The Runaway Highlander (The Highland Renegades Book 2) (22 page)

She approached the house and saw smoke rising from a fire in the back. Something cooked on the fire and it smelled wonderful.

A knock at the door sent the insides to bustling around and a short, busty woman answered, wiping her hands on a greasy apron. Anne smiled her greeting.

“
Fergus!” the woman yelled. Her eyebrows knit together and she clucked at Anne. “Come in, dear. You’d best sit down, you’ve had a long day and it’s not about to get any better.”

Anne rushed in the house, her throat tightening. “Elena!”

Her sister called out from the other room, as did Brighde. A man came to the door and Anne squinted, expecting to see Aedan’s face. Instead, the kind face of an older gentleman greeted her with a sad countenance.

“You must be Anne,” he said. “Why don’t you have a seat here?” He pointed to the table. “Rosie, get her a dram of whiskey, will ye? Just to take the edge off. Maybe help her sleep tonight.”

Rumbling in the other room couldn’t distract Anne. Nor the promise of spirits. “Where is Aedan?” Her heart pounded nearly through her chest as she waited for someone to answer her.

“You’re his wife, eh?” the man asked. He escorted her to the table, but she wasn’t particularly interested in sitting.

“I’m…” she stopped. Was this what they’d agreed? She would pretend to be his wife? Oh, why didn’t the oafish brute come out and stop this surprise? They could get married for real, instead of pretending. She’d ask him herself.

“You’re his wife.” The man’s voice was insistent. “At least, that’s what you’ll tell the captain when he arrives.”

“The Captain?”

Fergus
finally pulled her into the chair and Rosie set a cup in front of her. “Drink this, lass. You’ll need it.”

Brighde appeared in the same door that had produced
Fergus. Anne closed her eyes and silently ordered Aedan to appear through that door. To end whatever strange game they were playing on her. To produce Aedan. Her love. The man she wanted to give her heart to. The man she wanted to marry. Not pretend to marry.

“Where is Aedan?”

Brighde put a hand on her shoulder. The evidence of sadness still carried in her puffy eyes and red-stained cheeks. Brighde was as upset by the situation as Anne felt.

“Where is Aedan?” she repeated. Still, no one answered.

“I didn’t know, or I would have stopped him.” Brighde’s voice cracked as she spoke. “I tried to tell him you were really and truly in love with him, that it wasn’t a ruse.”

Anne’s heart was in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Aedan was gone? And because she didn’t love him enough?
Her eyes burned. Aedan was gone?

No.

“He said to tell you that he was doing this for you.” Fergus motioned to Brighde as well. “For both of you.”

“He went to join the army.” Brighde sobbed and sank to her knees next to Anne, but Anne could barely process that other people were still in the room with her. “He heard they pay handsomely for their soldiers.”

She shook her head. Aedan wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t leave her. Her mother had been wrong. He wouldn’t double-cross her. Her mother had to have been wrong.

Tears pushed out of her eyes, onto her cheeks, and flowed freely down as quickly as her body could make them. She sobbed along with Brighde, pounding the table in her frustration.

“Where is Aedan?” she repeated, sobs choking her voice.

“He went to get the money you’ll need to make a new life.”

Anne collapsed onto the floor and dissolved into her sadness. “Aedan. Please don’t be gone,” she whispered. “Please. Come back.” Her voice was so quiet, but she needed him to hear her, far away as he was. “Please, come back. I can’t do this without you.”

“You’ll be well, my dear.” Elena was suddenly beside her, smoothing her hair, her voice distant.

“No, I won’t be well. And I’m not going to sit here waiting for him to risk his life for us. There has to be another way.” Anne wrestled against Elena’s grasp.

“You can’t. You know you can’t go.” Brighde’s hands were steel on her shoulders. “If we try to make trouble at the fort after they’ve gone to all this trouble, they’ll catch us all. They’ll hang Aedan on sight.” Anne’s tear-blurred vision focused on Brighde’s pretty face. But her heart sank as realization set in. Aedan was gone and she could do nothing.

Fergus’ voice continued somewhere in the periphery of her notice. “He knew you wouldn’t have enough for the price it would cost to get the papers and make the trip, so he did the only thing he knew to do. He went to sell his sword.”

“But they don’t pay for swords.” Brighde’s voice wasn’t any more stable than Anne’s, as she hovered somewhere over Anne’s body, sharing in her sadness.

“No, lass. Sadly, they don’t pay for swords.”

Anne looked up into the old man’s sad, wrinkled face and offered a wordless question. The wailing sadness that took her wouldn’t allow her to speak, but she needed to know why. Where he had gone. Where could she go to get him back
?

“He knew you needed the money, and this was the only way he could think to get it for you.”

Anne shook her head. Why would he put himself in danger like this? Didn’t he know how much she loved him? How she needed him? Oh, God. Why hadn’t she told him every moment since she discovered it for herself? Why hadn’t she insisted on them marrying at the first parish they passed? Why had she let him sweet-talk her with promises of a new life in France?

She didn’t want France if she couldn’t have Aedan.

In the distance of her hazy exhaustion, she heard Fergus, the regret in his voice, trying still to explain. “They may not pay for swords, dear one, but they do pay for bodies.”

Anne’s eyes shot up to meet his. “Bodies?” she croaked.

His sad nod confirmed it. Aedan hadn’t gone to join the army. He’d gone to offer himself as a sacrifice for her happiness.

“King Edward needs to fill the ranks again for the war with Scotland. They call it the widow’s tax. A man gives his life for England and the crown will pay his life’s wages.” Rosie’s voice echoed in the tiny house as Anne closed her eyes against the world and prayed to wake up from this nightmare.
Please, please, oh God, please. Wake me up from this. Save Aedan, please.

Chapter Sixteen

September 1297 – Hull, England

Anne de Cheyne had spent every day in this chair in front of the farmhouse since news of the battle at Sterling Bridge.
Each battle they’d heard of for the six-month campaign seemed like it might be the battle that claimed Aedan’s life. But Stirling Bridge seemed to be the worst one yet. For the English.

Since
Aedan had written her from York, trying to explain his decision and to encourage her to move on, she had been even more determined in her prayers. She could hear in his voice that he wanted to come home.

Every morning, every noon, every night, all she prayed was that Aedan would be wounded in the battle and returned to her safe and alive.

The death carts had preceded the return of the remnants of the Northern army. When Aedan had been in neither wave, her fear and prayers had escalated.

Perhaps he had been captured, found to be a Scot, and somehow tortured or imprisoned. She’d promised herself that she would leave her sisters and the children here with Molnar and go after Aedan herself if that was the case. But no news had come of him. Or of John Miller, who was the claimed brother of Trenton Miller, the name
Fergus used outside the farmhouse.

She’d been to the
barracks, asking in her best Northern English after news of John Miller. She’d combed the nearby villages for news of local men who’d been in the fighting. But nothing had come of it.

And since the last of the army had returned,
she’d taken to sitting in a rocking chair in front of the house, alternately rocking one of Brighde’s twin boys until he slept.

Sometimes, Elena would sit with her, when there was no need for help in the kitchen or the field. She’d taken quite a shine to growing things and helped as much with the herb garden and the fruit trees and the crops as she did with anything else. It had been a long summer.

Anne was certain that, given the whirlwind of their meeting, her love for Aedan would wane and leave her with only a desire to protect Elena.

But instead, her love for him, her desire for him, her need for him… they had grown into such a monster, they consumed her days and nights. She spent her days rocking little John and little Jacob, wishing that Aedan had at least left her carrying his child so she would have this kind of physical memory of their love. But he had not. She spent her nights awake, holding her stomach, wishing it were his arm there instead of hers, and unable to lose the feeling that she would
be sick at any moment. She was certain she’d dropped weight in the days she couldn’t eat, even though there were as many days lately that she craved everything on the table and ate more than her share. But everything was empty without Aedan.

When Brighde wasn’t around, Elena encouraged her to forget him, to find another young man to fill her thoughts, but Anne couldn’t get him out of her mind. The kind of man who would sacrifice himself for her happiness. How could she forget a man like that? She never would.

John had been sleeping fitfully that day and when Brighde came outside to nurse him, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud and they had their first truly sunny day in weeks. The autumn had been unseasonably cold and Fergus worried they wouldn’t get the harvest in before it snowed. He spent his days wandering the field and the grove, worrying over his crops, most of the time with either Rosie or Elena with him, carrying a basket in case they found apples that were ready to be picked or berries that looked ripe enough to eat. Today, they’d come back with an impressive number of ready apples, and they’d been much larger and tastier than Anne could remember having.

Brighde took John from Anne’s arms and
began to suckle him. Anne watched with some jealousy. She knew that Brighde would gladly have given her the ability to nurse the boys as well, if she could have, for having to nurse twins took nearly all the time of the day, between the two of them.

“He’s been fussy all morning.” Brighde held the little head to her breast and made encouraging noises. “There you are, my boy.”

“It’s been warmer than we’re used to.” Anne glanced around the house toward the sun and offered a small smile. “He might just be too warm.”

Brighde unwrapped the small bundle so that all he wore was the tiny
cloth and he settled right into his feeding.

“Thank you, Anne. I never would have thought to do that.”

“That’s because you’re his mother. You always think of keeping him warm.”

Brighde’s wide smile always reminded Anne of Aedan, and a joyous moment turned suddenly somber as Anne felt the tears threatening behind her eyes.

“You miss him every day.” Brighde’s voice was soft, but obviously not meant for her infant son.

“Every day.”

“I wish we knew more about the battle.”

Anne picked up the ends of her apron and fanned herself with the light cloth. “We know as much as we’ll know, I fear. I’ve asked everywhere, been to the barracks. No one knows anything. Or if they do, they won’t know that John Miller and Aedan Donne are the same man, and so wouldn’t know to tell me.”

“Fergus claimed him. They’ll know him as John Miller.”

Anne nodded.
Fergus had explained that if a stranger was claimed as family by someone known to have lived in the area for an extended time, their questions were waived.

But if they’d been fighting in Scotland, and near Stirling no less, she worried that Aedan would have been seen. Why would he ever have agreed to this, knowing what could happen?

Anne wiped at the corners of her eyes. “John Miller is likely dead. And they’ll bring his body here for me to bury and I’ll be forced to go to…”

“We could stay here.” Brighde filled the silence left by Anne’s uncertainty. She didn’t want to be in a new country, in what would amount to a new life without Aedan.

This wasn’t a new life for her. It was Purgatory. With cherubic babies instead of demons. But Purgatory.

And she had done her waiting.

But with every passing day, she woke fearing this would be the day she would have to bury her love and become Annabeth Miller for all time, without John Miller at her side.

The baby burbled at his mother’s breast and Anne glanced down at his angelic face. She even saw Aedan in little John. Or the promise of Aedan. Perhaps it was the promise of her own little John that she saw there, but he tightened her insides and made the tears come a little faster each time she allowed her mind to dwell there.

Anne wiped at her eyes again and looked up at the meadow. Something was moving and she shielded her eyes, expecting to see Elena and Fergus moving in the orchard. Instead, she saw a group of men on the King’s road, not far away. Soldiers in full uniform. They marched in a tight formation around a cart pulled by two oxen.

Anne’s breath stilled and she instinctively reached for Brighde’s hand. Both women watched the cart turn off the road and make its way next to the orchard toward the house. The soldiers moved with such swiftness. This was a death cart.

Her heart broke in that moment. The only reason they would be coming here was to deliver her
husband’s
dead body. And he truly was her husband, in every manner of speaking. While he had not taken her as a husband would, she had given him her body, soul, and spirit. She belonged to him. Loved him. And he was hers.

With shaking legs, Anne stood from her chair and walked out to meet the death cart.

One of the soldiers saluted and stepped away from the rest. He was a short, barrel-chested man whose blonde curls feathered out the back of his helmet. When he removed the helmet, the abject sadness on his face took Anne’s breath.

“Are you Annabeth Miller?”

Anne didn’t even try to stop the tears as they washed over her cheeks. She nodded.

“Captain Gerald Addicott.” He saluted
again. “On behalf of his majesty, King Edward of England, the first of his name, sovereign of the realm and lord commander of all loyal men of England, we wish to thank you for the service of your husband, one John Miller, to the throne and the crown.”

Anne sank to her knees in front of the cart. She remembered the day she’d been told of this nefarious plot. How the king paid for bodies. She had never believed for a moment that Aedan would be one of them. He was too strong, too savvy, too smart. Certainly, he would have survived. It was this John Miller, husband of the simpering Annabeth Miller, who had died. Not her Aedan. Surely.

“Because of his death in the Battle of Stirling Bridge, himself being young and virile and dead before his time, King Edward has promised to pay you, his widow, for the wages of his life. We hope that by his service to England, you will be proud, and by your compensation, you will be able to live your life in peace, as though he be still by your side.”

The words rang hollow, as though the captain knew how little they would help, but was bound to say them, nonetheless.

Two soldiers stepped forward and leaned into the cart to pluck something from its bowels. When they lifted it from the back of the cart, Anne could feel her life crumbling before her.

“Aedan,” she whispered. Then, remembering herself, cried out, “John!” and ran toward the body. The Captain stopped her. “Because of the manner of his death, my lady, we ask that you not look on him.”

“The manner of his death?”

“The enemy set the battlefield afire to divide the troops and those of our men on the fire line were burned quite badly.”

The closer they brought the body, the more she could smell the stench. Charred and rotting flesh. It brought a fresh wave of nausea with it.

She sagged against the captain and fell to her knees again. “How do you identify the body?”

“The men fighting with him, and the contents of his pockets and retinue.”

The two soldiers set him down several feet from her. One of them drew his sword and used the tip to draw the gold chain up and reveal the amulet. The one they had stolen from her mother. At the end of the same gold chain.

The other soldier reached nearly to the ground, then drew Aedan’s sword from the scabbard strapped over his back and Anne nodded. That had, indeed been his sword. This was her Aedan. Charred, rotting, dead.

“Oh, God, no.” She pounded at the Captain’s chest and fell all the way to the ground, sobbing. “Please, why?”

The Captain released her. “We are grateful for his service to the Crown and want to offer you this sad recompense for his life.” He forced a pouch into her hand, heavy with coin.

Anne turned it over and over in her hand. This was it. This was why Aedan had left, had given his life. So she could hold in her hands the means to make the rest of the payment to Reva. He had known their silver would be short. He had arranged with
Fergus and Molnar to trade his life for hers.

Tears flooded her eyes, blurring the brown sack of money. She heaved back and threw it toward the orchard.

The Captain backed up and called his men back into formation.

“I don’t want your blasted money,” she screamed as loud as her voice would allow. “Just bring me my husband back. Right now.” A wordless howl escaped her lips and her chest felt like it might collapse in upon itself. “Take your widow’s tax. I want my husband.”

The Captain gave the order for the men to withdraw. But he stepped forward and put his hand on Anne’s shoulder. “I know how much love there was between you and your husband. I knew him.”

Anne looked up into his blue-grey eyes, searching for some sign that he knew Aedan, that he would return him to her. But she met only sadness. “John was a good man. He talked of little else but you. Your beauty, your grace, your goodness.
I know if he could have returned to you, he would have.” The Captain smiled. “This is small consolation, I know, in the face of losing him, but he loved you.”

Anne dropped her head into her hands. “But did he know?”

“Pardon me?”

She sobbed into the dark of her memory. “Did he know how much I loved him?”

The Captain squeezed her shoulder. He must have called for someone to come to her, because she soon felt Brighde’s arms around her.

“He knew you loved him.”

“But did he know how much?”

The Captain released her. “He was the most uncomplicated man I’ve ever known. The only things on his mind were his sister and her baby, and his wife. He must have felt love, or else why would he have done what he did?”

Anne smiled through her tears. “Because he was the best man, Captain. The best there has ever been and the best there ever will be. He loved without thought of having that love returned, and he sacrificed without the promise of being rewarded. There is no love more selfless than the love my husband bore me. And there will never be another like him.”

The Captain offered more condolences, but Anne could barely hear him. The realization of Aedan’s death came slow, and in waves, and after the last one, she couldn’t see or hear or think of anything except the desolation of her life without him.

*****

Aedan Donne rose from the dead that day. Or that’s how he would have described the feeling to someone who could understand what it meant to be utterly hopeless and then find the most wonderful treasure that brought boundless hope back into his world.