Chapter Thirty-Three

“Let us go back to Rowan Cottage, Master Finnan,” Danny begged. “These wounds of yours need tending, far more care than I can manage here.”

Desperate, sore, and near run to exhaustion, Finnan MacAllister shook his head. Not that, not Rowan Cottage—he could never return. There existed no refuge anywhere for him now.

For he had burnt that bridge, had he not? Sent it up in howling flames. He remembered again how still Jeannie had lain when he delivered his killing blow—indeed, like a woman slain—how her naked limbs, the sweet curves of the body he had just loved shone dim white in the quiet of her bedroom, unmoving.

She might at least have given him the satisfaction of some reaction—anger, grief. He—Geordie—deserved that. Instead he could not get over the notion that he had left her killed.

And he wanted to go back. Oh aye, he did—he told himself he wanted to see how she fared, savor the pain in her eyes, feel her hatred. For surely she hated him now as only a spurned woman could hate. Trouble was he did not quite believe that was all he wanted.

He had grown accustomed to Jeannie MacWherter during his campaign to destroy her, to the look in those wide blue eyes, the way intelligence or rueful laughter lit them. He had grown used to the warmth of her flesh and the taste of her lips. He told himself he ached for those, nothing more.

Yet ache he did.

Were he honest, he would admit nothing had gone right since he broke Jeannie’s heart. He’d had an unfortunate encounter with Trent Avrie’s men in which he took a deep wound to his shoulder that hampered him yet. He had barely escaped with his life and had not been able to stop and rest since. Harried continually, he and Danny had been all up and down the glen.

At least Danny seemed to have conquered his fever, Finnan reflected, and regained strength even as Finnan lost his. He had to admit it: he could not recall when he had been lower in body or spirit.

“Never mind. Just pack the wound with that yarrow,” he told Danny now, brusquely.

They had paused high on a slope at the north end of the glen. From here Finnan could watch for signs of pursuit. Yet he knew they could not remain up among the boulders long—it would be too easy to be spotted in turn.

Somehow he would have to find the strength to move on.

He grunted in pain as Danny began to pack his shoulder, the lad’s hand moving as gently as possible. He dragged his thoughts away from Rowan Cottage once again.

“We should move south, Master Finnan,” Danny said, precisely as if he had heard Finnan’s thoughts. “I am that sure Aggie and her mistress would not mind helping us again.”

“Too dangerous.”

“There is that hidey hole they ha’ not yet discovered, above the ford. You could rest there and get some sleep.”

Finnan had not been able to sleep, nor snatch even a moment’s peace.

Danny looked Finnan in the eye. “I ache to see her,” he confessed. “Aggie, I mean. That last time when I lay with her—”

Indeed, Danny and Aggie had still been together when Finnan stormed back up the hill, leaving Jeannie slain.

“’Tis risky, that,” he said, gritting his teeth around the pain as Danny pressed the bandage on. The cloth, dirty, would likely do him little good. Everything they owned was filthy.

He wondered how long he could go on like this. He had lost everything…except the glen; that remained his yet. He had always believed it enough to sustain him in the face of any hardship. What if he had believed wrong?

Ah, he had given Jeannie a damaging stroke from the blade of vengeance, aye, but it seemed to have cut both ways and injured him, as well.

“Worth taking the chance, I think,” Danny went on. “Mistress MacWherter will at least give us food, and perhaps shelter.”

“You are to ask nothing from her.”

“Eh?”

“Nothing, lad, do you understand?”

Their gazes met. Danny’s turned puzzled and then determined. “What happened that night when you came and collected me in such a hurry? Did you quarrel?”

“Nay.”

“Have you broken it off? I ken fine the two of you were…”

“Aye, broken it off. Drop it now.”

Danny whistled a breath between his teeth. “She will forgive you, no doubt, and help you yet, if she sees you in this state. She is a good woman.”

“You canna’ say that. You know naught about her.”

“Aggie says she is loyal, kind, and generous.”

“Aggie does not know her either, or else she lies.”

Danny stiffened. “Aggie would never lie to me.”

So the lad had given his heart as well as his seed—the fool. Memory caught Finnan unawares as he relived the glorious act of losing himself inside Jeannie’s heat, giving her all of himself. But nay, he must resolve to forget.

Savagely he said, “You do no’ ken what she did to our Geordie in Dumfries. Leave it, lad—I ha’ paid her in kind.”

Danny frowned. “I know more than you might think. Aggie likes to talk, and most of all when we were cozy after. She has said much about how hard life was for them in Dumfries. ’Twas marriage to Geordie or the streets.”

“And did she need to toss his love back at him? Could she no’ have been more kind and generous?”

Danny looked shocked. “But we canna’ choose where we love, can we, Master Finnan?”

Finnan said nothing, struggling against the pain inside.

“Come, Master, up and lean on my good shoulder. Let us move before the hounds are at our heels again.”

****

“He is up on the hillside and will not come to your door.” Danny said the words apologetically and refused to meet Jeannie’s eyes. “I left him sleeping or senseless—I could not tell which. He took a terrible bad wound a day and a half ago. ’Tis dirty, and it hampers him much.”

Jeannie gazed away past the lad’s head and tried to ignore how his words made her feel. Perhaps her heart still functioned after all, for she felt it twist in her chest.

“In truth,” Danny went on, “I only came to beg some food and clean bandaging. We have naught.”

“I wish you could stay,” Aggie told him, heartfelt. She had kissed Danny soundly when he appeared, and her face shone with gladness. “Of course we shall give you whatever we have. Right, mistress?”

For an instant, Jeannie did not reply. She could easily turn Danny away; she owed Finnan MacAllister nothing. Or she could walk up that hillside as she wished and find him, lay eyes on him, even touch him again. For despite all her anger and pain, and the numbness when both burned away, she did want to see him, even just once. The truth of that upset her almost as much as what had come before, but the honesty in her heart would not let her deny it.

She fought a silent war within herself. She did not deserve what he had done to her. She had never intended to break Geordie’s heart, but she could never convince Finnan of that. He thought the worst of her. Best to leave all connections severed as they were, to let it be done.

“Give Danny whatever you like,” she told Aggie flatly and looked at the lad. “It is fortunate you have come. Will you give your master a message for me?”

Danny nodded cautiously. What did he know? Had Finnan gloated to him about her humiliation? No matter, she had little enough dignity left to lose.

“I have been in touch with his sister. She wishes to meet with him in the hope he may rescue her from her plight. Do you think he would be willing to take her and leave the glen?” Save himself, leave off the warring and the vengeance.

This time Danny shook his head. “Who knows? Anger burns hot in him. But he might leave for a time, if only to keep her safe.”

“Then you and I must decide on a meeting place.” She drew a breath and fought the nearly overwhelming desire to go up that hillside. “I will take word to her, and you take word to him.”

And then, it would be done.