by Jayne Castel
Not good. Not good at all.
Gathering her wits, she shifted her attention to his left arm. “I should take another look at that wound he dealt ye … and change the bandage.”
“No need,” he replied, waving away her concern.
Heather stiffened. “Even a shallow wound can sour,” she reminded him. “Ye should really let—”
“Leave it, Heather,” he cut her off, his voice terse now. “I can look after myself.”
Heather scowled to mask the hurt that constricted her chest. She’d only offered to help him; he didn’t have to be so rude, so dismissive.
A brittle silence settled in Heather’s bed-chamber then. She moved over to the hearth and sank down onto a low stool before it, signaling that supper was over and that he could leave now.
“Have you made arrangements for your trip to Dunnottar yet?” Maximus asked, shattering the tension between them.
Heather shook her head. “I meant to this afternoon … but events prevented me,” she replied coolly, deliberately fixing her attention upon the lump of peat glowing in the hearth.
“It’s just as well then that I’m headed that way too. I can accompany you.”
Heather’s chin snapped up, and she turned upon the stool. Maximus was still watching her with that veiled look she’d already come to know well, although his mouth had curved in a half-smile.
“Ye are going to Dunnottar?” she asked.
“I wasn’t … but my plans have changed. I now have business there.”
Business.
Heather watched him, her gaze narrowing. Once again, his tone warned her from pushing him. The man might make a living as a trapper, but he was full of secrets—layers and layers of them.
“I don’t want to put ye out,” she said, her voice turning from cool to frosty. As much as she was drawn to this man and appreciated his protection, he also unsettled her. It wasn’t a good idea to continue traveling with him.
“You aren’t,” he replied, his tone brisk. He crossed to the table, threw back the last gulp of wine, and set his cup back on the table with a thud. “But since you’re a woman with a taste for trouble, I’d prefer to know you’re safe … especially with Galbraith on our tail.”
Heather caught her breath. The arrogance of him. How dare he assume she even wanted him as her escort?
Oblivious to her outrage, he headed toward the door. “I suggest you get an early night … we leave before daybreak tomorrow. I’m hoping we can slip out of town unseen.”
XIV
THE ROAD NORTH
CLOD-HEAD. THIS ISN’T wise.
Maximus’s mouth twisted as good sense needled him yet again. Ignoring the whisper, he tightened Luchag’s girth. Ever since leaving Heather’s bed-chamber the evening before, he’d regretted his insistence on accompanying her to Dunnottar.
The woman was trouble—and in more ways than one.
It was bad enough that after coming to her rescue he now had a revenge-maddened warrior and his friends after him. But even worse was the attraction he felt toward her.
Last evening, as they’d stood together in her room, he’d been sorely tested.
All through supper, he’d found himself stealing glances at her. Watching her eat was erotic. She ate in small bites, chewing slowly. It had been a struggle not to stare at her mouth and that plump lower lip that drove him to distraction.
The firelight had played across her pale skin and the light scattering of freckles that dusted her nose. It highlighted the coppery strands in her brown hair.
He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to take her hand either. The feel of her soft skin against his fingertips had sent a jolt of lust straight through his groin. He’d had to leave the chamber before he forgot himself.
Even so, he couldn’t just abandon her to be hunted down by Galbraith. If she stayed with him, at least she’d be safer.
Strapping on a saddle bag, Maximus counselled himself to keep his distance from Heather De Keith for the rest of the journey.
He wasn’t sure what had come over him. These days, he refused to be led by his rod. But around Heather, he found it hard to concentrate.
I clearly left it too long without bedding a woman, he thought, his gaze flicking toward where a cloaked figure waited in the shadow of the stable doorway. It’s turned me into a randy goat.
“I’m leaving the cart and my traps behind,” he said, breaking the hush between them. “The inn-keeper has agreed to look after them till I pass this way next. We’ll travel faster if we both ride Luchag.”
Did he imagine it, or did she tense? He felt it, even though Heather was shrouded by her traveling cloak. It wasn’t his choice either, for them to ride together. However, there was no time for him to purchase another pony. Each moment they lingered here in Stirling put Heather in danger.
“It’s around four days to Dunnottar,” he continued when she didn’t reply. “Three and a half if we travel fast.”
With that, Maximus untied the pony and led him from the stable. Outside, a swathe of stars stretched across a wide night sky. And there, hanging amongst them, was the bright silver Broom-star.
Maximus paused at the sight of it. For centuries that star had mocked him. It had taken him and the other two a while to figure out what the Broom-star actually was, and then, once they had, all three of them lived for its coming.
But with each cycle came disappointment.
Perhaps this is the time … maybe Cassian has deciphered the rest of the riddle?
Excitement flickered deep in his chest.
The sensation surprised him.
What was it he was looking forward to exactly? If they broke the curse, he’d become mortal again. If a dirk blade didn’t end his life, he’d age and eventually become an old man. But would anything else change? He’d still be an outsider, a loner. And what good was mortality if he had no one to share his life with? Seeing the warriors gathering in town the day before had highlighted just how empty Maximus’s life had become. Those men had kin to protect and a cause that drove them.
Shifting his attention from the Broom-star, Maximus turned to check Luchag’s girth. The tiny flicker of excitement within him died, leaving a cold numbness in its place.
Immortal or not, without something in his life worth dying for, what was the point?
Luchag cantered out of Stirling, taking a road that would lead them north-east, over mountainous land, toward the coast.
It was a different route to the one Heather and Iain had taken five years earlier when traveling south—a long, winding road that cut through wooded vales. Nonetheless, there were a few villages they could stay at on the way.
Heather sat perched behind Maximus, her arms looped around his waist. Having grown up with horses, she balanced easily. There was no need to grip onto the man for dear life; even so, the pony had a jolting gait that threw her up against him with every stride. That, and the slope of the saddle, made it impossible to keep her distance.
It was ridiculous to worry about her virtue now—after all, two nights earlier they’d been as intimate as it was possible for a man and woman to be—but there was an awkwardness between them this morning. His attitude toward her the night before still rankled. Heather hadn’t liked the heavy-handed way he’d taken charge of the situation. However, since she hadn’t had time to make plans of her own and Cory’s presence in Stirling alarmed her, she’d decided to leave with him all the same.
Maximus seemed in a dour mood this morning. He’d barely looked her way as he led Luchag out of the stable. He just vaulted onto the pony’s back and reached down a hand to help her up.
Few words had passed between them since.
Like the previous day, Heather noted that Maximus kept scanning his surroundings. He also looked repeatedly over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t being followed. His vigilance made Heather tense.
It was a reminder of the man that now hunted them both.
Mist wreathed in from the River Forth this mor
ning, drifting between the folds in the hills and casting a chill over the dawn. But as they headed north, the sun rose, burning off the fog and basking the earth in warmth. And as they rode, Heather saw the signs of spring all around them: bluebells carpeting wooded glades; snowdrops, crocuses, and daffodils poking up from the damp earth.
Spring. New beginnings. Warmth filtered over Heather at the thought.
Despite her nervousness at facing her kin and worries about her future, she was glad to leave Fintry behind, glad to be going home.
They spoke little that day, reaching the village of Crieff at dusk. The hamlet was tiny, just a scattering of white-washed cottages and a pretty stone kirk surrounded by green hills and thick woods. Long-haired cattle grazed the hillsides on the way in, the tinkle of their bells drifting across the valley.
“We won’t stay in the village,” Maximus informed Heather gruffly, breaking the long silence between them. “It’s too small … Galbraith and his men will find us easily if they’ve taken this road.” He jerked his chin toward the wooded valley to their right, where oaks and birch were just coming into leaf. “We’ll make camp down there instead.”
This news didn’t thrill Heather. After a day in the saddle, she longed for some comfort. Still, Maximus was right. Crieff had just one tavern—a tiny establishment. If Cory arrived at the village tonight, he’d head straight there and find them.
The thought chilled her, and so she allowed Maximus to guide Luchag off the road and into the trees without complaint. A short distance in, the press of silvery birch trunks and wide oaks became too thick to stay on horseback, and so the pair of them dismounted. Maximus led the garron into a copse of oaks while Heather brought up the rear, grateful for the chance to stretch out her back and legs.
Finally, Maximus halted at the bottom of the valley, next to where a burn trickled by. Turning to Heather, he met her eye for the first time in hours. “We’ll rest here tonight.”
Heather nodded. “I take it we won’t be lighting a fire?”
He shook his head. “Too risky … worry not though, we have enough bread and cheese to last us till tomorrow.” Indeed, they’d stopped off at the hamlet of Braco earlier in the day, where Maximus had picked up provisions.
Taking a seat upon the mossy bank next to the burn as the gloaming deepened around them, Heather watched Maximus unsaddle and rub down Luchag.
“Why exactly do ye call him ‘Mouse’?” she asked finally.
Maximus glanced up, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled for the first time all day. “His coat is a nondescript shade … much like a field-mouse.”
Heather huffed. It hadn’t escaped her that the pony’s coat was a very similar shade to her own hair. Yet she doubted Maximus had made the comparison.
When she didn’t comment further, Maximus resumed rubbing the garron down with a twist of reeds. When he’d finished, he sat down a few yards away and pulled a small object from a leather pack.
The sun had almost set now, the last rays of light streaming through the trees.
Maximus held what appeared to be a figurine up to the light, and Heather saw that it was a man with a lion’s head, a serpent wrapped around his torso. Ignoring her for the moment, Maximus murmured words Heather didn’t understand. They reminded her of the prayers that priests said in Latin.
“What’s that?” she finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“A leontocephaline,” Maximus replied, glancing at her. “A friend carved it for me … many years ago. I often say a few prayers with the setting or rising sun.”
Heather arched a brow. “Don’t the folk of Rome worship the same god as us Scots?”
Maximus’s mouth quirked. “Most probably do these days … but I’m different.”
Heather watched him, questions bubbling up inside her. The man really was an enigma.
The pair lapsed into silence before Maximus tucked away his figurine and turned to her. “So, have you thought on how you will approach your kin in Dunnottar?”
Heather tensed at the question. “Not really,” she admitted warily. “I suppose I just have to brace myself for a tongue-lashing from my mother.”
“I take it she’s a fiery woman?”
Heather pulled a face. “Aye … Ma’s got quite a temper on her … as have I.”
“I’ve noticed,” he replied, a wry smile curving his lips now.
Heather tensed. “Iain thought I always had too much to say for myself,” she said, her tone turning guarded. She was tired of men criticizing her. She’d taken after her mother—and although her father had never minded his wife’s fiery nature, Heather had never found a man who’d accept her as she was.
His smile faded. “You think I’m disparaging you?”
“Ye wouldn’t be the first.”
His head inclined. “You are a clever, capable woman, Heather De Keith. It’s been a long while since I’ve met a woman with a mind as sharp as yours.”
Heather arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t ye referring to my tongue? Plenty have told me that it’s sharper than a dirk blade.”
“Men are often threatened by a woman with something to say for herself,” he replied.
Heather smiled. “And ye aren’t?”
“No.”
Heather snorted, making it clear she didn’t believe him. Even so, she felt herself warming under his words. His tone was sincere, although she sensed he was teasing her now. She welcomed it, as the tension between them since the night before had started to get to her. She still had three more days’ journey in this man’s company. She didn’t want to spend it in pained silence.
XV
I DON’T REMEMBER
HUDDLED IN THEIR cloaks, Maximus and Heather took refuge under the spreading arms of a large oak, where the first green leaves were bursting to life. It was a cool, misty evening, as it often was in the hills, and Maximus wished he could have lit a fire to keep them both warm.
But he was wary tonight. Galbraith knew that Heather’s kin resided in Dunnottar. Many roads led out from Stirling, and Maximus had taken a less traveled one. Yet he doubted that would fool Galbraith for long.
Glancing left—at where Heather had pulled up the fur-lined hood of her cloak, her profile just visible—Maximus studied her a moment. The woman was hard to fathom. Confident, sensual, and sharp-witted, there was also a vulnerability to her that he found compelling.
“Tell me,” he began, breaking the silence. “What made you rebel so strongly against your parents?”
Heather glanced in his direction, and he saw from the way her features tensed that she didn’t welcome the question. It was bold, perhaps too much so. Nonetheless, he held her eye. A long, cold evening stretched before them. Maximus didn’t suspect he’d get much sleep. Instead, their earlier conversation had made him curious to know more of this woman’s history—of the choices and twists of fate that had ended with her serving ale to drunks in The Bogside Tavern.
Heather sighed. “They were … oppressive. My father is steward of Dunnottar … and my mother has always had social pretensions. As such, she and Da were very strict with my sister and me … me particularly. As soon as I was old enough, I fought them.”
“They were probably just looking out for you,” he pointed out.
Her gaze swung away, her eyes shadowing. “Aye … but I didn’t see it that way. I thought they were trying to cage me.”
“A steward’s daughter,” Maximus mused. “I’m surprised you and Galbraith’s paths ever crossed.”
“I met him one day when I went to the forge to pick up a knife for my father. He worked with his brother.” She scowled then. “I imagine Blair is still at the fortress.”
No love lost there, Maximus noted.
“Iain was big, rough, and as restless as me,” she continued, her gaze turning inward. “We both hated that the English held Dunnottar. We wed in the kirk at Stonehaven without my parents knowing.” She faltered there before clearing her throat. “Ye can imagine the scen
e that followed.” Her fingers plucked at the hem of her cloak, her brow furrowing. It was evident that she wished to drop the subject.
“So, you ran away?”
“Aye.” Heather scrubbed a fist over her face as if the memory pained her. “But once we left Dunnottar, Iain changed. He became aggressive and controlling … and we’d barely settled at his father’s forge in Fintry when he struck me for the first time.” Her voice turned brittle then. “Things worsened fast after that … and when he rode off to join the Wallace’s cause, I was relieved.”
“And when he didn’t come back?”
Heather’s mouth twisted. “I started to worry … survival is hard for a woman without a man’s protection.”
Maximus nodded, taking her words in.
“I’m not good at admitting when I’ve made a mistake … but it’s time.” Her gaze settled upon Maximus then, and she fixed him with a penetrating look that he’d come to know well over the past few days. It was now his turn to be questioned. “What about ye, Maximus … why don’t ye go home?”
He shook his head, schooling his features into a blank expression. “I can’t. There’s no one to go home to.”
“Yer kin are all dead?”
He nodded. It was the truth, at least.
“Are ye from Rome itself? I hear it is a marvel?”
“It is … but I come from Ostia—near Rome.”
Ostia had been a port when he grew up there, but a few years back Maximus had met a traveler who’d informed him that it had been sacked during a Barbarian invasion centuries earlier. And then, when the river silted up, the old port had apparently been abandoned. The Ostia he barely remembered these days no longer existed.
“Do ye miss yer homeland?” Heather asked after a pause.
