Beloved Warrior (37 page)

They stayed mostly off the road, unless the terrain was too rough. At noon they stopped by a stream to water the horses and eat the bread and cheese Diego had purchased at the inn.

Her legs were stiff, her body sore. She gratefully found a dry piece of ground and sat down. And closed her eyes.

 
“AYE,” said the innkeeper. “I think it could be them.” It had taken a gold coin before the innkeeper remembered. His was the third inn they had tried. They had almost passed it, having ridden past Newcastle. Neither thought there was any way a man and woman together could have ridden this distance in so short a time.

“Think?”

“You said the woman had golden hair. I did not see that or her face. A scarf was wrapped around it. Her brother said she’d had the pox.” The innkeeper crossed himself. “But the man was as you described. Brother and sister they said they were,” he continued. “Traveling to reach a dying mother. Stayed in different rooms they did, so I did not doubt their tale.” He peered at Rory.

“You were right,” Patrick said. “Their mother died. We were sent to meet them and tell them. How long ago did they leave?”

“Daybreak, my lad told me.”

“My thanks,” Patrick said, then hesitated. “I want to talk to the lad. Maybe he will remember something. We do not wish to miss them again.”

The innkeeper hesitated.

Patrick produced another coin.

In minutes, they discovered that a man and woman had taken the toll road leading south.

How could they have traveled so far so quickly?

Patrick knew he would never underestimate either of them again.
The pox?
He cursed to himself and spurred his horse on. One more day and they would be at Handdon Castle.

Three hours later, they encountered a man coming from the other direction in a cart loaded with fish he was taking to an inland village. They asked about other riders. They were trying to catch up with friends who had left Newcastle before them.

He shook his head.

After he passed, Patrick paused. “They are not staying to the road.”

“Would you?” Rory asked.

“Nay, though I cannot imagine they thought we might be so close behind them.”

“They are probably still ahead,” Rory said. “Let us look for any path that leads off the road.”

The left side led to the sea and the landscape was mostly barren. “Water,” Patrick said. “They will need water for their horses. So do we.”

Thirty minutes later they went over a wooden bridge. They turned right along a path that followed the stream, then dismounted. Rory held the horses while Patrick moved quietly along the banks of the stream.

He saw the horses first. They were quietly grazing. Then he saw the sleeping form of a woman on the ground, a cloak covering her.

He moved forward toward her and suddenly Diego was at his side. “I wondered when the bloody hell you would get here.”

Patrick didn’t think. He just reacted. He hit Diego as hard as could, watched as he went down, and then he threw himself on him.

PATRICK hit Diego again. He put all his anger and frustration and stark terror in the blow. Terror that Juliana had been in peril. Fear that he might lose her. Anger at what he considered betrayal by a man he’d brought to his home.

He hit again, then his arm was caught by Diego’s fist, and they rolled over until Diego was over him. Patrick relaxed a moment, and it disarmed Diego. He loosened his hold slightly and Patrick jerked it back and struck him in the stomach.

Diego grunted and they changed places again, rolling on the ground.

He heard Juliana’s voice.

“Stop it, Patrick! Diego!”

But he was not about to stop it. Diego had been with Juliana the last seven days or more. He had stolen her away, apparently with her consent. She had trusted him more than she had Patrick. He knew a fury stronger than any he’d felt in the galley.

He struck again and Diego countered, landing a blow into Patrick’s chest, and he couldn’t breathe for a moment. To his surprise, Diego did not take advantage but lay there, breathing hard.

Then Juliana was next to him. “Hit
me
,” she said. “That is what you want to do.”

Rory stood, watching.

Diego rose slowly, his breathing labored.

Patrick stayed on the ground, trying to breathe.

He glared at Diego, then turned his angry gaze on Juliana.

His heart skipped a beat, making breathing even more difficult. Her dress was embellished by leaves, and her hair fell in a braid almost to her waist. She looked so bloody appealing.

And her eyes. Despite the frown on her face, her eyes said something else. They devoured him.

He wanted to touch her. To assure himself that there was no injury. That Diego had not taken advantage. God’s blood but he wanted to wrap his arms around her.

Instead he sat there as Diego leaned against a tree, his chest heaving.

Rory leaned down and offered Patrick a hand, pulling him to his feet.

Patrick felt as tongue-tied as a youth. He despised his weakness but his heart beat erratically, and it was not because of the blows. Then Diego’s words came back to him.

His gaze went to Juliana.

“You did not trust me,” he said.

“You would have tried to stop me.”

Aye, he would have. He wanted to tell her how foolish she’d been, but one look at her set expression made him realize that would not be the smartest thing he could do.

“Did hitting him help?” she asked.

She was no more the terrified maiden on the
Sofia.
Her eyes blazed with anger. And another kind of fire.

“Aye,” he said.

“How did you find us?”

“Logic,” he said righteously.

She narrowed her eyes. “You will not stop me.”

“I can and I will. I will not have you sacrificing yourself for me.”

“It is not just you,” she said. “It is for Denny and Manuel and the others. And myself. I cannot hide the rest of my life. And . . . my mother . . . I would never be able to see her again.”

“Aye. You could. We could steal her away as well.”

“Then you will bring both Spain and England down on you.” She turned to Rory. “I am sorry. I took advantage of your hospitality, but I sought only to help.”

“You explained that in your letters,” Rory said, “but I do not think it gave Patrick much satisfaction.” His tone was cool, and even Patrick recognized the bite in it.

“Why Diego, Juliana? Why did you not talk to me?”

“You were gone.” She lifted her head. “You left without giving me a choice about my life. You wanted me to sit and wait while you made decisions for me. I will not let that happen again. Ever. I will make my own choices, and my choice is Kingsley.”

Rory used that moment to nod at Diego. “I think you and I should water our horses.” He took the reins of his horse and handed those of Patrick’s to Diego. “I prefer to stay,” Diego said.

“Now
you
do not have a choice,” Rory said, his voice hardening and his hand going to his dagger.

Diego shrugged. “I do not think I wish to fight Macleans again today.” He started to lead Patrick’s horse after giving it a disparaging look. “That is not much of a horse.”

“It is a hobbler,” Rory said, leading the way. “They raise them on the border. They are uncommonly sturdy. They can run all day.”

Patrick heard Diego’s complaints about the horses until their voices faded. Then his gaze went back to Juliana. “Do you care for him?” he asked.

“As a friend,” she said. “He has been a good one.” She gathered her cloak around her. “He has not touched me other than to help me on and off my horse.”

He believed her about Diego, although he wasn’t finished with the Spaniard. He wanted to know what game the man was playing. Or did he just amuse himself by pushing people around like chess pieces?

He stepped closer. She took a step as well, and the air became thick with strong, even violent emotions as she stood straight before him. Unyielding, yet there was something oddly poignant about her defiance.

He felt his soul bleed. The taste of betrayal had been riding with him these past few frantic days. Emotions stumbled around all over inside him. More emotions than he’d ever known or felt before. Emotions he had tamed as a boy and kept thoroughly contained during the past years, long before he went to France.

They were roiling around now, and he had no idea what to do with them, or how to harness them. They’d exploded moments ago with Diego, but those blows had done nothing to temper his emotions. He had convinced himself he would have no problems tamping down his desires. He’d been so wrong.

He wanted to take her in his arms. Touch her. Know she was safe.
Lie!
He wanted to do much more than that. He wanted to take her in his arms and keep her there forever.

But she had not trusted him. She
had
trusted Diego. That thought kept running through his head. It hurt far more than the whip that had so often lashed his back.

She must have seen his thoughts in his face because she took a step back, her gaze not leaving his face. No apology on it. No defense. Only steely determination.

“Why?” he asked.

“I wanted to right things,” she said. “I knew you would not approve.”

“And Diego?”

“I offered him a reward from my family.” She hesitated. “But that is not why he came.”

He waited.

“He is risking his own life,” she said. “And not for gold.”

His face must have shown his disbelief.

“In a moment of confession,” she said, “he said you were the only man he’d ever admired. He knew this was the only way to put the
Sofia
to rest forever.”

“With your life?”

“He said he had a plan to steal me away again.”

“And you believed him?”

“
Si
. He is a complicated man. He has his own strange code of honor even as he claims it to be for fools only.”

He disliked the affection he heard in her voice. It still rankled, nay, more than rankled, that Juliana had turned to him.

“Patrick?”

Her voice was soft, pleading.

For him? Or Diego?

“We must go on to Handdon.”

“Nay.”

She held out her hand. “Trust me.”

The gesture nearly unmanned him. Her eyes were so steady. Honest. Pleading. There were no secrets hidden there. He could not do as she wished. He could not send her to a man like Kingsley. Nor was he convinced of Diego’s motives. Or his ability to get her back without harm.

He reached out and took her hand. It was small and seemed so fragile. But he was learning she was anything but fragile. He felt humbled. So many wrong thoughts had run through his head, including wild jealousy. Regardless of what Diego thought, or wanted, it was clear to Patrick now that for the sake of his clan she had been willing to go to a man she feared. He, on the other hand, had done what he had done all his life. He’d escaped into himself and locked the doors when he’d found he was caring too much.
Risking too much.
He had left with little explanation and no promises, even after taking her virginity.

A small frown marred her brow. Still, her eyes softened when she looked at him, her eyes filling with a need that echoed his own. For a long while they stood without moving, without speaking, just drinking in the sight of each other. He felt the coldness inside drain away and in its place a sweet warmth began to grow. His breath quickening, he pulled her into his arms.

For a moment they did not move, simply allowing warmth to flow between them. She rested her head on his chest, and he felt a tenderness so strong it nearly paralyzed him. Sweet Jesu, but he wanted her.

She looked up. His lips touched hers, lightly at first, then with a fierceness that claimed her for his own. She trembled, and he felt her body speak to his of her own need. Exultation filled him as her lips responded. He’d feared he had lost her forever.

Her body strained against his and for the briefest second he hesitated. He needed to think, and she had a way of muddling that process. But the pulsing demand in his body became more insistent with every touch. His body burned, his mind fogged with need for her. Hunger racked him. ’Twas not only a physical hunger, but something deeper and far more perilous.

“Juliana,” he whispered softly.

Juliana heard the rueful note of surrender in his voice as he tightened his arms around her. Heat pulsated in wild spurts, starting at her core and reaching out to claim every part of her body. She looked up at him. His gaze radiated fire, a fire that reached out and scorched her. Her heart pounded as he pressed her closer to him, and she held her breath as his hand lifted and his fingers touched her face.

Tremors of sensation ran down her spine, and the air sizzled between them. She knew she should move away. There was too much between them, too much distrust. Too many obstacles, but she could not make her body obey. She had yearned for this, the familiar smell and taste and feel of him, the warm yet explosive intimacy that made her feel both safe and imperiled.

He
was
dangerous. The way he made her feel was especially dangerous. She was bewitched by it, her body thrummed with it. His fingers feathered the back of her neck, and his lips caressed hers. For the moment, they were the only two people in the world. The distrust was gone, the tension fading as they reveled in each other.

Then he muttered something and stepped back. Dazed, she could only stare at him. Then she heard a cheerful whistling. She muttered as well and turned to see Rory and Diego coming back. Rory wore a satisfied smile on his face, and Diego—a pox on the man—looked smug despite his swollen cheek.

 
 
“
N
AY,” Patrick said. “Aye,” Juliana mocked him as they discussed what should happen next. The air was growing distinctly colder, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her.