The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (31 page)

“Am I dreaming?” she asked in a harsh whisper. “Are ye really here afore me, hale and hearty?”

“Aye, but mayhap I’m the one who is dreaming. I left ye in Cambuskenneth, did I not?” he asked teasingly. And then suddenly aware of just how much he was covered in other men’s blood, he let her go and pushed her away. “Ach, lass. I dinna want ye to see me like this. I’m fair unpresentable, and—”

But she only snorted and her brown eyes flashed. “I dinna smell so lovely in these stolen clothing myself, Ewan MacLean,” she said in a wavering voice.

And then grabbing onto him, she buried her face into his chest, and her shoulders began to shake as her breaths came in long, ragged gasps. It took him a moment to realize that she was weeping in long horrible sobs.

He let her cry for a time, resting his chin upon the top of her head while he watched Borthwick’s hands being tied with rope and then several of Archibald’s men led him away.

Ewan raised a brow.

Archibald would most likely see the man freed afore the king’s body had even left the cottage. And when Julian passed by him a short time later, he sent him a knowing glance. Clearly, he thought the same thing.

Then Ewan spied a flash of MacLeod plaid from the corner of his eye.

And Ruan’s voice asked grimly, “Are the both of ye unharmed?”

Ewan tensed to hear the man but glanced down at himself first. He suffered cuts in various places, and his arm burned in pain, but he was still standing, and that is what mattered the most after battle.

Hearing her brother’s voice, Merry lifted her red-swollen eyes and wiped them with the back of her arm. The gesture tore Ewan’s heart, and not caring if Ruan approved of him or no, he caught her chin with his thumb and forced her eyes to meet his.

“’Tis healing to weep, lass,” he said with a gentle smile. “But soon, your eyes will weep no more, I swear it. This too, as all things, will end.”

She nodded, the corner of her lip tremulously lifting into a smile.

Leaning over, he planted a kiss upon her forehead and then clenching his jaw, turned to face Ruan.

He’d expected to see a look of anger upon the man’s face, but instead, his face was impassive, betraying nothing.

And then yet more of the prince’s men arrived, and as plans were made to bear the king’s body back to Cambuskenneth, Ruan looped his arm around Merry’s shoulder and insisted she return with him at once to the abbey.

Lacing his hand through hers to kiss her fingertips, Ewan seated her safely upon Diabhul’s back, quickly sidestepping the stallion as he reached back for a quick nip. And then she was gone, riding away at her brother’s side.

The place seemed desolate after she left, but Ewan stayed with Julian and the others until a fine litter was brought, and the king’s ermine-trimmed cloak, recovered, was laid upon the deceased monarch. Then in a solemn procession, they filed away from the mill, heading silently to the abbey.

Halfway there, Cameron galloped to join them along with a shaken prince.

The prince didn’t speak as he maneuvered his horse to keep pace next to his father’s litter, but Cameron urged his mount between Julian and Ewan’s to speak in a low voice.

“Already, Archibald has lost Borthwick,” he informed them grimly. “He claims the man attacked his guards and escaped on horseback.”

“Aye, with Archibald’s money and blessing.” Julian heaved a sigh. “We’ll never see the man again, I’ll warrant.”

Ewan clenched his jaw. He’d suspected as much.

Bowing his head, he let the remainder of their words wash over him, and instead, focused on thoughts of home.

He hadn’t been to Mull in quite some time, longer than he cared to admit.

He missed the mountains, the lochs, and the barking of the selkies as they stretched out on the rocky islands. He closed his eyes. It had been years since he stood on the moors, watching the piercing winds lift the banks of fog as they rolled over the waves.

And then, there were his parents, especially his father. He’d not seen the old man in a disgraceful long while.

Aye, ‘twas time to return.

The evening sun hovered on the horizon when they finally rode through Cambuskenneth’s gate. The monks were there with bowed heads to receive the king’s body, and it was with great respect that they carried him into the church, to lay him down in front of the alter.

The prince followed, pale and stoic.

He said nothing as he stood before his father’s body wrapped in the fine ermine-trimmed mantle. And then slowly, he crossed himself and knelt, his lips moving in silent prayer.

Ewan stayed for only a short time before he moved to wait outside for the others to join him. 
He was exhausted. The pain in his arm had subsided to a dull ache, proving not to be caused by cuts but a deep bruise and most likely a torn muscle. It would heal with resting.

It was time for the day to end. He was ready.

Merry and Ruan were nowhere to be seen, and he wondered where they’d gone, but then thoughts of Ruan made him wonder what he could do to prove his worth to the man in order to win Merry’s hand.

He glanced down at his blood-spattered clothes, the blood now brown, dried, and caked. ‘Twas the last time he’d wear such clothes, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be rid of them as soon as he could.

Then as the last rays of sun turned the abbey a warm golden hue, Cameron and Julian stepped out from the chapel with the pale young prince between them.

Quickly, Cameron recounted the events that had transpired to cause the king’s death, but noticeably he avoided details of Borthwick’s name and escape.

Ewan supposed it wise. 
‘Twould likely start another war.

And then for the first time, the prince spoke. “And so it ends like so many stories before it. I am a son who has killed his own father for a crown,” he whispered.

“Nay, my king,” Cameron responded in a voice of strength. “The king’s blood is not on your hands. He died at the hands of a traitor.”

“Nay.” The prince shook his head, and his lips twisted as he strove to contain his grief. “He died only because I rose against him. Had I stayed his faithful son, then even now he would be dining in yon castle.” He tilted his head toward Stirling rising above them in the distance.

“There is no denying this is a tragic end,” Cameron said grimly. He bowed his head and murmured. “Dinna forget that he was my cousin, your majesty. As wee lads, we sailed the River Forth and spent many a day in laughter. Nevertheless, as much as it pains me to speak ill of one crossed over, Scotland did suffer by him. And we greatly need a wise and prudent king now—a king who is unwavering and just. The people have had enough suffering.”

The prince fell silent for a moment, and then whispered, “Aye, the duty of a king. But as a son, I must pay the price, Cameron.”

Cameron reached over and clasped his young cousin’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “Then let the abbot guide ye on penance to ease your guilt if ye must,” he suggested in a deep voice.

The prince lifted his head, seizing the word. “Penance,” he repeated.

“But there is much we must do to secure the peace of the realm,” Cameron continued. “The clans of the north must be dispersed home. We must secure your crown, your majesty, and—”

“Penance,” the prince interrupted him with another whisper. “Never has a race of kings been more unfortunate than that of the Stewarts.”

“Aye,” Cameron agreed hesitantly, exchanging a concerned look with Julian.

“Then see to it that an iron cilice is made for me at once, Cameron,” the young prince ordered, his voice growing stronger with each word. “And I will forever wear the heavy collar to remind me that I have sinned and that I must humbly seek penance for my soul, even though ‘twas all for the sake of Scotland.”

And then, the young prince turned upon his heel and strode away.

A hushed silence fell, finally to be broken by Julian’s quiet voice. “A meek king,” he murmured. “Dare I hope that such a man grows into a great king?”

“Aye,” Cameron said, allowing himself a rare smile. “I have such hope myself, Julian.”

They stayed as they were for a moment, until the scrape of boots against stone caused them to turn and to see Archibald Douglas.

“Ach, I fear that one James will be just as bad as the other,” the redheaded Earl spat in greeting.

As Cameron and Julian stepped forward to take the man to task, Ewan used the opportunity to escape.

He had no desire to hear more. 
He was done with men and their games of power.

Aye, he would clean himself first, and then he would find Merry. 
But he’d scarcely stepped around the tower before soft hands slipped around his waist from behind, and he felt her head press against his back.

“I’m never letting ye go again, ye daft fool,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his shoulders.

A slow smile curved his lips. 
Sliding his hands over hers, he unlocked them and turned to study her face in the gathering darkness.

She’d changed once again into the fine gown, and upon seeing just her face, the weariness that had threatened to consume him seemed to lift all at once.

His gaze roved over her in an intimate caress.

Ach, he wanted to kiss her, but he’d not hold her yet. Not with his blood-encrusted clothing and the sweat of battle still rank upon him.

“Will ye kiss me, Ewan MacLean?” she demanded then, her brown eyes inviting.

Slowly, he lowered his head to deliver the merest brush of his lips against her cheek.

But then he heard Ruan’s hard voice behind him.

“And I thought I told ye ‘twould be years afore I’d let ye kiss my wee sister, Ewan MacLean!” The man’s voice was harsh.

“
Years?
” Merry burst in outrage, stepping aside to face her brother in shock.

Ewan glanced over his shoulder to see Ruan standing there with his arms crossed and his feet planted wide apart, and Cameron stood with narrowed eyes at his side.

“Aye,” Ruan said, drawing his dark brows into a scowl that matched the one now upon Merry’s face. “Do ye find years a wee bit too long?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Then what time would ye find acceptable?” her brother probed, the beginnings of a smile forming upon his carved lips.

“I would wed him tonight, if ye could but find a priest,” Merry said with a mischievous gleam dancing in her dark eyes.

Ruan glanced around at the monks milling about the abbey grounds. “It shouldna be too hard, my wee Merry lass,” he said with dry humor. “If ye truly insist.”

“I do so truly insist,” she answered firmly. “This very night.”

“Then I will find a priest, as ye wish,” her brother replied with a wide smile. “Within the hour.”

Ewan shook his head to clear it and then interrupted, locking his gaze upon Ruan. “I find ye fair confusing, Ruan. How can ye have gone from years to an hour? I thought ye had to see with your own eyes what a changed man I am.”

Ruan arched a dark brow. “And I have, lad,” he said, chuckling a little. “I’m not a fool, and I know true love when I see it. ‘Twas in the mill stable yard that I saw with my own eyes that the two of ye belong together like the wind on the moors.”

Ewan’s brows ascended in surprise.

“Then find a priest, Ruan—” Merry began.

“Nay,” Ewan cut her short, holding up his hand. “I’ve not asked ye yet, lass—”

“Ach, do ye think I’m of a mind to say nay?” she interrupted him in turn. Lowering her lashes, she asked, “Will ye hither to my side whenever I call ye for the rest of your days?”

“Aye,” he said, frowning a little. “But ‘tis I who should be doing the asking. And I would wait for a proper wedding. I willna wed ye in the clothes of battle—”

She reached up then and silenced him with a kiss. 
He shuddered at the delicate touch of her lips upon his and the soft teasing trace of her hand as it slid across his chest and dropped down the length of his arm.

Pulling her lips away, she nodded in satisfaction when he remained silent.

“You're outmatched, lad,” Cameron said then. “’Tis wise to give into your fate.”

Ruan simply threw his head back and laughed.

“Aye, then I’ll be wedding ye now, Ewan, this very hour,” Merry said, her dark eyes sparkling. “There will be plenty of time to attend feasts later. If you’re quick, I’m sure the monks can help ye find a tub and a fresh plaid.”

“Come, Ewan,” Ruan said with smiling eyes. “Ye have an hour. If ye wish, I’ll even help ye ride as far as ye can from this wee beastie. It seems I’ve erred, aye? ‘Tis ye I should worry for, lad.”

It happened quickly after that.

Within the hour, he’d scrubbed the battle grime away, revealing an array of bruises and small cuts. His arm was bound in order to aid in the healing of it, and at the last moment, Julian arrived with a fine linen shirt and a crisp MacLean plaid.

And then under a bright crescent moon above the rim of the horizon, Julian and Cameron escorted him to the side entrance of the chapel where a monk with white hair and dark bushy brows waited.

No one spoke.

They stood there in silence for a few minutes.

But when there was no sign yet of Merry, he began to wonder if she’d regretted her haste, but he’d scarce thought it when a loud crash rang through the night.

Swearing, Ewan whirled, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword out of habit.

But it was only a priest who had dropped a candlestick on his way into the main chapel where the king lay in state.

“Ach, your warrior instincts are too ingrained in ye, lad,” Julian said with a soft laugh.

Ewan frowned and expelled a long breath. “I’ve grown weary of the familiar scent of battle. My days of drawing the sword are done,” he said, his tone resoundingly final. “From this moment on, I will live by the words: what ye can kill, ye can also save.”

“Well said,” Cameron commented, arching an elegant brow at him. “Then will I find ye joining me at court, lad?”

Ewan shook his head quickly. “Nay, I dinna plan to leave the Isles. I’ll fill my days with other concerns now.”

Returning home. 
He’d thought of it often, but now it would happen. 
In his mind’s eyes, he saw his parent’s astonished—and greatly pleased—faces upon discovering he hadn’t returned home alone but in the company of his own wee wife, a lass he loved with his entire heart.