Chapter Thirteen

He adored her.

He wasn't particularly thrilled with himself for what he'd done, for the weakness that had consumed him, allowing him to seduce her. He knew full well she'd guessed correctly: nothing could come of it. They were Merricks and Roses, entrenched in a war with a common enemy now but expected to be returned to their own hatred of each other when this was done. This was all they would ever have. He was grateful that she understood that.

But he adored her at the moment, and planned to do so for as long as it took to return to their armies.

Honest to God, he'd trembled watching her come undone earlier at his touch. The sight of her lithe body, pale and exquisite in the gloaming as pleasure flooded her, had brought about his own little death.

She'd slept for a while under the old willow. Austin had risen and dressed, had covered her with his plaid, and then had watched her sleep for a bit, marveling over her and the wonder of her passion as the many layers of it had gripped her for the first time.

A part of him wanted very badly to resist examining his own response, his powerful impression of coupling with Fiona as opposed to hours or nights he'd spent in the arms of any other woman. Again, the weakness though, lingering, which made it difficult to deny any consideration of all that was different, new, and admittedly, somewhat disturbing for the intensity of it.

She was a soldier, a warrior—a fierce one at that—who'd become innocently and yet wildly seductive for how she'd embraced each new sensation.

She was a Rose initiated to the pleasures of the flesh by him, a Merrick—oh, the irony.

Of course, their recent harrowing shared adventure added to the connection. Austin was familiar with the phenomenon, had sometimes used it to foster better camaraderie amongst his men; overcoming adversity and surviving their own challenging situation had likely accelerated the evolution of trust and emotional intimacy between him and Fiona. To some degree, he expected, what had occurred tonight had been inevitable.

There were many reasons why this occasion, this coupling, might now seem the most fantastic, why it might stand in his memory far above and longer than any other.

He was beguiled presently, wholly captivated by her and by what they'd done, but it would fade—it always did.

And though he planned to take full advantage of the change in their circumstance while he could—naturally, this could not continue once they were reunited with their armies—he wasn't so craven as to rouse her overnight and avail himself to the sweetness of her embrace again as he longed to do. Her delectable body would be tender, and the ache inside him to know again the incomparable rapture with her would have to wait.

He returned to her side and pulled her into his arms, and slept intermittently, waking with the sun.

Fiona woke only moments after he did, when he could not resist running his finger along her forehead and temple, moving strands of red gold hair away from her face. Until she opened her eyes, he studied her thoroughly, wondering if in the morning light he would see her differently.

Her delicate features, softened by sleep, glowed with a serene beauty. Her lashes fluttered as she became aware of her nudity beneath the plaid, and her fingers emerged to pull the breacan modestly up to her neck. When she finally met his watchful gaze, he saw the same innocent seductress from the night before, now bathed in the gentle light of dawn.

Possibly, reality settling in and the harsh light of day made her shy.

He couldn't say, having never lain with a virgin, but he was fairly certain that maidenly modesty and not any regret was what colored her cheeks and made her gaze dart on and off him.

"Guid morning," she murmured.

"And to ye," he said, contemplating briefly if it were impolite or not to inquire if she were sore. "We'll want to get a swift start," he suggested.

She nodded and hid a yawn behind her hand.

Though it pained him to do so, he extracted himself again from her after pressing a kiss onto her forehead, allowing her privacy as she rose.

Half an hour later, they'd eaten what remained of the bread that Ewan had provided and drained the horn of ale by another quarter before they continued north. Numerous glances were exchanged throughout the morning as they walked, wrought by the connection formed during their intimate night, glances that held a mix of tenderness and curiosity.

When they met the river Ewan had described, they were pleased to discover that it was narrow and naught higher than Fiona's knees. It was swift moving, though, and he solicitously took her hand, guiding her across. Sunlight danced on the surface, turning the water into a shimmering ribbon of liquid silver.

"My màthair used to say, ‘A sunny river crossing foretells a path of light and ease'," Austin told her, not sure why that small memory came to him in the moment.

"Let's hope yer mam kent of what she spoke," Fiona remarked.

When they reached the far side of the river, she asked, "Is yer mam still living?"

Still holding her hand, Austin shook his head. "Nae. She's gone now more than a score of years, dinna survive bringing my sister into the world. The babe followed her to the grave naught but a few days later."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Ye were quite young."

He shrugged. "I dinna ken I'd seen ten summers at that time."

"Did ye...I mean, did ye...resent that bairn, yer sister, for taking yer mam away from ye."

"What?" He scowled. "Nae. I could nae resent a dead bairn, ?twas nae her fault. Mayhap I was angry with my sire. I learned later—through some house women chattering—that he'd been warned that another pregnancy could kill her."

"Oh."

Supposing there was some reason behind her query, Austin's brow remained knit for a moment.

"Is yer mam gone?"

"Aye. I...survived but she did nae."

Ah, it began to make sense. Three older brothers who, he might rightly guess, did indeed blame her for their mother's passing. Jesu, was that why her father was indifferent to her as well? A cruel accusation, he deemed, his lip curling with no small amount of disgust on her behalf.

He pictured her as a young lass, with her rosy blonde hair and bright green eyes, earnest and lonely, unable to understand why her own father and brothers treated her with such coldness as he imagined.

Christ, but that explained so much.

Since she hadn't explicitly said that her brothers or father had blamed her—?twas only his guess—he grudgingly resisted saying something to make her feel better about it or understand that in all probability they'd acted in grief, needing to hold someone responsible.

But he kept her hand in his for quite a while after that and turned the talk to their non-existent provisions, suggesting they might forage a bit in the forest, hoping to distract her from what was surely a heavy burden of sorrow.

As expected, within a few miles of the river the Aberlea Forest presented itself to them, at first simply as a wall of blackened green.

As they drew closer, the forest's edge became more defined. Towering pines dominated the skyline, their needle-clad branches barely moving in the windless morning. Interspersed among them were ancient oaks, their gnarled trunks and sprawling limbs draped with moss and lichen. Inside the woodland, the light dimmed, replaced by a cool, green enveloping twilight. The forest floor was a carpet of bracken and wildflowers, dotted with patches of vibrant purple foxgloves and delicate white wood anemones. The undergrowth grew thicker as they continued on, a tangled mass of ferns and bushes, becoming a nearly impenetrable wilderness. Here and there, sunbeams pierced the canopy, illuminating the forest in dappled light and casting shadows that did not dance so much as they laid quietly.

Inside the forest, birdsong filled the air, a chorus of chirps and trills, the only sound here aside from the occasional groan of an ancient tree.

"?Tis as eerie as it is beautiful," Fiona commented, her voice a hushed whisper of reverence.

There was no path to follow, though they did sometimes discover and follow a ribbon of well-trod earth winding its way into the depths of the forest. Clearly the forest saw little regular traffic, no hunters, foragers, or travelers.

The deeper they ventured, the more the outside world and the light of day seemed to fade away. The air grew still, until every sound, every scent, and every sight were amplified, and they felt peculiarly as if they intruded upon sacred ground.

Having no idea exactly where the Carnoch Cross was, Austin only proceeded north as best he could. He had a suspicion that if mac Cailean was within the forest, Austin and Fiona's presence would not go undetected. If the Wolf was not in his den, he and Fiona would simply keep walking. He couldn't be entirely sure, but he guessed that from the north end of the forest, it might only need another day's journey to reach Auldearn.

Though they hadn't been moving quickly, Austin slowed his gait, a prickling of unease assailing him. Eyes scanning his surroundings, he reached blindly for Fiona with one hand, guiding her closer and behind him while laying his free hand on the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly, a rustle of leaves and the snap of a twig shattered the stillness. Before Austin could react, half a dozen men seemed to spring from the very earth around them. One popped up from underground, three yards ahead, from a concealed hole in the ground; several more swung on ropes from high in the trees, dropping down in front of them; yet more armed men simply stepped out into the open from behind the thick girth of primeval trees. They blended seamlessly with the forest, their cloaks and garments made from the same hues and textures as their surroundings. Some of them had affixed leaves and moss to their cloaks.

One moment the forest was empty, and the next, it teemed with life.

The men encircled Austin and Fiona, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. They held their weapons at the ready, though not in an overtly threatening manner. It was clear that they could strike in an instant if provoked, but for now, they awaited either a reason or a command.

Austin pulled his hand away from his sword, noticing the subtle hints of a purple and gray tartan beneath the natural debris the men used to camouflage themselves. Recognizing some of them, he raised both hands to shoulder height, signaling that he meant no harm.

"Austin Merrick to see mac Cailean," he said, squinting at the furthest man, whose black-eyed gaze he recognized as belonging to mac Cailean's captain, Aindreas.

From beyond Aindreas another figure appeared, walking boldly among the trees, wearing no disguise.

Ruairi mac Cailean, the infamous Wolf of Carnoch Cross, showed himself, his fierce eyes gleaming with intelligence and cunning, his movements fluid and purposeful. In his wake came a bonny woman, her kirtle and léine earthy and muted, her fingers fisted around the grip of a longbow. The way she held herself spoke of both strength and grace, a warrior in her own right despite the fact that she seemed wholly out of place in this forest and among the Wolf's pack.

Mac Cailean stepped forward, his gaze piercing into Austin's until a broad smile creased his face.

"Christ, Merrick," he said, the light tone advising his men to lower their drawn weapons. "Nearly had yer head removed from yer body."

Austin grinned. "I dinna ken if ye would be...in residence or nae."

"For a bit, aye," Ruairi admitted. "Met some trouble, have ye?"

Austin snorted. "A bit, aye."

Neither Austin nor Ruairi mac Cailean were unaware of the curious glances silently exchanged by the women at their sides.

"Fiona Rose, meet Ruairi mac Cailean," Austin said.

Ruairi bowed his chin a bit at Fiona before lifting his hand to the striking blonde woman at his side. "Grace Geddes, meet Austin Merrick."

"Ma'am," Austin acknowledged.

"You look in need of both respite and sustenance," said Grace Geddes. She pulled her gaze from Fiona and laid it on Austin. "Come, please. We have provisions to share, and if desired, a place to rest."

When Ruairi mac Cailean turned sideways, extending his arm to indicate some place deeper in the forest, thereby confirming Grace Geddes's welcome, Grace smiled warmly and extended a hand for Fiona to take. "Welcome, Fiona," she said. "It's not often I have the company of another woman at the Carnoch Cross."

GRATEFUL FOR SO HOSPITABLE a welcome—and the presence of a woman!—Fiona happily took Grace Geddes's hand.

The woman, who might be about Fiona's age or a wee bit younger, was a startling presence inside the forest, encamped with so small and dubious a crew as the Wolf's pack. She wore a twisted braid of flaxen hair and owned eyes as blue as the morning sky. Her pale green léine, though showing some wear, had once been fine and either costly or made by hands of exemplary skill.

As she led Fiona away—and though Fiona glanced back with some trepidation, but then was relieved to see that Austin and the Wolf followed— the very next words out of Grace's mouth endeared her immediately to Fiona.

"I feel dimwitted, for never once having considered wearing breeches," she confessed. "How clever you are, Fiona. Truly, ye must excel at fighting, for being unencumbered by either skirts or the weight of tradition."

"?Twas nae so much cleverness, ma'am," Fiona replied, "as it was necessity. I can ride and wield a sword better when less restrained."

"Yes, I imagine you can. But please, call me Grace."

"Are ye...do ye fight?" Fiona dared to ask. Though the woman was holding a bow, she wore no sword and the dagger tucked into an elaborate silver sheath on her belt appeared more decorative than practical.

As they walked on through the forest, Grace confided—without shame, it seemed—that she with a bow was merely pretense. "It helps to amplify the threat, bolstering the numbers. Ruairi insists I only have to appear fierce. Frankly, I think one day that pretense will get me or us into trouble since I haven't yet mastered the bow."

"Och, she's being modest," said a lad skipping alongside them. "In truth, she hasn't yet a clue which end is up."

"Hush up, Jonah," Grace chided without a speck of animosity for slander that seemed worthy of drawing her bonny dagger. She leaned toward Fiona and whispered, "He speaks the truth, though—but only for the moment. I am, as Eddard says, in the beginning stages of learning."

"I see," Fiona murmured, though she did not. She didn't understand anything presently.

Not how the Wolf was more amenable than his legend advised. Not who Grace Geddes was or what she was doing encamped with the mac Caileans; who Eddard was or why his opinion mattered; or why, for that matter, Austin had brought them here, to the Wolf in his lair.

"You've suffered some trauma," Grace guessed. "?Tis quite obvious. Rest assured you are safe here."

Here, Fiona discovered in the next moment, was a manmade clearing deep in the Aberlea Forest, which housed a rudimentary but functional camp of several structures, clearly a temporary refuge for those who valued mobility and discretion.

At the center of the clearing was a small fire pit, its stones blackened from recent use. Around it, rough-hewn logs and stumps served as makeshift seats, arranged in a loose circle. A horse line was seen at the far end of the clearing, five destriers and several mares tethered to each other and surrounding trees.

Several simple shelters ringed the perimeter of the clearing, constructed from branches, leaves, and what appeared to be thatch of an inexpert design. The largest of these was formed as a small barn, its frame built from sturdy boughs and covered with a patchwork of hides and foliage. One wall was made of piled stone, a work in progress it seemed, as it stood partially completed, the wall no taller than Fiona's hips. Despite its recent construction, it was evident that care had been taken to ensure it provided adequate protection from the elements.

"This is rather new," said Grace Geddes of the shed structure, "and admittedly, constructed for my benefit, which I will say, I did not argue against so much. ?Tis terribly cold out here in the winter, though we do mostly spend those months at Belridge."

Nearby, a few wooden crates and sacks were piled neatly and draped in more natural materials. The stacks of provisions, like all elements of the camp, would be nearly invisible from a distance.

It was a place designed not for comfort but survival.

Fiona's gaze searched beyond the camp, to where stood a sentinel of gray stone.

The Carnoch Cross, she guessed.

Curious, she approached the towering monument, its immense stone form stark against the backdrop of trees.

Standing more than ten feet tall, the Cross was unmistakably ancient, its massive width surpassing that of a man's outstretched arms. The stone was weathered and rough, its surface etched with intricate carvings that had eroded over the centuries, leaving behind hauntingly indistinct patterns. Despite the wear, the sanctified cross at the top remained clear.

As she approached, the details became clearer. Vines and moss clung to the stone, weaving in and out of the carvings, adding to its eerie beauty. The base of the Cross was partially obscured by the undergrowth, suggesting it had stood undisturbed for generations.

The men took seats around the small fire, as one lad hastened to coax the fire to life. At Grace's signal, Fiona perched on a nearby log. Grace briefly vanished, reemerging with two wooden cups, extending one to Austin and the other to Fiona.

Fiona drank rather greedily of the ale, which, though nearly warm, was of good quality. A moment later, Grace returned again, this time with a large chunk of bread, which she broke in half and split between them as well.

"Thank ye," Fiona said as Grace sat herself beside her before she turned her attention to the ongoing discussion between mac Cailean and Austin.

"Urry? Christ, that eejit," the Wolf spat with a ferocious scowl. "Say nae more. I wager it all went to shite, the siege, and ye and the lass here somehow paid most grievously for Urry's incompetence."

"Aye, that's the gist of it," Austin agreed gruffly. "MacLaren was there as well."

"His presence, and that of his army, is generally negligible," Ruairi mac Cailean scoffed mildly.

"So it was, but I canna be sure," Austin said, "as we ken naught of what transpired outside, only that we were surprised inside by the fact—unbeknownst to Urry's ‘exceptional scouts'—that an English militia was garrisoned inside the castle."

"Bluidy hell," Ruairi mac Cailean cursed.

"Saved by our names," Austin mentioned. "Nae that that was their intention. The lass and I were singled out to be sent to York, where it was planned they would make examples of us, our heads on pikes and all that."

Ruairi frowned anew, this time at Fiona, his expression akin to a man smacking himself in the forehead with knowledge he should have understood sooner.

"Fiona Rose," he uttered. "Och, and pardon, lass. I dinna put it together until now. Ye and yer Rose army."

She nodded, scarcely offended as the Rose name was not so well known as clans that provided larger numbers.

"Ye escaped—narrowly by the looks of ye," mac Cailean guessed, his attention returned to Austin, "and are going back to Wick."

"Aye. We suppose our armies are there still, assuming we are yet trapped inside."

"We're to meet with de Graham shortly," said the Wolf, "today or tomorrow. If ye dinna mind the company, we can spare a few days and see ye returned to yer armies, see what we can do there."

"Shite," Austin declared with some astonishment. "If ye can make that happen, I trow we can now overtake Wick."

"As we should," said one of the Wolf's men, a black-eyed man with a perpetual scowl. "De Rathe's been too long bringing in supplies up there."

Austin nodded. "Aye, and that's why the king wanted this done, Wick seized."

"But Urry?" Questioned another man, a short, middle-aged man with a wiry build and leathery skin.

"Urry has the numbers," Fiona said, though it pained her to defend the man in any way, "and with so few nobles come round yet to his reign, the king has little choice but to accept whatever support he can muster."

"Unfortunately, that's the reality, lass," Ruairi mac Cailean agreed.

The talk continued, with Austin giving a detailed account of their part in the fruitless siege of Wick, climbing the wall and being overrun upon the battlements by the unexpected force of the English.

When the black-eyed man spoke again, noting that surrendering at that time had been a wise move, Grace leaned toward Fiona and said quietly, "That's Aindreas. He's the mac Cailean captain. He looks meaner than he is."

He did look mean, but then all of these men had a certain weary severity about them, though some looked to be able to claim no more years than Fiona could.

"That's Jonah," Grace said next, inclining her head toward a lanky lad with bright red hair and odd, dull brown eyes. "Next to him is William," she said of a young man possibly in his mid-twenties, who was a full foot shorter than Jonah with dark skin and hair, and bright eyes.

The man with the wiry build who had questioned why Urry might have led anything was Rob, Grace said. Next, she pointed out Faolan, a young man with pale blonde hair, pockmarked skin, and cold eyes. The youngest one, as guessed by Fiona, not likely to be more than eight and ten, with an average build and drooping blue eyes was Colla, Grace announced quietly.

"Dinna be deceived by either their youth or what seems their dull miens," Grace cautioned. "A more formidable crew I've never seen."

They did, apart from the captain, Aindreas, appear rather lackluster, neither seething nor raging with a want to fight as she might have expected of the Wolf's retinue. Their expressions were stoic, almost indifferent, and their youthful faces betrayed no sign of the hardened warriors they were reputed to be. But then, Fiona had learned over the years to judge a man by his skill and not his appearance; underestimating such men could be a fatal mistake.

After another moment covertly studying the mac Cailean men, Fiona turned greater attention to the Wolf himself. Her study, and her fleeting impression of a severe and savage warrior, was rather suddenly routed by the gaze he turned briefly onto Grace Geddes.

Oh, Fiona thought internally, assuming she might now better understand the actual presence of Grace Geddes here at the Carnoch Cross. Little did she know about, and less was she exposed to, love between a man and woman, but clearly Ruairi mac Cailean was consumed by just this, if anything should be made by the softening of his expression as it caressed Grace.

Ruairi's gaze lingered on Grace Geddes with a depth that betrayed more than mere passing interest. In his eyes lived a raw intensity, threads of longing, admiration, and perhaps even a hint of vulnerability.

The Wolf was not only a formidable warrior, but a man deeply in love. It was a revelation that shattered Fiona's preconceived notions of him as a ruthless leader, revealing instead the tender heart that beat beneath the armor of his severity.

Entranced by this revelation, Fiona subtly turned toward Grace, finding that the Wolf's piercing stare was returned in full measure. A silent exchange passed between Ruairi and Grace, a language of glances and subtle gestures that spoke volumes.

Her cheeks pinkened, supposing she intruded upon their silent exchange, Fiona lowered her gaze to what remained of the bread in her hands. A pang of envy stabbed at her, for the connection they shared, for the depth of emotions glimpsed in only a look.

Unconsciously, she raised her eyes to Austin, bemused to find his gaze on her while the man, Aindreas, detailed Torsten de Graham's plans to overtake some place called Lochlan Hall.

While his stare in no way could be compared to the scorching force of the Wolf's gaze as it set upon Grace, Austin's smoky blue eyes held a subtle intensity of their own, a mixture of curiosity and something else that Fiona couldn't quite decipher. She perceived a warmth in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat and stirred a flutter of anticipation in her chest, instantly put in mind of his burning touch, of the tenderness and intoxication of his loving.

Lost in the mesmerizing depths of Austin's gaze, Fiona couldn't help but wonder if he would ever regard her with the same depth of feeling as Ruairi regarded Grace.

Nae, stop, she warned herself.

It will come.

She hoped for it earnestly, she realized just then.

But nae, ?twas too soon now.

When Aindreas had finished speaking, a moment of silence filled the small camp until Grace Geddes announced pertly, "I believe I should adopt Fiona's very sensible garb. Breeches are so much more functional."

The Wolf shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. "Wear sackcloth, love," he said indulgently, "?tis all the same to me."