Chapter Fourteen

Frankly, Austin would have preferred to leave Carnoch Cross immediately, the tension of not knowing what had transpired at Wick gnawing at him, especially after being away for so long. He assumed Fiona shared his urgency, yet both understood that returning to Wick with the Wolf and Torsten de Graham and his sizeable army would significantly boost their chances of success against de Rathe, who was entrenched and nearly untouchable inside the fortress now that the element of surprise had been used and wasted.

Grace Geddes had come as a complete shock to Austin. Ruairi mac Cailean had always seemed to him a lone wolf, with neither the time nor the inclination to engage in affairs of the heart. However, a person would have to have been missing one eye and sightless in the other to have overlooked the torrid gazes exchanged between the two.

Fiona was yet unaccustomed to the aftermath of intimacy, but Austin wondered if she sensed the same things he did in the glances shared between the pair. By Austin's estimation, the intense eye contact was not only filled with longing and promises of future affection but also with memories of their recent moments together.

He wondered if Fiona understood that, from either the Wolf's exchange with Grace, or from the way Austin's eyes had sat on her, recalling her naked and writhing with the pleasure found in his arms, at his touch, only last night.

While Austin and the mac Caileans got about a bit of hunting, Grace had taken Fiona off for a bath. Ruairi had assured Austin of the safety of the location of the burn they would use.

Austin had said amiably to Grace Geddes before they'd gone their separate ways, "Like as nae, the lass would sell her soul for a cake of soap if ye have one to spare."

Grace Geddes, deemed bonny and bright by Austin, had replied with a smile, "We do not receive souls as coins, sir. The soap will be offered freely and in good will to friends of Ruairi's."

Fiona's heartfelt smile, cast at Grace for her open generosity—or possibly at the thought of having a true bath—was stunning for its pure and simple joy.

"Can she fight?" Ruairi asked as they moved deeper into the vast forest. "Or does she only wear the look of one who can?"

"Aye, she can fight," Austin replied without hesitation, a hint of pride encasing his words. Though little opportunity had been known for her to prove it, that quarter hour atop the battlements at Wick had shown Austin plenty.

"She's nae bigger than a mite," Ruairi's man, Rob, posited.

"She's small, aye, relatively speaking," Austin elaborated, "and she'll tout her speed and agility, but she's got power, too. I dinna ken what she can do with a bow, but I've seen her with both sword and dagger and would lay coins on her nine times out of ten."

"Nae a bad one to journey with then," another man, Faolan, decided.

Austin snorted a small chuckle. "I dinna ken many lasses—any lass," he clarified, "who would leap from the peak of Cairnstone Hill, hands shackled, tumble a hundred yards end over end, and bounce up to run." He thought about it now. Aye, she hadn't liked it, had told him, essentially, to go to hell, but she'd done it with nary a complaint. A true warrior.

"Might want t' keep that one," suggested Ruairi.

"As ye're keeping one?"

Ruairi chuckled softly. "Grace is nae fighter—"

"Nae for lack of trying," interjected the lad, Jonah.

"Aye, she wants to be," Ruairi said, "but it's nae...ye're born with it, the sense for it, or ye're nae."

"We dinna have the heart to tell Grace she most definitely was nae," Aindreas proclaimed, his tone edged with his own amusement over the fact.

"Be careful with that," Austin admonished lightly. "Ye dinna want her believing she's invincible."

"That's the beauty of Grace," Ruairi mentioned. "She's under nae illusions presently. She still believes she'll get the hang of it, but she kens she hasna yet."

Austin laughed a bit at this, all these fearsome warriors allowing the bonny lass to believe she'd come into her own one day, happy to entertain her fantasies now. "How'd ye come to meet her?"

A snicker of laughter erupted from Aindreas. "Saved the Wolf from hanging, she did."

Austin turned a stunned scowl onto Ruairi. "Christ. Truly? And ye ken she dinna have the sense of it?"

"Grace has a sense for justice," Ruairi clarified.

"And evidently kent the laird was worthy of it," Rob remarked.

Though no one said it, Austin heard the implied phrase, And the rest is history.

Austin sent another probing glance at his friend, amused by the rare smile curving Ruairi's lips.

"Guid for ye," he said.

"And ye?" Ruairi asked, his brow lifted intuitively. "And the Rose lass. Looks like just the one to keep ye in line."

Shaking his head, and unwilling to commit so much of his relationship with Fiona into words, certainly when it was so new and undefined and ultimately had no place to go, Austin put him off with a dismissive, "Nae anything to discuss there."

Aindreas, surprisingly, was the first to shout out a laugh.

When the others followed and Ruairi shot him an amused and knowing look, Austin reminded them with less good humor, "Ye fail to recall the decades-old feud between the Merricks and the Roses."

This only made Ruairi bark out a more robust laugh. "As if that has anything to do with the way ye look at her and she at ye."

Austin rolled his eyes and stomped ahead of the group, knowing that whatever he felt for Fiona was a fleeting mirage born of hardship. To acknowledge anything else would be foolhardy, a betrayal of generations of Merricks, of his living father, his entire clan, and his own honor.

Aye, emotions were intense now, but they could not last. Fiona was a warrior and a leader, admirable qualities to be sure, but she was also the enemy's daughter. And that was a boundary he dared not cross.

THE WATER WAS FRIGID, the Highland burn blocked from the sun by the dense forest of trees. The floor of the burn was peppered with jagged rocks and certain sections of the surface were covered in a filmy layer of pine needles and soggy leaves.

It was, however, the sweetest bath Fiona had known in God-only-knew how long.

Certainly, the promised soap—scented and softened with rose oil—made it all worthwhile. She'd used the last of her own supply on the very day Austin Merrick had stumbled upon her having a bath in Auldearn.

Kneeling in the water as it was not very deep, Fiona lathered the fragrant soap between her hands and over her skin, a sense of luxury washing over her for this unexpected indulgence.

Perched upon a shelf of rock overlooking the narrow, shallow water, Grace observed Fiona with a warm smile. "Ye will truly be Fiona Rose now," she remarked, her voice filled with friendliness, referring to the soap's scent.

"Where do you get them?" Fiona asked, envy in her tone. "Surely, ye are nae making soap in the middle of the forest."

Grace laughed at this, the sound light and wonderful, the first Fiona had heard in a long time. "They come from Belridge, my home. Poor Ruiairi. I make him take me there whenever my supply of fancy—that's what he calls it—runs low. Soap, clean garments, soft bedding that isn't musty, new combs if the ones out here break."

"Ye have all those beautiful things at home," Fiona remarked, "and yet ye choose to live here."

"I choose to be where Ruairi is," Grace said simply.

The statement was stark and yet powerful, simple and yet it said so much. Fiona was a wee bit envious of Grace, to live with such certainty.

"Sweet saints in heaven," she mused, "but I can't remember the last time I combed my hair properly, with something other than my fingers."

"Oh, Fiona, you must let me comb your hair," Grace insisted eagerly. "It's been ages since I've had the pleasure. My sister, Sibella, and I would nightly comb each other's hair, one hundred strokes a piece."

"That sounds decadent," Fiona allowed. She grinned, assuming much more of their new acquaintance than possibly she should buy asking, "Does nae the Wolf comb yer hair?"

Grace's chuckle was a bit more uproarious now. "Ruairi? Good heavens, no. He has offered, he has tried a few times, but his idea of untangling snarls is simply to power through them. I swear my scalp burned for three days after the last time he so gallantly offered to assist in my toilette."

"Where is your sister now? At Belridge?"

All the good humor faded from Grace's voice and countenance. "No," she answered. A small bit of silence ensued until she said, "Sibella died a while ago."

"I'm so sorry, Grace. Verra sorry."

A moment later, Grace's voice came to her as it had been, friendly and curious. "Have you sisters, Fiona?"

"Nae, only brothers, three of them. Or rather, I had three brothers—they're all gone now as well, lost to the war."

"Isn't it awful? Every day, another sorry soul gone."

"And yet so much hope is alive now," Fiona remarked, "with Robert Bruce now our king."

"God willing, he will be for a long time, well past the end of war," Grace murmured. "Shall I launder your clothes, Fiona?" Grace offered, her tone thoughtful.

"Good heavens, no!" Fiona exclaimed, taken aback by the suggestion. "They do need washing, and I will attend to it. But Grace, I can't have you tending to my laundry. And as you may have noticed, I don't have any spare garments."

As Grace stood from her perch on the rock, she gathered Fiona's discarded tunic and breeches. "I often tell the lads in my company that clean clothes can do wonders for our spirits," she remarked, moving to the water's edge and dropping Fiona's clothes into the stream before kneeling beside them. Ignoring Fiona's gasp, Grace continued, "You'll wear one of my léines. Aren't we fortunate that I'm nearly as tall as you?" With a mischievous grin, she retrieved a strip of linen from the sodden pile of Fiona's clothes. "Why do you bind your breasts, Fiona?" Grace inquired, her tone curious but lighthearted. "Sorry, I couldn't help but notice when you undressed. Is it to keep men's eyes in their heads and their thoughts pure?" She tilted her head, an amused glint in her eyes.

Fiona swirled the water around her, resigned to the fact that Grace was determined to wash her clothes and that she would be borrowing garments until they dried. She returned Grace's impudent grin. "Actually, no," she replied. "Truth is, my breasts get in the way when I need to fight."

A grin spread across Grace's face until it erupted into full-blown laughter. "Well, there's something you don't hear every day." Her laughter continued then, the sound echoing through the forest until she noticed that Fiona's grin was less enthusiastic. "Sorry, I have no idea why that struck me as funny." On her knees at the water's edge, Grace's shoulders sank a bit. "Oh, Fiona, laugh," she encouraged. "If we cannot find humor, what's the point?"

Grace's smile returned but Fiona felt a twinge of hesitation in her own response. The idea of finding humor in their predicament—in anything these days—seemed foreign to her, a notion at odds with her identity as a soldier and leader of men. To her, their challenges were dire and demanded a steely resolve, not laughter. Even as a part of her recognized some truth in Grace's words, Fiona couldn't imagine herself letting go. Normally, she clamped down on laughter as soon as it bubbled up inside her.

Everything in check, all her emotions, that's how she liked it.

She ducked her head again, rinsing the soap from her hair, and was forced to admit to herself: everything in check, unless she was naked in Austin Merrick's arms. Evidently, then, she was happy to let herself go.

In Austin's arms, she felt safe enough to surrender.

THE CAMP WAS WELL-EQUIPPED. Upon their return from hunting, after Rob and Faolan had managed to fell half a dozen grouse with their arrows and they'd collected several hares from previously laid traps, Austin had been given a greasy, noxious salve and fresh linen to tend the wound in his arm.

After they'd supped, Ruairi had dug into one of the crates under a tarp of boughs and leaves, emerging with two wine skins, wearing a satisfied smirk for the mildly shocked but impressed look on Austin's face.

"Those English provisions' trains are often stocked well," Ruairi had said, tossing one of the skins to Austin.

That had been only a modest surprise, though, relatively speaking, since the greater one had come earlier when Fiona and Grace had returned to camp.

Austin had been tending to the fire, lost in thought about what the morrow might bring, when he'd glanced up and saw Fiona approaching. His breath had caught in his throat at the sight of Fiona garbed in a léine and kirtle borrowed from Grace, her belt accentuating her slim waist, her sword hanging in the folds of the skirt.

While there hadn't been an hour or day or moment that he'd not found her beautiful, Fiona in the blue gown with her damp hair brushed out and cascading over her shoulders seemed to radiate a hidden softness that he had only glimpsed in their private moments. The simple, once elegant garment flowed around her, a stark contrast to her usual breeches and tunic.

She hadn't met his gaze immediately, her cheeks flushed, an uncommon shyness enveloping her, heightening the new womanly softness about her.

He felt a pang of longing, quickly followed by a reminder of the reality they faced. Whatever connection they had managed to carve out, it could not last. Once they returned to their respective armies, the fragile bond would be shattered by duty and allegiance. He didn't want to be captivated by her any more than he already was, yet he found it impossible to look away.

Acutely aware of his gaze, her hands had nervously smoothed the fabric of the skirt as she approached the fire.

Austin's eyes followed her every move, his usual guarded expression slipping for a moment.

Possibly, she expected his shock; more probably she expected some remark about the alteration.

He forced a casual smile when finally she lifted her green eyes to him. "Suits ye just as well," he remarked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

"I feel a wee ridiculous," she murmured, her gaze moving off him, settling on the flickering flames he'd stoked.

He assured her firmly, "Ye dinna look it, lass. Nae at all."

With good food, fine Flemish wine, and genial company, they passed a very pleasurable evening.

In truth, however, little would Austin recall of the first hour, his regard given so steadily to Fiona. He marveled at the length and fullness of her hair, having rarely seen it outside a braid. She'd opted to sit on the ground, in the carpet of pine needles, and her hair swayed gently with every movement, the ends of it brushing against the ground, some of it laying in a pool in the lap made of her skirts as her legs were crossed beneath her. Though she was quiet and hesitant, she seemed to get on well with Grace already, showing occasional smiles. Grace sat next to her, directly in front of Ruairi who occupied one of the wide stumps, her arm sometimes draped familiarly over Ruairi's thigh.

By Austin's estimation, Fiona sometimes wore an expression of discomfort, as if she felt a fraud or reduced in circumstance for wearing feminine garb. Or mayhap she was conscious of the many eyes settled on her. Whereas she might escape some notice when dressed as were men with whom she kept company, mayhap she felt the watchfulness of Austin and Ruairi's men, many of whom laid curious gazes on Fiona for how drastically altered was her appearance from hours ago. The lads of the mac Cailean crew were not offensive for how they stared, but more curious. And too, they were men, likely bereft often of a woman's company—who was not Grace, spoken for by the Wolf—and enamored now by what Austin knew to be Fiona's rare beauty.

Later, Austin's attention was drawn to Fiona for another, more grandly entertaining reason. As the evening wore on, it became apparent that the wine, sweet and bitter at the same time, agreed with her.

All efforts to wear her purposefully fierce mien were abandoned. Smiles came more easily. Often, she and Grace had their heads together. And if someone had told him as recently as this afternoon that Fiona Rose was capable of giggling uproariously, sounding utterly young and carefree, he'd had laughed in their face and had suggested they spoke of someone else entirely. But here she was, doing just that, clumsily covering her mouth with her hand while she leaned into Grace, her laughter girlish and unfettered, the sound infectious.

Austin sensed eyes on him as he sat, charmed by the picture she made. He lifted his gaze to Ruairi, who grinned wickedly, knowingly at Austin.

Ruairi lifted his wooden cup in salute. "Guid wine, is it nae?"

Returning his charmed gaze to Fiona, who just now clamped her hand over her mouth after an unexpected and wholly unladylike snort of laughter erupted from her. Her eyes were wide over the top of her hand until they crinkled again at the corners and laughter overtook her once more.

"Guid wine, indeed," Austin agreed, enthralled by its effect on Fiona. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly; her straight white teeth were regularly visible, so often did she laugh; her entire fa?ade and form were without their customary rigidity. He was absolutely enchanted.

"Cackling like hens," Ruairi accused lightly, as charmed by Grace and Fiona's silliness as Austin was. "And what for?"

As one, Grace and Fiona caught themselves, quieting, and turned toward Ruairi, rather seeming like two mischievous bairns being scolded by a strict tutor. Hardly did their consternation last, as both burst out laughing again at the same time, ignoring Ruairi as they dissolved into fits of giggling, leaning against each other.

Grace recovered first, finally responding to the Wolf's query.

"I was telling Fiona about the time Sibella and I—" she began but was interrupted by another burst of giggling from Fiona, which prompted Grace to momentarily give in to her own resumed laughter. "About the time," she began again, talking through her laughter now, "Sibella and I snuck away from Belridge in the dead of night with some poorly-plotted scheme to pretend we were ghosts haunting the moors."

Austin did not know but assumed Sibella was likely a sibling or a childhood friend.

Regaining control, Grace let out a happy sigh, the memory seeming to dance before her. She included all those around her in the retelling then.

"Oh, gosh, we were probably eight and ten at the time. Sibella had a lot of bad ideas. I was merely an unwitting accomplice, mind you."

"Naturally," Aindreas concurred from across the fire.

"We draped ourselves in white sheets, cutting slits for eye holes, and headed out." Shaking her head, she laughed with the memory. "It was just one calamity after another, a farce when taken at its whole," Grace said. "We didn't account for how dark midnight actually was or how far were the moors; didn't expect to meet with any person but there was ol' Duncan, searching for one of his lost ewes. Dressed as we were in flowing sheets of white, he began to chase us, believing we were a pair of errant sheep. We didn't know this at the time, however, only knew that some bent and scraggly figure was bearing down on us. Sibella tripped over the hem of her sheet as we ran, landing face first in the muck, and then I tripped over her."

"Blasted yows," Fiona cried, nearly in tears for the strength of her laughter.

"That's what he called us—Duncan, that is: blasted yows," Grace explained, "when he finally caught up with us. Or rather stumbled over us. So there we were, muddy from head to toe, tangled in the sheets, entrenched in the soggy ground. Duncan had fallen over us as well and all three of us scrambled, trying to escape the sucking mud, eventually on our backs and out of breath, staring at an inky sky filled with a thousand stars. And out of the blue, and as if he'd not mistaken upright walking girls as sheep, as if we were not essentially stuck and wallowing in the mud and muck, without any wonder what the daughters of Belridge were doing on the moors at midnight, draped in white—now filthy—sheets, Duncan asked—very calmly, mind you," she paused and chuckled before revealing, "Did ye ken any fart ye pass can be heard in the heavens?"

The group erupted into laughter, firelight dancing in many pairs of sparkling eyes as they enjoyed the absurdity of Grace's tale.

When the laughter died, Grace sighed again. "To this day, I'm still not sure who Sibella and I expected our audience to be. ?Twas neither the first nor the last of what my mother sardonically called our bright ideas."

"That's the funniest story I've heard in a long, long time," Fiona said, finally bringing her laughter under control.

Austin might assume that the event was more amusing at the time, or in the immediate aftermath for all that had gone awry with Grace and Sibella's mischievous plot, but he smiled anyway, his gaze barely having left Fiona, entranced by the ease of her laughter.

Grace leaned her arm again on Ruairi's leg. "Oh, I wish Eddard were here," she said wistfully. "He loves that memory." She said to Fiona, "I'd love for you to meet him."

"Who is Eddard?"

Grace laid her hand over her heart, her eyes taking on a dreamy expression. "The only family—aside from these fine men here—that I have left. He's been with the Geddes for decades, has served in many roles, and has always been my champion, and for the longest time my confidante and savior."

"Where is he?"

"Back at Belridge," Grace said. "He has a sister who lives south of Glasgow and she was coming to visit. He'll come back to the forest with us next time."

"I have an Eddard," Fiona offered proudly, nodding to confirm the truth of this.

Grace's eyes widened, understanding immediately.

"Fraser," Fiona said. "Same as yer Eddard, Fraser has been with the Roses for years." She took a sip of her wine and started laughing and choking at the same time. Grace thumped her wildly on the back. Austin watched, as entertained as he'd ever been. "Fraser made a regular habit of rescuing me from all my bright ideas."

"Picture God Almighty," Austin suggested, waving his hand above his head, toward the heavens. "Sculpted of stone, white hair, long beard, shoots daggers from his eyes—aye, that's Fraser."

Smirks and chuckles greeted this.

Grace's eyes brightened. "But wait, wait. We want details on Fiona's bright ideas."

"God's bones, I dinna recall nae half of them, which is probably a guid thing."

"Pick one, just one," Grace encouraged, refilling their wooden cups once more.

Jonah and Colla added their pleading to Grace's, wanting a tale from Fiona.

Fiona laughed, the sound genuine and lighthearted. "Alright, alright," she began, her eyes twinkling. "I had three older brothers and despite my relentless pestering, they never included me in anything. One summer, they decided to build a raft to float across the loch. Naturally, they would nae allow me to help, but insisted ?twas a task for 'real men.'. Twas nae easy to deter me," she boasted, grinning. "I decided I'd build my own raft, show them I was just as capable."

Grace laughed, imagining the scene. "Did it work?"

"As a matter of fact it did," Fiona replied, her grin widening. "I spent days gathering logs and rope, sneaking off to a secluded section of the loch when nae one was looking. When finally I launched my masterpiece, nae one was more surprised than me when it actually floated. They watched from the shore, their jaws nearly hitting the ground, as I floated by. My sire was there as well, as he'd been helping my brothers build their raft." Lightly, she smacked her hand against her cheek, her gaze transfixed by the fire's flames and memories. She still wore a grin, however. "?Twas nae quite the masterpiece I'd envisioned, or nae for long. Naught but a few minutes in to my maiden voyage, the rope holding the logs together began to unravel—admittedly, my jumping up and down on the logs, proclaiming victory over my brothers may have had something to do with that. Och, the whole thing fell apart, and I found myself clinging to a single log, drifting out into deep water. Fraser—he was the captain of the house guard at the time—had to shove off in the bìrlinn and come to my rescue. He was nae too happy about it."

Grace and the mac Caileans chuckled politely, imagining the scene. Even Austin couldn't help but smile, though his eyes held a deeper understanding. Beneath Fiona's tale of childhood antics, he saw the sorrowful little girl she had been, the one who had gone to great lengths to gain the notice of her indifferent brothers and father.

As the laughter subsided, Fiona's gaze grew distant for a moment. "My father dinna scold me," she said into the silence that followed. "He just looked at me and said, Ye've got more courage than sense." She paused, her gaze arrested by the flickering flames. "I kent he'd have scolded me, but he did nae."

Austin's smile stiffened, hearing what she did not say. He didn't care enough to scold me.

She'd been a revelation tonight, garrulous, almost effortlessly charming, exuding an innocently carefree spirit that' he'd not known she possessed. He'd been thinking for quite some time of taking her away from the fire and stripping off the bonny léine and kirtle as much as the wine had stripped other inhibitions. And while he still wanted to love her naked tonight, he was overcome by a greater desire now, to hold her in his arms and tell her that while her father and her brothers no longer mattered—mayhap they never had—she most certainly did.