Chapter 5

After asking Isla to take his message to the carpenter the next day and bring his sword back to the cottage with her if it was not too heavy, the mercenary walked to the hayloft with a slow gait, his head down. The wooden platform jutted out above the horse stall. Using the ladder to climb up to the loft, Arran threw himself down on the hay.

Would he have rather been lying on the feather mattress with Maiden Colleen Cunningham in the cottage? Aye. She was an exceptional young woman in every way, but he was so used to his solitary existence by now, it had become second nature for him to restrain himself from forming a bond with women…

And yet when he spread the wool blanket over the straw and lay down to sleep, Colleen's face appeared in front of him. She had brought a bowl of broth up to the hayloft for him to drink for supper. He had been staring up at the overhead beams, thinking about how far his weary footsteps had brought him. The stable doors opened and he heard the light tread of her feet. The horse whickered as a greeting, happy to see its mistress.

"Master Sterling." Her honey voice came out of the dim light below. "I bring ye a wee bite for supper. It's only some broth and a plate o' bannocks, but it's good." Knowing that it would be difficult for her to climb up the ladder holding the tray, he vaulted down from the loft, using his fingers to hold onto the platform before he dropped to the ground.

Taking the round platter tray out of her hands, he balanced on the last rung of the ladder with one foot to place it on the loft. Then he stepped down to thank her. "I dinnae expect supper as well, Colleen. Thank ye."

He noticed the familiar blush spring to the girl's cheeks as she gave a curtsy and told him it was her pleasure. "I came to tell ye that Isla says there is no way she can carry yer broadsword back with her. But that should nae be a problem because… Because David will be happy to accompany me sister back here and bring yer sword with him."

I'll wager that young David would be over the moon for a chance to dally with Colleen at every opportunity can find…

But all Arran said out loud was, "Let's hope the lad can do as yer sister asks. He will look no end of silly if he flags and drops oot halfway."

Her amber eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth. "For shame, Master," Colleen's face showed how hard she was trying not to laugh out loud. "The poor lad would be doing ye a great service."

"Och, he would have done me a better service if he had remembered to slide me sword back into the sheath before depositing me on yer doorstep like a rotting sheep's carcass."

At once, she was serious. "Ye were gravely injured, Master. ‘Twas no jest. Seeing as I am here?—"

He held his breath. Was this the time that she would confess that she was as curious about how his embrace would feel as he was about hers?

"—would ye like me to bring ye a cordial or potion? I promise it will nae hex ye; only make ye relax."

How could any man relax if he was thinking about those golden eyes fluttering underneath him…?

"Nay, I thank ye once again, Maiden. I will sleep peacefully just so long as MacKenzie's soldiers stay away."

One more curtsy and she faded away into the bright summer's evening. The sun had not yet started to sink below the horizon even though it was late in the Highland's midsummer night.

The followingmorning when he woke up, both the Cunningham girls were gone. Ducking his head under the doorway, the cottage seemed dead without their lively presence. A brief note was written in a neat, cramped hand. The letters and words she used were a mix of basic Latin, French, and Gaelic, which was typical for any woman taught to read and write in those parts. Her mother or father must have been taught their letters and trained their children to learn the skill. Now that he thought about it, the cottage had the appearance of a younger son using his inheritance—or his bride's dowry—to build a home. Isla and Colleen's parents had definitely come from the yeomanry class. The daughters did not act like peasants. The note read:

Dear Master Sterling, I made bannocks for you to break fast. I go with Isla to the village to plant the false seed about your miraculous recovery. I will bruit that most of the blood belonged to your unfortunate foes, while you, dear Master, were mainly unharmed. We will ride back with David, your sword safe in hand. Colleen Cunningham.

She had run out of precious parchment at the end of her note. He had to squint to make out the cramped words.

Arran had nothing else to do for the rest of the day except slouch around the cottage, eat, and sleep. For the first time in his life, this solitude rankled him. Removing the talisman cord from around his neck, he held it in front of him and stared at it as it swung from side to side like a pendulum. No matter how hard Arran tried, he could never break the promise he had made to his father. He had to keep the talisman close to him always.

When he looked around the cozy cottage and listened to the contented grunts and clucks of the farm animals in the pens and fields around him, Arran wished for nothing more than to rest a wee while and enjoy it. But that would bring his uncanny abilities under scrutiny. No, he had to always be moving on, away from any connection he ever made, ceaselessly hunting and fighting until the fatigue numbed his mind.

As for the sweet release he felt whenever Colleen was nearby? It had to be a figment of his imagination, brought on by boredom and desperation. Arran had accepted a long time ago that he was not the marrying kind.

The heatof the day was cooling when Arran heard the sound of horse hooves and merry laughter coming down the lane. He had to pretend to be injured, so he stayed where he was lying on the hay in the loft, even though it annoyed him to remain inactive.

Footsteps, and then a voice was heard as a good-natured looking face peered around the door. "How noo, Master? Ye will nae remember me, I dare say, but I was one o' the men who brought ye here. Me name is David MacMillan. I am Farmer MacMillan's eldest son." Arran cut David's speech short by vaulting down off the loft platform in the same way he had done the previous evening.

David gaped when he saw the mercenary's handsome features as Arran towered over him. "B–but…I mean…I thought the wolf bit off yer face!" the poor young man stuttered. "Colleen told me yer eye was badly scarred!" Grinning, Arran pointed to his forehead, where a white scar cut through the dark eyebrow like a streak of lightning. "And so I am, lad."

David tried to find the words to tell the mercenary that he was happy to find the man much better, but they died on his lips. Might Colleen's handsome patient become a love rival? His worry was etched clearly on David's face.

Grinning as he guessed the reason behind David's reluctance to talk, Arran patted the young man on his shoulder. "Ye should be happy for me, lad. That auld wolf must have been licking me instead of eating me. I'm all good. See. As for those wounds. They were nae that deep, thank heaven. The blood must have belonged to MacKenzie's soldiers."

Arran observed David closely to see if the young man accepted his story. But the farmer's son was far too put out to pay attention to what Arran was telling him. "Ye're all good then? Well, I'm sorry to say, Master Sterling, that ye cannae stay here. It would be…well, ye ken what I'm trying to say…"

Isla stepped into the stable at this awkward moment. "Is David trying to kick ye oot, Master? Dinnae listen to him. He's just jealous. Come inside. Colleen is warming over some soup for ye. David brought yer sword, ye'll be pleased to ken. Or rather, his horse carried it here."

David scowled, but looked on the bright side of things when he realized that Colleen was not there to hear her sister's summary of his feelings. He thought better of confronting the massive mercenary on his own once they got inside the cottage, deciding it would be better to speak to Colleen about his concerns when they were alone together.

The last thing Arran wanted to do was disrupt the Cunningham household. As soon as he had gotten rid of Torquil MacKenzie, he would be back on the road, leaving all of his daydreams about the bonny healer lass behind him. She would marry one of her lovelorn swains and go on to breed many bairns with him, no doubt. Arran had become used to being left out of everyone's destiny.

And yet, when he looked at the young woman with the burnished brown hair flowing down her slim back and her golden amber eyes, Arran felt a tugging sensation in his heart. Something that told him that perhaps this time their destinies were intertwined, Colleen Cunningham's and his.

Then he became aware of David MacMillan's eyes following his gaze, and there was a territorial glint in the young carpenter apprentice's stare. Arran bent his head to drink his soup.

The next morning,Isla and Colleen were surprised to find Arran waiting for them by the hearth. The mercenary had filled the cauldron with water and it was hissing over the fire. He seemed to have reverted to a more distant, official manner. Colleen noticed it immediately when he greeted them. "Good morrow, kind ladies. Let's be off to meet yon Aberkin councilors, shall we?"

Isla ignored him and after grunting her greeting, she stumbled out to the stone water basin. Colleen was more polite. "Are ye feeling better noo that yer sword is returned? It's so heavy. I hope it does nae reopen any of yer wounds."

He shook his head. "Me wounds are gone. The only one that remains is the wolf bite on me brow. Is there any work ye would like me to do around the homestead afore I leave?"

His abrupt manner disconcerted Colleen. He hardly seemed like that same man who had laughingly helped her toss the feathers in her mattress the day before. "I–I dinnae think so, Master. Will ye not be coming back here?"

Striding to the door, his body blocked out the sunlight as he ducked down and pushed through it. "Nay. I will get a room at the tavern. Thank ye."

For a long time, Colleen sat on the stool staring at the fire. Isla came back in, her hair damp from splashing her face with water. "Throw some water on those flames, will ye, Sister?" Isla said, "We dinnae want to come back to a room full o' smoke."

Colleen roused herself from her reverie. "What were David and Master Sterling talking aboot when ye found them in the stables last night, Isla? Did they seem friendly?"

Isla chuffed. "Och, heavens, I dinnae ken. I never notice those kinds of things." She stopped and looked at the rafters as she remembered. "Arran was explaining how he had healed—and David was mumbling on aboot Arran not being able to stay here anymore. Something aboot it not being proper."

Suddenly, Colleen was all smiles. Jumping up off the stool, she ran to give her sister a hug. "Thank ye, Isla! I believe I'll wear that blue kirtle of mine today!"

After they broke their fast, the three cottage dwellers loaded baskets and sacks onto the horse before beginning the short trek to the village. The previous day's sunny weather was gone. A gray mizzling rain swept in from the mountains. This did not seem to discourage the mercenary, however. He remarked that the road was less dusty now, and if the rain got harder, it would be easier to track MacKenzie soldiers' footprints. The only thing he did by way of concession to the weather was to pull his woolen bonnet lower and cover his sword hilt.

When Isla asked him why he was so at ease, he told her that the MacKenzies would never try to burn down ripe fields of wheat during such weather. "Because the dreich would put oot the flames," he explained.

"His soldiers are such dreadful bully-rags, Master Arran," Isla chirped in her youthful, chatty way, "they would be able to find other ways to pester us in the rain."

Both Colleen and Arran stayed quiet. They knew the only effective threat that could be done in the rain was physical harm—or worse. Colleen looked over at Arran. His expression was solemn. "D'ye think Torquil will resort to more…extreme persuasion, Master?" she asked him.

"He is likely to hire more soldiers, aye. And he will pay them to carry oot his orders withoot question. But loyal soldiers dinnae grow from tree branches. They must be plucked from the laird's demesne and trained for many years before they would be an effective deterrent against me."

Isla gave a little skip. Both of the sisters were dressed in kirtles that reached above their ankles and they wore wooden chopines on their bare feet. They used their arisaids to cover their heads and shoulders so that their smocks did not get wet. The Cunningham girls were allowed to wear their hair down, both being maidens and permitted to signal this by showing their long locks. Married women had to cover their hair with a wimple. It was an outdated custom, but times were slow to change in Aberkin.

They made a pleasingly pretty tableau together, but the mercenary's mood was too serious to acknowledge this. Since David's visit, he had retreated back into his mysteriously aloof manner again.

The thin, misty rain did not slow them down much. It was not long before the first village cottages hove into view, and tradesmen were laying down the tools of their trade to watch the strange trio draw closer.

When they reached the tavern, Isla bid them farewell. "I must offload the goods at oor stall, Sister." After giving the couple a cheery wave, she led the horse to the market. Feeling uncomfortable to be alone with the mercenary again, Colleen asked him if he would like to drink an ale with her inside the tavern. He grunted one word in the affirmative, allowing her to lead the way.

Bobbing a curtsy to the tavern keeper, Colleen made the two men known to each other. "Master MacMillan, this is the soldier for hire Farmer Tavish's son sent here. He is ready to take up arms to defend Aberkin." Turning to Arran, she said, "Master Sterling, this is David's uncle. He will give ye a room during yer stay, but ye may have to share yer bed if we get other visitors coming to the tavern inn."

Placing a firkin of ale and two mugs on the counter and indicating to the couple that they should drink, the tavern keeper bid them welcome. "Och, it's good to have a proper fighting man come here, Master Sterling," the tavern keeper said, "I kept telling yon priest to let us train the lads to shoot a bow and use a sword, but the only weapon he allowed us to teach the lads to use was a long staff."

"It's a good start," the mercenary remarked, "but I would recommend ye send word to the King and ask him to send another laird to take possession of the castle. Yer taxes are due to the liege laird and no one else."

"Heaven knows we tried, Master!" the tavern keeper rolled his eyes, "but the King is oot adventuring on a campaign, making the most of the warm weather to set his boundaries. Wee Aberkin is not high on his list."

Seeing that the two men were settling in for a long—and possibly boring—political debate, Colleen told them she would follow her sister to the market. Besides nodding in her direction as she walked away, Arran paid her no more attention. She tried hard not to care, but knew it was futile. It was too late for her to stop thinking about the mercenary every waking moment of her day. And most of her nights too, if her dreams the previous night were any proof of the matter.

Isla seemed to have their market stall well in hand, so Colleen decided to go and visit the apothecary who had trained her. Agnes Abernathy was a skilled healer in her own right, but had settled in the village to study the art of divination and fortune-telling. The wise woman had a vast knowledge of plants and animals, but found no stimulation in brewing potions or grinding herbs. It was she who had taught Colleen to read and write.

Ducking into a narrow back lane to avoid David's hooting and waving at her as she pretended not to hear him, Colleen ducked under the wise woman's doorway. "Good morrow, Mistress." Agnes was unmarried, but the villagers were still courteous with her status. "How goes it with ye?"

Agnes had the most piercing eyes. They were too dark for anyone to guess the color, but they definitely complimented the wise woman's beautiful face. "Good morrow, Colleen. I can see in yer eyes that ye are full o' news."

Relieved to be able to confide in someone, Colleen blurted out. "Och, Agnes. The mercenary was brought to me cottage for healing, and he is?—"

"He is cursed," the wise woman said in a dull voice.