Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) Page 10

  The pain was growing fiercer with every step he took. Once, wading across a rushing stream, Alexander became dizzy, nearly losing his balance, but Kenna was beside him in an instant. Somehow, they kept moving.

  Later—how much later he didn’t know—as they climbed a slippery track, he stopped to catch his breath. Trying to focus on the hill ahead, he saw Jock scramble up through some boulders at the summit. Alexander looked back across the mist-enshrouded valley. There was no sign of Maxwell’s men, but he knew they had to be coming. And he knew he was making it easier for the pursuers to overtake them. What was worse, it appeared that the rain was easing a little. The mist was dissipating.

  “Do you need to rest?”

  “Nay.” He started up the incline and stumbled over a rock, wincing with pain. She took hold of his arm.

  “We need to stop,” she said.

  “We can’t,” he replied. “They’re following us. Traveling faster. With the rain stopping, they’ll find us.” And I don’t know how much protection I can offer, he finished silently.

  “Let me help you.”

  “Stop fretting over me.”

  “Fretting? It’ll be a cold summer in hell before I fret over you. Now put your arm on my shoulder.”

  At the crest of the hill, the boy was waiting. Outcroppings of stone were visible as far as he could see in either direction along the ridge.

  Alexander eased himself down onto a boulder and turned to Kenna.

  “We part ways here,” he told her. “You and Jock will go on without me. You can find your way to Oban by midday tomorrow if I’m not slowing you down.”

  “I’ll do as I want.” She took his hand in hers. “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “Kenna, I’m telling you to go. You’ll find Macphersons in Oban—or those who know us. Send back whoever you find there. I’ll be waiting.”

  “You’ve lost your senses. You might as well order these rocks to walk to Oban.”

  It was impossible to imagine her more disheveled or more beautiful. This was the way he’d always remember her. Temper bringing color to her cheeks. She was ready for battle. A knot tightened in his throat. His wife.

  “These last days,” he said, “in spite of anger, injury, or danger, you’ve stayed beside me. You’ve done your duty. But now you need to be reasonable. For both of our sakes.”

  She snorted.

  “We can’t fight them here if . . . when they catch up to us. You need to go and get help.”

  “We both know that I can’t get back here quickly enough. We stay together.”

  “Listen to me, Kenna. Any fool can see that you care for me, but—”

  “You’re a fool if you think I care a straw about you.”

  Her eyes and her actions contradicted the words. And her response to him in the fishing hut before Jock arrived and interrupted them told him all he needed to know. They were together, and they had to learn how to maneuver the rough waters. But she needed to listen to him now.

  “If you don’t care, why are you still here?” He brushed a streak of dirt from her cheek.

  “Why?” Kenna pushed his hand away. “Because you carry a sword. And you’ve shown that you’re worth having around in a fight.”

  “You’re not too bad yourself. Lethal, with that dagger of yours.”

  “A good thing to keep in mind. I may still use it on you.”

  “Too late. I know you won’t make me bleed. Not after saving my life.”

  “You’re a greater simpleton than I thought,” she said. “And you must be too muddleheaded to remember. I warned you yesterday and I’m warning you today. I’ll not have some Lowland dog wearing English fancy pants killing you. I’m the only one to do it.”

  “Do you think I could forget such sweet talk?” He smiled, respecting her hardiness. “It’s time you followed your husband’s orders.”

  “You must take me for the mother of fools.”

  “Not yet. But if that’s what we’re blessed with, so be it.”

  “Now you listen, Alexander Macpherson. I decided yesterday that I’m staying with you until we reach Oban, no matter what comes of it. So stop giving orders. You’re not in charge here. I am.”

  “Is that so? Has the world turned upside down? And do you have a satchel with you to carry my balls in?”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “You’re going to Oban.”

  “Aye, with you.”

  Kenna walked away and waved to the boy, who had been keeping his distance.

  Alexander wasn’t done arguing with her. But he couldn’t keep up the pretense of strength. He felt hollow, exhausted. His body was giving out. He had no open wounds now that he was aware of, but his gut felt like it had been ripped asunder and stuffed with hot, writhing eels. And each time he moved, it was getting worse. He realized that his mind was wandering. Perhaps he was finally dying.

  He heard Kenna’s voice, but he wasn’t sure if any time had passed. She sounded distant. Or maybe she was inside his head. He couldn’t tell the difference.

  “Jock, do you know where we can get out of this weather?”

  “No hut that I know of. Wait—there is a place. Over that way. But I don’t think . . .” The boy’s voice faltered as if he had misgivings about what he’d admitted.

  “Tell us,” Kenna ordered. “Where? How do we get there? How far?”

  “A cave, of sorts. It’s in the dark wood not far from here. But no one goes there.”

  “Even better. Take us to it.”

  “It’s not a good place. Ghosts and fairy folk live there. It’s where they bring stolen bairns and lost children and roast ’em over a pit. The cave has bones piled high as the moon. They say the witches gather there on . . .” He stopped.

  “Take us there now, Jock,” she ordered quietly.

  Alexander twisted at the waist as a searing bolt tore through his belly. He wanted to stay here. He wanted them to go. He wanted Kenna safe and far away.

  “Come and help me.” Kenna’s voice rang in his ear. “Now.”

  He looked up into her eyes. She looped his arm over her shoulder. Jock was at his other side, trying to lift him off the rock.

  “I know you’re in pain. But you need to help us.”

  “Go to Oban,” he ordered.

  She touched his cheek and looked into his eyes. Her words were a whisper, intended only for him. “I need to help you heal. But we’re too exposed here in the open. The fog can lift any moment. We will be seen from below. So if you’re worried about me, if you care for me at all, stand up. Help us however you can.”

  Alexander cared for her . . . far more than he’d ever shown. Holding onto them both, he pushed to his feet. He didn’t know where he summoned the strength. The hills around him were a distorted haze that wavered with every movement of his head. He forced himself to move his feet where Kenna and Jock guided him. As they went, she continued to whisper words of encouragement.

  They descended from the crest a short distance and then followed the ridge until they entered the darkness of a forest. The scent of pine filled his head and the bed of needles beneath his feet was soft and inviting. How long they traveled, he had no idea, but suddenly the boy stopped dead.

  “Come on,” Kenna said.

  “This is as far as I go. I’ll not go closer.”

  “I can’t hold him up on my own.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s the place. There. At the edge of the clearing, where the ground drops off, you’ll see the entrance.”

  Alexander focused. Just below them, huge slabs of rock stood in a circle. He’d seen other places like this. From the old religion. Through a break in the trees beyond it, the vista opened onto another rugged valley below.

  “Then wait here and keep watch,” Kenna ordered.

  Jock shrugged and backed away. “There’s danger here. Souls of the dead, fairies, ghouls.”

  “You need to be a man now,” she told the boy. “Those curs following us are the real danger. Understand me
?”

  Alexander did all he could to help her, and somehow he and Kenna lurched across the circle. Suddenly, the misty rain gave way to the cold dampness of a cave. The smell of the grave invaded his senses. They pushed deeper into the half-darkness. Never in his life had he felt less prepared or less capable of dealing with whatever lay ahead.

  “This is far enough away from the entry,” she whispered.

  She helped him sit, and Alexander leaned back against the damp rock wall. He wanted to close his eyes, but the thought occurred to him that he might never open them again.

  “You got your way,” he murmured. “You brought me here. Now go to Oban and send someone back.”

  “Hush.” She knelt beside him and caressed his brow. She pulled his tartan off his shoulder and moved the shirt away from the wound. Her fingers touched his skin. Warmth instantly replaced pain. As she prodded the flesh below the wound, he felt a stirring in his loins.

  “Would you tease me like this when I’m not ready for you? Go to Oban. I’ll be waiting for you here when you come back with help. Ready and rested.”

  “Close your eyes. Let me do what I must.”

  He wanted to watch her. But his body was spent. He drifted off, vaguely aware of the feathery touch of her hand and how the pain dissolved wherever she stroked.

  Hovering somewhere between reality and dreams, Alexander saw the two of them together in an open meadow. Kenna’s hair was a cascade of curls on the green grass, her eyes shining with desire. He kissed her lips, and her arms encircled him, drawing him deeper into the embrace.

  He wanted her. He wanted to make love to her. He touched her face and ran his hand down her neck and breast, along her stomach and legs until he reached the hem of her skirt. He slid it up.

  “Is it time, lass?”

  “It’s time, Alexander.”

  “We’ve waited so long. Too long.”

  “Wake up, Alexander.”

  He blinked a few times, and the cool darkness of the cave returned, replacing the warm sun of the meadow. He turned his head in the direction of her voice. Kenna’s face came into focus. She was crouching beside him.

  “We need to go. I just went out to check on Jock. The boy’s gone.”

  How does a king conquer a country? He raises an army.

  And how does a king raise an army? thought Evers. He calls on his dukes and his earls, who call on their barons and knights, who drag their peasants from their plows and their scythes and their flocks and their herds. They put a lance or a bow or a sword in their hands and tell them, “Do your duty, for God and King Henry.”

  But how long will duty keep them at their killing task?

  And how do I raise an army? I start with duty. I tell them, “For God and country, and good Sir Ralph.”

  And how do I keep them when duty grows old and the harvest at home is ready to take in?

  Gold.

  The fields and the flocks will wait while I have gold to share. And share it I will, with Englishman and Scot, if they will fight for me.

  Gold. I know now it is only a means to the end.

  Aye, before I am finished, I will be king of Scotland.

  Then perhaps greater still.

  And in the meantime, we will enjoy this hunt a’ force. We have good game in this woman who carries the healing stone. She is no doe, but a hart of ten, and the antlers are sharp. That is what makes the game worth playing: the risk of loss elevates the stakes . . . and the gain. And how is a kingdom won without the hunter’s skill?

  I will take that stone, as the chess player takes the queen. For then I am master of the game. I will have that piece. Even now, I drive her into the corner where she will fall.

  I have heard the horn calls from my hunters in the west, and I know I have flushed out the hart. The chase was good, and the prey is now cornered. At bay. The hounds close in on all sides. There will be no escape.

  My arrows will find their mark, and I will break the body of the slain hart. The choicest meat will go on the stick.

  And the second stone will be mine.

  Chapter 13

  Done to death by slanderous tongues.

  The trees thinned as they made their way out of a woody glen and climbed to the top of another rise. In the grassy meadow that spread out below, a half dozen deer raised their speckled heads and then moved off.

  Kenna shielded her eyes and looked to the west. The sun, now a disk of burnt gold, rested on a purple hill. Above her two hawks wheeled in great arcs, gliding effortlessly across the clearing sky.

  She wished one of them would dive and pluck her off this hill and carry her away.

  Or better yet, carry off Alexander and his questions about how she healed him.

  Alexander had regained the vigor he had prior to his injury. Dogging her every step, he now wouldn’t shut up, constantly badgering her with questions. Kenna remained silent, hoping he’d give up. But the man was tenacious, to say the least.

  What was worse, she couldn’t ignore the feeling she had when she’d touched him back in the cave. Once she knew he no longer suffered, her curiosity took charge. The heat racing through her that had nothing to do with the stone, nothing to do with healing him. When she touched him, something thrilling vibrated deep in her belly, resonating in the very core of her womanhood.

  She wanted him. It was as simple as that. Running her hands over his skin, feeling the ripples of muscle on his arms and chest, the lines that cut downward along his abdomen. As much as her brain wanted to keep him at arm’s length, her body wanted him closer. Much closer.

  “There must be something you can tell me to explain it. There must be rational explanation to whatever it was that you did to me.”

  She wished she could explain. Hovering over him in that cave, Kenna had hoped there was reason for the way her hands warmed. She yearned to know why her mind knew instinctively where he hurt. But she couldn’t find a logical reason.

  She no longer doubted the magic of the stone. And she was afraid.

  Descending the hill, she could see a loch in the distance. It didn’t appear to open out into the sea. It grew narrower and then disappeared into a forest glen. She directed her steps toward the upper end.

  “If it’s black magic, or white, tell me. I deserve to know if a coven of druids will be coming in the night to nail my heart to some oak tree. Where does the power come from?”

  Kenna only wished she understood it herself. One thing she knew: the stone dangling between her breasts was a danger to her, and she was at a loss how to handle it. The relic was not only a gift, but also a curse. Women were tortured, hanged, and burned for the gift she now seemed to possess. She knew in her heart that she needed to use it for good, but how could she protect herself at the same time?

  She had so many unanswered questions. Where did the stone come from? How did her mother come to have it? Why didn’t she warn Kenna about it? Why had no one else used it since Sine’s death? It was a fragment of something larger. But what?

  And Alexander kept rattling off even more questions in her ear. But how could she answer him when she didn’t know herself? And to whom could she go for answers? And besides, was it right to burden him with such an enormous secret as this, when it would accomplish nothing but put him in danger, too?

  “Talk to me, Kenna.”

  She glanced up at the setting sun. “It will be dark soon. We’ll be sleeping in the open. Perhaps we should have stayed in the cave.”

  “Too late to go back there.”

  “Do you think Jock went back to his village?”

  Alexander shook his head. “He’s out here somewhere, looking for his kinfolk.”

  “I hope he finds them.”

  “Do you? The first thing he’s going to tell them is that a witch is drinking Macpherson blood in a cave beneath the circle of stones.”

  “Jock is just a boy repeating old ghost stories that were told to him to keep him from wandering off in the dark,” she said dismissively. “Who would believe h
im?”

  “Probably the ignorant folk who told him the stories to begin with. The same folk who would stay far away from that place.”

  “There was nothing strange about the circle of stones or that cave.” She plucked a yellow flower from a shrub as she walked. “We might catch up to him.”

  “We might,” he said with a smile. “Unless you turned him into a toad and have him snug in your pocket.”

  “That’s not funny.” Kenna turned to him, tired of the not-so-subtle hints and accusations. “But since you’re so afraid of me, perhaps it would be better if we parted ways right now. I can go east and you can go west.”

  “Afraid?” he scoffed. “I fear nothing. And I’m certainly not afraid of you. I asked a reasonable question.”

  “Oh, was there a reasonable question hidden among the hundreds you’ve been spouting for the past few hours? I don’t know how I missed it. Oh, I know: I wasn’t listening.”

  “I have a right to know how my wife can heal without stitches or bandages or herbs.”

  “So you have a ‘right’ to know?”

  “Aye, and you’ve had plenty of chances to answer. But why do you choose not to?”

  “Because I don’t understand what happened to you. I don’t know how I healed you.” She spoke the truth. To tell him the stone did it was no answer.

  Her outburst stopped him. But only for a moment.

  “I bled buckets yesterday. And you managed to stop the bleeding. And today, I felt as if someone were gutting me from the inside out. And you made the pain disappear.” He put a hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face him. “How?”

  Kenna shook her head. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she figured out what it was that she possessed. They were married. But they weren’t. He’d requested annulment. It wasn’t fair to burden him into her secret.

  “Your wound was not as bad as you think it was.”

  He snorted.

  “It just took some proper care.”

  “And what is proper care?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his words.