Chapter Seventeen

They remained amid the busy market street for nearly an hour, in which time Augustus dictated a message to one of his soldiers and bade him seek out Robert Bruce, enlightening him about de Montfort's ambush and Augustus's depleted force and also about his plan to bring the fight to Ironwood near Caol. And with Geddy and Angus's input, they decided upon where best to spend the coin earned for the sale of the three de Monfort horses. There were no armorers, fletchers, or blacksmiths set up as vendors at the market, but a few discreet inquiries provided information on where to find those craftsmen locally, as they were in need of bows, arrows, and swords to replace the ones lost.

Unless there was an absolute need, Augustus refrained from dismounting, reluctant to abandon Sorcha, who clearly had suffered an upset when she'd noticed those two women, one young and one old, and had been uncommonly silent and still since then. Plenty of emotions he'd witnessed crossed her face by now, but not until today, in front of the livery, had she exhibited so much raw pain and stunning vulnerability.

The resemblance between Sorcha and both women was striking enough that he'd had no choice but to deduce that they were likely related. Yet, as he pondered this familial connection—and though he'd been quite certain for many years that he was incapable of any soft emotion or tender sentiment—his heart ached at the pain etched in Sorcha"s expression when she was shunned. It was a stark reminder of the complexity of her past and the scars she feasibly carried, both of which he knew very little. In that moment and since Augustus felt a surge of protectiveness towards Sorcha, internally resolving that he would, as much as he was able, shield her from further hurt.

Sorcha was revived from her stupor after a while, while the discussion of how much they might be able to afford took place.

"I have coin to contribute," she said, withdrawing a tightly cinched purse from within her cloak. "I'd forgotten all about it, but it is yours—it belongs to you at any rate, for I meant to use it to free Grimm from the dungeon but you have seen to that."

Augustus laid his hand over hers, which was outstretched with the purse, and pushed it downward. "Keep yer coin, lass. Or, if it suits ye, since we'll be here at least for one night, mayhap you'll purchase a chamber at the inn."

During their parade along High Street, he was approached by the several of Gylmyne's burghers, the privileged citizens of some rank or title who usually held some role in the burgh and the market's administration. As Augustus knew them normally to be high-strung and fussy people, he was not disappointed by the trio that approached him.

They came barking at him, introducing themselves as burghers, but without offering names, demanding that his army disperse, they were making the market-goers nervous; they insisted that no poaching take place anywhere in Gylmyne's limits, which they claim extended for miles outside the town in every direction; and lastly, they argued vehemently against any encampments within the burgh walls, citing various past grievances and incidents of unruly behavior by soldiers.

And then they really pissed off Augustus, at least one of them, a natty bald man wearing a silk and fur cloak worth more coin than Augustus would see in a year, who could barely keep his eyes off Sorcha and asked bluntly after all other grievances had been voiced, "And what of this one? Kidnapped, is she? We do not stand for crimes of this ilk to be committed under our noses, my lord. And if she be a common jade, purchased with coin, we've hardly more tolerance for her kind."

Augustus and Sorcha stiffened at the same time.

"I am no such thing!" Sorcha insisted, insulted by the suggestion that she might be common, purchased, or a jade.

?Twas the first time she'd spoken in a quarter hour.

"Be verra careful how ye address my bride, sir," Augustus warned the man in a dangerous tone. He felt Sorcha bristled further and subtly tightened his hand around her waist. She would be far safer for being regarded as his wife. Already his name, given to the trio on their approach, was being bandied about High Street. He suspected that few would dare to incur his wrath, nor that of his army, by insulting or otherwise upsetting a wife of the Earl of Lochmere, long rumored to be the Rebel of Lochaber Forest.

Little did this appease the richly garbed and pinch-faced burghers, and not a word was spoken of remorse for their error.

Dismissing them with as much courtesy as they'd shown him, Augustus slowly wheeled his horse around and continued his conversation with Geddy and Angus while Wycliffe and a few others hovered nearby as well, a conversation that had been interrupted by the coming of the burghers.

"I'll take Sorcha to the inn and see what accommodations might be had," he said. "Send off the bulk of the army, outside of Gylmyne, have them set up camp at some distance, however they are able, as best they can." He understood that few tents and supplies were available to them since the ambush. "Keep a dozen inside the burgh, sleep where ye might when the time comes. Station several around the inn. I'm sure there are stables there."

With that, they took their leave of the MacKenzie officers and while the market was yet crowded, he walked the horse slowly down High Street, dismounting when they reached the first of two inns within the burgh's wall.

He wasted only a moment or so considering Wycliffe's obvious dissatisfaction with Augustus's directives. The man had to understand that he was no longer required to keep charge of Sorcha or see to her welfare. Augustus had taken on that role and did not foresee any time in the near future when he would need to give it up, certainly not before they returned to Caol and assaulted Ironwood. He far preferred that she remain in his custody, in his care. He'd not exaggerated his vow to her, that so long as he lived, so too would she. ?Twas not merely obligation that had compelled the vow from him, but rather a realization that he had, very quickly, begun to cherish and revere her in ways he had yet to fully comprehend.

The inn here in Gylmyne was well-appointed. In truth it made the Bonnie Barrel Inn and several others Augustus had visited in his travels seem as derelict hovels. While there hung about an odor of woodsmoke and garlic, it was not as stale or greasy as one might expect. The bar, tables, and benches were made of finely milled wood and gleamed with beeswax. The floor was not earthen but constructed of timber, the planks mostly clean or the cleanest Augustus had ever noticed. Augustus approached the bar, with Sorcha in his wake, inquiring of the tall and lanky barkeep about a chamber for the night.

"Aye," the man said, and turned toward the kitchen, hollering, "Jennet!"

A diminutive and yet robust women, wearing a tidy léine beneath her somewhat soiled apron, appeared, pushing through the door and bringing a bit of steam with her.

"Needs a chamber," the barkeep advised with brevity, pointing a long finger at Augustus.

The woman, with her pale gray hair neatly tucked under a mob cap, smiled profusely and waved Augustus and Sorcha down to the end of the bar. From behind the counter, she pulled out a ledger and perused the last used page.

"Only two chambers remain, milord—och, and ye're dead on yer feet, are ye nae, milady?" She paused to address Sorcha and then consulted the ledger once more. "The northeast chamber'll suit ye best, furthest away from the taproom."

"Aye, give us that," Augustus said, glancing around the taproom now, which was relatively crowded, but not as he would have expected on market day.

"They'll come in when the stalls close up," said the woman, "and right cheery it'll be all night long. Two pence, milord," she quoted. "And those are fresh linens, mind ye, on the mattress."

"Verra guid. And add supper as well."

Sorcha objected, laying her hand on Augustus's arm. "I only want to sleep," she said softly, "and...put everything behind me."

Augustus laid several coins on the counter, overlooking his suggestion to Sorcha that she might use her own. "Have a bath and maid sent up posthaste as well."

Sorcha's eyes widened, but her weariness was such that it took her following weak smile to advise that she was pleased about the prospect of a bath.

"Correction," she said, "I want only a bath and then to sleep."

Augustus grinned. "Ye'll be hungry. I'll fetch ye after a few hours to sup in the taproom."

"Oh, please don't wake me merely to dine." She faced the kindly woman behind the counter. "Mayhap a tray of bread and cheese?"

"As ye wish, milady."

While Augustus debated escorting her personally to the chamber, the proprietress guaranteed him she was in good hands and would be well cared for.

Sorcha's assurance was added to this. "Thank you, Augustus. I will be fine. I know you've plenty on your mind yet."

Nodding, he was about to take his leave when it occurred to him that as the woman thought he and Sorcha were wed, and because he'd expressed concern for Sorcha, it might seem strange if he did not kiss her ere he departed. He viewed it neither as an excuse nor an opportunity, but knew he'd be remiss if he did not act upon the notion.

Leaning down to her height, Augustus advised, "I will check in on ye this evening." And then he did kiss her, not grandly, as he'd have liked, but as a husband might kiss his wife. Ah, and how pleased he was that Sorcha did not stiffen or push him away, but softened her lips in a return kiss.

When he parted from her, he lifted and squeezed her hand, not oblivious to the small pink stains on her cheeks.

His mood improved, as much as it could be under their present circumstances—regarding what had come to pass and what yet lay beyond today—Augustus exited the inn and went in search of his men, hoping that sometime this afternoon or evening he, too, would be afforded an opportunity for a bath.

He browsed the market briefly though made no purchases and then stationed Finlay and three others inside the inn's taproom, to keep an eye on Sorcha. Next, he and Geddy and half a dozen lads rode out to the home of the fletcher, at the directions given earlier in the day. At the same time, Angus, Wycliffe, and another unit went to see the blacksmith about purchasing swords or having some quickly fashioned. Though he and Geddy did come away with several sheaves of arrows and seven bows, he was disappointed not to have amassed several grosses of arrows. Less than a hundred, all that the fletcher had on hand, was far from what would be required to lay siege to Ironwood.

Augustus and several others availed themselves of the clear water of a loch just outside Gylmyne, disrobing and plunging into the icy depths, scouring away the stench of the march and the battle. Augustus could do nothing about his garments, having lost his belongings when he lost his destrier, the latter of which still burned disturbingly.

By the time the sun had dropped low behind the tallest western mountains, both parties convened back inside the burgh of Gylmyne and found themselves occupying several tables inside the taproom of the inn where Sorcha was ensconced abovestairs.

The ale was refreshing, smooth and evidently fresh with a pleasant aroma and clear, golden color. Despite the fine quality, Augustus did not overindulge, knowing they had another long and arduous day ahead of them. One by one, Geddy and the others slipped off into the night, seeking beds as they could find them until only Augustus and Wycliffe remained.

"Ye've kept yer voice low and for guid reason," Augustus commented. "But one might presume ye are making up for all the words nae said in the past year with the way ye chattered all evening long with Angus and Finlay."

The Englishmen did not acknowledge his remark and did not mince words in his own observation.

"One might presume," he repeated, "by the way you purloined Sorcha, that you have designs on her. And I wonder if they are sincere or illicit."

He wasn't about to discuss his intentions regarding Sorcha—certainly not his desires—with this man, a suspect Englishmen hiding out with a beekeeper for the last year.

"Wonder all ye want, English," he drawled, taking a sip of his ale. "That'll be between the lass and I."

"I've told you that she won't give up her dead lover, not that sainted man," Grimm said with a shake of his head, as if he were sorry that Augustus had not heeded his caution.

Though Wycliffe did not say it, Augustus heard, Not for you.

Augustus chewed on the inside of his cheek and nodded, but only to acknowledge that he heard and understood. He did not rile Sorcha's former protector by hinting that maybe he did not want or need her to give up the ghost. Not more than a heartbeat passed before he realized that was only a lie he told himself.

Wycliffe stood from the long bench he'd occupied for the last few hours and said testily, "I assume you will insist on seeing to her safety overnight."

Nodding slowly, Augustus held Wycliffe's gaze.

Wycliffe nodded, and though he seemed to wrestle with some internal debate for a moment, at length he tapped the table distractedly and thought he needed to remind Augustus, "I would not hesitate to kill you if you harmed her."

"We've had this discussion. Guilty of an inordinate amount of sins I am, but mistreating women is nae one of them."

"Make sure that remains true so long as your association with Sorcha continues."

With that, the giant of a man turned and exited the taproom.

Augustus sat quietly with his thoughts, hardly any of them related to Wycliffe's warnings, and finished the last of his ale. It was yet several hours before midnight and indeed the taproom had filled considerably. The raucous din began to grate on his nerves, prompting him to take his leave.

The proprietress, Jennet, stopped him before he quit the room completely.

"Milord, here ye go," she said, holding a single key on a metal ring. "Your lady advised that ye should have this as she was expecting to lock the door from within and take to her bed. Turn right at the top of the stairs, milord, and she'll be inside the last door on the left."

He hoped he hid his shock well, murmuring his appreciation to the woman, who seemed as if she had more to say or wouldn't have minded some conversation from him. He left her disappointed, turning and making for the narrow stairwell.

Sorcha had left the key for him?

He'd planned naught but that he might make his bed outside her chamber, as retainers sometimes did when their mistress traveled alone.

Was this an invitation? Or had Sorcha simply recalled that he'd said he would look in on her tonight?

Augustus did not long ponder the reason behind the oddity, but climbed the stairs and quietly slipped the key into the lock, turning the handle slowly and pushing open the door quietly.

Flickering firelight greeted him as he stepped inside, casting a warm glow in the area closest to the hearth, where an arrangement of a pair of comfortable chairs flanking a low table invited relaxation. Immediately, his gaze sought out Sorcha in the bed, who lay peacefully upon her back, with her face turned toward the fire. Her features were softened by both her slumber and the gentle light. The cares of the day, and there had been a few, seemed to have melted away, so that her slumber was restful and her expression devoid of any consternation.

He stood over her and stared for quite a while, watching her chest rise and fall with her rhythmic breathing. He studied her face, realizing that until this moment, he'd never witnessed so serene an expression on her face. She'd slept in his lap last night, but the darkness of the forest had hindered his ability to make out her features clearly. She wasn't any more or less beautiful for the utter tranquility of her face now, but he thought himself fortunate to see this, a profoundly tranquil expression gracing her features in slumber. Still, he rather liked the animation of her wakeful face, including her stormy mien, which he encountered most often, and when her bright eyes stared with such keen perception at him.

It required all the restraint he possessed to resist the urge to wake her with a kiss, or with his hands.

He continued to study her, unwilling to move, visited by some fanciful notion that even in the grips of so deep a sleep she might or should sense his presence, and that she would wake. When she did not, he removed himself from the bedside and added peat to the fire so that it might last through the night before he sat in one of the chairs before the hearth, having angled it a bit so that he faced Sorcha in the bed. Leaning his head against the cushion, he closed his eyes, courting sleep.

Sleep did not come before Sorcha shifted and woke, sometime later.

Augustus watched as Sorcha sat up swiftly, possibly sensing a presence. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and peered into the shadows toward the hearth.

At the same time, Augustus announced himself. "?Tis only I, lass."

"Augustus," she said, but not with any alarm. In fact she sounded quite at ease, and even lifted her bare arms out from under the bedclothes and stretched, slowly and gracefully as would a cat. She was garbed in naught but her chemise, the fabric scant and light against her skin. "What hour is it?"

"Nae yet midnight but getting close."

She was no blushing virgin, he realized, had lived with the man, Finn, for nigh on a year, which might explain how she could so casually flip back the blankets and rise from the bed, garbed only in her shift and now receiving a man's company in her chamber. She strode across the decent-sized chamber and found the MacKenzie plaid she'd been given, folding that in half and wrapping it around her shoulders. Her feet were bare as were her legs, devoid of any hose. While he watched she paused at a small table that sat under the dormer window, picking up the small tray that had been left untouched there. With no awkwardness that he could detect, she plopped into the cushioned chair opposite him and set the tray in her lap.

Before she began to nibble on the cheese and bread, she caught herself and offered it first to Augustus.

"Nae. I supped belowstairs," he declined softly, fascinated by the way firelight danced as golden shadows across the delicate features of her face.

She ate in silence for several minutes, chewing slowly, seeming sleep-shrouded still, unblinking as she stared at the wee orange flames in the hearth.

At length he asked what had simmered in the back of his mind for half the day. "Who was that woman in town? And the lass with her?"

Still she did not blink but responded in a wooden tone. "My mother. And my sister, Gelis."

"Yer màthair dinna speak to ye?"

She smiled sorrowfully. "My mother does not even deign to acknowledge me apparently."

"Is that merited?"

Pondering this, Sorcha tipped back her head, exposing in full the graceful column of her neck. Lowering her face after a moment, she said, "Is there anything a child might do that would make her mother shun her? Anything so grievous or mournful or shameful?"

"There should nae be, I imagine. Shuns ye, because ye ran off with the beekeeper?"

Nodding, she took another bite of the crusty bread. "I will have children one day," she said around the food in her mouth and with a soft vehemence, "and I vow to you they will never—not ever—have cause to wonder, not at any point in their life, that they are loved. And there will be nothing they can do to earn my derision or lose my love."

He didn't doubt it. As passionate as she was about so many things—singing, her beehives, Grimm, and injustice—he expected she would be fierce when loving.

"And still, I ken, ye dinna possess a black heart," he reminded her.

Her shoulders slumped a bit. Her hand, holding a piece of bread, sat motionless in her lap. "I do know that. But aye, I do also sometimes need reminding." She turned sharply to Augustus. "I am not a bad person."

Though fervent, her tone was so flat that he could not determine if this were a question or statement.

"Ye are nae a bad person," he swore firmly.

"And yet I gave the key to Jennet to give to you," she surprised him by saying.

His body drummed suddenly with awareness, coming to life now.

"And why did ye do that?"

She smiled softly, as if she held a secret. "I believe I understand you to some degree. I predicted you would want to see for yourself that I was safe and tucked in my bed."

He sensed a bit of mockery in there somewhere and imagined at least two reasons for it: she sensed that he was protective and would not rest without such knowledge, that she was indeed safe; or she guessed, correctly, that he trusted only himself and his own instinct about things and was generally reluctant to take the word of stranger, Jennet in this instance, that all was well.

And yet....

"That's nae the only reason ye left the key for me," he said.

"No, it is not."

Sorcha stood and returned the tray to the table, pausing to take a sip from a pewter cup there. Facing the chamber again, she pulled the plaid from around her shoulders and tossed it onto the foot of the bed as she passed, and then glided toward Augustus in only her shift, causing his body to react strongly, swelling with desire. When she reached him, she bent and took the hand that rested on the chair's arm and straightened, urging him to his feet.

On his feet, Sorcha held his hand and stared at him. Possibly that was as far as her daring went. When he lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, Sorcha closed her eyes and leaned into his hand.

Recalling her supposed black heart and his actual one, Augustus hesitated to take what was so gorgeously being offered.

All the hope he'd ever known or entertained had been related to war and the battles within it, to crops and matters concerning Strontian and the people under that umbrella. Sometimes, much less frequently, he wished for peace inside his mind and for a day to come when he could lay down his sword and retire to the quiet expected at Strontian, free from the burdens of command and duty. But just now, as he looked at Sorcha, as she tempted him so beguilingly, he acknowledged long-denied hopes for other things of a lasting nature.

"Dinna come at me like this," he clipped, "out to prove something, because ye're upset by your mam's coldness, or with some misguided notion to thumb yer nose at yer mam's principles."

She sighed and melted against him, her head at his chest, her arms folding between them. "No, it's not—I just want to be loved, just for tonight." Her voice was small, laced with yearning.

"One night is nae what I'm after," he informed her; this truth had teased at the back of his mind for a while.

"But it is," she argued, tipping her face up to him. "You offered to pay for one night when first we met."

"Naught is now as it was then," he said, his voice low, less stern. Indeed, everything had changed. How short-sighted and arrogant he'd been, to have offered her coin for one night with her. "I dinna want ye like this, only trying to run further from the limitations yer own family put on ye or whatever drivel they drilled into yer head."

"But kiss me, Augustus," she pleaded, lifting her hands to his face, "no matter the reason or what you want or do not."

In truth, he was strong enough to resist—even Sorcha and her desperate plea and her warm and enticing body—but he had no desire to deny either himself or her. And frankly, there was little reason to do so. She could call it whatever she liked, could justify it however she wanted, but he knew her kiss and her passion, and sensed that it blazed for him just as fiercely as his did for her.

"Kiss me. Please."

He fixed his eyes on her soft, curved lips and lowered his head, seeking the sweet seduction of her kiss. Sorcha's long lashes fluttered closed just before he touched his mouth to hers.