The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (11 page)

Merry scowled. “Swear ye won’t tell, on your soul!” she demanded.

Again, he let his green eyes sweep her from head to toe, lingering longer than necessary upon her breasts before he cocked his head toward the door and replied, “Aye, I’ll keep your secret. Ye saved my life. ‘Tis the least I can do, but ye’d best change, and right quickly! Ewan and Lothar will be here any moment. We’ve been searching for ye all over.”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Grabbing the burlap sack out of his grasp, she upended it and, sifting through the pile, quickly found her clothing and the bandages to bind her breasts.

“Step outside now, Alec,” she ordered with a glare.

He stood there a moment, observing her with a smile just a wee bit too knowing before tugging his cowled hood over his head. Sauntering to the door, he then stepped outside.

Merry furrowed her brows. The man knew her secret now, but there was naught she could do about it. She heaved a sigh. What was done, was done. 
Quickly, she changed, and s
he’d just tied the last lace on her shirt when the door sprang back on its hinges, banging against the wall.

Ewan stalked into the room with Alec and Lothar at his heels.

“’Twas a right foolishly absurd thing to do!” Ewan thundered, his eyes flashing with raw emotion. “The English could have caught ye, or even worse, left ye dead on the road!”

Merry drew herself to her full height. “I was in no danger,” she said, locking her jaw. “They’re not looking for me.”

He threw back the hood of his mud-spattered cloak and stood there, angry, solid, his shrewd blue eyes locking onto hers. The English soldier had been right to warn her of the escapees. There was no doubt that Ewan was a dangerous, battle-hardened man.

“There were many eyes who saw ye ride through Carlisle’s gates,” he objected through clenched teeth. “And if even not, there would be plenty who would stop ye on the road, thinking ye stole your master’s horse.”

“Diabhul can outrun any of them,” she retorted, but swallowed. She couldn’t tell him just how exactly true his words were. Instead, she stooped and picked up an armful of clothing, and eyeing Ewan’s plaid peeking out from under his cloak, said, “Ye’d best change. They’re looking for Scots.”

“’Tis better than a monk’s robe,” Alec said, stepping forward with a supportive nod.

As he and Lothar ruffled through the pile, Ewan stayed where he was, arms crossed and jaw clenched.

And then Lothar began shrugging out of his shirt, and Merry hastily retreated to the window under the pretense of standing guard.

“I’ll stand watch,” she volunteered.

The men changed quickly, and then Alec commented, “Few will stop us now, dressed so daintily as English soldiers, aye?”

“’Tis a brilliant idea, lad,” Lothar grunted in approval.

Half-turning, Merry cast a furtive glance from the side of her lashes, and satisfied they were fully dressed, turned to face them.

The three of them made splendid English soldiers. Especially Ewan. The way his tunic stretched tight across his wide shoulders drew attention to his hard, masculine chest.

The beat of her heart picked up in rhythm, but it didn’t last long. 
Catching the stern line of his brow, she glanced away, feeling her anger return.

“Hie ye off to the horses, the both of ye,” Ewan commanded the men. “I’ll aid Moridac in retrieving his horse and join ye by the river within the hour.”

Alec paused.

“And what would ye say, Alec?” Ewan asked, noting the man’s reluctance.

The highlander waited a moment longer, but then expelling a breath, shook his head, and along with Lothar bundled out of the door.

As soon as they’d left, Ewan rounded on her. “Are ye mad?” he asked.

“Mad?” Merry repeated. Anger reflected in her dark brown eyes. “I came to find
ye
something to wear so you wouldn’t be caught dead in your plaid!”

“Ye could have been killed,” he retorted, his words clipped.

She scowled at him, and then her eyes fell, noting his shirt was still open at the neck. His throat and collarbone were distracting. Glancing away again, she grumbled, “Ye seem to have difficulty in thanking me.”

“
Thanking
ye?” he repeated through clenched teeth.

She stiffened. “Aye, ye should thank me for saving ye, and for riding to find safe clothing—”

“Ye’ve shown naught but a lack of foresight this entire time,” he interrupted tersely.

At that, her anger erupted anew. Throwing her shoulders back, she planted her hands on her hips. “I used to hold ye in the highest esteem, Ewan MacLean, but I see now that you’re an ungrateful wretch!”

“Am I?” he grated. “Do ye have nary a care in the world then? What would Ruan say of ye?”

With her brown eyes flashing passionately, she retorted, “I may be a lass, but I’m not helpless. Ruan taught me to ride and shoot an arrow, ye daft oaf. And I’ve been practicing with him for years to learn to wield a dirk properly. He saw to it that I’d never have to wait to be rescued from the clutches of a cruel man again!”

At her allusion to the past, Ewan went still.

They stood there, breathing heavily.

And then turning on his heel, Ewan approached the door, pausing with his hand poised over the latch. “Let us quit this place afore we are caught,” he said, but his voice had softened.

It wasn’t an apology but more an unspoken peace offering, and with her anger melting, she stepped out behind him into the afternoon sun.

They’d scarcely left the alleyway when Ewan suddenly stepped sideways. And curling an arm about her waist, he whirled her back. She fell against him, her soft breasts colliding with his chest, as he pushed her around the corner of a low stone building and back against the wall.

“Hssst,” his hot breath brushed her cheek as he whispered. “Dinna move.”

She froze.

Voices advanced, the voices of English soldiers, and it seemed an eternity before they’d passed.

Merry held still with her hands upon Ewan’s chest, and then all at once, she was conscious only of the awareness growing between them.

He seemed to feel it too. 
For a moment, his fingers lifted as if to touch her face, but apparently thinking better of it, he let his hand fall to his side instead.

She felt a small wave of disappointment.

But then his gaze locked upon hers and she felt herself drown in the intensity of his blue eyes, an intensity that made her shiver.

It would be so natural to reach up and to kiss him. Already, h
er lips were only a hair’s breadth away from his. 
She could feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth. 
Silently, she begged his lips to cover hers, her heart rioting at his nearness. 
Aye, she wanted to kiss him. And she wanted to touch him, every part of him, from his head to his toes.

He shifted then, and with his lips dangerously close to her own, he whispered, “We should be going now.”

His voice was low, sending desire rippling through her.

She didn’t move.

And neither did he.

The silence between them lengthened.

And then slowly, he lowered his head and pressed his lips against her forehead in a chaste kiss, not the hot passionate devouring of the lips she’d wished for.

He stepped back then, and taking her wrist, returned to the street.

She blew her bangs out of her face, catching her breath in her disappointment.

Neither spoke as they left the town, and after each had retrieved their horse, they made their way to the agreed upon meeting place.

Alec and Lothar were there, waiting by the river with a sack of provisions. And with little more than a brief exchange of greetings and an explanation to Merry that they’d broken into smaller parties to evade the soldiers, they urged their horses north toward Scotland.

Merry followed, depressed.

She hadn’t returned the kirtle as she’d planned. It hadn’t been her intention to steal from an innocent soul. 
And she’d revealed her secret to Alec. 
Aye, she’d also essentially lied to Ewan—or had avoided telling him about her encounter with the English soldiers, anyway. And he hadn’t kissed her as she’d wished.

Aye, nothing ever went according to plan.

With darkening thoughts, she trotted behind the others, growing grumpier with each step north.

The going was difficult. 
The roads were muddy from the recent rain, slowing their progress. Tall sloping trees clothed each side of the road, dipping and swaying gently in the wind for mile upon mile. But fortunately, t
hey met no one on the road, and as the sun sank on the horizon, they found a grove of rowan trees clustered closely, forming a natural shelter.

After seeing Diabhul tended, Merry joined the others by the small fire.

“Eat, lad,” Alec ordered, tossing her a hard loaf of barley bread and a dried fish.

“Thank ye,” she murmured, tossing her saddle down and sitting upon it.

He only responded with a grunt.

For a time, no one spoke, and the crackle of the fire and the occasional call of an owl were the only sounds to be heard.

Tearing off a large bite of bread, Merry chewed in silence and gradually became aware that she was staring at Ewan from under her lashes.

He looked tired as he sat kneading his shoulder and staring into the flames, his food untouched at his side. The outline of his toned shoulders and powerful thighs made her heart skip a beat before pulling with sympathy. 
He was clearly suffering. 
She wished she could wipe his pain away.

“And does Ewan have horns growing from his head,
lad
?” Alec’s amused voice quipped.

Merry jerked, biting her lip in embarrassment as both Lothar and Ewan glanced up.

“Ye seem to be watching him with such a marked interest,” Alec continued. “Mayhap even a bit dreamily—”

“Ach, now,” Merry interrupted, leaning over to swat him on the knee. “I was but thinking. I didna pay any heed in which way I was looking, ye daft fool.” She followed her words with a dark scowl of warning.

“There’s no need to take offense,” Alec replied with a careless shrug, but there was a roguish gleam in his eye. “Aye, I swear the lad's as sensitive as a lass at times.”

Merry’s eyes widened in alarm.

But he merely pretended to yawn. And then with an infectious grin, he asked, “Then what shall we
lads
speak of? How shall we wile away the time afore we sleep?”

“Need we speak at all?” Ewan asked with a sharp look of disapproval.

“And why not?” Alec challenged, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “Shall we speak of what we lads love the most? Horses, lasses, and little else, aye?”

Baffled over the man’s intention, Merry furrowed her brows.

“I’ll agree to that,” Lothar spoke suddenly, startling them all. He scratched his blunt nose and said, “I say we ride to the nearest town where the whisky flows freely and a man can find a woman to trade her charms for—”

“Enough!” Ewan ordered crisply and Alec coughed in alarm as they both cast sidelong glances in Merry’s direction.

She hid a smile, amused at their protectiveness.

But the exchange was enough to silence Alec then, and they were each left to their own thoughts.

Clearing her mind, Merry watched the fire for a time before snuggling deeper into her woolen cloak. Lulled by the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the leaves overhead, she finally drifted off to sleep. 
She woke up once or twice in the dead of the night to see Ewan illuminated by the moonlight, still sitting by the dying fire, watchful and vigilant. 
It was at once comforting and sad to see. He seemed so cold, remote, and so very far away.

Dawn broke, and Merry opened her eyes with her stomach growling, voicing its dissatisfaction. 
But the scent of meat was heavy in the air. Someone had gone hunting as two plump pheasants roasted over the renewed fire.

Nearby, Ewan lounged against a tree, absent-mindedly running his strong hands through his flaxen hair.

Covertly, she watched him.

Why hadn’t he kissed her? She’d wanted him to. Surely, he must have known that. 
Had he refrained for lack of interest? 
Or, heaven forbid, did he have a lass waiting for him somewhere?

The thought soured her mood considerably.

“And a good morning to ye, lad,” Alec’s voice broke into her thoughts.

Frowning, she sat up to see him lazily wiping one of her own arrow shafts with a handful of grass.

“I used your bow,” he explained, nodding at the pheasants. “I didna think ye’d object to waking to a wee bit of fresh meat.”

“Aye,” she agreed, rising to her feet.

“’Tis a smallish bow,” he commented, stooping to pick it up and heft it in the air. “’Tis almost the same as my wee sister, Catrona’s.”

From the corner of her eye, Merry could see the outline of Ewan’s strong jaw as he tilted his head to listen.

Striding up to Alec, she twisted his ear. “I need a hand with Diabhul,” she muttered harshly and with a toss of her head.

He fell into step beside her with a grin.

“And what are ye up to?” she growled, once out of Ewan’s earshot. “I thought ye were a man of honor.”

Alec folded his arms and eyed her from head to toe. And then something entered his eyes—something Merry could not quite identify.

“I’ve not betrayed ye,” he said in a serious tone. “I dinna even know who ye truly are, lass. Tell me, what is your name? Where do ye come from?”

Merry blinked, taken aback by the switch of subject. “Ach, I canna trust ye, ye daft fool,” she snapped and inexplicably feeling shy, she waved her hand and stepped back. “I only ask that ye keep your word, aye? I’ll be going now. I’ve Diabhul—”

He caught her by the arm then. Gently. “Tell me—”, he began.

But then Ewan’s deep voice called them both, and seizing the excuse to leave, Merry twisted free and fairly ran back to camp.