The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (8 page)

Merry frowned. “If ye can manage it,” she retorted crossly. “’Twould help.”

“God’s Blood—” he began hotly.

But he was interrupted by a squeal as a small black boar burst out of the underbrush and charged straight at them.

It happened quickly.

She raised her bow and released the shaft, but the arrow shot wild as both Ewan and Alec pulled her back to safety.

Breaking free of their protective grips, she stepped directly into the boar’s path and shot two more arrows in rapid succession.

The boar stumbled, and then Ewan’s man drew his sword and dispatched the beast quickly.

“Aye then,” Merry nodded in satisfaction. “’Tis a small one, but he’ll do.”

It was then that she noticed both Alec and Ewan were still standing close at her side, their hands outstretched as if to protect her. 
Alec’s green eyes wide with concern, and Ewan’s brows drawn into a line. 
And then it struck her as oddly humorous that she had to glance up at them both. She had to look
up
at very few men.

“Beside ye both, I feel strangely delicate,” she admitted with a small laugh.

They both peered down at her then, and her breath quickened. 
There was no denying the attraction, and for a moment, she could have sworn that they both felt it, too.

Alec’s light-hearted manner pulled at her heart, but Ewan’s presence seared her soul.

But then another peal of thunder broke the silence, and Ewan stepped back.

“Ye have a keen eye, Moridac,” he said, eyeing the dead boar with approval.

“But not so much muscle,” Alec inserted with a grunt.

Merry didn’t speak. She stood to the side as each man grabbed one of the boar’s legs and began to drag it back to the cottage.

Feeling oddly subdued, Merry followed.

The sky threatened more rain as they returned, and the waiting men greeted them with claps on the backs and a few “huzzahs”. And as Alec and another hefted the boar’s carcass over the back of a horse, the other hunting party returned empty-handed.

They set out once again then, down the ever-dwindling road that gradually turned into a mere footpath, when finally, they arrived at the forest’s edge.

They’d barely left the shelter of the trees before two riders crested the hill, letting out low whistles. 
Merry recognized them as the men Ewan had sent to scout ahead, but then there was little time to ponder anything more as Ewan suddenly wheeled his gelding about and commanded them all to return to the trees.

They’d barely reached the cover of the forest before a company of English soldiers appeared on the road.

Inching closer to Ewan, Merry heard one of the scouts murmur.

“Too many patrols,” he was saying. “The call has gone out. They want Alec, dead or alive.”

“I feared as much,” Ewan replied softly.

They didn’t speak then but watched in silence as the English soldiers cantered down the road and disappeared into the distance.

When they were gone, Ewan issued a stern command, “We’ll return to the cottage for this night, at least. Be quick, afore the English return.”

Turning back, they plunged deeper into the forest, and as night began to fall, they stood once more in front of the ruined cottage. The woodlands had grown close to one side, affording shelter for the horses, and after seeing their mounts unsaddled and set to graze, they filed into the small building.

Entering after the others, Merry wrinkled her nose at the stench of mildew and rotting wood. 
The interior was dark, gloomy, but the shutters on the windows were still intact. And though rain had dribbled down from holes in the roof to form large mud puddles on the floor, the area near the hearth was relatively dry. 
There was no furniture left, save for a small three-legged stool and a black kettle turned over on its side.

“Perhaps ‘tis a plague house,” one of the men muttered.

Ewan pointed to the opaque mounds of cobwebs in the rafters. “If ‘twas, then it was longer than your lifetime ago, Sean,” he said calmly.

After a bit of grumbling, they set about butchering the meat.

Kneeling before the hearth, Merry stacked some wood and found a bit of dry thatching to use as tinder. The fire caught, crackling and spitting sparks, and a short time later, a rosy tint bathed the room as the boar and the rabbits roasted on a spit over the flames.

Several of the men began a game of dice, and one of the scouts produced a clay jug of wine as the smell of smoke mingled with the scent of roasted meat.

Leaving Alec to tend to the cooking, Merry settled against the wall, shifting to get comfortable on the dirt-packed floor. 
With all of the riding, the bandages binding her breasts were coming undone. She’d have to find a way to sneak out and tighten them soon. 
But she’d have to wait until most of the men were asleep. 
She couldn’t afford to get caught.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Ewan as he sat near the fire, alert and restless. The firelight played on his face, giving him a dangerous air. His brow was drawn into a deep frown, and she wondered if he ever allowed himself a smile anymore.

“They called him a beast in the battlefield.”

Merry turned to see Alec crouching beside her with his lips lifted into the merest whisper of a smile.

“Aye, no man can match his fierce reputation,” Alec continued, glancing over at Ewan himself. “A man renowned for his strong sword arm and steeled endurance, he is. Strong as an ox and even stronger willed. Some say he could wield a sword afore he could walk.”

Merry bit back a sigh.

‘Twas obvious.

While others saw only the hard warrior, unflinching, unmoving, she saw in his eyes the pain, the sorrow, and the burden of immeasurable guilt. 
She wanted to ease his burden. To touch him. To sooth his cares away.

Ewan glanced back at them, grim and quick. “And what do ye speak of?” he asked curtly.

Alec leaned over and tousled Merry’s cropped curls. And after a swift, speculative search of her face, turned to Ewan and replied, “The lad admires ye, Ewan.”

Merry choked.

But Ewan scarcely noticed. “There’s naught that warrants admiration,” he replied tightly. And then rising to his feet, he strode to the door and disappeared out into the gathering darkness.

“Are ye bereft of all sense?” Merry scowled up at Alec. “Can ye not see that he suffers?”

Alec shook his head in mock dismay. “And you’re a boldly impertinent lad,” he said, stroking the stubble on his chin. “’Tis clear ye revere the man, and rightly so. I only sought to reward your curiosity. But aye, you’re right. We all know he suffers. He doesna sleep.”

“Aye,” a voice chorused from the shadows. “The screams of the dying haunt his dreams.”

“Tis the warrior’s curse,” Alec agreed, moving next to the fire.

“Ewan had the heart of a poet, once,” someone else said solemnly.

Silence fell then, for a time, and it was only broken by a sudden gust of wind rattling the shutters, followed by the sound of pattering rain.

And then the meat was pronounced roasted.

The men began to eat and spirits rose, and as a new dice game began in earnest, Ewan returned.

Kicking the fire back to life, he shook the rain from his cloak and draped it over the three-legged stool, and then settling against the wall, he stretched his long legs out in front of him.

Merry cast a furtive glance his way, but his blue eyes were hooded by thick lashes, and half of his face was covered by shadows as he gazed intently at the fire.

For a time, the room was filled with the laughter of the men at dice, and then a particularly loud protest caused heads to turn as one man good-naturedly accused his fellows of cheating.

“And you’re a sore loser,” one man judged humorously.

“Aye, but I’ve naught left to wager,” the man named Sean said. “And I must win!”

“Ach, but ye do have something of value to offer,” one of the others disagreed with a glint of humor in his eye. “Let me dance with your sister, Christine, aye?”

“Mayhap my hearing is rusty,” Sean said with a half-growl. “I dinna hear my wee sister’s name upon your lips, did I?”

But the would-be suitor was not to be deterred. “She’s a lass of almost twenty,” the man replied. “And a bonny one, at that.”

“Aye,” another man agreed. “With hair like honey and lips ripe for a kiss.”

“Ye canna speak of her like that.” Sean’s voice took on a serious tone.

Alec pushed abruptly away from the wall. “And what is it ye look for in a lass, Sean?” he asked, skillfully diverting the conversation to safer territory.

“I only look for a warm, willing lass, with a generous heart,” Sean answered, his mood softening.

“A warm, willing lass, but pink-cheeked and pleasing to the eye,” another man chimed in.

“With the face of an angel,” said one more. “A face that can ensnare ye with a glance.”

Merry’s lips twitched as she glanced at the men circled about the fire, their lips curved into silly grins. It was fair difficult to restrain herself from bursting out into laughter.

“Aye, there’s much to appreciate in a lass,” Alec granted in a half-dreamy tone. “Slender ankles and delicate wrists. And the winsome curve of her neck, aye, lads? A generous rump, a sway in her hips, and teeth—”

“Ach, teeth? Ye speak of a horse, not a lass!” Merry did burst with laughter then, unable to hold back any longer.

“And what do ye fancy, Moridac?” Alec’s brows quirked in challenge.

“’Tis simple enough,” she said with a distracted smile of her own. “A braw lad, soft of heart.”

She didn’t speak the rest, but she thought it. Aye, she knew right well what her heart was telling her. She wanted a man with broad shoulders, long limbs, and eyes as blue as the sea. A man with a tortured soul she knew she could heal.

It took her a moment to notice the shocked silence surrounding her.

And then she realized her mistake.

“A … lad?” Alec asked, clearing his throat.

Chapter Four – “You’re No Brother to Me”

Moridac stood there, suffering a loss of words as Ewan watched impassively from the shadows.

“Methinks the lad is a wee bit daft,” someone muttered.

The youth gave an almost girlish giggle. “Aye, ‘tis what my wee sisters tell me they want in a lad,” he said, slurring his words somewhat in his haste. “’Tis what I pray I’ll become one day to hold the lass of my dreams.” He scanned the room before him as a look of shocked outrage belatedly suffused his face. “Ach, now, ye dinna think I was speaking for
myself
, did ye?”

Most of the men appeared downright confused at this admission. A few of them were ill at ease, and Alec’s piercing green eyes narrowed into speculative slits.

“But we asked ye what
ye
want, lad,” someone grunted. “Not what ye think a lass wants, aye?”

“Aye, who can fathom what the lasses want. They’re peculiar creatures, they are,” another remarked.

As the talk turned then to the mysteries of the female mind, Moridac withdrew from the conversation, settled back against the wall, and nervously nibbled at his nails.

Ewan frowned and folded his arms. 
He found the lad’s presence troublesome, and settling back himself, he regarded the lad from under hooded lashes.

Since the moment he’d met him, he’d thought the lad would make a better lass. He was far too slender, too graceful, and his skin too soft. But, Sweet Mary, this evening, in the dim light of the burning embers, he didn’t look like a lad at all! The curve of the lad’s throat was downright womanly!

And his eyes were unusually expressive. 
Deep, liquid, brown eyes that seemed to read his soul.

Ewan dropped his gaze to the soft wreath of black curls framing the youth’s face. A particularly large curl lay against the nape of his neck, a neck with an unusually seductive curve.

With his frown deepening, Ewan shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

Tricks of the firelight, that’s what it was, nothing more.

And then the lad bit his lip. They were full, rosy lips.

Rubbing his suddenly aching forehead, Ewan made his mind up all at once. The lad had to go. At once. Before he lost all sense of reason.

At first, he’d promised to escort the youth to Stirling. But after his first confusing encounters, he’d shortened it to the Scottish Border. 
But even that seemed too far now. He much preferred to be rid of the lad sooner.

Mayhap one of the men had procured coin enough to pay the youth and send him on his way at morningtide. ‘Twas a bit callous but most likely safer for the youth in the end. After all, the patrols weren’t searching for a lone lad.

And none could deny that the battlefield was too grim a place for such a gentle soul.

A hand fell on Ewan’s shoulder and he glanced up, surprised to find Alec stooping over him.

“And ye?” the man asked with a teasing grin. “What do ye wish for in a lass, Ewan?”

Ewan raised a brow, surprised the conversation had gone a full circle, but even more astonished that Alec would ask him that particular question. The man knew the answer right well.

Dropping his gaze to Alec’s hand still resting on his shoulder, he muttered thickly, “Move your hand, lest ye lose it.”

Alec merely squeezed his fingers tighter in an obvious gesture of comfort. Then lowering his voice, he murmured, “Iona is not a fitting match for ye, Ewan, even though she be my kin. Ye deserve true love. Aye, mayhap fate has a say—”

“Love is pointless. ‘Tis a dream, nothing more,” Ewan answered flatly.

“Nay, I—” Alec began earnestly.

“Enough!” Ewan grimly cut him short. 
And rising to his feet, he quitted the smoke-filled hovel and headed out into the darkness.

Taking the rough stone path leading into the forest, he leaned against the trunk of a tree, and snapping a twig off a thick branch, idly began plucking the leaves. 
He didn’t think for a time. He merely stared out unseeing into the darkness, listening only to the soft pit-pat of the rain on the leaves overhead.