The Truth of Her Heart (Highlander Heroes Book 5) Page 10

  Sadly, she could not stay like this, she realized, and gently disengaged herself completely from him and settled once again at his side. She could make no sense of whatever it was she felt now for and about Iain McEwen. She only knew that if Kenneth Sutherland had looked at her the way Iain did, if he had kissed her the way this man had, if she thought for one minute he was capable of the same remorse Iain McEwen had shown at her initial, foolish response to his kiss, she’d never have run away.

  IT DID NOT SNOW OVERNIGHT. In fact, the sun shone across a bright blue winter sky, Mother Nature offering a cheery apology for the storm of two days ago, it seemed.

  Iain woke but did not move. Somewhere in the night, he and Maggie had both shifted so that they were now nearly nose to nose. Perhaps not exactly, but as his face was tipped downward and hers was slanted upward, it appeared that way.

  She slept yet. He resisted the urge to sweep the hair off her face, was pleased to be able to stare unimpeded. Her lips were parted, her breathing even, her freckles on perfect display. He resisted as well revisiting certain events of yesterday. There truly was no need to hash it out anymore inside his head. What is done is done. A tragedy, to be sure, that there should be no more kisses between them, but then even this was immaterial, as they would likely part company this day.

  His head pounded just now, as it so often did when he’d been plagued by nightmares. He wondered if he had been; he did not always recall them. He hoped he hadn’t disturbed anyone, the lass most of all. Duncan had several times told him that he became quite violent when in the grip of those far off demons. He could bring to mind no snippets of any torment that might have plagued him overnight, was beset just now by only a memory of Maggie’s kiss. Mayhap this was the cause of the ache about his temples. Unfortunate business, that. A shame to part ways with the lass with so much unsettled—indeed, conflicted—between them.

  Her long lashes fluttered several times before they opened under his gaze. He did not look away, did not pretend he was not or hadn’t been availing himself to a long and leisurely exploration of her adorable features. So then wasn’t he surprised when she neither blushed nor demurred under the intensity of his regard. Instead, Maggie Bryce returned the scrutiny, looking over every inch of his face that he wondered he did not blush himself, never having been subjected to so thorough an examination.

  “Will be a fine day for travel,” he said, before color did rise on his cheeks. Or damn, before he made the mistake of kissing her again.

  “Mm,” she concurred. “A day for farewells, then, as you are headed north and I south.”

  He could not interpret the tone of her words. Acceptance? Resignation? Sorrow? “Hm.” And then quiet, while he thought of this. Home to Berriedale while the lass walked in the opposite direction, toward the nunnery, where she might well spend the rest of her life, if he were to believe what she proclaimed.

  The silence lengthened. Her gaze remained steadfast upon him. ’Twas a fairly intimate stare, felt somehow very tender, almost as if it should be reserved for two people who were better acquainted than Maggie Bryce and himself, all glorious kissing aside.

  The rest of her life.

  After several minutes, he cleared his throat quietly and murmured, “Of course, lass, you could always move on with us, take respite up at Berriedale. Mayhap only until all the snows clear.” Instantly, he thought he should regret these words, thought them unwise somehow, but he could not.

  She did not respond immediately that Iain thought to add, “By spring, should be no trouble to send you down to St. Edmund’s in a cart, or take you there myself, if circumstances allow.”

  He could not name the emotions that skittered across her face, but he found himself rather holding his breath, simultaneously thinking himself the greatest arse that ever lived.

  “I suppose,” she finally said, “it might be an easier trek to St. Edmund’s if I were to wait for more agreeable weather.”

  Iain breathed again. “Aye, it would be. The world’s a dangerous place for a woman on her own.”

  Just one corner of her beautiful mouth curved upward. “But you could keep me safe.”

  Something inside him flipped contentedly at her wording, that she’d said as much as a statement, did not pose it as a question. A smile curved his lips. “Aye, Maggie Bryce, I think I can manage to keep one wayward lass safe and well.”

  “But would I be required to walk behind you and your men, as previously discussed?”

  Ian grinned, felt his chest rumble with a bit of a chuckle. With this, her slight teasing, he thought she somehow had managed to put them on better footing, reverted to where they were before he’d dared to kiss her. At the same time, her seeming agreement to travel onward with him rather negated the untimely and unfortunate question she’d posed yesterday, Am I in danger now? So that he did now believe wholeheartedly that the query had been posed not with any fear of him, but with some surprise that he had kissed her at all.

  “Nae, lass, we’ll find you a nice seat atop the horse and no’ behind it.” She gave a nod and produced a contemplative smile that Iain dared further, “Seems a shame to leave unfinished this matter between us.” This needed to be said—and to hell with what he’d told her yesterday—so that she had no illusions, that she could claim no surprise when next he tried to kiss her.

  Iain was capable of more self-reflection than most men, he believed, but he did not at all examine his reasons for either the invitation or the bare cajoling. And yet, when she offered him another small smile, he found he was very pleased with this circumstance.

  They rose shortly thereafter, as others began to wake.

  “Let’s get to it, lads,” prodded Duncan.

  Without further direction, the men gathered what few belongings and packs they’d brought in from the horses and kicked all of Maggie’s beach and river stones over the still warm coals of the near-dead fire.

  The lass had only her now empty basket to collect. She drew the long straps up over her shoulder and spent some time with the fabric of her wimple, once again arranging the creamy linen around and over her hair and head until all was covered completely.

  Hew approached her, his own pack slung over his back, his sword returned to his belt. “But what will you do now?” Much worry was etched into his youthful face.

  She told him with a pretty smile, “Your chief has invited me to travel with you to Berriedale for now.”

  She might well have said she’d been given the key to heaven, which she would now share with Hew, so delighted was his expression then.

  Iain was anxious to be on the road, even as he understood they had no simple journey in front of them. At the same time, he felt jauntier than he had in days, and thought to have some fun with the lass, whom he still believed lied about her original destination.

  Just as it appeared all were ready to depart the cave for the last time, Iain said to Maggie, “We like to say a prayer before we begin a journey.” He was well aware of the scowls and confusion aimed at him.

  “We do?” asked Donal, slanting a look of open-mouthed bafflement at his laird.

  Iain ignored him. “Mayhap you would grace us with an invocation, sister? Seems we might stand a better chance of being heard if the beseeching comes from one so close to the Almighty.”

  “Oh,” she said, without a trace of cleverness. “Um, of course.” She wiped her hands nervously upon her cloak and considered the faces around her. “Very well. Um, gather ‘round, I suppose.”

  “Around what?” Wondered Craig.

  She jerked her eyes to him, frowning at him as if he’d done it apurpose, asked a daft question. “Around me,” she said, which emerged more as a question than an answer.

  Only Hew moved, stepping forward, his smile as earnest as ever, his cheeks uncommonly pink.

  “Hmm,” was her only thought about that. Iain stifled the grin that wanted to come, watching as she took a deep breath and presented, with a surfeit of quick thinking, he would later think, “D
earest God, almighty God, ancient of days, Lord of the land and sky and sea, compassionate and gracious God—”

  “Long title, He has,” said Donal, showing no shame at all for his irreverent quip.

  “About as extravagant as your laird’s, I should imagine,” Maggie Bryce returned saucily, barely allowing time to fill the space between Donal’s comment and her rejoinder. Several chuckles met this, some muffled, some abbreviated, Daimh’s sounding as if it had burst out of him.

  She went on, obviously intent on ignoring their further mischief. “The Lord shall give strength unto His people; the Lord shall give His people the blessing of peace. Be with us all this day, dear Lord; direct our counsel, govern our actions, guide our hands, and unite our hearts.”

  “Amen,” said Archie, shuffling his feet, wanting to be moving toward home.

  The lass was to be neither hurried nor quieted, it seemed, but kept on. This halted Archie, who had begun to move away from their very lazy circle. The old man pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, but he did fold his hands neatly before him again.

  “And we beseech Thee, give us grace to improve Thy mercy to Thy glory; give us loud voices for the advancement of the gospel, the honor of our country, and the good of all mankind.”

  She was quiet. Yet no one moved, as she had not, but kept her own head bowed, her small gloved hands folded at her waist.

  Iain grinned. The little brat.

  “Harken unto my voice, O Lord, when I cry unto Thee; have mercy upon me and hear my prayer. Be it all in His name, through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with Thee and the Holy Spirit, as for all Thy mercies, so in particular for deliverance this day, be all the glory and honor unto You, world without end. Amen.”

  “Amen,” came the not at all harmonious chorus.

  Archie was the first one to move then, taking his muttered, “Thought we’d no’ ever get going this day,” with him as he walked by Iain.

  “Very nice, and thank you, sister,” Duncan said with a good shake of his head, even as his mouth was pinched, as if he could not decide upon a smirk or a grimace.

  MAGGIE UNFOLDED HER hands, and flexed her stiff fingers, happy to have that near-calamity behind her. She was quite pleased with how she managed to pull it off. But then, it wasn’t as if the bible and prayer and the church’s service were foreign to her; her mother, when she lived, had been enormously pious, and they’d visited chapel daily, and twice on Sundays. Maggie could still recall the exact nasally quality of the cleric’s voice. Father Davidh had been a series of contradictions: his extreme size, most of it in girth should have lent itself to a deep and booming voice; his piercing little eyes, like crows’ eyes, Maggie had always thought, should have housed some malevolence; his famously unkempt person, always suggesting he’d hastened through his dressing or mayhap had done it in the dark, should have been the convention of some slovenly person. And yet, Father Davidh had been soft-spoken and kind and orderly, perhaps the most gentle soul that Maggie might ever have known.

  She said a genuine prayer of thanks to that lovely man, for unknowingly helping her to get through that prayer, and then followed the men out of the cave.

  Only when they’d trekked down to the lower hut and stood waiting while Daimh and Donal sent out the horses, one by one, did Maggie wonder how an extra person such as she might be accommodated. She stood in snow which only reached to her ankles, as this path had been well trod over the last few days, squinting up as each man readied and mounted his horse. Duncan was the first to walk his down the hill, off this small shelf of ground, too narrow for all their mounts at once. She watched Craig and Archie follow him while Hew and the laird fussed with the huge saddles and attached their packs. Finally Donal and Daimh stood near their own mounts, making themselves and their horses ready.

  She felt the laird’s hand at her elbow then. In the bright light of day, his eyes were marvelously blue, creasing again with the grin he showed her. “I’ve said you’ll no’ be walking behind, lass. C’mon up with me.”

  Maggie returned his smile, happy for this situation, even if she did acknowledge some unease at the prospect of sitting atop so huge a beast. Iain pulled the strap of the basket off her arm and affixed this at the back of his saddle, opposite his own leather pack. Then he lifted Maggie by the waist and plunked her down sideways in the saddle. She grasped the pommel near her thigh, feeling instantly that her position was precarious. But Iain McEwen immediately swung up behind her and wrapped his strong arm around her middle, pulling her snug against him, and her worry evaporated.

  “Have you never ridden a horse, lass?”

  She shook her head, clutching the arm at her waist as he carefully directed the animal down the slope.

  “We’ll no’ be running but you’ll be sore later, nonetheless,” he predicted grimly. “Nothing to be done about that.”

  Refusing to allow any apprehension to quell what should be vast excitement over her new circumstance, Maggie gave only brief life to the thought that her path was irreversible now. If she had carried on to St. Edmunds by herself, she might at any time have changed her mind and returned to the Gordon keep, pretending she’d never made any attempt to flee her own future. But now, with these McEwens, and their laird specifically, Maggie had some notion that she’d not be allowed any such luxury as a change of heart. They’d not simply say aye and let her off at the next cave, she knew.

  She was going to Berriedale with Iain McEwen, the decision made in part by the prospect of more kisses from him, cajoled by his words, Seems a shame to leave unfinished this matter between us. A shame indeed, she thought with a secret smile.

  They moved almost in a single line until they reached the flat land at the bottom of the Isauld Hills. No, they would indeed not be running, as the snows here still reached the horse’s knees and hocks, making for a slow go. When they found what the laird called the Old Northern Trail, they shifted their line to ride two by two save for Craig in the lead. Maggie glanced around, wondering how they knew this was the road; everything was white, all the knolls and hills and scrub brush and trees. It all looked the same, in every direction.

  There was a magnificent but eerie peacefulness to the quiet of the trail, the snow pristine until they marched over it, glistening under the early morning sun. Not a bird chirped, nor did any critter or beast show itself to them.

  Maggie shifted several times, thinking she might never get on a horse again. The destrier did not lift each leg to march through the snow, but rather charged gracefully through it, and yet she felt each bump and step on her bottom, where it sat in the saddle between the laird’s powerful thighs. Her discomfort must have been known to him, as he tightened his hold around her middle.

  “Swing your leg ‘round, lass. Astride will be less of a bother.”

  She did as he suggested, and quickly knew some relief and an even greater sense of security. Her shins were now bared to the cold, her gowns riding up her legs, but she thought this a trifling matter compared to the ache on her bottom.

  There was not any talk among these men now, but Maggie would not know if that was in deference to the ghostly beauty of the quiet around them, or if it were their regular habit to ride noiselessly. And then, about an hour into their ride, Donal began to sing. His voice was deep but he kept it low. Maggie knew the song and instantly appreciated Donal’s rendering of it, as he sang the usually jaunty verse much slower, rather hauntingly so.

  “Foul weather, she’ll be coming fast

  Hear birdsong while ye can

  How long comes the spring

  When blossoms sing?

  Make merry now, good man.”

  She was sorry when he stopped, as his voice was very pleasing, and suffered no qualms about picking up where he’d left off, hoping she did credit to Donal’s version of it.

  “Make merry while the sunshine lasts,

  Hear birdsong while ye can.

  When the nightingale sings

  And blossoms spring,

  Make merry
now, good man.”

  It must have proved acceptable, as Donal turned around to grin at her while she sang. He joined her for the third verse.

  “Whither think, fair weather hast

  No birdsong o’er the land

  How long comes the spring

  When my heart sings?

  Make merry now, good man.”

  From the second row, two lengths before her, Archie turned his head to the side and groused back at them, “Nothing like a little screeching in my ear to turn over my near-empty stomach.”

  “Aye, careful there, Arch,” warned Donal. “I’ve an entire arsenal to keep you company on the drive. And I’m no’ afraid to use it.”

  Maggie grinned and sang out a song for the grumpy old man, changing the words to suit her needs.

  “I have a fair Archie

  Far beyond the sea,

  Many, many gifts does he send to me.

  He sent me the thorns without any rose.

  He sent me his scowl and now I am froze.

  I have a fair Archie

  Far beyond the sea

  Why does he send these gifts to me?”

  Of course, Donal and Daimh howled wildly at her little fun, and even Hew sent her an admiring chuckle, but Maggie’s eyes were on Archie. He’d turned his face fully now and let her see just the beginning of a quirk in his lips.

  “It’s no’ a lot of red in your hair, lass,” he said, “but you sure do ken how to use it.”

  She didn’t know exactly what that might mean, but she understood there was some positive in that statement.

  “I think he smiled,” Iain whispered at her ear, a chuckle in his tone. “An incredible feat you’ve managed there, lass.”

  They rode for a while within a strand of trees that darkened the day but did provide a trail bereft of the depth of snow they’d seen thus far.

  “Outside these trees,” Iain said, “we turn east and we’re no’ more than a few hours from home.”