he said. He smiled at her with a wry grin. His eyes were sad. “It took time for me to plan how tae do things without his knowing.”
“I understand,” Barra nodded. In truth, she didn’t, but she could feel sorry for him nonetheless.
“And so,” he said, lifting the tankard with a wry expression on his face. “Here I am. Stuck out here trying to rejoin my men, with bruises and trousers that don’t fit.”
“But are dry,” Barra grinned.
“Yes. That.” He nodded.
His eyes held hers, and they sparkled with warmth. In that moment, Barra felt a sudden heat flow through her and she wished, without knowing why, that she could be closer to him, leaning against him as they had in sleep the other night. She longed to turn to him and press her lips to his.
He coughed, his eyes shutting briefly. When he looked up at her again, she could see an expression in his eyes that seemed to mirror exactly how she felt. She swallowed hard.
“We should go to bed,” she murmured. Her voice was low and resonant and she was surprised. She’d never heard herself so relaxed.
“Yes,” he nodded.
Neither of them moved. Under the table, she was suddenly aware of his boots, pressing against her toes. She felt the heat inside her spread, flooding from her belly to the skin of her face. She looked away, aware she blushed.
“Goodnight, then,” she murmured.
His eyes held hers a moment longer and she felt that throbbing ache flood through her. He smiled, his breathing tight in his throat. She felt that tightness in her own body.
“Goodnight,” he said.
He stood, chair scraping on the flagstones. She followed, clutching the folds of his cloak about her. She resolved to try and bargain with the innkeeper’s wife the next morning. She couldn’t go all the way to Edinburgh dressed in her nightgown! He would need his cloak soon – it would snow again.
They went upstairs in silence.
At the top of the steps, Brodgar turned to face her. He looked down at his hands and his throat worked. When he looked back at her, there was a brightness in his eyes that sent warmth flooding through his body.
“Goodnight, Barra,” he whispered.
Before she knew what was happening, he had pressed his lips to her cheek.
She stood there in the hallway, hearing his footsteps die away. Her heart soared.
It was a long time before he stopped feeling the gentle pressure of his lips, and longer before she slept.
News From The Castle
Brodgar woke up feeling stiff. He rolled over, remembering why. He was sleeping in the hayloft. He groaned as he sat up, stretching and yawning.
“I hope I’m no’ in trouble.”
He swung his legs down to the ladder, sitting at the opening to the loft a moment longer. His eyes dropped closed as he recalled the kiss. His whole body responded to the memory, flooding with heat. It was an experience sweeter than any he could imagine, and one he was sure would put him in her bad favor.
Barra had smelled so sweet, her skin so soft! He remembered how surprised she’d been. He wished he could draw her against him and cover her lips with kisses. Her lips, he imagined, would be even softer than her cheek was, her mouth warm and exciting.
“Stop it, you,” he chided himself, and climbed resolutely down the ladder, grimacing as he saw his ankles poking out of the trouser legs. When they got to Edinburgh, he was going to buy at least two pairs of new trousers!
He walked unsteadily across the hay barn and into the kitchen. In his mind, he rehearsed what he would say to Barra. He hadn’t meant to take advantage of her. He wouldn’t do it again. He hadn’t intended to.
“Breakfast’s in the taproom,” the innkeeper’s wife said, walking resolutely past him with a hot loaf. Nobody even seemed to notice him, which was somewhat of a dent to his pride. He was the son of an earl, and not at all comfortable with being ignored. He felt his lips twist in a wry expression as he realized he was the one who had concealed his identity.
He found an empty seat in the taproom, and leaned his elbows on the table. His head hurt. His back hurt. He would, he thought tiredly, be pleased to arrive.
However, he wouldn’t be pleased to stop traveling. He’d miss Barra too much.
He ran a hand down his face. He would have to do something! He was not, absolutely not, going to leave her in Edinburgh. Whatever
his family said or did, that was more than he could bear.
“Curse my uncle.”
He shut his eyes. The gaunt, dark-eyed face of his uncle swam before his memory. He had always been too fearful of him in the past – and not without reason. Glendon McIlvor was a short-tempered man, ready to commit acts of brutality if he must. Killing his own nephew to preserve family honor would not be beyond him.
Brodgar looked up at the roof, where blackened beams supported the straw overhead. The walls were cleanly painted and the place had an air of prosperity. At least, Brodgar thought with a grimace, it was clean.
He was still studying the roof when he heard footsteps crossing the taproom. Slow and soft, they drew his attention. His gaze alighted on Barra. She looked up at him with a frown creasing her brow, though her eyes sparkled.
“Did you do this?” she asked. She gestured at her body. She was wearing a dress of plain linen, left a soft cream color rather than dyed brighter. It tied at the waist with a braided belt.
He went red. “I made…inquiries…about new clothes, yes,” he nodded. He had done it that evening, right before bed. He hadn’t thought the innkeeper’s wife would take action immediately.
He felt his heart melt as her lips lifted in a hesitant smile. “I…thank you,” she murmured.
He swallowed hard. He had been afraid that, following the kiss yesterday, she would be angry with him. Instead, she drew out the seat opposite and sat down shyly.
“You look bonny,” he said. His mouth had gone dry and his voice was tight in his throat.
She looked up at him shyly. “Thank you,” she murmured.
The dress was a little tight-fitting across the bust, or more so than what she usually wore. The color brought out her pale eyes and highlighted the soft pink of her lips.
He winced, feeling aroused, and tried to distract himself from the irresistible presence of her.
“Should I ask for breakfast?” he said. His voice stuck in his throat and he coughed, to clear his lungs.
“Yes, please,” she said. Her eyes wandered back to his face and he frowned, surprised that she seemed altogether more trusting of him. He could feel her knee, so close to his under the table, and he ached to put his foot over hers, to draw her to him, to press his lips to those soft pale ones and push his tongue into the warmth of her mouth.
Protection By Her Deceptive Highlander (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 5) Page 5
