The pain in Caird’s head was excruciating. His side burned, stinging pinpricks needled him along his arms and legs letting him know he suffered from many wounds. He knew they could be ignored. But he couldn’t ignore the tight grip on his arm, or Mairead shouting at him.
He forced his eyes open. Her face was close. He could feel the fan of her breath, see the frantic worry in her eyes.
‘Danger?’ he whispered. ‘Where?’
His eyes searched and could see nothing but her.
He moved to sit up. Searing pain pulled at his skin. Mairead pushed him down; she was telling him something, her words fast.
Blood rushed to his ears as he tried to roll to his side. He stopped, unsure if he’d black out or be sick. When he could control both, he opened his eyes again.
Mairead had moved with him. He tried to focus on her words.
Horse, something about a horse. He had fallen from it. Safe.
Pulling up his tunic, he could see his flesh cut, red, burnt...crooked. He prodded it with his fingers. Sore, but no blood. The wound was sealed.
They were safe, alive, but she was gesturing as if they were not. He focused.
‘—Horse!’ she said, her breath coming in pants, but there was a look of pride in her eyes.
He dropped his shaking arm to his side. ‘My head...hurts.’
‘Have you heard anything I’ve said?’ she asked, her tone strident.
Looking around, he didn’t see their horse. ‘Where’s the horse?’ he said.
‘Sick!’ she said. ‘Oh, I’m so relieved. I thought you’d be angry. But now you understand?’
Not a word. Why would she be this proud over a sick horse? They rode it hard, maybe it was worse. He rolled on to his back and almost blacked out. ‘How?’
‘Enough to slow him down, which is why—’
He raised his hand to stop her. He needed facts now. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Are you following what I’m saying?’ she asked pointedly.
She was frustrated with him and desperate. He didn’t understand or like her desperation.
He needed an explanation. Just now, he didn’t want to jump to assumptions, didn’t want to think he’d been asleep for days and left her alone and vulnerable. ‘Need to know.’
She raised her arms in frustration. ‘Ach! You’ve been asleep all night. It’s the middle of the day now. I’ve been trying to tell you, but you’re not listening. You blacked out. I couldn’t do anything to wake you. We were left out in the open and there was that fire.’
Mairead looked at him, as if waiting for a response. He rubbed his forehead, trying to alleviate the pain, but it didn’t help. In this condition, he couldn’t travel on foot.
‘Where’s the horse?’ he asked.
She waved to her right.
He peered into the trees. ‘That’s not my horse.’
Exhaling, she said, ‘That’s what I’ve been telling you. We have to hurry.’
He closed his eyes, became dizzy and opened them again. His vision did not clear. It was not his horse. What had happened to his horse? He’d been asleep and it was day again. He feared the answer. ‘Where did that horse come from?’
She crossed her arms, but her teeth drew in her lips. She was irritated and unsure. ‘You’ve been asleep. He came. There was nothing else I could do. You doona look well.’
He came. ‘The Englishman?’ Rage, and something akin to fear, swept through his weakened body.
‘Of course the Englishman! It’s not as if you’d killed them all before we fled.’
He only had the strength to clench the mud beneath him, when all he wanted to do was shake her. ‘Are you hurt?’
She released her arms and leaned over him. ‘Nae, nae, I’m unharmed. But you’re awake now, and we need to make haste if we are to catch up with him.’
Incredulousness caused a slight slackening to his jaw, but did nothing to stop the foreboding building within him. Then the stark realisation of her meaning slid down his spine like ice water, fast, cold, shocking. Everything was lost.
While he had lain defenceless, the Englishman had come and relieved them of the jewel and all the promise it represented. Devastation and dizziness almost overpowered him and he struggled to stay awake.
‘The gem,’ he said. ‘He has the gem.’
‘Aye, he has the gem,’ Mairead said, impatience lacing every word. ‘You look pale. You’re too poorly. I doona think we can go after him.’
‘Are you saying—?’ Black spots were before his eyes. ‘Are you saying,’ he repeated, ‘that the jewel is gone?’
She lifted her chin a bit more. ‘I did the best I could under the circumstances. I thought you’d understand by now.’
He didn’t even have the strength of a babe and the weight of the loss was crushing him further into the mud. ‘I need to eat,’ he demanded.
‘I have nae food; I didn’t know if—’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll go and look for something.’
Caird was grateful when Mairead left for the woods. He didn’t know what she would find there, but it didn’t matter. Anything was better than nothing.
His horse had supplies. Had she bargained for those as she must have done for her life and his?
The risks she took; how she must have feared.
And the jewel. Gone. He tried to concentrate on it. But all he could see was him lying on the ground, Mairead over him. Her bargaining with a monster.
He had deserted her, and she had faced the Englishman alone.
After everything they had been through together, he’d lost the Jewel of Kings to an Englishman. As if Scotland, as if he, could take another loss after Dunbar. For a moment, he had held Scotland’s hope—his brother’s salvation—and now it was gone. The Clan of Colquhoun would weep at his folly.
* * *
Mairead foraged for water and berries. The Englishman had given her a bare handful of food from Caird’s plentiful supplies. A handful. Enough for her since he hadn’t expected Caird to live. But she was grateful for that handful now. Berries were scant and her hands shook so she dropped more than she could hold. Caird was alive, but he didn’t appreciate what had happened. She had to make him understand.
When she returned, Caird looked little better than he had before. But he had moved himself out of the puddle and was half sitting, the cloak stuffed behind him. He watched the fire she had built up after the Englishman left.
‘You moved?’ She knelt beside him to inspect the wound. ‘You could have undone everything.’ There was no damage, but it didn’t stop her irritation. She pooled the berries on leaves next to him and threw the water skein and oatcakes in his lap.
Caird frowned and picked at the bounty before him.
‘This is all I could find. I never learned to build traps.’ She waved towards the woods. ‘But there’s water nearby. I already had my fill. This is for you.’
He took the skein, but didn’t drink. Instead he sloshed the remainder from side to side. His movements were slow, methodical and she knew he was weighing his words as he weighed the water. ‘Was he alone?’
Not the question she expected. ‘Aye, at least, I didn’t see anyone else.’ She sat beside him.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
Caird’s expression was grim. She could see a burning frustration there, but also a heaviness that burdened his broad shoulders. The gem. Always that ugly rock. But she’d take his arrogance over this Caird. This one she didn’t understand.
‘I need to tell you—’
Caird glanced at her, but it was enough to stop her words. She was frustrated, but his silence was tumultuous, and it stormed against her. Shaking her head against it, she rallied. She had to tell him. ‘He took the gem, but I gave him the horse. I hope it’ll be enough to—’
‘Nae,’ Caird interrupted, his voice low, but not soft. ‘After you put the blade to me. After I abandoned you, when did that monster appear?’
She didn’t understand his questions, but she thought she understood his anger. She’d lost the gem.
Maybe she could have done more to save it. Maybe, if she could have thought, but when faced with the Englishman, she could barely comprehend anything above her fear. Now the gem was gone, and Caird needed facts and answers. She must tell him from the beginning.
Tucking her legs underneath her, she grabbed some berries. She’d eaten enough for a belly ache, but they gave her something to do with her hands.
‘It was the fire,’ she said. ‘He found us because of the fire.’
Caird’s hands showed white on the skein before he released them.
‘Then he laughed,’ she said. Ice-cold fear had flushed through her at the sound. She knew then that, despite Caird killing those men and their race to escape, it had all been for naught. They were going to die and Caird would never wake to realise it.
But she had been awake and for a frozen moment she’d felt the cowardly desire to close her eyes as well.
‘He laughed,’ she said again. ‘He seemed very pleased and I was surprised when he sheathed his sword.’
She had stood then, refusing to kneel before the Englishman. He had been gleeful at her defiance, while Caird lay wounded at her feet.
‘He spoke of my ignorance about the gem and your imminent death.’
She breathed in, held it. ‘He didn’t think you’d survive.’ She exhaled, getting the worst of the story out. ‘I didn’t either. You were very pale and there was so much blood.’
She tried to give him a little smile, some encouragement since he was, indeed, alive and well, but Caird didn’t look at her and his expression remained unreadable.
Not knowing what else to do, she nibbled a berry. It wasn’t sweet. ‘He said he had won as though it was some game. Your fate made nae difference to him. He had taken a great prize from you, so he’d won the game. I didn’t contradict him; I didn’t dare stop his speech. I thought as long as he kept talking, he wasn’t killing me.’
Caird made some sound deep in his chest, but he did not look at her. The colour in his cheeks had improved. He would live. He would live and things would be better now.
She took in a shaking breath. It had taken all her strength to stay upright before the Englishman. She’d been petrified; the trembling in her body weakening her knees to the point she thought she’d collapse.
‘I didn’t care if he won; I knew I’d lost. I’d lost everything.’ Her mouth was dry, so she ate another berry. It was sweet, juicy and she had trouble swallowing it.
‘Then...he smiled again. He smiled and I didn’t ken the words he was saying because his pale eyes went black.’
Caird looked at her then. ‘He hurt you.’
Her hand fluttered, but trembled too much for her to gesture properly. ‘Nae, he didn’t touch me, didn’t even threaten me.’
‘You expected his sword.’
‘Aye,’ she whispered. She looked around her, trying to shake her thoughts. ‘But he was telling me I’d live. All I had to do was hand over the dagger and gem as well as your sword and he would let me keep some food.’ She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. ‘So I did. I gave them to him.’
He searched her eyes. ‘You expect me to be angry with you?’
She did. For days they’d been fighting over the gem and dagger. He was angry now. She felt his rage.
‘How could I be disappointed in you?’ he asked.
She didn’t understand his surprise and she didn’t understand the way he was looking at her now. As if he was searching her soul.
Avoiding his eyes, she looked at the fire instead. ‘Then he just left,’ she said, ignoring his question. ‘Not believing he’d keep his word, I watched him go.’ Talking of the Englishman was easier than answering Caird’s questions. Even if she wasn’t telling him all.
The Englishman hadn’t just gone. When she’d handed him the pouch his face had held such triumphant evil. He’d closed his eyes as if he relished tying the pouch to his belt. For all his killing, that one moment of watching his pure pleasure had frightened her the most.
Shaking herself again, she looked at Caird. ‘And then I knew,’ she said.
‘You knew what?’ he asked, when she didn’t finish.
‘It’s more than just costly; the gem means something.’
Caird blinked, surprise flashing in his eyes.
‘Aye, it means a great deal,’ she said. For days she’d been guessing the importance of the gem, but the look on the Englishman’s face and Caird’s surprise confirmed it.
‘It’s gone now.’ Caird shrugged, his voice grim.
Since the Englishman had arrived, she’d been through every emotion that had ever existed. But only this Colquhoun could bring her frustration to the forefront with such speed.
‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve spoken!’
Caird was angry and disappointed at the loss of the gem, but she had done her best to safeguard it, and he hadn’t listened to a word she’d said.
‘I know you’re frustrated, but you have to hear me now!’ She stood and brushed the dirt from her torn gown. ‘I knew then that the gem meant more than its price, so I gave him your horse.’
Caird’s body stilled. ‘You bargained away my horse?’
‘Greedy devil that he was, aye. Yours was obviously trained and had supplies.’
‘You gave him the jewel and offered the better horse?’
Mairead waited for him to laugh, or at least grin at her cleverness. She hadn’t much to save them, hadn’t a chance of surviving if she attacked the Englishman, but she had used her Buchanan guile and wit to save their necks.
But Caird didn’t laugh; he didn’t grin. There was nothing but obstinate disbelief and anger in his expression. She was tempted to just let him rot with his confusion because she was tiring of explaining herself.
‘Aye, your best horse!’ She capitulated. ‘The one that’s so faithful, all you have to do is whistle and it halts for you? The one that is sick and can’t go very far?’ She crossed her arms again. ‘You know...that horse.’
Jaw slackening, Caird’s eyebrows rose. Oh, she was glad she hadn’t let him rot without telling him. Because this time, she knew a Buchanan had bested a Colquhoun.
* * *
The anger and hopelessness drained from Caird so suddenly, he was glad he sat else he’d have fallen. He was certainly dizzy as he comprehended Mairead’s declaration.
She’d lied, fabricated some story and that monster had believed her. He took a horse that couldn’t possibly travel far. It would slow him down, maybe even stop him. A Buchanan had saved them.
His chest swelled, ached. His breath kept expanding until he couldn’t hold it in any more.
Caird let out a strangled, choking sound. When concern filled Mairead’s eyes, it tipped the balance of his control.
Caird laughed. Great rolling waves of laughter. He couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to. Never before in his life had he laughed like this, with freedom, with shock, with absolutely no control.
For this laugh required true emotion, surprise and a freedom he’d never experienced. Rightly so, for how could he be this free or this surprised when he hadn’t known Mairead before? Mairead, who had stayed and saved them.
Grabbing an oatcake, he asked, ‘Which way did he go?’
It might be too late and he was weak. By the time they would be able to travel, the jewel might have changed hands, but they had a chance. She had given them the chance.
‘You laughed,’ she blurted out.
He took a bite. ‘Aye.’
He felt like doing it again. To watch the wonderment continue on her face. He couldn’t stop smiling.
‘I didn’t know Colquhouns did that.’
His brothers and sister laughed all the time. He didn’t know he could do it. She had given that laughter to him.
It was a wondrous thing. The jewel might not be lost and they were alive. This impulsive, never-think-things-through woman was responsible. A Buchanan was responsible.
It was as if he suddenly arrived at a different place in the world.
He watched as her astonishment was quickly replaced by ire again. Taking another bite of oatcake, he waited to be surprised, to be intrigued.
Mairead crossed her arms. ‘I’m not telling you which way he went until you tell me about the gem.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Then we go nowhere,’ she said.
Intriguing, and stubborn. ‘He let you live because you didn’t know.’ He broke the last oatcake and offered her half.
She shook her head. ‘You need to eat all the oatcakes. You still doona look well. If he finds you alive, do you think he’d let me go again?’
He took a bite. It had been a miracle they’d lived at all. Only a madman would have let them go when they were absolutely defenceless, but posed a threat. A man crazy or one supremely confident Caird would die.
Yet even in the face of such an adversary, Mairead had kept her lying tongue and her wits to save them. He would have bled out and died without her.
Now she was demanding he trust her, when he had too many questions. ‘Why did you do it?’ he asked. ‘Why did you stay?’
She looked away, and shrugged. ‘What else was I supposed to do? You’re an irritating, arrogant, kidnapping Colquhoun. But a dead one?’ Shaking her head, she continued, ‘With your family missing you, you’d even be more trouble.’
Caird frowned and brushed away the crumbs. What she said was true. If he didn’t return, his family, with swords drawn, would pursue the entire Buchanan clan. But her reasonable reply didn’t sit well with him.
Wanting more, he started to ask another question, just as the sun broke through the clouds. No longer hidden in pale light, he could see dark shadows under Mairead’s reddened eyes and her skin was more ashen than pale. Her hair that had once taunted him with wildness lay limply around her; leaves, caked mud and blood weighed it down. Part of it looked burnt. She was exhausted, and he shouldn’t press for more.
Yet she intrigued him. She had stayed and protected him. She’d given them a chance.
In the face of everything, when he had already vowed he’d do anything to stop this war, to stop his brother getting hurt again, did that mean also trusting a Buchanan?
Mairead began to pace. Her face and hands were smudged with dirt and soot. Her clothes were torn from the flood.
No, it was more than a rational choice to tell her. He owed her an explanation. But this had to be done right and he needed to sort his words carefully.
‘It is the Jewel of Kings,’ he said with all the reverence he could give it. He waited for there to be wonder and surprise or even regret on her face.
She did turn, but he saw none of the expressions he expected.
‘I doona ken what that is,’ she replied.
How could it be? As children, he and his brothers had played the game. Hadn’t she or her brother? Her brother.
‘Your brother’s dead,’ he said, remembering all.
She closed her eyes briefly. ‘Killed,’ she corrected.
‘The Englishman?’
She nodded her head.
There were too many questions. ‘How?’
A myriad of emotions flooded her face. He recognised them now. Pain, desperation, guilt.
He didn’t understand the guilt. ‘How?’ he insisted. ‘If your brother owned the dagger, how did he die?’
She jerked and crossed her arms. He had startled her with his question. Was this her lie?
‘I’ll not tell you now,’ she answered. ‘Now we talk about the gem.’
‘Your brother had to know about the jewel.’ He owed her much, but this was no time for secrets.
She loosened her arms and clenched her fists to her sides. Her eyes looked pointedly at him. ‘If he did, he didn’t have time to tell me.’
‘What do you mean, didn’t have time to tell you?’
Mairead’s expression turned mulish.
This was her secret. He felt a million times the fool to be part of this lie. ‘But—’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll tell you nothing now. That Englishman threatened me, threatened you. I need to know why my brother died. I need to understand this gem.’
She had called him stubborn, had called him arrogant. Now, just now, she was those things and more.
He knew what was at stake here. His country falling; Malcolm’s near death. But what did it mean to her? From the tilt of her chin, he knew he wouldn’t get an answer from her now and she was right, she did need to understand. He’d have to compromise.
He’d never given a description of the jewel before. He didn’t know where to start. With the legend? It had been forged before mankind by the very elements around them. Then it was given as a symbol of peace to the warring clans. But, like all powers, it had been ill-used over the centuries by greedy lairds. There were different meanings for the jewel as well. It was a legend and stories changed as to its true power.
Too many words were needed to describe it and even then she might not understand. He barely understood himself and he had been raised with the legend. But only one of the legends, one of its powers, held his interest. He had to keep to the present.
‘You know the Stone of Scone?’ he asked.
‘It’s used for the king’s ceremonies.’
He nodded. ‘To give future kings their crown,’ he continued. ‘The Jewel of Kings isn’t a tradition for ceremony. That gem, that jewel, makes kings.’
She became still.
‘Whoever holds it holds the heart of Scotland,’ he said. ‘All clans will bow to that power. Nae matter who holds it.’
‘So if a Scottish clan has it...’ Mairead’s eyes glinted, her brow furrowed. ‘After Dunbar, I didn’t think Scotland had any chance,’ she said.
‘None of us did,’ he said.
‘I didn’t think such a jewel existed,’ she whispered.
‘None of us did,’ he repeated.
Mairead couldn’t stay still. She had known the gem was important, but she couldn’t comprehend, even now, just how important. No wonder the Englishman had murdered for it. She shuddered.
Everything made sense now. Caird’s incredulousness, his relentless need to know why she claimed it was hers and not believing her. So he’d kidnapped her because she claimed it was her brother’s.
She glanced over her shoulder. Caird was waiting, keeping his silence, as she knew he would be. It was her turn to speak and it would not be easy.
‘My brother didn’t know the jewel existed either,’ she said. The ground underneath them was drier. It was the middle of the day, the sun shone, but their clothes needed to dry and they would need more fire by evening.
‘My brother gambled,’ she said. ‘The laird forbade it, but Ailbert didn’t stop.’ She reached into a bramble bush for loose branches. ‘He kept losing, but he didn’t stop, not even when he promised the English soldiers a chest of money at the next full moon.’
She pulled her hand out and ignored the scratches. She needed small kindling and there wasn’t much close by. ‘There wasn’t any such chest.’
She turned to look at him. Caird was tiring. He’d eaten all she could provide and slouched heavily against the mud-saturated cloak. She crouched before the fire and threw in a few branches.
‘We went to market. The thief from the cave was there and the dagger fell from his pouch. It happened just in front of us. The fair was busy and the thief didn’t stop walking away. Not knowing its value, Ailbert grabbed it and we quickly went in the opposite direction.’
Mairead stared into the fire. How did she talk of the rest? Of the fear, but the gleefulness when they saw the silver workmanship and the glinting rubies. Stealing was a sin, but the dagger had just landed at their feet. As if God had given it to them. The dagger was valuable. Maybe not a chest of silver, but enough.
Then she— She wasn’t ready to tell him everything, but Caird would have too many questions. ‘My brother had me hide in the shadows when he went to sell the dagger. It was quick. I now realise there were two of them.’
Standing again, she shrugged, letting him know she couldn’t tell him anything else.
‘When?’ he asked.
Typical Colquhoun, demanding more answers. Never assuming, never jumping to conclusions as she would have. Rubbing her eyes, she answered, ‘The day I met you.’
A tilt to his head, a sudden inhale. Caird stretched his left thumb as if to flex it, but didn’t. He didn’t like what she told him. He’d have more questions.
She also had questions about that night. Such as how could she have run, grieving for her brother’s death, and then recklessly kiss a stranger at an inn? How could she have thrown herself into Caird’s arms like she did? Responded like she did? She still didn’t understand it and feared it was another impulsive mistake.
‘Where?’ he asked, looking away.
‘The market was on Buchanan land. I spent all day and most of the night following the thief. I kept thinking he’d stop and—’
‘Nae, where were you at the market?’
Caird sounded angry but his face was turned away from her, so she didn’t understand.
‘You said your brother went to sell the dagger.’ He enunciated every word, his eyes focused on his hands, his thumb now flexing repeatedly. ‘Had he reached a stall? Had he exposed the dagger?’
‘He—’ She didn’t know why Caird wanted to talk about this. His concern was the jewel. She had purposefully rushed the ending, not wanting to relive it. ‘It happened as he crossed the crowd. The stalls were on the other side.’
‘Are you not getting me?’ he demanded, turning his grey eyes on her.
Shaking her head, she felt exposed to the tumultuous rage in his eyes. She was talking about that day, about her brother’s death and how she’d been too far away to stop it from happening.
‘Since they killed him before he reached the stalls, they knew your brother had the dagger,’ he said. ‘They were watching for him, and knew you were with him.’
Mairead locked her suddenly weak knees. They had murdered her brother before he took the dagger out of his cape. As though they were waiting for him to be in a crowd, or maybe they were stopping him from exposing the Jewel of Kings.
She knew what Caird was truly trying to tell her. That if she had not suddenly hid, that if she hadn’t accidentally gone to Caird’s room, she’d be dead. She knew it, because before they had fled the fight at the cave that’s what the Englishman had been telling her. And Caird seemed...angry...about that.
She didn’t care how he felt.
Her brother had been stabbed, had experienced agony. Caird’s observation confirmed her worst imaginings: it was her fault he was dead. If she hadn’t made Ailbert sell the dagger he’d be alive. Alive.
Her teeth started chattering and she rubbed her arms. Suddenly needing to do something, she told him, ‘I know how to fish and I need to get clean.’
She knew she didn’t make sense. Caird had told her she should be dead and now she was off to fish. But she ignored him and his watchful eyes.
‘Wait,’ he asked, seeming to war with himself.
His expression contained more questions than answers, but she couldn’t confess any more. She was going to break. The things she did remember, she wanted to forget. He made her think too much and now, she just needed to act.
‘Nae more answers, Colquhoun,’ she said and walked swiftly away.
* * *
Caird woke to the smell of fish frying.
Mairead was just removing a flat stone from the fire. A fish with burnt fins lay on top.
‘I slept?’ he asked.
Turning suddenly, Mairead fumbled the stone. ‘Do you hurt?’
‘Nae.’ He felt stiff, but the pain in his side had lessened enough so he could sit. His wound’s sharp tugging now made the pain in his ribs feel dull. A small comfort.
Mairead had bathed. Her hair flowed gently in the breeze and she wore her now much wrinkled and half-torn gown from the inn. He remembered her insisting on keeping that gown and his suggestion to burn it.
‘Did you burn the one I got you?’ he asked.
She shot him a questioning look before she pointed above his head and he saw the yellow gown hanging to dry. It was more holes than fabric, but he knew she meant to keep it.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.
‘Aye, but I need to—’ He nodded his head to the trees and quickly held up his hand when she moved to help him.
‘You could undo it still,’ she protested.
He could lose his dignity, but he did that anyway as dizziness almost overcame him when he stood. He had lost too much blood. When he returned, there were three fish upon a stone placed near a boulder padded with his cloak.
‘Smells good,’ he said, easing himself down and leaning back against the rock.
‘It’s been a day since you last woke.’ She delicately pulled away a fin to get to the meat of her fish. ‘And days before when we ate sufficiently.’
He shoved the hot fish in his mouth, knowing he needed to be cleaned as well. He could feel the mud caked to the back of his neck. ‘Another day lost?’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I returned from the stream and you were asleep. Stayed that way through the night. I ate without you.’ She indicated the fish cooking on the stones. ‘This is today’s.’
He had slept, when there was much to discuss and to plan. Shame hovered over him. He did not question where it came from.
It was because of her.
He kept failing her. The Englishman had come when he’d been unconscious and unable to help her. Yesterday, she had been frightened, had practically run away from him when she realised she could have been killed that day at the market. Instead of providing her with assurances, he’d fallen asleep. She had faced these trials on her own.
He had fought her this entire journey and she’d only wanted the dagger to save her family. Now she offered him food.
He was wrong about her.
Buchanans were a lying deceitful clan, and she too lied effortlessly. Yet, he was beginning to realise that when she lied, she did it with a purpose.
She was from his family’s most hated clan and yet, without any doubt, she was different.
‘Can you travel?’ Mairead asked.
She was as anxious as he. Maybe more so given her impulsive nature, but if she wanted to go, he couldn’t.
He had to lean against a tree to relieve himself. He could travel, but wouldn’t be able to protect Mairead if they caught up with the Englishman.
He had to wait, but he was alive and there was a chance to get the jewel. He welcomed the feeling of satisfaction coursing through him. ‘I’ll need another day and more food.’
‘This was all I could—’
‘Nae, Mairead, this was most welcome.’ He licked his fingers knowing he needed food more than manners. ‘I could not be more grateful. Or beholden.’
‘Do you have a fever?’ She put down her piece of fish.
He knew what she meant. He had given her a kind word. But she had surprised him, made him laugh and saved his life. A kind word was a paltry act in comparison. ‘We’re different,’ he explained.
‘My telling of my brother and we’re nae longer enemies?’
She made it sound insignificant, but the telling of her brother’s death had pained her. She’d shown vulnerability.
He had...craved...to take the pain from her. She was impulsive. Stubborn. Brave, his mind whispered. Brave and had more care for others than was good for her.
Never in his life had he met such a female. To face a killer on her own. To face him, knowing the odds were against her. Buchanan, his mind reminded him. But what did he know of Buchanans?
One horrific and tragic act, when he and his brothers had been young, had shaped his opinions of Buchanans. One act that never was spoken of again. So long ago that Gaira had little knowledge of it or didn’t remember. Shannon’s death had changed Malcolm, but marked him and Bram as well. Painful. Tragic. But should Shannon’s death mark Mairead as well?
Caird rubbed his forehead.
Since the beginning, he had been fighting his knowledge of Clan Buchanan with the reality of Mairead. All her true feelings had always been there for him to understand. He had just been refusing to see them for what they were.
She railed at him, fled from him, struck him and lied to him. Every duplicitous action done not because of greed or deceit, but out of her helplessness. For what other options had he given her?
None.
If he’d faced the same odds, if all his options had been closed to him, would he have done everything in his power to help his family as she had tried to do? Aye, he would have.
He had been blind when it came to her. She had never been the enemy.
‘We’re different now,’ he repeated. ‘Why would there not be some accord between us?’
‘Accord? Beholden?’ She set down the rock. ‘I’m going to believe this talk is blood loss.’ Her movements were wide, exaggerated. ‘How am I to believe you? How am I to believe we’re different, when there’s been nae evidence that’s different? I’ll always be from Clan Buchanan. And you’ve been cruel, kidnapping me and saying my very touch is vile.’
Everything she said was true. But then it was him with the misconception of her. With her actions, she had taken his prejudices just as the flood had taken his bandages. Quickly, harshly. With his prejudices gone he actually was in a different place in the world. But it was the same place she had been the entire time.
It was a world he knew little about. He needed more answers to his questions. But this time, the question was Mairead and he was beginning to realise he wanted the answers to her, very, very much.
‘Why did you tell me of your brother?’ he asked.
She gave him an enigmatic look. ‘You told me of the jewel.’
‘But you didn’t need to tell me all.’
Mairead turned, but not before he saw her face flush.
This was something he needed to know. He’d told her a tale that most of Scotland knew. She told him a tale that was private and full of woe. With her flush, he realised she’d told him more than she intended. But he didn’t understand why.
‘Mairead?’ he prompted.
She looked over her shoulder and shrugged.
It had been personal, and very painful. He owed her. ‘I’ve wronged you,’ he said.
‘Wronged?’ There was a moment of surprise and softness to her voice before she turned towards him. ‘These confessions are pity at the most. You know my clan will most likely banish my family for going against the laird’s orders, for getting in debt to the English. Worse, my brother’s dead. Dead. This is pity and I doona want it. Especially from an arrogant all-knowing Colquhoun, who is, nae doubt, wanting to lecture me on all my mistakes.’
‘Mistakes? You have made nae mistakes. You’re nothing like your clan.’
‘My clan? What have my mistakes to do with my clan?’
He’d said too much.
She took a step closer to him. ‘You are too certain of your opinion. This goes further than Colquhoun arrogance. What do you know of my clan?’
‘You’re different. You’re not like them.’
‘Tell me.’
He couldn’t. In spite of everything, he couldn’t.
‘Secrets, Colquhoun?’ She almost laughed, but the sound was full of derision. ‘Secrets coming from you, when I told you all?’ She turned away again. ‘We are not different.’
He showed her trust. ‘I explained about the jewel.’
‘That I gave away!’ She spun around. ‘You should be even angrier with me. Not beholden!’
He frowned. ‘You saved us. You saved me.’
‘Is that it?’ Something flashed across her eyes. ‘Because I saved you? I explained that was for my own self-preservation. It would be worse for me if you’d died.’
‘Is that why you did it?’ he asked. Her reactions were unexpected. There were secrets still, he knew, but they were beginning to trust each other. Why was she not realising it for the miracle it was?
She scraped her fish remains into the fire and dropped the stone next to the flames to burn off. She was ignoring him and he should let her.
Yet, now that he understood at least a part of her, he wanted more. Desire? It was there and could not be ignored. Even now, he wanted her. He wanted to wrap her within his arms, breathe her in. Protect her.
The want, with the knowledge she had saved his life, that he had risked his life for hers, was overwhelming. He could no longer deny the trust beginning to spring between them. Yet, she was denying it...no, she was lying about it.
‘You know we’re different together now,’ he said, his mind just now understanding. ‘You noticed it first.’
‘I have nae idea what you talk of, Colquhoun.’
‘I had the dagger,’ he said. He’d had the dagger at the river. When she was drowning, and he had been at shore, the dagger had been strapped to the horse. He’d had everything he thought he needed and he had still gone back for her.
He pointed to her. ‘I had the dagger. At the river. You noticed it.’ His mind had been too full of need; he hadn’t given a thought to the dagger, just her.
She moved impatiently away. ‘I was half drowned; I said many things.’
She wasn’t looking at him now and he couldn’t see her thoughts. Which meant she was hiding something again and she only lied for a purpose. He just didn’t understand the purpose now. Complicated Buchanan. He was too weak and too hungry to reason with her.
‘Aye, you said much at the river. Little doubt why I remember it wrongly.’ He stood slowly, carefully. ‘After I clean, we’ll need to make traps.’
She looked as if she wondered if he lied to her.
He kept his face impassive. He was lying to her, but he did it with purpose, as she had, and he was a quick learner.
* * *
‘I did it.’ Mairead lifted the snare for Caird’s inspection. It was crooked and her fingers were bleeding and stinging from tying the nettle stalks together, but it somewhat resembled the other snares finished around his feet. The three snares he’d completed to her one.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘And it’s a fine one.’
The day’s light showed the green of his grey eyes as he seemed suddenly riveted by her accomplishment and what she knew was a ridiculous grin.
Embarrassed, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear and his eyes darkened as he followed her hand.
He had been looking at her too closely all morning. Since he’d left her to get clean and find the supplies to make snares, he had stopped his talk that they were different.
But his gaze remained disconcerting. Even if she didn’t believe they were different, he certainly did. His encouraging and teasing her, while they made snares, was doing riotous things to her insides. So much so, she continually failed to concentrate and, when handling nettles, she needed to concentrate.
‘Why are your hands not hurting?’ she asked more irritably than she meant. The nettles were old and they had dipped the remaining leaves in the fire, but it didn’t remove all the needles and there was no dock to be found.
‘They do,’ he said. Caird stopped picking nettle leaves from a stem. ‘You’ll need to tie the stalk to a twig like this.’ He wrapped his stalk around a small stick. ‘Then tie it to a larger one.’
He’d already explained the procedure, so his voice lulled her into just looking at him again. If his gaze was unsettling, looking at him rattled her. No matter how many times she looked, she was struck again by how comely he was. When she had seen him in the inn at night, she had thought him mesmerising. During the day, Caird was staggering.
He had emerged from the water with his clothes wet as if he’d walked into the stream to wash himself and his clothes together. He wore his breeches, but his tunic and cloak were hanging in the trees next to them.
His chest was bare. With no bandages, she saw the bruising around his ribcage, the blackened burn from the sword thrust, the numerous scrapes and scratches she hadn’t tended.
He’d earned them all in his fierce pursuit of the jewel. Now when he no longer had the jewel, he patiently taught her to make snares.
She couldn’t stop staring at him. She seemed uncontrollably fascinated by the width of his shoulders, the broadness of his chest and his earned injuries, both past and present. But those weren’t what held her eyes, or made her toes curl. It was remembering how his body had felt against hers at the river and what happened afterwards...what would have happened—
‘I thought you’d be different,’ she said, trying to mask her erratic feelings.
He raised an eyebrow.
She kicked herself on her choice of words. ‘We’re sitting when the jewel’s out there. I thought you’d be more impatient.’
‘I’d thought that, too,’ he said. But he didn’t elaborate. Instead, his eyes were doing that searching thing again. The look he gave when he thought more than he said.
‘Tell me of your family,’ he said.
‘My family?’ she asked, surprised at the subject when there had never been anything but animosity between their families. ‘Why, when you’re soon to meet them? We should think about how we’ll capture the jewel.’
He shrugged.
She sighed exaggeratedly. ‘This journey has only been about the jewel. I do not ken why we talk of something else. It’s sudden.’
‘I’m curious.’
It was her turn to lift a brow.
Tension thrummed through him and she could feel him waiting for her to talk, but he hadn’t answered her last question.
‘The jewel is important...’ he began, looking at her with dissatisfaction for making him talk. ‘But other things are as well.’
She waited, but he didn’t tell her what other things were important and she knew he’d keep his silence.
Sighing in defeat, she said, ‘I live with two sisters and my mother.’
‘And Ailbert?’ he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
‘He was the eldest,’ she said. ‘I was born just after him.’
‘Twins.’
She looked startled. ‘I’m a girl.’
‘It can happen. Like the Grahams. Did you look alike?’
It hurt to think of her brother. Her brother, with the dark eyes and curly hair. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘We did, although he could eat without it doing him any harm.’
Caird huffed.
It sounded like he was disagreeing, but she couldn’t guess with what. ‘My father died when we were young. Losing him was hard on Ailbert and my mother never quite recovered.’
He tilted his head, his eyes telling her he was waiting for something.
More answers, no doubt, but she didn’t know what to say about her family.
‘Who taught you to use your elbows and fists?’ he asked.
‘Ailbert.’ She felt lightened by that question. Her fighting was a happy memory of her brother. ‘I didn’t want him to be the only one to protect our family.’
He frowned. ‘He didn’t teach your sisters?’
She shook her head. ‘My sisters were too young when Father died.’ She could barely remember her father, but she remembered the grief. Her mother’s collapse. Ailbert’s increasing recklessness.
How quickly this conversation turned to pain and how much she wanted to avoid it. Too many times, Ailbert gambled, took risks and harmed the family. Yet, with the last risk Ailbert had taken it was she who had irreparably broken the family.
Her heart clenched, suddenly, violently. Grief reminding her of its presence. It was dangerous talking of her family and she didn’t know why she told Caird anything. No doubt his silences encouraged people to talk.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, ‘Who do you have beside Malcolm?’
He opened his mouth, closed it and gave a slight shake of his head.
‘Secrets?’ she said.
‘You will not like it.’ Holding up the snares, he said, ‘We need to set them.’
They rose together, his protection of his injuries putting them in too-close proximity. One step and she’d be against him.
From the look in his eyes, he’d noticed their closeness. The gown she wore covered her, but it was still torn at the top and only held together by her hasty tucking.
‘I have an older brother.’ His eyes travelled from her cheekbones, down her neck to the fine bones across her shoulders. It was indecent that they were bared to him, but even if covered, she knew she would have felt his gaze. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t felt this way around him. He was altogether too much there.
Taking a step back, Mairead tried to remember the conversation. Families.
She thought of Malcolm as she had first seen him. Emerging from the room with a wide smile and jests. ‘What is this other brother like?’
Looking for animal trails, Caird walked towards the trees. When he found one, he stopped. He carried the snares, but she’d have to set them. He risked injury just by walking, but he refused to rest.
Bending a sapling over, he tied a part of the snare to it. ‘You’ll need to anchor this to the ground with a stick.’
She took the snare, bent the sapling even further and secured it.
When she was done, Caird, with uneven gait, walked further down the trail. She followed until he found another spot and stopped. ‘My other brother,’ he said, ‘his name is Bram.’
She’d asked what the brother was like, not his name. It wouldn’t matter what his name was unless—
‘Bram?’ she asked, kneeling down, feeling a cold dread in her stomach. There was no sapling this time, so she pounded a thick branch into the earth and covered the base with leaves before holding out her hand for a snare. ‘That name’s significant.’
‘Aye,’ he replied, his movements slow as he handed her another trap.
He was hurting, but from his confident tone she knew he was also smirking. She was afraid she knew the reason why. ‘Is it the same Bram?’ she asked, tying the snare to the branch. It wasn’t easy because, trembling, she suddenly felt caught in a trap.
‘He’s laird, Mairead. My brother is laird.’
They were the ruling Colquhouns. She should have known, should have guessed. She had heard of the Colquhoun laird. Bram was rumoured to be diplomatic, but absolutely ruthless. And the man had two brothers...
How could she have missed it when every arrogant, autocratic order Caird gave indicated exactly who he was.
‘You are surprised?’ he asked.
Standing, she gave a quick shake of her head. She didn’t feel surprised. She felt foolish. She had been so blind in all of this. Trying to sell the dagger and entering the wrong room at the inn. How many mistakes did she have to make?
‘I had two sisters.’ He continued walking, turning right to find different trails. ‘The youngest died in April.’
Mairead almost stumbled. Still following him, she couldn’t see his face, but she heard the pain in his voice. Caird adding to the conversation was unexpected. But what was more unexpected was that he mentioned something that obviously hurt him. There was now a slight stiffening to Caird’s shoulders. She didn’t know if it was regret that he’d told her or if it was grief.
Mairead now had questions. If his sister had died in April, it could have something to do with the English. But as much as she despised the English, she understood grief and pain more.
‘The sister, who is having these wedding celebrations, is she fierce?
He hesitated slightly before he answered, ‘Very.’
What else could she be? ‘With red hair?’
‘Like a poppy with freckles.’
Mairead could see the tension ease from Caird’s shoulders; she also heard the surprise in his voice. Suspicion instantly laced her stomach as she realised Caird was watching her again. Had Caird shared something of his family because he’d read her feelings of unease so clearly?
‘What about your sisters?’ he asked, heading around some grouse. She looked at the yellow of the flowers and was reminded of the colour of the other gown. She doubted she had looked any better in it than the straggling shrub.
He wanted to talk of her sisters. It was a familiar conversation. On Buchanan land, her sisters were famous and not for making mistakes. In appearance and temper, they were as opposite from her as possible.
‘They are my sisters. They giggle.’
‘Descriptive,’ he murmured, his hand drifting to his injury before he lowered it.
‘You’re hurting,’ she said. ‘We should return, you need to rest. What if you collapse on me?’
‘I need food,’ he replied, pointing to another spot. ‘And you’re changing the subject of your sisters.’
She didn’t feel like describing her sisters to him. They could flirt and fit in gowns properly. ‘I doona think you should be complaining of my conversational skills.’
‘I’m not,’ he replied, but his look implied he wanted to hear more.
Of course, her lack of description intrigued him. As if they needed any extra endowment. She grabbed another snare and set to work.
‘Their hair’s lighter than mine and straighter,’ she said grudgingly. She couldn’t lie to him; he’d soon see for himself, but that didn’t mean she was telling him everything.
‘That’s not what I’m curious about,’ he said.
He wanted more than their hair colour? She’d heard her sisters described often enough. Entire poems were dedicated to them. ‘Their golden hair cascades down their back like sunshine,’ she mimicked, pounding a stake into the ground with a rock. ‘Their eyes are like cloudless summer skies and their lips? The ripest of berries.’
‘Hmmm,’ he answered. ‘What of their manners?’
She fumbled with the snare, almost tearing the stalk. ‘Dainty and refined.’
‘Their laughter?’
She concentrated on connecting the stalk to the stake. ‘Like heavenly bells.’
‘Are their feet like flower petals?’ he added.
‘As a matter of fact—’ She quickly stepped away from the trap, so as not to make it completely useless. ‘I’ll not describe them any more to the likes of you.’
‘But I’m still a wee bit curious,’ he said.
Caird knew he was more than curious. This was a Mairead he hadn’t seen before. Her chin jutted out just so; her cheeks were flushed from the walk and from her annoyance. She was ireful and all too tempting.
He knew what she felt like, what her lips tasted like and he wanted more. Much more. He took a step closer to her. ‘Aren’t you asking whom I’m curious about?’
‘Nae,’ she answered primly.
Caird chuckled, which earned a scathing look from her.
She was jealous of her sisters’ beauty, though he felt no interest in them at all.
Not when Mairead showed honour and bravery. Not when he wanted to laugh and kiss her. Not when he was ensnared by her hair, and the scathing look in her dark eyes. If it wasn’t for the danger they were in and Malcolm’s grief, he’d be on his knees before her, begging her, he’d—
He shook his head. Fanciful thoughts. Changing thoughts. He’d said they were different together, but until that moment, he hadn’t realised how different.
She stood before him with her hands on her hips and he didn’t care how much conflict was still between them. He wanted her.
Mairead couldn’t move. Not when Caird stepped closer. Not when her annoyance and anger kept her stubbornly still, and certainly not the moment Caird touched her cheek.
Then Caird crooked his finger under her jaw and lifted her lips to his. His kiss was nothing more than the feel and heat of his body against hers. It was slow and gentle, though she could feel his desire for more. She wanted more. Wanted to press against him, to wind her hands around his neck and pull him tighter against her.
But Caird never moved his fingers from her chin, never increased his kiss. Instead, he pulled away and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
‘Ah, Mairead,’ he whispered, his eyes warm.
The kiss wasn’t just a need to bed her. Caird kissed her as if he cared.
The anger and annoyance that had kept her feet firm to the ground flared and propelled her away from him. The feeling increased until her hands fisted at her sides and she stood almost on her toes.
She didn’t want gentleness. Didn’t deserve caring. She wanted this nightmare over.
‘Never do that again, Colquhoun.’ She spun on her heel to return to the fire.