My love he stood for his true king
“My Love He Was a Highland Lad,” Jacobite Reliques
What the hell had just happened? Traci scrambled to not only straighten her skirts but also to wrangle her emotions.
And tried not to feel hurt at his dismissal. And how right she’d been.
But as she re-braided her hair, the humiliating wave crested and her familiar self eased back in. Who needed guys? He was doing her a favor.
When she tied off the end of her braid, she raked him up and down with her eyes, making sure he saw her. “Yep. Men in kilts are hot, all right.”
She smiled at his stunned face, gave her skirts another tug, and began walking back to camp.
“Wait.”
Her stupid heart leapt. Maybe…she’d been wrong about him.
She turned.
“Your sister. This is the perfect chance. You need to leave. Now. They plan to take you back to Invergarry castle on the way to Dundee.”
She swallowed her disappointment. Of course. Fiona.
“Will they just let me leave?”
“I’m betting they’re too focused on getting to the rendezvous point now to care, or to take the time to hunt after you. But to be safe…”
To her astonishment, he grabbed a good-sized rock and bashed it against his forehead. He barely staggered, but blood was running fast down his face. He threw the rock down and jabbed his thumb behind him. “Go. Quickly. To the farmer like we planned. He’ll help you. Tell him you’re my wife. He speaks English.”
She stumbled forward a few steps, searching his face for any sign. Any sign at all. Of what?
She was an idiot. But as she passed by him, her gaze locked with his.
Was it only her stupid hard-to-kill romantic heart that saw his tight jaw muscles and the emotion flaring in his eyes and interpreted it as something more?
“Bye,” she whispered. And blindly tore down the ravine, her tears obscuring and refracting the way forward into swaths of green, gray, purple.
Iain rubbed his forehead as he stomped back into the camp. He’d been a little too enthusiastic in the bashing of his own head.
He smiled, though it was a pained smile, stiff and edged with all the sharpness at her departure. In truth, he had been so angry at himself, her, and his clan that he’d near caused himself to pass out. As it was, his vision had blurred, and he’d had to lock his knees and blink to see her clearly as she’d jogged past him.
He’d given her a few moments to get away, and now it was time. He clenched his jaw. Time to do his duty to his clan.
The questions peppered him as soon as he entered the camp. Several jumped to their feet. “We must go after her,” one growled.
Iain glared and barked out, “Ah, leave off, will ye? You’re all a bunch of kale-eaters, all worked up over one wee lass. What can she do now, even if she were a spy? Tell someone we’re on our way to Dundee? So what! We’ll be there before they can be.” He chopped his hand down. “Let’s go. We have a king to put back on the throne.” The rest of them could go to hell for all he cared.
His rare show of temper, and their need for haste, stayed the men.
But anger was all he had left after watching her run away like that. Run away from him.
Women. He’d never understand them. Maybe he should take a break from them. He snatched up his belongings and saddled his mount, his whole body vibrating with the hurt and anger coursing through him. He caught sight of Glenfiddich, who neighed. Iain closed his eyes and swallowed before stomping over and securing her to his saddle.
Later that day, as Iain followed the others in their frantic ride through Lochaber to reach the rest of the clan at Blair Castle, Duncan drew alongside.
“You made the right decision.”
Iain’s anger was muted now, though it still kept his body taut in his saddle. All afternoon, he’d relived their parting. “Then why does it feel like the wrong one?”
“Sometimes that’s how it feels. Especially when you wish to follow both paths.”
Iain grunted and stared ahead. “This is why I’m not fit to lead.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Don’t toy with me, Duncan. I’m not in the mood. Remember, I’m the frivolous one.”
“Because you let others view you that way.”
“What’s the difference?”
Duncan reined in his horse and turned it toward him, blocking his way. “The difference, damn it all, is that you’re the rightful chieftain.”
“That may be. But it does not mean I should. You know the truth.”
“Is this about that fool nonsense your father uttered when he died?”
Anger, hotter than before, blurred the edges of his vision red. “Died. Aye. At my hand, let us not forget.”
“How can I when you won’t let anyone else forget? It was wrong of your father to say that.”
“It was true nonetheless.”
“How old were you?”
“Old enough.”
“Perhaps, but you talk about decisions and how you’re incapable of them. Did you know it was a poor decision of your father’s that put us there to begin with?”
Iain’s gaze sharpened.
Duncan held up a hand. “Your father was a great chieftain, don’t mistake me. No one would deny that. One of the best in the Highlands, many have said. But it doesn’t mean he always made the right decisions. That excursion to aid the Macleans against the Campbells was only to be that. A show of strength to encourage Argyll to rethink his plans to invade Mull. But on the way home, your father decided to have a wee bit of fun with a cattle raid. You’d been serious enough in the fight against the Campbells, but the spontaneity of the raid affected you. Your father should have known better than to push and pull you through such swings of emotions after your first battle. We should have gone straight home. Instead, you were almost giddy in the release of tension. No one blamed you. Except for yourself.”
Iain nudged his mount to push past Duncan, but his cousin gripped his arm, staying him. “We all make mistakes.” And then he broke into a grin. “Even old Glengarry couldn’t keep ahold of one wee lass.”
Iain’s eyes narrowed a bit at the way Duncan seemed to say the last two words, with a touch of softness. But he yanked his arm from Duncan’s grasp, unwilling to listen to more. There was only one thing he wanted to focus on right now, and that was the upcoming battle looming over the horizon. He wished to lose himself in that battle and forget all of his troubles. Forget how he was responsible for his father’s death. Forget how Traci left him with nary a regret crossing her pretty features.