Her shoulders slumped. “All right. I agree.”
And while he was grateful to have secured her agreement, he took no pleasure from it. He could only hope it was a necessary compromise to ensure not only better relations with her, but also strengthened the tribe.
Waves rocked their ship as Connall and his war party cut through the waters of the Sound of Jura. Because of the Romans, they knew who’d raided them, which aided them greatly, for nothing about the raiders they fought yesterday distinguished them in any way from others living in these parts.
The Damnonii were a vicious tribe located south, and the chief and council had given permission for them to follow and attempt to retrieve Aiden.
Connall yanked on the line running to the aft sail, adjusting it slightly.
By the ancestors, he hated what he’d had to do to Ashley. And he kept telling himself it was for the best for the rest of that evening.
But ever since she’d agreed to the compromise, she’d been listless. And last night, yet again, she would not let him into her bed.
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked out over the choppy silver water.
She’d come around. She would.
He just had to exercise the same patience he’d used with her before. But first, he needed to make sure their war party returned before the spring equinox only four nights away.
“Our ancestors and the local gods are smiling down on us today,” Connall whispered to his brother Domnall. He jutted his chin toward the misty shore where the indistinct shapes of five boats shimmered gray and blue, their white sails tied fast to their masts. Most were empty save the one in the center, which contained two hulking shapes, as well as one other shape. A shape much smaller, and one Connall hoped and prayed was that of the small boy they searched for—Aiden.
As the second night of their quest bled into daylight with no signs of the raiders, his anxiety had grown. Anxiety not only for the sake of the boy, but also because he knew he needed to return to the stronghold in two nights.
But now, if all went well, they would return in triumph. And though eager, he’d not make the mistake of turning that feeling into haste and risk ruining this.
The Damnonii boats were moored in a crescent-shaped inlet, and he and his men had carefully kept their boat close to the shoreline when they’d approached this lip of land.
He addressed his men. “We must act quickly, but with stealth, for we know not when the raiding parties will return to the boats and lend aid.” He pointed to the small island guarding the inlet. “We will sail along the sea side of that isle, but myself, Domnall, and Machar will keep our heads down in case these Damnonii can count.”
“Why does that matter?” asked one of his men.
“Because we’re going to slip out once the isle is between us and them and make for its shores. The rest of you will sail on to the next lip of land as if you’re just passing by.”
They all nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“Moor there—out of sight, mind you. But post a lookout. We will make our way to the inlet side of that isle, slip into the water, and approach them from behind. We three can hold our breaths the longest. And those fools are spending most of their time aiming their noses inland, wishing they were part of the raid and not babysitting Aiden. Once you see us begin to subdue those two, make for us with all speed. Hopefully, the surprise of our approach will end it before you arrive, but in case not, you can lend aid. But most importantly, you will carry us—and Aiden—back to the safety of our stronghold.”
He looked to his brother and Machar. “Domnall, you take the sentry on the left, Machar, the right. I’ll be in the middle and will pull Aiden to me. All clear?”
When all gave a nod, they unfurled their sail and tacked across the inlet. He crouched in the hull, slipping his shirt and tartan from his frame. When Fearghus softly whispered, “Now,” he slipped over the side, his knife strapped to his ankle the only thing he wore, and swam with powerful strokes to the nearby shore.
Hearing his brother and Machar beside him as his feet touched shore, he didn’t bother directing them—they knew what to do. All three slipped into the dark recesses of the tree-crowded isle. Once on the far side, they crouched and used shade and boulders to hide their quick dash to the inlet’s waters. Though Connall was confident this was the party they sought, he risked a quick glance. They were close enough now he fancied he could see the fleas crawling along the men’s tartans, though in truth they were still a hundred feet away.
The small boy, hunched and shivering, was the only one looking in their direction, and Connall allowed himself to feel a moment’s relief—the boy was Aiden. When his eyes caught Connall’s, they rounded in surprise and relief, but the lad was quick-witted enough to not give them away by either movement or sound. Connall raised a finger to his lips, checked the knife to ensure it was still strapped in place, and slipped into the water. Before sinking under the calm waters, he filled his lungs with air.
Chapter Eighteen
Connall’s chest burned from holding his breath, but he calmly counted the moments since he’d first slipped into water—he would make it. He knew how far he could count underwater. The water was crystal clear and the mist in the air above was already burning away by the time they neared the boats.
He looked to either side. Domnall and then Machar caught up to him, mere feet from the boats. Just as Domnall nodded, Connall caught movement above and heard a shout, muffled by the water. One of the men was half turned toward them, his face frozen in surprise.
As quick as an otter, Domnall shot out of the water and grappled the second warrior before he could react to the alarm given. Changing the angle of his thrust, Connall sprang up alongside Machar, now that he’d be dealing with someone not unawares.
The glint of a spear whipping around had him lifting his arm to block, giving Machar time to grab the warrior by his braids, exposing his throat for a quick slice of his knife. But the brunt of the weapon hitting his forearm was not as forceful as he’d expected, and Connall glanced down in surprise.
Aiden had kicked at the man’s belly, surprising him enough to make his aim falter.
This little heroic stunt unbalanced Aiden and he fell back into the water, his hands still tied in front of him. He sank quickly, the shore angling deep at this point in the inlet.
Mo Chreach! Connall dived back into the water and scooped him up, then kicked off from the bottom and shot to the surface. The boy sputtered and gasped, and Connall thrust his hand through his own hair, clearing his vision and taking a deep breath.
Up ahead, his men were rowing hard for them, and after checking behind him to ensure that Domnall and Machar had dispatched both—they had—he arranged Aiden against his side, his head above water, and swam hard for the boat.
As soon as he was within inches of it, hands descended and dragged a sputtering and coughing Aiden into its safety. Connall gripped the rail and levered himself up. A dip and two thumps indicated Domnall and Machar were safely onboard, and without losing a beat in their rowing, his men aimed for home.
They weren’t yet out of danger, though. Connall took up an oar and heaved back on the next pull, the loch’s waters already starting to dry on his naked body from the late morning sun. They kept their rhythm-chant low—except for whatever shout that one warrior had given, all the rest of the interaction had been in near silence, save splashes, coughs, and grunts. If their ancestors kept smiling down on them this day, they’d make it to the bend and be out of sight before any of the raiding party returned.
As the raider’s crafts disappeared from view, Connall pulled in a deep breath and disengaged his oar.
He assessed Aiden, whose gaze was still locked on Connall, as if he’d never looked away since they’d reached the safety of the boat. And maybe he hadn’t. No doubt the boy was flooded with conflicting emotions—the latent fear from his
capture and relief to be rescued—though he hid it well. Only his eyes spoke of it.
And Connall went still—he felt as if he were looking into a younger version of himself. Surely his own eyes had looked much like this if anyone had seen him as he’d stumbled from his hiding place and finally caught sight of his tribe’s stronghold.
He grabbed his clothing and dressed, settling next to the lad, who had his knees drawn up to his nose with only his big eyes showing above. His hands were still curled into his body.
Connall drew his knife from his ankle-strap and nodded toward the boy’s stomach. “Will ye let me cut those for ye?” he whispered.
The boy nodded and extended his wrists out from the shelter of his body, though not by much. He carefully angled his knife into the small space the boy gave him and worked the bonds loose. When the leather fell, Aiden launched himself upward and latched his arms around Connall’s neck. He had just enough time to get his knife out of the way.
He held the trembling boy, but just as quickly as he’d launched himself at Connall, he sprang away and sat abruptly against the boat’s side. He drew himself straight, striving to appear unaffected.
How could he comfort him without him drawing up defenses? What would he have wanted to hear when he’d been in the same frightened position as this lad?
“What you did back there was brave, Aiden. Thank you for your part in the fight.”
That earned him a glimmer of a smile, but it still looked as if the boy struggled against tears. He hiccupped once. “I shouldn’t have been caught in the first place. Mam told me not to play in the reeds, but…”
But a child will ignore the advice of an adult for the sake of play.
His chin went up. “I tried to fight them off, but…but…I…” His lips compressed, and his eyes widened.
“You?” Connall prompted, knowing the boy needed the respect of hearing him out, even if it was something he thought shameful.
“I failed. I wasn’t strong enough,” he finished, his voice smaller. He turned his face away.
Connall gripped the boy’s chin and brought his face back around. “You tried, though. Do you agree?”
Aye, he’d felt earlier that he’d been looking upon a younger version of himself, seeing his fear and relief, but now he felt as if he were talking to that younger version as well.
The boy nodded in Connall’s light grip.
A tight knot of emotion lodged in his throat, and he pushed past it, his words rendered a wee rougher in the passing. “Then that makes you very brave indeed, to pit your size against theirs. Do you think anyone here could expect you to overpower someone as big as myself?”
“Not many warriors your size can best you,” Aiden whispered.
“That’s right, but you fought regardless.”
“Yes,” he whispered. And then again, his voice stronger, “Yes, I did.”
His chest filled with pride as a strange sense of relief and…forgiveness flooded him. “You are only a child, there’s no shame in not having the strength to best a grown man.” Connall moved his palm from the child’s cheek to the top of his head. “You might be a child, but within, you have the ferocity of a warrior. Don’t forget that.”
Connall was rewarded with a tentative smile, and he took his place again to row for home. At first, Aiden huddled against the sides, but then his natural curiosity rose to the surface as the novelty of having an audience of warriors completely to himself made itself apparent. The rest of their journey, they fielded one question after another, ranging from how to sail and row to how to fight. It was only as their boat reached the loch abutting their stronghold that the boy finally nodded off.
This time, as Connall trudged up the incline to Dunadd with his men, his spirits were somewhat lighter, though he was just as weary.
The villagers, alerted to their arrival by the horn his men had sounded at the dock, were arrayed on either side to welcome them home.
Alana was the first one to rush down to meet them, and Connall swung the tired boy from his shoulders and handed him off to the loving embrace of his mother.
“Thank you so much. I’m so grateful to you for rescuing him. He’s my life.” She snatched the boy up onto her hip and hugged him tight, sobs of relief coming out in gasps as she held her boy’s face and stared at him in wonder.
Aiden’s eyes drifted shut, and his mother tucked him to her bosom and dashed back up the incline.
And while the villagers greeted his warriors on their successful mission, he’d expected a much more joyful reception. The atmosphere had the same heavy weight to it as the last time they were raided on the winter solstice.
Connall searched the faces on their way up, but the one face he most wanted to see was not among them. For a moment, an icy fear gripped his heart—had she returned to San Francisco?
But that couldn’t be, as he’d made sure they returned before the spring equinox tomorrow.
When he finally found her in the kitchen with Eithne, she merely gave him a dispirited smile, her eyes flat. They only sparked briefly when she asked after Aiden and learned he’d been rescued, but then they returned to a listless state.
Mo Chreach. He’d broken her spirit.
He backed out of the kitchens, further confused when Eithne shook her head at him in disappointment. He strode up to the keep and located his father and the council members, telling them the news.
When he turned to leave, his father stopped him. “What are ye going to do about your wife, son?”
He swung back around. “What do ye mean?”
“The whole of your absence she took to staring out over the terrace.”
Hope sparked in his chest. “Toward where we sailed? Perhaps she missed me and merely looked for our return.” He tried to inject levity he didn’t feel into his words, despite the hope the words gave him. Even he knew he was speaking foolishly.
“No, son. She was not. She was staring toward Achnabreck. And this morning she asked if Mungan would be returning in time for the spring equinox tomorrow.”
Connall’s chest tightened. “I see. Thank you for telling me.”
He headed straight for the door.
Aye, he’d done what he’d needed to do for the safety of his tribe. But by the ancestors he hated to see her unhappy. And to know he was the cause. He hadn’t meant to break her spirit.
There was only one solution, then.
No matter that everything in him screamed No, he couldn’t bear to keep her in a place and time where she could not be happy. Where she could not be her true self.
He needed to let her go.
Chapter Nineteen
Ashley lay stretched out on the bed in their hut, staring at the ceiling. When Connall had suggested the compromise, she’d relented because she really wanted to make things work between them. But the kicker had been his revelation about how she’d placed herself and others in danger.
Perhaps she had tried to take on too much here. And her eagerness to help—to be useful—had led to putting people in danger. Putting Connall in danger.
And so she’d worked hard to subdue herself.
Even when the door creaked open and Connall’s familiar steps sounded, she couldn’t be bothered to turn her head and look at him.
Oh, she still felt drawn to the sexy bastard. That just made this whole situation that much more annoying. Traitorous body.
“I’ve spoken to Mungan.” His voice came out low, from the vicinity of the hearth fire behind her head.
That got her attention. She swung her legs to the floor and sat up. He’d planted himself on the bench by the fire.
“And?” The word came out on a half croak.
When her eyes caught his, they flicked away. “He’s prepared to send you back to San Francisco tomorrow. All is ready.”
Pain lanced her heart so hard she leaned forward
and covered her middle. “You want me to go?”
His jaw worked, and he stared at his tight fists where they rested on his knees. “I think it’s for the best.”
Oh… Oh, wow. She didn’t think it would hurt this much. She’d tried to fit in with his tribe, to be a contributing member of The Horse People, but obviously her modern outlook didn’t mesh with them. She wasn’t right for this place and time.
She took in the strong planes of his face, the determined set of his jaw. His flat, withdrawn gaze.
She swallowed a hot lump of emotion. Okay, then.
She was going back.
Without a word, she tugged the leather satchel out from under her bed to pack her meager belongings. Perhaps if she packed it exactly like before, the satchel would transform back into her messenger bag and laptop.
He cleared his throat. “You’ll need to leave before sunset tomorrow, Mungan said, so he can use the first rays from the half moon to send you back.”
It’s what she’d wanted from the start. She wouldn’t be a good wife for him.
Then why did it feel so wrong to leave?
Her throat closing tight, she kept her head down so that her hair blocked her face. If he saw the tears that were starting to threaten, that would be beyond humiliating. Her throat swelled and grew hot, and she swallowed hard. She would not cry.
…
Aye, he was a coward. All day today, he’d kept his distance from Ashley, but he could never stray too far. No, like the coward he was, he hovered just out of sight, watching her move, memorizing her gestures, her sway, her voice.
Even now, he was tucked in between the wall and their hearth home. His attention, however, wasn’t on the vast emptiness of the moors and glens to the north, but on the emptiness in his heart and the sounds he could catch of her, like a starving man focused on the only meal that would ever satisfy him. What he could hear wasn’t much—the occasional curse, or a clunk as she moved around inside, making her preparations to leave. The truth was, if he saw her depart, he’d lose his resolve.
Some Like it Plaid Page 19
